It's been a ragged morning...and since I just told you how my mornings go, you should know that if I say ragged, it's pretty close to close-the-shades-Harry-I'm-climbing-back-in-bed awful. And hard to see God in any of it. So don't expect it. I'm just saying...
First, E wasn't home for Jamaica to cuddle with so the second Beve closed the door behind him at some pre-dawn hour, Maica was up on my bed, curled up on my back and I'm pretty sure she hyper-extended it, if such a thing is possible. Then I started having dreams about SK's Theater History paper, which she had a panic attack over last night right as I was drifting off to sleep. Last night when I got her worried text, I reached for my robe and pressed 5 on my phone at the same time, then walked out of our room to where my laptop was waiting for me. We spent about half an hour going over her paper, then I went to bed.
But clearly didn't stop thinking about it, since I was still considering edits she could make this morning. I'm telling you dreaming about a college research paper--hers or anyone else's--is not the way I like to start my day. As I was talking to her this morning (she's in a much better place with it, will finish it ahead of its due time tomorrow, though she does have 50 million other things to complete by tomorrow as well), Beve called. I didn't interrupt SK to talk to Beve, so he called the house phone. Then J stumbled out of his room talking on his phone. Apparently the emergency had reached critical proportions for him to awaken J!
When I finished talking to SK and called Beve back, he asked me to run across town (in the next 20 minutes!) to pick up pizza for him. Oh, and by the way, when he drove my car yesterday, the gas light was on. But not to panic, he was pretty sure I'd make it to a gas station without running out of gas. Let me just tell you, one of my chief (though trivial) anxieties in life is running out of gas. One dark and stormy night (wow, that sounds like a good opening line for a novel!), when E was a fifth grader, she and I did that, right in the middle of an intersection of Old Olympic Highway and a county road that had the ridiculous name of 'Kitchen Dick' road, don't ask me why. Given that we were truly dead center, with no one in sight, I had to push while my 10-year-old drove... right into a ditch. A show of hands if I've told this story before! That so traumatized me that Beve was apologizing about the state of my car's tank before I'd even said a word. He knows me, that Beve does.
I did make it to Costco to get the pizza, where the lines were horrific. Standing in line, I thought I saw a woman pulling her baby by its leg out of her cart. Just about had a heart-attack. I whipped my head around to stare straight on, and it was merely a baby doll which she handed to her small daughter. Then I tried to pick up the pizzas, forgot that my stupid back is still out and I'm a complete wimp if I can't lift pizza boxes without pain!. I lugged them to my car, then went to the pumps where the lines were even more atrocious. Dropped the pizza off at Beve's school, and drove home. All before I had a single cup of tea this morning.
And now I'm exhausted. I know, doesn't seem like much to those of you used to 47 thousand appointments and errands before I'm out of bed, but without caffeine? Really?
Now I'm waiting for E to get home so we can decorate our beautiful Noble Fir we cut down yesterday in a torrential downpour. But there was one moment that made my entire day. When I went to the little out-building to pay for the tree, the proprietor of the tree farm (who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus, complete with red suspenders!) invited us in for some hot cider and popcorn. I declined--we had other places to go in our rain-soaked clothing, and Beve and E were idling their vehicles impatiently (yes, I know, two cars. Sorry, but two different places to go!). Santa said, "Your kids will love the cider." To which I answered, "My 24-year-old daughter will be fine. She's on her way to a party." Santa said, "What? You don't look old enough to have a child that old. Were you 4 when you had her?" Mrs. Claus hopped up to take a look as I laughed. "More like almost 30," I answered, though I was really only 28. She said, "That makes you my age. That's impossible." And that, my friends, made it all worth it. That one moment made my day.
But I'm telling you, if they could have seen me this morning, they'd have guessed 20 years the other direction!
Some days are like this. I only hope there's tea in my immediate future, or there's likely to be a headache in it.
And that will make the ending worse--far worse!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Split second
Pushed a shopping cart out of a store this morning, congratulating myself that I'd spent less than I'd estimated. Like many--real!--mathematicians, I keep a running total in my head so that my purchases don't exceed a certain designated dollar amount. This is particularly true when I intend to pay with cash, as I did this morning. I always round up when I'm figuring, too, so that I'm never short. Off the mark on the topside? All the time, especially in the grocery store, where there's no tax involved.
But this morning, I was off. I mean almost 10 dollars off. So when I got into the car, I rechecked my receipt, and sure enough, two flat pieces of plastic to be used as quilting templates weren't on the receipt. I had failed to put them on the counter, hadn't even seen or thought about it until I itemized the receipt against the purchases.
And then I did a terrible thing. I sat in my car a moment, contemplating turning the key in the ignition. Just driving away. Then, of course, I got out of the car, walked back into the store with the sheets of plastic. I happened to get the same checker who'd just rung up my other purchases, and she was impressed that I'd brought them back. "I hesitated," I confessed, needing to confess--to someone then, and apparently to someone else now. "Anybody would have," she answered.
That did absolve me for a moment, I admit. But as I drove away, I thought about that hesitation. About that furtive glance around to see if anyone had noticed that I'd walked out of the store with things I hadn't paid for. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to me. In that life-passing-before-my-eyes instant, though, I'd seen large, burly security guards hitching up their pants as they came after me. I'd imagined handcuffs and humiliation. But as I imagined, I also knew I'd actually 'gotten away with it.' I mean, I could seriously drive away with goods I hadn't bought. And I'd never be found out.
"The measure of a man's character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out," said Thomas Babington Macaulay.
So then came the second split second, the one that had me opening the car door and walking back into the store (leaving my keys in the ignition even! Ah, my memory!). Somebody would find out. Somebody already knew. He was sitting in the car with me, holding His breath to see what decision I'd make. Intimately present as I chose right or wrong. And He let out that held breath (and protected the car) as I actually did that right thing. The only thing.
We're talking here about two items that added up to 8.74, which I know because I paid for them. 8.74's worth of reminding me that sin--all, any, each--is against God. He's the one who knows, who always knows. Sometimes the only one who knows. But that's the whole point. His knowing, and my desire to please--not disappoint--Him, is the basic motivation in my life. I'm not ashamed of it. Not by a long shot. I'm grateful for it, because I know--I absolutely know--that it comes from the One who holds His breath watching, and the One (the same One) who indwells me, pressing me to make that choice, and the One (also the same One) who gave His life so that my wrong choices--and they are aplenty!--are not held against me. Three in One, and I would please them all at Once. Please, God, please You.
But this morning, I was off. I mean almost 10 dollars off. So when I got into the car, I rechecked my receipt, and sure enough, two flat pieces of plastic to be used as quilting templates weren't on the receipt. I had failed to put them on the counter, hadn't even seen or thought about it until I itemized the receipt against the purchases.
And then I did a terrible thing. I sat in my car a moment, contemplating turning the key in the ignition. Just driving away. Then, of course, I got out of the car, walked back into the store with the sheets of plastic. I happened to get the same checker who'd just rung up my other purchases, and she was impressed that I'd brought them back. "I hesitated," I confessed, needing to confess--to someone then, and apparently to someone else now. "Anybody would have," she answered.
That did absolve me for a moment, I admit. But as I drove away, I thought about that hesitation. About that furtive glance around to see if anyone had noticed that I'd walked out of the store with things I hadn't paid for. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to me. In that life-passing-before-my-eyes instant, though, I'd seen large, burly security guards hitching up their pants as they came after me. I'd imagined handcuffs and humiliation. But as I imagined, I also knew I'd actually 'gotten away with it.' I mean, I could seriously drive away with goods I hadn't bought. And I'd never be found out.
"The measure of a man's character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out," said Thomas Babington Macaulay.
So then came the second split second, the one that had me opening the car door and walking back into the store (leaving my keys in the ignition even! Ah, my memory!). Somebody would find out. Somebody already knew. He was sitting in the car with me, holding His breath to see what decision I'd make. Intimately present as I chose right or wrong. And He let out that held breath (and protected the car) as I actually did that right thing. The only thing.
We're talking here about two items that added up to 8.74, which I know because I paid for them. 8.74's worth of reminding me that sin--all, any, each--is against God. He's the one who knows, who always knows. Sometimes the only one who knows. But that's the whole point. His knowing, and my desire to please--not disappoint--Him, is the basic motivation in my life. I'm not ashamed of it. Not by a long shot. I'm grateful for it, because I know--I absolutely know--that it comes from the One who holds His breath watching, and the One (the same One) who indwells me, pressing me to make that choice, and the One (also the same One) who gave His life so that my wrong choices--and they are aplenty!--are not held against me. Three in One, and I would please them all at Once. Please, God, please You.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Grow up!
Sunday night as we watched "Extreme Makeover, Home Edition", Beve began chanting, "Two hours late, two hours late." It snowed on and off all day Sunday, making him hope school would be delayed Monday morning. He got his wish. However, that didn't stop him from leaving the house before 7 AM, which is late for him (he often leaves before 6), but about the time most teachers show up for a normal day. Beve is usually either the first or second person to his building. He's an early riser (sometimes an extremely early riser, say 2 or 3 AM) and wakes up quickly, ready to tackle the fires of his day!
On the other hand, I slug my way out of sleep. After fighting my mind to tumble into it. Trying to make the old brain slow down enough to turn off. Once asleep, however, a fire couldn't wake me. And I don't feel rested even when I finally manage to get my eyes open, stumble down the hall to put the tea kettle on, sit staring out the window, not focusing, for a good hour before I can make my body catch up to the day.
It's always been like this for me. And like that for Beve. As a child, I was the one who didn't fall asleep in the car as our family traveled across the state late at night. I'd sit between my parents in the front seat of our Carry-All while my siblings sprawled across the platform bed my dad had built behind the back seat. You'd never get away with such a thing now, but that was before seatbelt laws, took the headaches of traveling away from my parents. Their goal was to get us all to sleep so they could have a few hours of uninterrupted conversation. But I tended to squelch that possibility by being too bright-eyed and open-eared far into the evening.
Beve, on the other hand, learned to sleep on his mother's lap as they traveled. He was the baby of the family, and called her lap his domain far longer than his siblings. Again, driving thusly isn't something we ever did with our children. It almost seems criminal that our parents were all so cavalier about our safety, except that I know them. I know that Beve's mother was a stickler for laws, rules and the like. She would never have broken one purposely. And my teacher mom and Boy Scout dad were the same. And there's a part of me that longs for those more innocent days when kids piled willy-nilly into cars and only a parent's quick hand held them in place.
But as usual, I digress. (Perhaps I should have named my blog that, since it's such a common occurance!) The thing is that Beve and I are opposites when it comes to sleep. Sometimes, if we each have a difficult night, we are both awake in the middle--me just drifting off about the time he's waking up. This happens more often than I wish. For both our sakes. But we manage to muddle through this difference well enough most of the time.
Our differences. They spring up like weeds everywhere we look. Back in our 'courting' days, which makes it sound like we lived at the turn of the century (and I'm not talking 20th-21st), we patted ourselves on the pat for being so alike. But those similarities were primarily external: our birthdays a day apart, both being left-handed, both having professors for dads, living on the same street, having become believers within a couple of months of each other, having the same social group in school. That sounds like a lot, doesn't it? But what it adds up to in a relationship is a hill of beans. A whole lot of nothing. In fact, our differences are more telling than those similarities.
And those differences, even the morning, night difference, has led to difficulties at one time or another. For example, I want to--NEED to--talk about the day at night. Late into the night, if I have to/get to. Beve could no more do that than fly (which reminds me, I had a dream last night that I could fly...love those dreams!). He's drifting off before I've finished making my first point.
And you know the Bible verse that says, "Don't let the sun go down on your anger?" Well, at every wedding shower I've been to (and trust me, that's been PLENTY), that verse has come up. Always with the notion that a couple should stay up and work it out before sleeping. Well, I learned a long time ago, that if I was going to work out my anger at Beve before sleeping, I would have to do it with God, not with him. He just couldn't keep his eyes open for it. And what that did was force me to go to the source. To deal with Beve the best possible way--with God. When I felt hurt by something, angry, or just annoyed, I learned to tell God all about it, allow Him to work in me alone, and then, by morning, I almost always feel more kindly inclined toward my Beve. Especially if I allowed that Holy, healing Hand of God to place my hand on Beve's back, or arm to pray for him. Praying for Beve late into the night as the answer to the differences between us. And touching him physically--to God--as the surrender of my negatively feelings.
Sometimes that has failed me. No, that isn't quite the truth. Sometimes I haven't done those things. Sometimes I've held on to the anger, hurt, my own stubborn pride through a troubled sleep into the next day. That's when the sun has really gone down and come up again on that anger, and I've walked around thinking, "how the heck can I get over this? It's all him, after all..." And those days, those cloudy, dismal days have been the ones where our differences have seemed insurmountable, my feelings completely justified, and life pretty bleak. But by the time I've tried to sleep with those differences another night, I can't do it. I have to put them back into perspective. See them as provisions God has made for each of us, made so that in the chipping away of our most stubborn selves, we grow up. For His sake--each other's sake, our children's sake--not to mention the world's-- Grow up!
*I don't want to imply that Beve and I don't also work out our differences together, but that working out, just like the working out of our salvations, is always better--more successful, if you will--if I also give Him room to work them out in me--for HIS good pleasure. See Philippians 2:12-13
On the other hand, I slug my way out of sleep. After fighting my mind to tumble into it. Trying to make the old brain slow down enough to turn off. Once asleep, however, a fire couldn't wake me. And I don't feel rested even when I finally manage to get my eyes open, stumble down the hall to put the tea kettle on, sit staring out the window, not focusing, for a good hour before I can make my body catch up to the day.
It's always been like this for me. And like that for Beve. As a child, I was the one who didn't fall asleep in the car as our family traveled across the state late at night. I'd sit between my parents in the front seat of our Carry-All while my siblings sprawled across the platform bed my dad had built behind the back seat. You'd never get away with such a thing now, but that was before seatbelt laws, took the headaches of traveling away from my parents. Their goal was to get us all to sleep so they could have a few hours of uninterrupted conversation. But I tended to squelch that possibility by being too bright-eyed and open-eared far into the evening.
Beve, on the other hand, learned to sleep on his mother's lap as they traveled. He was the baby of the family, and called her lap his domain far longer than his siblings. Again, driving thusly isn't something we ever did with our children. It almost seems criminal that our parents were all so cavalier about our safety, except that I know them. I know that Beve's mother was a stickler for laws, rules and the like. She would never have broken one purposely. And my teacher mom and Boy Scout dad were the same. And there's a part of me that longs for those more innocent days when kids piled willy-nilly into cars and only a parent's quick hand held them in place.
But as usual, I digress. (Perhaps I should have named my blog that, since it's such a common occurance!) The thing is that Beve and I are opposites when it comes to sleep. Sometimes, if we each have a difficult night, we are both awake in the middle--me just drifting off about the time he's waking up. This happens more often than I wish. For both our sakes. But we manage to muddle through this difference well enough most of the time.
Our differences. They spring up like weeds everywhere we look. Back in our 'courting' days, which makes it sound like we lived at the turn of the century (and I'm not talking 20th-21st), we patted ourselves on the pat for being so alike. But those similarities were primarily external: our birthdays a day apart, both being left-handed, both having professors for dads, living on the same street, having become believers within a couple of months of each other, having the same social group in school. That sounds like a lot, doesn't it? But what it adds up to in a relationship is a hill of beans. A whole lot of nothing. In fact, our differences are more telling than those similarities.
And those differences, even the morning, night difference, has led to difficulties at one time or another. For example, I want to--NEED to--talk about the day at night. Late into the night, if I have to/get to. Beve could no more do that than fly (which reminds me, I had a dream last night that I could fly...love those dreams!). He's drifting off before I've finished making my first point.
And you know the Bible verse that says, "Don't let the sun go down on your anger?" Well, at every wedding shower I've been to (and trust me, that's been PLENTY), that verse has come up. Always with the notion that a couple should stay up and work it out before sleeping. Well, I learned a long time ago, that if I was going to work out my anger at Beve before sleeping, I would have to do it with God, not with him. He just couldn't keep his eyes open for it. And what that did was force me to go to the source. To deal with Beve the best possible way--with God. When I felt hurt by something, angry, or just annoyed, I learned to tell God all about it, allow Him to work in me alone, and then, by morning, I almost always feel more kindly inclined toward my Beve. Especially if I allowed that Holy, healing Hand of God to place my hand on Beve's back, or arm to pray for him. Praying for Beve late into the night as the answer to the differences between us. And touching him physically--to God--as the surrender of my negatively feelings.
Sometimes that has failed me. No, that isn't quite the truth. Sometimes I haven't done those things. Sometimes I've held on to the anger, hurt, my own stubborn pride through a troubled sleep into the next day. That's when the sun has really gone down and come up again on that anger, and I've walked around thinking, "how the heck can I get over this? It's all him, after all..." And those days, those cloudy, dismal days have been the ones where our differences have seemed insurmountable, my feelings completely justified, and life pretty bleak. But by the time I've tried to sleep with those differences another night, I can't do it. I have to put them back into perspective. See them as provisions God has made for each of us, made so that in the chipping away of our most stubborn selves, we grow up. For His sake--each other's sake, our children's sake--not to mention the world's-- Grow up!
*I don't want to imply that Beve and I don't also work out our differences together, but that working out, just like the working out of our salvations, is always better--more successful, if you will--if I also give Him room to work them out in me--for HIS good pleasure. See Philippians 2:12-13
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Caught napping
While I didn't know it, the season changed. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, it's Advent. While we were busy burying a sister, relocating aged parents, trying to keep up (not very efficiently) with our daily tasks, the air turned cold and the leaves on the ground blew away. Winter descended while we weren't watching, and with it, came this silent, waiting season of our Christian year.
Some years (like last, and the one before that, and all the ones before that back to my infancy in faith), I'm completely caught up in this December wait. When our children were small, we participated in plenty of Advent activities--at church, at home, at friends' homes. While I drove them to school we'd talk about Mary growing big with child, and as I drove them home, they speculated about the wise men, ask me what why they brought those particular gifts (explaining that myrrh is used for embalming, frankinscence for perfume somwhat complicated when they were very young, and wishing for toys for birthdays. "But wasn't he too young to die?" my six year old son asked once.), wondered how that baby got into Mary's--or any other woman's--stomach. We lit candles, read the stories, talked, talked and talked some more. And waited. With bated breath we waited for that day to come. Waited for the evening service at church where we held candles (even the littlest among us), had a birthday cake at dinner for that baby we'd been waiting for.
But this year, it's half way through Advent, and I'm just now noticing. While we was busy going about the business of grieving, the Incarnation was in process. While we were doing the work of elder care, the Star was lighting the sky.
But then it hits me, it always catches us unaware. Flatfooted, so to speak. We aren't already on our way to Bethlehem. That's left for only the wisest among us, the prescient who needed a whole lot of warning to drive their camels all the way to Bethlehem from wherever it was they were coming. And most of us aren't prophets, like Anna and Simeon, who held on to this earth until they beheld Him. No, we're just your average shepherds, just taking care of the sheep in our fields, doing whatever it is we are called to care for. And some of us, sitting around the fire late at night, trying to keep warm, might even be napping. It's a long cold season for some of us, and a nap can refresh as well as anything. No, we aren't expecting anything supernatural in the night. In the season. Right in the middle of our busy working lives.
But there it is--a voice. One strong, heavenly voice. I can't even imagine what that voice must have sounded like, but I can guarantee this, it got those shepherds' attention. A single voice, then joined by a choir spread out across the night. And suddenly, whatever those shepherds were doing just a moment before--walking among their sheep, huddled around the fire, sleeping against their own crook--is completely forgotten. Forgotten like they didn't have a job, a responsibility, a single sheep. They might have been caught napping, but the sound of that voice shook off sleep so completely, they never looked back.
So maybe, just maybe, it doesn't matter what I've been doing this month or how caught up I've been in my own concerns, how busy I've been with the sheep in my own flock. Whether all I do it stare at the night, watching for the slightest change, or simply go about my business--business certainly He is in, He still comes. Maybe all that matters is that the night of my life--even the dark, grieving night of this time--is lit up by His coming. A supernatural star is shining in the snowy night, and perhaps, even if He has to awaken me from a sound sleep, He will come. Even now, I hear an angel chorus singing, and a voice telling me to run--yes, run!--to Him.
Some years (like last, and the one before that, and all the ones before that back to my infancy in faith), I'm completely caught up in this December wait. When our children were small, we participated in plenty of Advent activities--at church, at home, at friends' homes. While I drove them to school we'd talk about Mary growing big with child, and as I drove them home, they speculated about the wise men, ask me what why they brought those particular gifts (explaining that myrrh is used for embalming, frankinscence for perfume somwhat complicated when they were very young, and wishing for toys for birthdays. "But wasn't he too young to die?" my six year old son asked once.), wondered how that baby got into Mary's--or any other woman's--stomach. We lit candles, read the stories, talked, talked and talked some more. And waited. With bated breath we waited for that day to come. Waited for the evening service at church where we held candles (even the littlest among us), had a birthday cake at dinner for that baby we'd been waiting for.
But this year, it's half way through Advent, and I'm just now noticing. While we was busy going about the business of grieving, the Incarnation was in process. While we were doing the work of elder care, the Star was lighting the sky.
But then it hits me, it always catches us unaware. Flatfooted, so to speak. We aren't already on our way to Bethlehem. That's left for only the wisest among us, the prescient who needed a whole lot of warning to drive their camels all the way to Bethlehem from wherever it was they were coming. And most of us aren't prophets, like Anna and Simeon, who held on to this earth until they beheld Him. No, we're just your average shepherds, just taking care of the sheep in our fields, doing whatever it is we are called to care for. And some of us, sitting around the fire late at night, trying to keep warm, might even be napping. It's a long cold season for some of us, and a nap can refresh as well as anything. No, we aren't expecting anything supernatural in the night. In the season. Right in the middle of our busy working lives.
But there it is--a voice. One strong, heavenly voice. I can't even imagine what that voice must have sounded like, but I can guarantee this, it got those shepherds' attention. A single voice, then joined by a choir spread out across the night. And suddenly, whatever those shepherds were doing just a moment before--walking among their sheep, huddled around the fire, sleeping against their own crook--is completely forgotten. Forgotten like they didn't have a job, a responsibility, a single sheep. They might have been caught napping, but the sound of that voice shook off sleep so completely, they never looked back.
So maybe, just maybe, it doesn't matter what I've been doing this month or how caught up I've been in my own concerns, how busy I've been with the sheep in my own flock. Whether all I do it stare at the night, watching for the slightest change, or simply go about my business--business certainly He is in, He still comes. Maybe all that matters is that the night of my life--even the dark, grieving night of this time--is lit up by His coming. A supernatural star is shining in the snowy night, and perhaps, even if He has to awaken me from a sound sleep, He will come. Even now, I hear an angel chorus singing, and a voice telling me to run--yes, run!--to Him.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Cold
I had a code. My node id running and my throat id sore, and I think I had a feder. Sniff, sniff, sneede, sneede, cough, cough. Last weekend, spent in very close quarters in cars and hotel rooms, J was fighting a mother of a cold. Because Beve elected to spend the night in his dad's hotel room, E and I slept right beside J. And guess what? She's sniffing and sneezing and clogged up as well.
Man, I really hate being sick. Whine, whine, whine. Having just buried--er, consigned to a sacred wall--the remains of a woman for whom a simple cold could land her in the hospital, I should be hesitant to complain. But I am who I am, and colds can annoy me, seriously annoy me. I'm a weeny about them (and I believe that is a real word--weeny). They start with a whimper, a graininess in the eyes or a scratch in the throat, at their apex they bang loudly, and end with a seemingly never ending flow of...well, you know, used tissue.
So I'm sitting by the fire in the living room this morning, thankful that at least the 100+ degree fever I was running yesterday seems to have abated a little, remembering the good old days--say, Monday--when I could breathe through my nose. So until further notice--and by that I mean the end of this blasted thing--I'll go back to sipping my tea and NOT writing this or anything else. I'm at least smart enough to know that my brain is too clogged with snot hold a thought, let alone see God at the intersections.
By the way, Beve's parents slapped down a deposit for a Retirement/Assisted Living apartment here Wednesday and are moving north for the duration. That mere ten minutes away versus 3 1/2 hours will be a luxury to all of us.
Man, I really hate being sick. Whine, whine, whine. Having just buried--er, consigned to a sacred wall--the remains of a woman for whom a simple cold could land her in the hospital, I should be hesitant to complain. But I am who I am, and colds can annoy me, seriously annoy me. I'm a weeny about them (and I believe that is a real word--weeny). They start with a whimper, a graininess in the eyes or a scratch in the throat, at their apex they bang loudly, and end with a seemingly never ending flow of...well, you know, used tissue.
So I'm sitting by the fire in the living room this morning, thankful that at least the 100+ degree fever I was running yesterday seems to have abated a little, remembering the good old days--say, Monday--when I could breathe through my nose. So until further notice--and by that I mean the end of this blasted thing--I'll go back to sipping my tea and NOT writing this or anything else. I'm at least smart enough to know that my brain is too clogged with snot hold a thought, let alone see God at the intersections.
By the way, Beve's parents slapped down a deposit for a Retirement/Assisted Living apartment here Wednesday and are moving north for the duration. That mere ten minutes away versus 3 1/2 hours will be a luxury to all of us.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Matchmaker
Disclaimer: Just got off the phone with SK, who said I could write about this. I promised I wouldn't march too far into her privacy, just enough to give a general impression.
Saturday evening, while on her choir concert tour to this side of the mountains, via a comment she herself made, SK was ambushed by her ex-boyfriend. After the friends they'd mutually been hanging out with had slinked away, SK and Ex had a long overdue conversation about why the relationship ended, why there'd been so much avoidance and meanness in the year since, and other sundry dirty laundry that caused both those things. At different points in the conversation each of them got flaming mad, each of them apologized, and by the end, SK was feeling a closure that was also a long time coming. Listening to her recount it Monday, I got the feeling that it might be more closed for her than for him, but hopefully he's on the way to that same peace.
After talking to her, I started thinking about my kids and relationships. My kids and my dreams for them. Every mother's--every parent's--dream for their kids. We want to see them married, with children, fulfilled and content in a two-by-two way. We especially want it when it's what we have. We envision their futures as being like ours. Happily married. And we want to have a relationship that would-be spouse so that we can have wonderful relationships with our kids and their families for the rest of our lives. And--yes, I admit this--we want grandchildren. We want to put our hands on babies that have sprung from our babies. I think moms ache for this, especially. So I have to admit, I was sad when this relationship ended for SK. I really liked Ex, though it was early, and all these things were a far off fantasy (apparently of mine more than SK's). When I saw him again this fall, I still liked him. But it's not my life, not my relationship, not my choice. And SK didn't like him enough. That was clear for quite a while before the end came. Clear enough that even he knew it. Certainly I did.
But the thing is, we often try to manipulate these things. I certainly did when I was SK's age, liking a boy more than he liked me. I worked soooo hard to make him stay with me, and I was persuasive enough that he actually did--a long time beyond his own feelings. He broke up with me just about once a month for a long time, often enough that I began thinking it coincided with his period...but oh, wait, he didn't have one. But he came creeping back each time, allowing my stronger feelings to be enough for him, as I manipulated, cajoled and wheedled him back. Yes, I was every bit that stupid, every bit that petty. When I think too hard about that period in my life, I'm ashamed all over again. SK was a stronger person than he was when she made sure that break-up wasn't followed up by a boomerang back, and it certainly could have, I think.
See, what I didn't get was that God is a romantic. God loves romance. And He wants to be our matchmaker, if we let Him. There is a strong trail of His matchmaking successes in the Bible. Adam and Eve. Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel. Even, I dare say, Joseph and Mary, though we don't see their courtship. His coming to Joseph in that dream is telling about how clearly their coming-together was purposeful.
I experienced God as matchmaker in my own life in a more obvious way than most people. He manipulated Beve's and my plans so they dovetailed, changed our long-held attitudes toward each other, basically kept putting us in each other's ways until we actually saw each other. It took Beve about a year longer than it took me, but E learned in a class the other day that the male cerebral cortex (home of decision-making skills) doesn't fully mature until the late 20s, so I'll cut him some slack. God kept intervening in our lives until we got it, and got the spouse He intended for us.
I've always thought He did that for me because of what I'd done in my early 20s (maybe my brain hadn't fully matured yet either!), trying to make that boy not just 'right' for me, but actually God's will for me. God had to do something really obvious to show me who He really meant, and how He really works. And, in the process, He revealed to me that I'm a treasure worth having--both to Him and to my partner. The God-intended and God-given spouse.
And this is what I want for my kids. They've grown up with the 'around the world' romance of their parents. The notion that God wants to be intimately involved in this most important of life's decisions is rooted deep in the earth of their lives. And though they all wish to be in relationships, none of them are interested in random dating. They're far more discriminating than I was. Cut from the cloth of Beve, is more like it. Beve who waited and prayed and waited some more. Until the right one was placed under his nose and he had to be hit over the head to see her.
I'm glad my kids aren't willing to settle for less, even though I am antsy for them to be in relationships, to have mates. I admit that. See, we're in the season of marriage around here. Their cousins and friends are having weddings by the dozen. And I remember that season in my own life. It made me nervous at times, scared that I might never walk down the aisle, never have a family. But God works differently in every life. Sometimes with a whisper, and sometimes with a hammer to the head.
The other night, Ex told SK, "I hope you wait for someone who will light your fire, someone you can see yourself growing old with." I'm sure he thought he was giving her sage advice, but the truth is, she knows that. It's what she not only wants, but expects. But here's the thing: I want her to wait until God lights that fire, until He shows her the one she'll grow old with. I know that He works in many ways, and I know that my impatience for this just might exceed theirs, but when I sit back and calm down, sit back and pray, sit back and trust not just their lives but their romances to the Lord, it's what I want too.
Saturday evening, while on her choir concert tour to this side of the mountains, via a comment she herself made, SK was ambushed by her ex-boyfriend. After the friends they'd mutually been hanging out with had slinked away, SK and Ex had a long overdue conversation about why the relationship ended, why there'd been so much avoidance and meanness in the year since, and other sundry dirty laundry that caused both those things. At different points in the conversation each of them got flaming mad, each of them apologized, and by the end, SK was feeling a closure that was also a long time coming. Listening to her recount it Monday, I got the feeling that it might be more closed for her than for him, but hopefully he's on the way to that same peace.
After talking to her, I started thinking about my kids and relationships. My kids and my dreams for them. Every mother's--every parent's--dream for their kids. We want to see them married, with children, fulfilled and content in a two-by-two way. We especially want it when it's what we have. We envision their futures as being like ours. Happily married. And we want to have a relationship that would-be spouse so that we can have wonderful relationships with our kids and their families for the rest of our lives. And--yes, I admit this--we want grandchildren. We want to put our hands on babies that have sprung from our babies. I think moms ache for this, especially. So I have to admit, I was sad when this relationship ended for SK. I really liked Ex, though it was early, and all these things were a far off fantasy (apparently of mine more than SK's). When I saw him again this fall, I still liked him. But it's not my life, not my relationship, not my choice. And SK didn't like him enough. That was clear for quite a while before the end came. Clear enough that even he knew it. Certainly I did.
But the thing is, we often try to manipulate these things. I certainly did when I was SK's age, liking a boy more than he liked me. I worked soooo hard to make him stay with me, and I was persuasive enough that he actually did--a long time beyond his own feelings. He broke up with me just about once a month for a long time, often enough that I began thinking it coincided with his period...but oh, wait, he didn't have one. But he came creeping back each time, allowing my stronger feelings to be enough for him, as I manipulated, cajoled and wheedled him back. Yes, I was every bit that stupid, every bit that petty. When I think too hard about that period in my life, I'm ashamed all over again. SK was a stronger person than he was when she made sure that break-up wasn't followed up by a boomerang back, and it certainly could have, I think.
See, what I didn't get was that God is a romantic. God loves romance. And He wants to be our matchmaker, if we let Him. There is a strong trail of His matchmaking successes in the Bible. Adam and Eve. Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel. Even, I dare say, Joseph and Mary, though we don't see their courtship. His coming to Joseph in that dream is telling about how clearly their coming-together was purposeful.
I experienced God as matchmaker in my own life in a more obvious way than most people. He manipulated Beve's and my plans so they dovetailed, changed our long-held attitudes toward each other, basically kept putting us in each other's ways until we actually saw each other. It took Beve about a year longer than it took me, but E learned in a class the other day that the male cerebral cortex (home of decision-making skills) doesn't fully mature until the late 20s, so I'll cut him some slack. God kept intervening in our lives until we got it, and got the spouse He intended for us.
I've always thought He did that for me because of what I'd done in my early 20s (maybe my brain hadn't fully matured yet either!), trying to make that boy not just 'right' for me, but actually God's will for me. God had to do something really obvious to show me who He really meant, and how He really works. And, in the process, He revealed to me that I'm a treasure worth having--both to Him and to my partner. The God-intended and God-given spouse.
And this is what I want for my kids. They've grown up with the 'around the world' romance of their parents. The notion that God wants to be intimately involved in this most important of life's decisions is rooted deep in the earth of their lives. And though they all wish to be in relationships, none of them are interested in random dating. They're far more discriminating than I was. Cut from the cloth of Beve, is more like it. Beve who waited and prayed and waited some more. Until the right one was placed under his nose and he had to be hit over the head to see her.
I'm glad my kids aren't willing to settle for less, even though I am antsy for them to be in relationships, to have mates. I admit that. See, we're in the season of marriage around here. Their cousins and friends are having weddings by the dozen. And I remember that season in my own life. It made me nervous at times, scared that I might never walk down the aisle, never have a family. But God works differently in every life. Sometimes with a whisper, and sometimes with a hammer to the head.
The other night, Ex told SK, "I hope you wait for someone who will light your fire, someone you can see yourself growing old with." I'm sure he thought he was giving her sage advice, but the truth is, she knows that. It's what she not only wants, but expects. But here's the thing: I want her to wait until God lights that fire, until He shows her the one she'll grow old with. I know that He works in many ways, and I know that my impatience for this just might exceed theirs, but when I sit back and calm down, sit back and pray, sit back and trust not just their lives but their romances to the Lord, it's what I want too.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Call button
I'm feeling young this morning. Young, full of pep, certain I have most of my life ahead of me, and that, given the opportunity (aside from that one small hiccup of fear, which one might go so far as to call a phobia), I could leap tall buildings with a single bound. Yes, I could be a super hero right here at my computer.
And all this from a woman who can barely raise her head from a pillow, take a step without flinching, be touched without pain. It's quite the conundrum , isn't it? By the way, I've always liked using that word--just the sound of conundrum appeals to me, like kerfuffle, juxtaposition, catatonic, Jallolly (a city in Afghanistan), and my alltime favorite, bellachalech ( Dutch word meaning ridiculous, though I might have the spelling wrong). So why am I feeling so young and spry?
Because Beve and I toured a Retirement Complex yesterday, have another to visit this afternoon. I'm checking into doctors who specialize in the elderly, finding out about transportation options for senior citizens. And all that gray hair we saw yesterday, all those walkers just lighten my steps, make me feel youthful--probably far more youthful than I look to anyone else. Yesterday, on the third floor of this building, we walked past a couple riding their adult-sized tricycles through the hallway. But even they looked older than I'm feeling today. We also talked to a woman by the elevator who lost her husband in May after 58 years of marriage. We were staring at some photos of veterans on the wall, and she told us she and her husband were both up there. Yep, they both served in World War II. She was rummy-eyed, with a trembling voice, but there was pride in her words and a love that lasted, continues now while she waits to see him again.
Of course, we're doing all this in preparation for Grampie and Thyrza to move here. And even though we've spent many, many days with them in the walker land of 5th Avenue (the complex where they now live across the water), we haven't ever learned about the inner workings of the place. Yesterday and today, we're learning much about the advantages of such places. Rooms with wide doorways so walkers can move easily. Bathrooms with no lips on the showers and no drawers under the sinks so that wheelchairs can be used. Closets without doors to aid in accessibility. Every room, every hallway, every feature is designed to help residents not only enjoy their new home, but to also be safe. We heard about the call systems, the wrist band residents can wear that will instantly tell the staff where they are should they fall--anywhere in the facility. Press one button and ten people will come running within seconds.
A safe place, a place where all it takes is one pushed button and help comes running. Though I'm feeling young and spry today, far from needing such a place, I also realize we ALL need this. A safe place, a button to push so that help comes. A safe place is what the body of Christ is meant to be. The aid that comes at the push of a button--the cry of a heart, the outstretched hand--is what the people of God are meant to do, not only for fellow believers but for the whole world. For widows like the woman at the elevator yesterday, for orphans like Glo's son, for the poor like the people who populate our streets. No matter what those people believe. And no matter how autonomous they want to be.
The push of a button, the cry of a heart. All around us each day are people who are pushing those buttons, crying out for help. Just today I got an email from a friend asking me to pray for some folks who are besieged by illness on every side: husband, parents, children. Catastrophic loss facing them. And my friend pushed the button called 'send' one this marvelous instrument of help called email. And I'm betting that for all of us, for every person who reads these words, the image of someone comes to mind as I write them. Someone who has fallen and can't get up.
As I was writing the last sentence I got a call from an old friend who has kids the same ages as ours. Their daughter was E's first friend. She's a very worried mom today, has been a very worried mom for a while now. She was wondering why boys seem so much harder at in this first flush of young adulthood than daughters. Had pressed a couple buttons on her phone that would connect us. Help buttons. And this is exactly what I'm talking about. Who comes to mind as someone who needs help in your life? How will you answer? Go running. Run to the one who can meet every need, understands the cries of the human heart. If you're too far away to put your hands on these folks, you can still be their safe place, their call button, and lift them up. Put your hands together and lift them up to Him.
And all this from a woman who can barely raise her head from a pillow, take a step without flinching, be touched without pain. It's quite the conundrum , isn't it? By the way, I've always liked using that word--just the sound of conundrum appeals to me, like kerfuffle, juxtaposition, catatonic, Jallolly (a city in Afghanistan), and my alltime favorite, bellachalech ( Dutch word meaning ridiculous, though I might have the spelling wrong). So why am I feeling so young and spry?
Because Beve and I toured a Retirement Complex yesterday, have another to visit this afternoon. I'm checking into doctors who specialize in the elderly, finding out about transportation options for senior citizens. And all that gray hair we saw yesterday, all those walkers just lighten my steps, make me feel youthful--probably far more youthful than I look to anyone else. Yesterday, on the third floor of this building, we walked past a couple riding their adult-sized tricycles through the hallway. But even they looked older than I'm feeling today. We also talked to a woman by the elevator who lost her husband in May after 58 years of marriage. We were staring at some photos of veterans on the wall, and she told us she and her husband were both up there. Yep, they both served in World War II. She was rummy-eyed, with a trembling voice, but there was pride in her words and a love that lasted, continues now while she waits to see him again.
Of course, we're doing all this in preparation for Grampie and Thyrza to move here. And even though we've spent many, many days with them in the walker land of 5th Avenue (the complex where they now live across the water), we haven't ever learned about the inner workings of the place. Yesterday and today, we're learning much about the advantages of such places. Rooms with wide doorways so walkers can move easily. Bathrooms with no lips on the showers and no drawers under the sinks so that wheelchairs can be used. Closets without doors to aid in accessibility. Every room, every hallway, every feature is designed to help residents not only enjoy their new home, but to also be safe. We heard about the call systems, the wrist band residents can wear that will instantly tell the staff where they are should they fall--anywhere in the facility. Press one button and ten people will come running within seconds.
A safe place, a place where all it takes is one pushed button and help comes running. Though I'm feeling young and spry today, far from needing such a place, I also realize we ALL need this. A safe place, a button to push so that help comes. A safe place is what the body of Christ is meant to be. The aid that comes at the push of a button--the cry of a heart, the outstretched hand--is what the people of God are meant to do, not only for fellow believers but for the whole world. For widows like the woman at the elevator yesterday, for orphans like Glo's son, for the poor like the people who populate our streets. No matter what those people believe. And no matter how autonomous they want to be.
The push of a button, the cry of a heart. All around us each day are people who are pushing those buttons, crying out for help. Just today I got an email from a friend asking me to pray for some folks who are besieged by illness on every side: husband, parents, children. Catastrophic loss facing them. And my friend pushed the button called 'send' one this marvelous instrument of help called email. And I'm betting that for all of us, for every person who reads these words, the image of someone comes to mind as I write them. Someone who has fallen and can't get up.
As I was writing the last sentence I got a call from an old friend who has kids the same ages as ours. Their daughter was E's first friend. She's a very worried mom today, has been a very worried mom for a while now. She was wondering why boys seem so much harder at in this first flush of young adulthood than daughters. Had pressed a couple buttons on her phone that would connect us. Help buttons. And this is exactly what I'm talking about. Who comes to mind as someone who needs help in your life? How will you answer? Go running. Run to the one who can meet every need, understands the cries of the human heart. If you're too far away to put your hands on these folks, you can still be their safe place, their call button, and lift them up. Put your hands together and lift them up to Him.
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