The Baby Shower

When I was pregnant with our first daughter I was graciously given a couple of baby showers.   Ladies gathered, their hair done up pretty, splashed with pleasant floral smelling perfumes and dressed in pretty clothes with matching shiny bobbles.  The kind women came carrying gifts wrapped in paper printed with pastel blue, yellow and green bows and little baby footprints on it.  Tiny sandwiches and pink punch was served and then it was time for the main event -- unwrapping the big pile of gifts.

Oohs and aahs accompanied each revelation of what was in a box.  The older ladies said things like, "boy they didn't have that when my kids were born." (I now find myself in that category.)  Itty bitty dresses, shoes, onesies, receiving blankets, and hooded bath towels were neatly folded and put in a pile to be loaded up by my husband at the end of the shower.

Illustration by Julie Vivas in "The Nativity"

Among all the sweet baby things I received, someone gave me a gift I treasure to this day.  Our baby was due around Christmas time and I received a book titled, "The Nativity," illustrated by Julie Vivas.  This talented, whimsical artist showed a fresh view of the birth of Jesus.  One of my favorite pictures in the book is the shepherds peeking over the edge of the manger looking at the newborn baby.

When Jesus came, it was rough sheep herding men who were invited to the be the first visitors.  There were no baths and pretty clothes, no lotions to soften up those weathered hands.  There were no beautifully wrapped presents to welcome the baby and no cameras to record the infant's first moments, just awe and adoration. 

Isn't that the story of Christmas?-- a savior who was born under modest circumstances;  a savior who came for all people;  a savior who invites us to come as we are--rough, untidy, unkempt;  a savior who requires no gifts from us but instead gives us his gift of everlasting love.

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angels' voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born.

The Christmas Ball

Long before Photo Booth came on the scene to stretch and twist and jumble pictures, there were toasters, coffee pots, spoons and Christmas balls.  Hours of fun and entertainment have been had by youngsters staring into appliances and making faces that were returned as distorted images. 

My husband, Jim, was the youngest of five children and it seemed that his primary role in the family was to "entertain the troops."  Jim's Mom would get a little grin as she described how "Jimmy" would spend dinner staring into the coffee percolator making crazy faces that reflected back all wonky, yes wonky--the official term.   Depending on the angle, Jim's face looked a mile wide or endlessly long.  He stuck out his tongue, flattened his nose, or crossed his eyes, all with hilarious results that set his siblings into rumbles of laughter.

This year our church youth group came and decorated our Christmas tree.  The young people hung dozens of Christmas stars they had made on the tree.  They also added red and silver balls which beautifully reflected the little white lights covering the tree's branches. 

Yesterday I heard one of the balls go clunk and then I could hear the ball rolling all over our old wooden floors.  The cat had discovered a "toy" (good thing it was shatterproof) and he was having a grand old time chasing the silver ornament all over the living room and dining room.

When the noise stopped, I went to see what Teddy had been doing.  I picked up his adopted toy to return it to its rightful place on the tree.  As I lifted the ball, I caught sight of my own reflection.  "Boy, by the looks of things, I'm having a really bad day," I thought.  "Could my face be any fatter?"  "Could I be more jumbled?"  Then as I lifted the shiny ornament farther away from me, my image began to improve and I looked more normal (well as normal goes). 

That brief action sent my mind to a verse in the New Testament book of 1 Corinthians.
For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 1 Corinthians 13:12

Often when we are in the midst of difficult situations, we have distorted perceptions of what is happening.  We are too close to the circumstances.  But as time and distance settle in, we begin to get clarity.  The 1 Corinthians verse promises that only in God's presence in eternity will we have full understanding--all distortion and limitations will be lifted.  Our reflections will be true.

The Christmas Visit

The second year Jim was in seminary, we made the sad decision that we could not afford to travel back to be with our Ohio family for Christmas.  Jim mustered up the courage to call his mom and break the news that for the first time in our married life we would not be together over the holidays.  We all felt the sadness of us growing up and having to make sensible decisions.

At the same time we were coming to terms with our holiday plans, my father was rushed to the hospital and put in the Intensive Care Unit.  For the days before Christmas, we were on a roller coaster, wondering if Dad was going to pull through.  As soon as Jim's seminary work was complete for the semester, we traveled to New Jersey and spent hours at the hospital praying and hoping that my father would turn the corner and that he would be able to go home for Christmas, though that was not likely. 

While sitting in the hospital waiting room, Jim and I began to dream out loud.  "Wish we could go home to Ohio...we are already part way there," Jim confessed.  "I know," I said, "wouldn't it be so great to surprise them?"   We really wanted to see all our loved ones and eat Mom's roast beef, Swiss corn bake, and her homemade pumpkin pie.  We wanted to overindulge in Jim sister's assortment of handmade candies.  Jim longed to roll around with his nephew under the giant Christmas tree strung with huge red, green, yellow, and blue light bulbs.  We wished we could join his family members in serving Christmas dinner and handing out gifts to all the men that came to the Rescue Mission Jim's Dad directed.

We must have let the cat out of the bag that that was what we were thinking.  Somehow my Mom got wind of our wishes.  I guess she realized that she was not going to be home for a traditional Christmas that year and when Dad began to rally on Christmas Eve, she said, "Go to Ohio.  We'll be ok."  "Are you sure, Mom?"  "Yes, go!," she insisted.

So early in the evening, we packed up our little black dog and our suitcases and in our Dodge Dart set out to cross "the agonizing expanse" as Jim called Pennsylvania.  We drove with such joy and determination because we knew that no one expected us to pull in early on Christmas morning.  It was going to be great!!  Our adrenalin was pumping and the lack of sleep didn't seem to even enter the picture.  Driving up and down the mountains in the dark was not the easiest thing we've ever done but we did not notice because we were so wound up with excitement that we chattered away the whole ten hour trip. 

Finally at five in the morning, we pulled into "3-2-9" as we called Jim's childhood home (329 North Central Avenue).  We knew Dad would be up and so we banged on the back door until he came and unlocked the door and let us in.  Oh that astonished look of surprise on his face was worth all 500 miles we had just traveled to get home.

Once in the house, we sent Christy, our dog, upstairs to wake up Grandma.  "Christy, go get Grandma;  go on."  Christy took off running--up two flights of stairs and down the long hallway to Jim's parents' bedroom.  The next sound we heard was a delighted squeal and Jim's mom's footsteps as she raced down the stairs to see if it was true...we were really there.

Isn't this story a picture of Christmas?  Jesus so loved us that he wanted nothing more than to be with us.  He sacrificed his comforts and crossed the great expanse of time and eternity.  He entered this dark world unbeknown to most people.  But He came bringing "good news that will cause great joy for all the people."

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him."  1 John 4:9

Christmas Lights

When our girls were little, one of the favorite December activities was to bundle everyone up at night, climb into the car and go searching for Christmas lights.  (Our oldest daughter learned her left from her right during this adventure one year--"Christmas lights on the right;  Christmas lights on the left," she would say.)  We would ride through neighborhoods and our family would rate the festive displays with words like "pretty," "classy," "tacky," "REALLY TACKY."  Then we giggled with delight and anticipation as we went on to look for the next bright yard.

We saw light-up Santas and nativities, twinkle light covered Christmas trees, houses outline in large red, green, blue and yellow bulbs.  And then there was my favorite--single white candles in small paned windows. 

This tradition of a single candle burning in a window goes all the way back to colonial times.  It alerted onlookers that a loved one was away from home.  A homeowner would leave a candle burning in the window to symbolize lighting the way home for their faraway family member.  Today military families still light those candles.

And this practice is no different than when our daughters were out late with the car--we would leave the light on and we didn't sleep until the girls were safe at home and off to bed. 

Two thousand years ago a father's son left home.  I've often wondered, did that father throw a going away party the night before his son left.  Did that father begin a calendar counting down the days until his son's return?  Did the father leave his son's room untouched until he came home?

One thing I do know that father did, was to set a light in place to let the world know that his son was away from home but he had gone to be with us.  God set a star in the sky to announce the birth of his son, Jesus--the light of the world.  Each time I see a tremendous star in the sky, I think of the father's love and sacrifice it took to give up his son's immediate presence to shed light into my life.

In the Gospels, Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

"If Only"

The other day Jim and I were running an errand.  We had a bit of a drive to get to our destination and Jim asked if I would mind if he listened to a cassette tape (yes my car still has a cassette player and we still own some cassettes) of a speaker he heard at a conference.  I said, "sure."

The speaker began by saying something to the effect that two of the most dangerous words in the English language are, "if only."  That small statement set my mind in motion.  I related to the fact that I have said that phrase all my life propelling me into chronic discontent.  "If only my childhood family wasn't so poor."  "If only I hadn't waited until the night before my term paper was due to begin writing it."  "If only I could find the love of my life (I eventually did, but at age 20 I thought it would never happen)."  "If only...if only...if only."  You get it.

Lately my "if only" has been, "if only my kidneys worked."  What I realized is that I have been wishing my life away and waiting for perfect scenarios so that I can declare my life to be content and happy.  Sometimes my "if onlys" have been so paralyzing that I have not been able to move forward with participation and purpose.  But God is challenging me.  In the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy it says,

"This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him."

Choose life today.  Choose life tomorrow.  Choose life next week and next month and next year.  Find purpose in this day.  Be grateful and give thanks.  Express love.  Be fully present.  Recognize your Creator.  Fight against the "if onlys."

Wonder

When our daughters were little we took them to Boston Children's Museum -- three floors of "touch everything" displays designed to stimulate and teach youngsters.  It was an exciting day filled with, "girls, look over here," and "let's go here," and "oh, try this out!"  Our two little ladies were overcome with the colors and hands-on activities.  They wanted to climb on and touch everything and go everywhere. 

In trying to make sure our family didn't miss anything, Jim and I devised an orderly strategy to move through the museum but our girls could not contain themselves and they would dart off to whatever caught their attention in any given moment.  I remember gathering up our youngest daughter and trying to explain to this wide-eyed toddler that we would see everything in the building but she needed to stay with us.  She shook her head in agreement and said, "Okay Mommy," the whole time eyeing the object of her next adventure.  As soon as Jim and I turned to look at a display that little one would run toward the newest thing to capture her imagination.  While we felt anxious in trying to keep our curious daughter safe, we enjoyed the unapologetic wonder she was displaying--sheer delight and amazement at what she was seeing and experiencing. 

These days I am not "darting" about through my daily life but I am experiencing wonder.  Looking through our family room windows, I have been watching a chipmunk (I affectionately named him Chippy) gather nuts for the winter.  For days he has run a circuit from his house in the rock to a tree somewhere and back with a nut to be added to his collection.  I have timed him and the whole cycle takes about two minutes and he does it for hours at a time and weeks at a time.  By my estimation, Chippy's diligence has probably resulted in hundreds and hundreds of nuts being stowed in his house in the clef of the rock.  How does that little creature know what to do to prepare for the cold season that is coming?

This week I noticed that our Christmas cactus has buds all over the plant and sure enough the first vibrant pink blossom opened today (I decided that it is a retail cactus because its starts Christmas on the first of November every year like all the retail stores).  How is it that I can count on that cactus blossoming the same time every year?

Recently Jim and I visited both of our daughters who are now grown and trained as artists.  In observing the work of their hands, we are in awe.  How did the creative spark that started in their minds result in such beautiful artistry?

I'm finding that experiencing wonder is delightfully unorganized and spontaneous.  And it's that spontaneity that allows us to step outside of our schedules and "have tos" to pursue serendipities with child-like wonder.  Don't miss the wonder!  It's all around you.

The Psalmist says, "Many, Lord my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare."

Essence

In the last eight weeks since I have been housebound, the food channels and I are great buddies.  I am getting a culinary education--I am now fluent in Italian, Chinese, French, Diner and Midwestern food, well, in a virtual kind of way. 

This morning I was watching a new cooking show that one of the networks has recently launched.  The chef was making an interesting marinade for her braised ribs.  It was a combination of vinegar, fresh herbs, garlic, and ginger.  She chopped and peeled and combined.  When she processed the ginger, she showed how to cut off the tough exterior of the root to expose the pungent flesh.  Then she sliced the ginger into pieces.  Lastly she turned the slices flat on her wooden cutting board, took the side of her large chef's knife and whacked the ginger.  "You need to bruise the ginger to release the essence of the spice," she said.

Her description reminded me that last weekend Jim was working in our backyard.  He decided to put our mint in a pot since it has a mind of it's own and was beginning to venture out all over the patio ("prone to wander, Lord I feel it" as the old song goes).  As Jim handled the mint for the move, its wonderful aroma floated into our family room through open the screen door.  How delightful was that sweet, fresh smell!

In the last four and a half years, I feel like I have been whacked.  My physical brokenness has stripped me to my very core.  Who am I and what am I about without all the "doing" that used to be part of my life?  What is the essence that has been released--is it love, anger, joy, fear, kindness, thankfulness (probably all of the above)?

In Isaiah, the Scripture says, "But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities."  This verse foreshadows the life of Jesus.  When the Messiah was "bruised for our iniquities," His essence of love and mercy were poured out.  May his fragrance pour over me.

Good Medicine

Each evening Jim and I watch the national news at 6:30.  For one half hour we listen to the days events, interrupted every few minutes by commercial messages.  The other night we noticed that ninety-nine percent of the advertisements are from the pharmaceutical companies.  Of those messages, probably half of the air time is taken up with all the possible negative side effects of the drug that is being presented.   Jim and I look at each other and say, "why in the world are we putting these chemicals in our bodies!?!" 

This week I began to think about my blog post (and as usual, I was just sure that maybe I had run out of topics to write about).  In the middle of the night it came--this month has been one of the worst physical months I have had in five years and yet I would say that I have received some of the best medicine I have had in five years.

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up late and called Jim to "check in" as I often do.  We chatted a bit and then I heard him say, "Happy anniversary, Sweetheart."  "What!," I said.  "What day is this?"  I was so sick I nearly slept through our anniversary without even knowing it.  I felt awful.  I usually fuss and try to surprise and this year it completely escaped me.  A few minutes later a friend texted me to see how I was feeling.  I admitted to her what had happened.  Her immediate response was, "I'll be over with dinner for two in a few hours."

I don't know how she did it but sure enough, later that afternoon a surf and turf dinner with a table cloth, candles, sparkling cider, cloth napkins, and chocolate mousse arrived.  I was so weak that my friend said, "sit--I'll take care of everything!"  And she did.  (She even brought a bottle of iced tea so we could sit on the patio sip and chat as though she had all the time in the world.)  Jim and I had one of the best anniversaries we have ever had in thirty-three years and our hearts were lifted like we never dreamed.  Good medicine!

This week I have spent many days home alone, and sometimes my formal attire has been pajamas.  But a friend called and said, "are you ready to get out?"  And on the most clear, crisp, sunny of days she pulled up in the driveway with her convertible top down I hopped in (well that description might be a bit overzealous but I did get in) and we took a long ride to nowhere.  We wound through our beautiful countryside, past the sheep farm and through the apple orchard.  We tried out back roads that were unfamiliar and we chatted about family and plans and nothing in particular.  A perfect ten day.  Good medicine!

Lunch followed.  Homemade soup and a chicken salad wrap outside in the sunshine.  I sat with my friend but the whole time I had one eye on a beautiful weathered bird bath that was in the middle of her patio herb garden.  While we had lunch, a flock of gold finches flitted back and forth to that bird bath.  It was though they were having a wonderful social gathering and they were thoroughly enjoying one another.  "Those birds are for you," my friend commented.  "I have never seen that many finches on that bath at one time."  How blessed I felt.  Good medicine!

Yesterday was one of our daughter's birthdays.  I woke up yesterday morning to find the most sweet picture of our two girls hugging each other at her birthday celebration posted online.  Good medicine!  (And to top it all off we had a wonderful telephone call with our birthday girl last evening--even better medicine!!)

Each day there have been pink, blue, yellow envelopes arriving in the mail with greeting and well wishes from friends and family.  Good medicine!

The other day I made soup and as often happens, I texted Jim and asked him to bring home one last ingredient for dinner.  This night I wondered if he could find "bread bowls" for our soup.  When he walked in the house he was swinging his reuseable grocery bag with a big grin on his face singing, "I found bread bowls."  Sweet success.  Good medicine!

The list could go on but I will stop.  In Proverbs it says, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones."  My heart is full.  The medicine is working.

Hives

A month ago tomorrow, Jim and I were anticipating our second week of vacation in our favorite spot in the world...Maine.  We were staying in a wonderful house on a secluded lot, yet we were close enough to the coves and the beach and the lighthouse.  The house was tastefully furnished with colorful, interesting Americana objects that made it a warm, delightful retreat from the world.

Sadly, though, I could feel that what was suppose to be a refreshing, renewal was descending into fatigue and illness.  I was sleeping non-stop and I was nauseous and couldn't imagine myself getting up to participate in any of our planned activities.  What was happening? 

Jim sensed what was wrong and he jumped into action taking all the steps we had been trained to do when we suspected that infection was taking hold.  Early in the morning he came in with a long face and said, "Steph, get up, sweetheart, we have to go to the hospital." 

We drove down the peninsula to the nearest hospital.  They told us to come in so they could get me started on the care I needed but I was also told I  would have to be transferred to another, larger hospital with a nephrology department.  Our heads were spinning and though the staff was extremely kind, we were frightened.  They were reacting in a way that said, "this situation is very serious!"

The next thing I knew, I was strapped into an ambulance accompanied by a very reassuring paramedic who chatted the hour and a half ride away.  (The most eventful thing that happened on the ride was when the ambulance driver said, "Look out the window."  Evidently a motorcycle driver in full Santa garb was following us!--wish I could have seen it.) 

Things bustled along once I got to the new facility and I was given a room in the CCU--Critical Care Unit.  A doctor came in to explain what the next treatment steps would be.  I heard him say that I would be getting daily doses of intravenous antibiotic and was I allergic to anything.  I told them, "I am allergic to penicillin."  There was a brief silence and then the doctor said, "Well, one of the antibiotics we have to give you is a distant relative to penicillin but there should be no problem."  I remember thinking, "you don't know my body, and I don't feel good about this but I guess I better do what they say so I can get well."

So the long and the short of this story is, I didn't speak up and ask for other options and the treatments began.  Every day I was hooked up for a half hour or hour of an intravenous drip and each day I became increasingly ill.  I vomited and I had chills and my body cried out for relief from all these foreign chemicals. 

The treatments didn't stop when we were finally able to travel back to our home in Connecticut.  Weekly I received more of the  powerful antibiotic (the "bazooka," they called it) and then it happened!  I woke up one night covered in hives....burning, itching, my skin stretched until I thought it would pop.  Nothing seemed to bring relief.  The doctor and nurses said, "it should be gone in a few days but I wondered if I would still be in my right mind when the relief arrived.  Once again they did not know my body and it's been over two weeks of hives which have not dissipated.  I feel trapped!  What I thought was something good for me and my healing has turned against me.

As I think back over my life, I now recognize that I have many "hive" experiences.  At times I have ignored my instincts, godly and otherwise, to choose to allow things in my life that I thought would ultimately serve my good.  I did not have the courage to take a stand and declare that I was settling for second best.  Things went along okay for a while and then suddenly I found myself in an unhealthy, toxic situation--trapped with no end in sight.  The easy way had turned hard.

If only I had had the guts to do what the scripture says in Proverbs-- trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding; in all my ways submit to him, and he would make my paths straight--no additional discomfort, no extra suffering, no hives!

The Shelter

"You've got to try the Coveside," were the words we kept hearing. "Their chowder is delicious."  That's all we needed to hear.  We're always game for a great bowl of seafood chowder--what could be better?

It only took a day for an opportunity to present itself to try out the new restaurant--rain in Maine!  So mid-afternoon we hopped in the car and set out to drive off our peninsula and down the next peninsula looking for this hidden treasure.  We wound along the coastline and over a wonderful little working draw bridge and then we started trying to spot the Coveside.  When we didn't immediately find it, we asked a couple of Mainers where it was and I'm sure they got a huge chuckle when they said, "oh, just follow this road around and you'll eventually come to it," knowing full well we would never find it with those instructions.


Once we found ourselves back where we started, we retraced our steps and there it was!--a rustic, weathered eatery built on pylons at the edge of the harbor.  The setting couldn't have been better.  And how about the fact that we had the place to ourselves except for a group of a dozen people who were seated at the table next to us.  The hostess sat us right in front of the window facing the water--I was giddy with delight! 

After placing our order--a steaming bowl of clam chowder of course--we settled in to see what was happening in the harbor.  Actually not too much was going on.  It was pouring down rain.  Most sailboats and lobster boats were safely moored, rocking in the tide.  There was one funny sight though--a young man fully dressed in a parka and shorts paddled by on his paddleboard.  (I guess he didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain.)

While Jim and I wondered how we had never come to this place before now, we began to piece together what was happening at the table next to us.  The people had come in to the restaurant for lunch on their boat and were now pinned down by the torrential rain.  The waitresses were trying to find Doppler reports on their computers to help the boaters determine their next step--stay or go? 

Finally the sailors went out to check that their boat was securely tied down and it seemed that the consensus was that a rousing card game would do the trick until the storm passed.  They were safe.  Why risk it?

Little did Jim and I know that while we watched those boaters navigate the decisions about what to about the storm of that August afternoon, we would soon be in the midst of a storm of our own--a very serious infection that would land me in a Maine hospital CCU.  We were far away from home and anyone we knew.  We were frightened.  Could we trust our new care givers and their advice?  We had very poor cell phone service and we felt alone.  The only comfort we could find was in what the Psalmist says, "Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty."  Thank you, God, for your protection.

Time Out

"OK, that's it!  You need to take a time out," are words that often have been said in our home over the years.

At times the phrase was said to our two daughters as they were growing up.  Other times it was spoken between Jim and I, encouraging the other to step back and take a deep breath.  The "time out chair" was the place to go to break up an argument, or interrupt stubborn misbehavior, or allow one of the ladies to "think about" her unkind words or deeds.  Sometimes "time out" was used to break up silliness that was moving from funny to dangerous (wonder who instigated that). 

I have an auntie who has been a big part of our family's life.  She never had children of her own but she was magical with our girls when they were little (and for that matter, to me when I was little).  I don't recall her ever raising her voice;  in fact she talked in such a low, soothing tone we had no choice but to quiet down and listen to her.   With a grin on her face, she would sing us silly diddies as she rocked us on her lap.  Great Auntie would let the girls "style" her hair in funny "doos."  She loved to swing with my little ladies in her backyard hammock as she told them the adventures of Anthony Ant (an on-going tale of a tiny ant that she made up on-the-spot for the girls). 

And then there was Auntie's version of "time out"--a book nap.  She would give her great nieces a pile of books she had collected for them at her library (she was a school librarian) and tell them it was time to lay down and read.  The girls would lay up on the guest bedroom bed covered in a red, white and blue patchwork quilt and quietly look at books--no arguing, no complaining just cooperation.

I think, over the years, I have had a misconception of God's "time out"--Sabbath.  It has been filled with duty and "have tos" rather than sweet moments of delightful soothing, nurture and intimacy from the quietness of God's heart.

Next week Jim and I are off to our favorite place in the world for vacation--Maine.  I pray that we will see God's love, whimsy and care in this "time out." 

In the Gospels Jesus says, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."

Jim's Hands

Several years ago I had a piano student who was a retired therapist.  She was interesting and vibrant and we became fast friends.  Jim and I were invited to her home to have dinner on several occasions with her and her husband who was also "Jim."  Over delicious food we exchanged silly stories and anecdotes.  And invariably the subject of my Jim's "hand antics" would come up--the time he accidentally poured a cup of hot coffee on his hand giving himself second degree burns;  the time he smashed his finger in a car door as a kid, altering his fingernail forever;  the time he sawed (yes, hammer and saw kind of saw) his thumb and forefinger trimming branches in a tree--all while I thought he was washing the car;  and most famously, the time he cut off the tip of his finger in a truck door while on a Dunkin' Donuts run (the man will do just about anything for a cup of coffee).  My friend Kathryn would shake her head and facetiously say, "Jim, I think I should do a study on what you have against your hands."

Jim may have something against his hands, but my experiences of them is very different.  We were in college when he held my hand for the first time--my heart was pounding with excitement!  And after graduation, on a beautiful day in September, I was thrilled to slip a simple gold band on his hand at our wedding.  Eight years later he held my hand as I gave birth to our first daughter and then again three years later when our second daughter came
along--he floated across the hospital nursery as he carried those new babies in his hands.

Jim's hands cleverly built puppet stages for our Kid's Kamps each summer.  They steadied a little pink bicycle as he taught our girls to ride a two wheeler.  His hands pushed the lawn mower and walked the dog on Weekeepeemee.  He grilled many outdoor meals with those hands.  And with his hands, he expertly packed the car for vacation and moved the girls into their apartments at college.  And exactly four years ago today Jim's hands comforted, reassured and calmed me as we learned that I was in "end-stage" renal failure.

In the years since that life-changing moment, his hands have cooked our meals, done our laundry and vacuumed our home.  They have steadied me as I struggle to walk and climb stairs.  Jim's hands have held my purse and coat in the waiting rooms of countless doctors.  His hands have carried our beach chairs and picnic cooler.  They have picked up Scrabble tiles as we play by the lake.   Jim's hands have held mine as we have prayed together and read scriptures together.

In Psalm 138:7, David says of God:

"Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life;  you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me."

Thank you, Jim, for giving me a clear picture of what this verse means.

The Cafeteria

On my college campus, the cafeteria was on the top floor of our campus center building.  The only way to access the food line was to climb a flight of stairs and enter a single door.  While we stood on the stairs some folks would entertain us with silly antics and others would read their textbooks.  Still other students just stood there with a shy properness about them with only one thing on their mind--eating!

The thought of waiting in that stairwell brings back a range of emotions for me.  If I was with a friend (or my someday-to-be fiancee) I enjoyed the experience.  There was laughter and friendship and chatting.  But if I was climbing those stairs alone, I was anxious and uncomfortable--who would I sit with;  would someone invite me to their table;  would there be room for me?

Once I got through the door into the food line, I would pick up a baby aspirin orange cafeteria tray (also useful for sledding in the winter months), some tinny flatware, a napkin, and I would begin to choose food from the metal bins.  Then I would get a drink, take a deep breath and go through the next door which opened into the dining room, hoping like everything that there would be someone I knew who had an empty seat at their table.  I hated that moment of uncertainty, disconnectedness, aloneness with a passion.

In the midst of those cafeteria memories I have one standout memory of a day when my Dean of Women invited me to have lunch with her.  She had become a mentor and a friend to me so I readily accepted her invitation.  She and I climbed the stairs, moved through the food line and then went into the dining room but my friend did not stop at any of the round tables.  She moved to the end of the dining room took out a key and unlocked the door to the President's Dining Room--a private dining space for the President to use at his disposal.  We sat down at the beautiful wooden banquet table in comfortable chairs and placed our modest trays down to have our meal together. 

In that simple lunch, we discussed my "after graduation" plans.  My mentor spoke of the gifts and talents she saw in me and she even affirmed something she thought I would do in my lifetime--something I still carry in my heart to this day, some thirty years later, waiting for the moment when it becomes a reality. 

Tonight Jim and I went on a "Dunkin' Donuts" date, and while we rode in the car with our coffee and smoothie, we began to talk about how we viewed heaven.  Jim asked me what my thoughts were and I told him that, to me, entering heaven felt like our college cafeteria line.  I can't see into heaven and I am worrying about who I am going to sit with.  I knew that while my answer was an honest one, maybe there was a different perspective that I needed to find.

Then tonight the more we talked, the more it occurred to me that I have the picture wrong.  Heaven is not trying to "go it alone," but rather,  it is being invited to lunch by the one who has access to the banquet room.  It is a personal, intimate time of love, care and affirmation--the whole dining room is filled with people but in that moment it's all about God, my creator, protector and nurturer and me.   In the gospels Jesus says, "And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

 

The Birds

This summer there has been a wonderful menagerie of birds flying in and out of our yard.  I have seen gray jays, tiny hummingbirds, red-breasted robins, cat birds, scarlet cardinals, sparrows, gold finches, purple house finches, an owl and majestic hawks "making lazy circles in the sky."  My favorite bird is the flicker, a beautifully graphic woodpecker with an impressive beak and red head.

I have watched those birds for hours.  They bring me such pleasure.  As I observe their activities it occurs to me that each bird skillfully goes about its business.  I've seen nest building. I've heard each bird's unique chirp.  I've watched foraging and preening. I've even seen what appears to be a game of tag as one bird flies after another bird.

I can tell you what I have not observed and that is a bird worrying and despairing.  I have not seen any bird pretending be something other than he was created to be.  I have not observed discontentment among the backyard birds.

Watching the birds has caused me to wonder, what would it be like to be only who I was created to be?    How would it feel to get up each morning and get about the business of my day in the most delightful, uncomplicated way-- no jealousy, no insecurity, no fretting and worrying?  What would it be like to completely trust that God has everything available to me that I need to carry out my most abundant, fulfilled life?

In the Gospels it says:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body,       what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds      of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?  Matthew 6:25-27
 
Oh may I be who I was designed to be.  May I receive the simple blessings that God has in store for me, shedding all worry and insecurity.  And may I add joy to the world around me.

The Forecaster

I woke up very early this morning knowing Jim was going to leave for an out-of-state meeting and I wanted to kiss him goodbye.  When I looked out of the window, the sky was covered with gray white clouds which was an improvement over the fast moving black clouds we had yesterday afternoon with thunder and lightning cracking all around our house until our lights blew and the telephone stopped working (so sorry to all our afternoon telemarketers).  But now the morning sky gave no indication of what today's weather would be, so as soon as Jim was out the door I turned the TV on to see what the weatherman had to say.

The news was all good!  After days and days of rain and violent late afternoon storms the forecast promised sun, low humidity, moderate pollen counts, and perfect temperatures.  I hoped with all my heart that the weatherman was right this time, but I'm sure you understand why I might be a tiny bit leery of  his confident prediction.  How is it that weather people can have the most up-to-date meteorological equipment, forecast the weather with a fairly high degree of inaccuracy and go on the air the next day standing assuredly with a new weather map as though their past missteps never happened--no embarrassment, no shame, no apologies?

Then I began to think--how is that any different from me and my life?  I make plans and predictions to follow God and live a life of faith and then I suddenly veer off and my good intentions and resolutions are cast aside.  In God's Word, the apostle Paul describes this by saying, " For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing."  But later Paul gives hope when he writes,  "Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,  I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."   Because of God's love, mercy, and forgiveness, I may have a clean start and I may stand back up in the value and worth God has assigned to me--no embarrassment and no shame for past missteps and misdeeds, only hope for a new day.

The Benediction

Remember when your kids were little and they wanted to go outside to play in the snow?  You would gather up all their "gear" to help them dress warm and be protected.  In my case it was usually pink (I have girls) snow suits that swished when the girls walked, fur-lined boots, hats, mittens and scarves that coordinated with their colorful outerwear.  After all the pushing and pulling and giggling and tugging, the little ones were all tucked in with only their beautiful faces and a few curls showing.  They were ready for the outside world!

I would give them a loving pat on their bottoms and say "off you go."  My two little pink robots would waddle off to the back yard to sled or build a snowman or make snow angels.  Often Dad went with them and their laughter would bring me delight and pleasure as I watched them from the kitchen window.


In our Sunday morning worship service, the benediction is one of my favorite parts of the morning (no, not because it means church is almost over).  I love the words that are spoken as a parting blessing to all of us, “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”  The words come from the book of Numbers, chapter six where God instructs Moses and his brother Aaron to bless the people of Israel.

God gives me the "gear" I need to brave the details of my life.  He shines warmth on me.  And with the words of blessing and protection and the promise of God's presence which gives me the grace to face my circumstances, I leave the sanctuary in peace.  "Off I go!"

The Gravestone

On a summer morning while traveling back to Connecticut after a vacation trip,  Jim and I stopped at the family grave sight.  It was a modest church cemetery where all the grave markers were flat stones embedded in the ground so the caretaker could easily mow--practicality over beauty.

When we found the grave markers, my heart began to pound.  How would I feel--sad, nostalgic, angry, lonely?    Jim and I found this experience to be very conflicting since one of my relatives buried there had caused our family pain and distress with which we were still grappling.

As I searched for my family members' names, I struggled to see them because the grass had overtaken the flat stones.  Then in a startling act of love, my husband bent down to the stone of that troublesome family member and with his bare hand, he began to clear the grave of all it's debris.  I know Jim would have rather left that marker covered with the grass and leaves, symbolic of that person never existing.  But that is not what he did.  His spontaneous act was a show of love toward me, overtook his frustration, disappointment, and anger with my relative.

In 1 Corinthians 13 the characteristics of perfect love are listed.  On the list is, "love is patient, love is kind...it is not self-seeking...it keeps no record of wrongs...love never fails."  On that July morning, I saw perfect love in action at the hands of my husband.

The Bus Driver

In 1987, Jim took me to Ecuador to visit his brother and sister-in-law. I was very excited because I had never been out of the country (except for one childhood trip to Canada which I found to be a dismal disappointment because it looked exactly like the United States and I had always pictured "foreign" countries as having palm trees and thatched roof huts.)  We arrived in Quito and our family treated us to all the great sites and experiences of their adopted countries.  They also included us in their daily life .

One of the highlights of our visit was a trip up into the mountains to the city of Otavalo.  My brother-in-law drove the hairpin curved road with care and caution.  I gripped Jim's arm for a good bit of the trip as we moved high high above gorges on roads with no guard rails.  The beauty was stunning and the saying "it took my breath away" took on new meaning as we would near the edge of the road to make room for oncoming traffic.

We had a wonderful day in Otavalo.  We visited the most colorful outdoor market filled with the handiwork of Quechua artisans--hand woven cloth, gemstone jewelry, wooden carvings, oil paintings.  We ate lunch at an off-the-beaten-path restaurant while listening to wonderful Ecuadorian musicians.  And as the day began to wind down, Jim and his brother headed back to Quito so they would get home before dark.  My sister-in-law and I went to the house of a friend her's to stay to night.

The next day my sister-in-law moved through her day with ease as she had several things to accomplish.  She seamlessly switched from English to Spanish to Quechua depending on who she was speaking with.  She knew her way around the city and when everything was completed, we had to catch a bus back to Quito.   Getting the bus was routine to her--no big deal.   I was not so carefree as we boarded the bus to head "home."

I was worrying about car sickness and what sites and smells I might encounter on the bus.  The road was concerning and I trusted my brother-in-law's driving but who was this bus driver and was he safe.  I think my sister-in-law must have sensed my unease and so she told me stories of things that had happened to her on some of her trips back and forth on the bus.  She told me how she helped a woman deliver a baby.  She described all the different kinds of animals she had traveled with on the bus.  She made me laugh describing that one of the traffic signs we passed translated said, "speed checked by radar."  (The hills were so steep that speed was not an option.)

Just as I was calming down a bit, I looked up to see the bus driver pull into the opposite lane to pass a Cocoa Cola truck who was passing an oil truck.  I gasped.  A few hundred yards ahead there was  traffic coming toward us.  Where were we going to go?  Did the bus driver have a plan?  Would he protect us and keep us safe?

I don't have the slightest idea how that threesome squeezed themselves back into the proper lane on the highway before there was a head on collision but they did.  The bus driver acted as though he had experienced that scenario many many times and it was not a problem.  If I was going to stay in one piece I had to settle down and trust the driver.

Isn't that what I'm learning about God?  He moves through situations that are frightening and unknown to me but He's been there before.  Am I going to take on worry and fear or can I trust Him?  Can I settle down to enjoy the ride?

The Lighthouse

IFor forty-five summers I have traveled to Maine with one generation or another to visit "our" lighthouse.  The tall white stone structure sits atop large ribbons of granite rocks.  The lighthouse overlooks beautiful ocean waves crashing up against the rocks.

As a child I ran all over those rocks with youthful agility.  I knew where every nook and cranny was to play Hide and Seek with my siblings.  I splashed in the giant tidal pool which trapped sea creatures with each high tide change. I sat on the "couch" rock and climbed in the "fort" rock.  I hunted for sea glass in amongst all the round stones in the inlet below the lighthouse.  I giggled as I fed the sea gulls left over sandwich bread.

I spent endless delightful hours in the shadow of the lighthouse soaking up sea air and sunshine.  I knew the rocks like they were my backyard.  I was comfortable and secure as I played and those were some of my favorite childhood days.

As days turned into nights, the experience changed.  The mosquitoes (affectionately called "the Maine state bird") arrived.  The sound of the waves beating up against the rocks became prominate.  Hooded sweatshirts warmed against the chilly sea breezes.  I could no longer run freely on the rocks because my vision was now limited.  And then the lighthouse light came on--every six seconds a blip of light and then it shut off.

As a child and to this day I do not have the very best balance so I felt too unsure to take a step on the uneven terrain around the lighthouse when there was no light shining.  I do the "dot to dot" version of walking at night at the lighthouse--when the light is on I step, when the light is off I stay.  Step and stay is not the quickest mode of walking but it is the safest.

The nighttime lighthouse is a wonderful illustration of the verse in Psalm 119:105.  "Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path."
When I need illumination and guidance, I go to God's Word.  I pray for understanding.  When I get it, I move ahead.  When I don't, I stay still until God shows me what's next.  In the darkness I look to the lighthouse--each flash of light filled with God's love, mercy, wisdom and guidance.

Nicknames

Do you remember the pet rock craze?  That time when you got a smooth rock painted with a silly face and kept it on your desk or dresser as though it could contribute love and friendship to your life.  And if you participated fully in the trend, you probably called the rock by a name and talked to it as you passed by now and again.  It was a frivolous, stroke of brilliance for some human to take a free, inanimate object and assign value and worth to it by giving it a name and a face.

One of my very favorite things to do is to walk the beach and pick up beautiful, perfectly smooth white rocks.  I have gathered those stones from beaches all over the world and carried them home to my jewelry box on my dresser.  When I bend down and grab one of the stones,  I love their warmth from laying in the sun.  I love their almost human quality of soft smoothness--how comforting to hold the large flawless pebbles in my hand.  I love their pure white color with even whiter veins that run through them giving each rock it's uniqueness.  I love that
the pretty stones reminds me of one of my favorite verses in scripture--Revelation 2 :17.  "Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it."  If I overcome the challenges of life, God has a nickname for me!  A name that's just between us;  a sign of our intimacy and love.

Since that verse was pointed out to me, I have often wondered what the Lord will call me-- my complicated one, my short one, my curious one....  What does God find endearing about me?  When I get my white stone what will it say?

The other day Jim and I were talking about the silly names we call each other.  We were discussing which ones we liked and where they came from and how they evolved from one name to another.  We also talked about the unspoken rule of nicknames--they do not get said in the presence of others--they are private and winsome and a sign of belonging to one another.

How lovely is it to think that God recognizes my efforts to triumph over hardships and challenges by giving me a nickname, a name that signals I am dear to Him and I belong to Him?

Peepers

Last night I heard them!  That welcomed sound that heralds the arrival of Spring--peepers. 

The peepers live in a large puddle that has gathered this time of year at the edge of our property.  We have a creek that flows in front of our large gray rock and then wanders down along the property line through some trees and shrubs that we share with the neighbor. 

I only know the little creatures are there because of their sounds.  Truthfully, I have never seen them and I don't know what color they are or how big they are.  In fact today when I looked them up in Google Images I was surprised to find out they are only an inch and a half long.  Their voices pack a punch for being so little.

Isn't faith just like the peeper?  It is unseen but there is evidence that it exists.  In the book of Hebrews faith is described as  "confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."  When we hear the sound of the little amphibians we begin to hope for the warmer weather of Spring and the change of season after enduring a long Winter.  We cannot see the little creatures but we are sure they are there by their choir of churps.  Faith in God allows us to be confident, knowing He has plans and the power to carry them out.  We can be sure that God will keep His promises and that He does not change even though we cannot see Him.

The peeper is tiny but his voice is big.  In the Gospels, Jesus says, "Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” 

When I was a young girl someone gave me a necklace with a mustard seed in a magnifying glass as a pendant.  The mustard seed was so little it was almost undetectable without the enlargement of the magnifier.  I remember being entrigued by that picture of faith -- the idea that God was willing to accept the most minute amount of my belief to do great things.  I liked that I did not have to conjure up a big bunch of faith in order to have God move. 

Oh God, take my smallest gestures of belief and turn them into a joyful chorus of hope and movement.

Alone

Today is "hump day" of a seven day sequester after another radioactive iodine treatment for recurrent thyroid cancer.  In anticipating this round of treatment,  the aloneness of the sequester was the thing I most dreaded and yet something transformative and unexpected is happening.

The timing of this quarantine (Holy Week) has sent my thoughts to Jesus' own experience of aloneness.  It has caused me to imagine how I would have handled those last days before going to the cross.  First I would probably have made a list..."dispose of my earthly possessions," "make sure the will is up-to-date," "tell the family where the important papers are."  Then I would have gotten busy trying to complete all those tasks that I had always meant to get around to but procrastinated doing thinking I had more time.  I would have filled every day with busyness trying to make sure I left behind some kind of legacy ensuring that it mattered that I once lived.  I would have used endless activity to distract from the terror of what was about to happen to me.

Jesus did just the opposite.  He went into the serene Garden of Gethsemane filled with gnarly olive trees.  He set aside any agenda to be busy. He chose to just "be".  And though He invited His friends to participate in the experience with Him, they could not.   He was alone.  He was alone in the dismay over the physical trauma He was facing;  He was alone in the dread of the separation from His Father;  He was alone in the the anticipation of the rejection of His friends and followers;  He was alone in the sadness He would cause His mother;  He was alone in being misunderstood that He seemingly could not substantiate His claims of being God's Son.  Yet despite it all, Jesus did not budge from spending His last hours absorbed in the relationship with His Father.  There was no list, frantic activity, "wrapping up the details."  There was no "setting the record straight," just intimate moments of transparent honesty between Father and Son.

In my lifetime, I have never before had a time when I literally could do nothing and go nowhere.  I am in our bedroom behind a make-shift "screen door" ( to keep the cat and dog out).  Kindly, friends have offered me videos and books and magazines.  I loaded a book on the Kindle and had a list of things I thought would be good to accomplish during this time of involuntary solitude.  But as the days have gone by I have found myself getting quieter and quieter and I am hearing God louder and louder.  I am experiencing sweet togetherness with God in the quiet aloneness of my room.

Touch

Wednesday afternoon of last week, Jim drove me to the beauty salon to get my hair cut before I had to settle in for my "sequester" after this most recent cancer treatment.  I felt so weak so we decided I shouldn't drive myself and I really wanted to stay on my favorite red couch but I thought that after a month with no haircut I would regret that decision so I went to the salon.

"I'm all set for you!  You can go right to the bowl in the middle."  So I did. After the plastic apron was snapped in place I began to anticipate my favorite part of the salon experience--the shampoo.  Jackie gives a wonderful, brisk shampoo and rinses with water that is just the right temperature.  If I'm lucky she'll do it twice!  I rarely chat during this time because I don't want to miss any of her wonderful touch.  If I was a cat, I would purr.

Now that I am isolated from Jim, our little gray cat, Teddy and our frail old dog, Ellie, I am even more aware of how much I depend on touch.  Each time Jim drops off food my room, I want to reach out and hug him.  I find myself saying, "Kiss me...," and then I remember, "Oh, he can't."  It's not normal!  Even Teddy knows this...the normally quiet cat has been crying out loud because we are separated and he cannot come sit with me.   The lack of touch changes my mood.  (When I was thinking about this treatment, the thing I dreaded most was the physical isolation.)  And on the other side, a hug, a fist bump or pat on the back also changes my mood.

Yesterday, as I was on my way to the hospital I used social media to quickly let people know what was happening.  Before I was even called into the treatment room, messages assuring me of love and prayer began to come in.  There has not been one hour in the last twenty-four hours that someone has not "reached out and touched me" through phone, media, cards and prayers.  Though traditional touch--hugs, kisses, pats on the arm or back--is not available right now, I am being touched. 

Thanks to all who have stopped your busy world and taken the time to step into my world and touch me.  I feel it!

The Cormorant

After three feet of snow and several inches of drenching rain, my mind is wandering to an August vacation at the beach.  I'm thinking about sunshine and our colorful beach umbrella with blue bubbles on it.  And, of course, I'm picturing our pink-hippo-in-a-polka-dot bikini beach blanket.  I'm imaging squealing children toddling across the sand with saggy diapers, sun hats, red plastic pails and blue shovels.  You get the picture!  I'm ready...

Lost in my vacation thoughts today, I remembered a scene I witnessed one afternoon a few years ago on the beach.  I looked up from my daily crossword puzzle to see a huddle of people down on the far end of the sand.  They were gathered in a circle with their heads down.  A young teenage boy was running up to the Snack Shack as people shouted, "Try to locate a park ranger."

Ever curious, I decided to walk down the beach and see what all the hub-bub was about.  When I got down to the site of the activity, I saw a man trying to catch a shiny black cormorant who had an injured wing.  The man had pure intentions toward the bird but the bird read the good Samaritan as a threat.  The bird was thrashing about and pecking at his benefactor.  The black mass of feathers did everything it could to get away from the man.  Inside my mind I kept saying, "Stop! Stop!  The man's just trying to help you, not harm you.  You are going to injure yourself worse if you don't stop."

"Oh Lord," I prayed, "have I had been the cormorant?" "Have I pecked and squawked and thrashed and distrusted trying to get away from you when you were working on my behalf to help and heal me?  I'm sure I have and I'm sorry." 

The man on the beach was finally able to catch the cormorant when the exhausted bird gave up it's struggle.  The man gently wrapped the bird in a beach towel and with single focus he ran the cormorant toward the beach entrance where he passed it off to the ranger who took it to the conservation center so it could rest and have it's injuries be treated.

God's Word says, "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10) When I come to the end of myself--my arguments, my it's-not-fairs, my don't-touch-mes--then God can step in and heal, make me whole and allow me to rest.  It's all about trusting the love of the God who said,  ^"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

Spring Shoots

A few days ago I climbed over a two foot pile of snow that was blocking the sidewalk of a building I was trying to enter.  As I made my way to the door of the brick building, something caught my eye--Spring shoots!  Several three inch spikes of pale yellow green growth were poking through the mud. These were the first signs of the changing season I had seen this year.   A Happy Dance would have been appropriate--Spring was coming!

Seeing those shoots snuggled up against the building made me think of the Spring plant's life cycle.  Months of preparation happen so that the plant can "show off" for a couple of weeks a year.

The plant's bulb is planted in the ground in the Fall.  It spends a long dark cold Winter resting and preparing for it's intended purpose--flowering.  There are no external signs of life but below the ground the bulb is putting down roots and providing nutrients to the tiny bud that lives inside it.   The bulb is not showy and it is patient.  It does it's work in secret.



As Spring approaches, the plant peaks out to have a look at the world.  Under the warmth of the sun, leaves begin to grow and flourish above ground and the bud that has been so carefully protected by the bulb is now taking it's place.   Soon the colorful flower emerges and takes center stage. 

After a couple of weeks, the blossom fades and new bulbs begin to form underground.  The leaves that are left standing feed the new bulbs and the whole cycle begins again.

Spring flowers know what humans don't know--what happens in secret is more important than what happens in public!  Isn't it amazing that in the life cycle of a bulb the actual public, showy, "productive," blooming is only about two or three weeks out of fifty-two weeks?  The other fifty weeks are all about preparation and nourishment.

I learned this lesson vividly a few years ago.  I was teaching children in our church.  Each week I would make sure I had the teaching aids and craft supplies and games readied for the children.  When Sunday morning rolled around I felt like it was "game day" and I could hardly wait to "get the show on the road." 

Then one New Year's Sunday, Jim (my pastor), challenged our congregation members to write a prayer to the Lord asking Him to help us make a personal change in an area that, up until now, had been a difficulty in our life.  (I decided to participate though I don't do too well with New Year's Resolutions.)  On my card, I wrote a prayer asking the Lord to help me have regular, meaningful devotions each day, something I had struggled with my whole life.  Jim collected the sealed cards with the promise of mailing them back to us in six months so we could see how God was answering our prayer.

On a day in June, an envelope addressed to me in my own handwriting (like the dentist's postcard reminders) arrived.  Puzzled, I opened it up to find the prayer I had written six months earlier.  I was elated to realize my prayer had been answered.  I had been having wonderful times of Bible reading, prayer and journaling each day.  I would often be anxious for Jim to come home at night so I could share what I had read and observed from the scriptures.   My relationships were being enriched by the things I learned during my Bible reading.

I also recognized that my Sunday teaching was completely transformed.  My roots were going deeper and I was being nourished and out of that richness, I was sharing God's Word--it was real and alive.  The showy games and crafts and story telling were great but my heart was different.  What was happening in secret was impacting my life in public!

Tents

The forty passenger bus was moving along through the sunny desert when Danny, our informative, funny tour guide asked the bus driver to pull over and stop.  We were outside of Jerusalem, on the road from the Dead Sea.  Our guide directed our attention to the right side windows of the bus and he pointed out a cluster of rustic tents, the homes of nomadic desert Bedouin people.

 
These direct descendants of the Biblical patriarch, Abraham were living out their ancient customs and values in a modern world.  They were sheep, goat and camel herders.  Most of the family chores were done by the women. They moved their clans from place to place to access water and food sources for their flocks.  They lived in goat or camel hair cloth tents.  Each family unit had more than one tent--one for the men and one for the women and children. 

The outside of the desert dwellings we saw were unremarkable.  They were mostly rustic brown cloth patched together.  It seemed that if a section of the tent wore out, a new section of fabric was pieced in it's place.  Tent posts were staked into the ground with ropes tied to secure the tents.  Some of the tents had rocks piled along the edges of the tent flaps hold the cloth down against the wind and sand.  By all appearances everything was very functional;  nothing was very creative or elegant.

Then Danny started to tell us about the inside of the tents.  He told us that some of the Bedouins were quite wealthy.  Their cloth homes were furnished with beautiful woven rugs of rich jewel tones.  Trays were filled with food made with vibrant spices.  In the cooking section of the tents, coffee was readied for visitors. 

Our guide went on to share that the Bedouin people were known for their hospitality.  Anyone would be welcome in their tents, in fact they could stay for a few days with their hosts.   Poetry and music were also things these unhurried people engaged in with their families and guests.

As I thought of Bedouin life, I imagined that in those tents babies were born and young people were married.  I pictured laughter and time outs and grandmothers teaching grandchildren to cook or weave or dance--rich colorful life happening in a plain, unpretentious home.

In the New Testament book of 2 Corinthians, the author likens our earthy bodies to tents.  He points out the temporariness of our bodies and says that if we belong to God our earthly "tents" will someday give way to permanent "dwellings" in heaven. 

As I look at my "tent" I am discouraged by it's brokenness.  My illnesses have taken their toll on my body. Infections, surgeries, vitamin deficiencies, and weakness have all left their marks on me.   I'm having to remember that I can not define myself by my external body but rather by the abundant life--the joy of friends, the love of my husband, the treasure of kind words, the challenge of yet unreached potential--that is welling up inside of me and filling me.  Rich life in a very plain "tent."