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.