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.