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."