The Telephone

"I need to call home,"  I thought.  I rustled up a dime, put on my slippers and started down the four flights of stairs to the pay phone in the basement rec room of my dorm.

I waited in the TV room for my turn on the phone.  The smell of burnt popcorn floated through the air and the sounds of  a run-away ping pong ball and a vending machine dispensing stale bagels were the background noises I heard while I passed the time.   Soon the phone was available.  I slid into the booth, inserted my dime in the change slot and dialed zero. 

"Operator," I said,  "I'd like to make a collect call."

"What number please?"

"201-475-41...,"  I replied. 

The phone began to ring on the other end of the line and after a brief pause I heard my mother say hello.  "Oh good," I thought, "they're home."

"Do you accept the charges?"  The answer was yes. 



Last night I was laying in bed listening to music and my cell phone rang.   "Mom, my car won't start." 

"Call AAA and then call me back," I advised.

While I waited for news of the outcome of the service call, I texted my daughter a few times.

About forty minutes later the phone rang again.  "They got the car going.  It was the battery."

"Oh good."

After we hung up we texted back and forth a few more times with some additional thoughts.  I'm sure I had more phone interactions with my daughter in one hour than I had had with my parents in an entire year when I was in college.  Times have changed (boy, do I sound old)!



As I was settling back in, I began to think about how  there have been times when I have approached my heavenly Father in a "collect call" fashion -- calling infrequently and only when I had a problem.  Lately I interact with God much more in a "cell phone" way.  I am in consistent communication with Him, sharing the good news as well as the troubling news.  I tell Him when I am pleased to be His child and when I am frustrated with Him.  I thank Him for his goodness and ask Him for help with concerns.  I have lively conversation with Him. 

Yes, times have changed.

The Puppy

"If that puppy goes past our house one more time, I'm going out to get it," I told Jim.  We were newlyweds living in an inner city neighborhood where we ran a youth center.  Jim was wary as he had never had a dog before but this little black and brown puppy with a tail longer than her body got to our hearts and sure enough the next time she circled around our block, I went out and rescued her.

We set about to making a list of all the things we would need to make our new adoptee comfortable--food, bowls, a collar, a leash, oh yes, and a bandanna neckerchief.  This puppy also needed a name--Christy.

Christy was a bundle of enthusiasm and wonder.  She checked out our modest apartment.  With each new discovery she would wag her tail.  When Christy got excited, she would start wiggling at the top of her body and eventually, the vibrations would make it down through her tail.  She brought us such pleasure.   Pet ownership was going to be fun!

We woke up the next morning to our new puppy being violently sick.  Every way that her body could get rid of food and water it did.  It was awful.  This little street dog's past had caught up with her and we were afraid we were going to loose her.  And now what?  Our hearts were invested in this tiny black fur creature and we were totally smitten with her.  So several trips to the vet for intravenous fluid treatments followed.  And with lots of love and care, Christy survived what the vet called Parvo virus (usually a fatal condition).

After the first few bad days, our puppy was a joy.  She learned to shake hands.  She learned to say, "please."  She loved to ride in the car and we took her everywhere.  She even won over the heart of Jim's Mom who assured us when we adopted Christy that she would never have a "grand dog!"  (We knew all that changed when we found Mom letting the dog stand on the couch to look out of the window to watch the sanitation truck down on the street.)

Christy was once a street dog and she survived by eating garbage.  She had to protect herself and find shelter.  But as time went by, we noticed that in the presence of love that our puppy began to trust and feel secure.  She was shedding her street ways and her coping mechanisms to fend for herself.  She was allowing us to care for her and be her protector and provider.  She willingly received our affection.

Every once in a while though, the puppy's old ways would surface.  She would steal food and hide it all over the house.   One time, we found brownies under pillows, in the couch, and in our shoes.  She was saving "just in case."  At other times, Christy would sit looking out if the windows of our upstairs apartment.  If she spotted someone she perceived to be a threat, she would fly down our steps, push through her doggy door,  run into our fenced yard and bark her head off to scare the "threat" away.

How many times have I been like our puppy?  Even though I have been living under the pure love of a good Heavenly Father, I return to my own poverty stricken coping mechanisms, too afraid to trust in the richness of God's love and provision.  I momentarily step out of my new identity as God's daughter, His heir.  I risk missing out on His perfect blessings, opting for staying in my imperfect comfort zone instead.
 In the New Testament book of Galatians it says:

You can tell for sure that you are now fully adopted as his own children because God sent the Spirit of his Son into our lives crying out, “Papa! Father!” Doesn’t that privilege of intimate conversation with God make it plain that you are not a slave, but a child? And if you are a child, you’re also an heir, with complete access to the inheritance.   Galatians 4:4-7 (The Message)

The Outlier

"You know there's a name for you," my doctor said. "You're an outlier."

The puzzled look on my face resulted in Dr. C. pulling a pen out of his blue starched shirt pocket.  He grabbed a lab report, flipped it over and started drawing pictures. A bell curve and a grid appeared on the paper. "You see, most kidney patients fall somewhere on this curve or grid. We can expect certain symptoms to be present. We count on specific drugs to work effectively in a typical patient. We look for common progressions and responses among the majority of our patients. But we can depend on none of these things in you. Therefore you lie outside the curve or the grid. You are an outlier."

Well you can only imagine the laughing and teasing and needling this has opened up for a certain man that lives in my house. It's the new favorite catch phrase to explain everything unexplainable in our home--"well, you're just an outlier (must be said with the tiniest bit of sarcasm and a smile)."

Lately I've been thinking about God's process of healing. I so desperately wish I could understand exactly what God is up to.   I wish I could just do ten steps and be physically healed. But as I survey the scriptures, I quickly have to conclude that God is the God of the one-of-a-kind. He loves the unique. He values the distinct. God and His ways cannot be franchised. My journey will not look exactly like anyone else's journey. God's purposes and plans for me will not mimic any of His other children's plans and purposes.

There was only one Abraham and Sarah having a baby in their nineties and hundreds. There was only one parting of the Red Sea. There was one falling of the walls of Jericho. There was only one Jonah being swallowed by a fish and surviving. There was only Savior rising from the dead to overcome evil. Outliers--all of them.

While I find the mystery and lack of control that comes with being a God-follower very uncomfortable and disconcerting at times, I also take courage in that God is the God of the unexpected and the impossible. He can and does do the unpredictable.   He is the lover of outliers!

The Father

Twenty-five years ago this past Christmas Jim and I were anxiously awaiting the birth of our first child.  Our baby girl was due and we were ready to meet her.  (We were also enjoying the idea that it was Christmas and we were relating to another young couple in a new way.)

Christmas came and went but no baby.  New Year's Eve and came and went without a baby (there went Jim's tax deduction).  Little Christmas, as my Armenian Grandma called it, came and went with no baby.  On about January tenth I told Jim, "I think this child has subscribed to Better Womb and Garden and has taken up permanent residency."  As we went to yet another doctor's appointment that same week, we were convinced that this baby was never going to come.

The doctor checked everything out and said it was all good so we settled in to wait some more.  Then on Saturday evening, the phone rang.  It was our doctor.  "You know, I've been thinking and talking with some other doctors at University Hospital.  It is our thought that since the baby is not in distress we should induce labor and help this baby along.  I would like you to come to the hospital tomorrow morning and we will have a baby!" 

This new development caught us off guard and Jim was scrambling because he not only had to preach the next morning but it was annual meeting day and he needed to chair the congregational meeting.  The doctor assured us that it was not a problem.  If I could get a ride to the hospital, we would get things prepped and by the time Jim got there we would be ready to go and have our baby.  That is exactly how it happened.  A nurse friend took me to the hospital with all my gear and Jim went off to church. ( He said he conducted the shortest annual meeting on record.)  As soon as he could, he hopped in the car with everyone's good wishes and prayers and drove the half-hour ride to our wonderful little country hospital.  I was so glad to see him!!

Labor kicked in and we tried to remember all the things we learned in our birthing classes.  "Hee hee hoo;  hee hee hoo."  The hours passed and the sun went down and we were still laboring but then the moment came when the nurse said, "Ok, it's time to push."  There was a flurry of activity and the doctor was called and now there was no more chatting, or joking.  It was all business.  We were having a baby!

Abigail Rose arrived at 10:35 on January fifteen.  She was perfect and beautiful.  The nurse wrapped the baby in a pastel striped receiving blanket and put a stretchy pink hat on her head.  She lifted our daughter over the bed rail right up next to my cheek so I could see her and touch her soft newborn skin.  Our first family picture was taken and then the nurse said to Jim, "Would you like to take the baby to the nursery?"  "Would I?!"  Jim cradled that precious bundle in his arms and headed down the hall where they were waiting for the baby.  I swear that the second he took Abby in his arms his feet raised six inches off the floor and he floated all the way to the nursery. 

Remembering that wonderful evening makes me think of one of my favorite passages in God's Word.  Isaiah chapter forty-six and verses three and four say:

“Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob,
    all the remnant of the people of Israel,
you whom I have upheld since your birth,
    and have carried since you were born.
Even to your old age and gray hairs
    I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
    I will sustain you and I will rescue you."

 

Can you not see God, the Father, carrying you, taking delight in you and protecting you as though you were His most treasured child?  Do you not take great comfort in the idea that he not only loves you as a little child but he loves you throughout your entire life even into old age.  He will carry you and sustain you and rescue you.

The Mine Field

Our tour bus was traveling north through Israel's Golan Heights.  It was the first time we had seen green fields and orchards on our trip.  As we enjoyed the view, our guide explained to us that this land was fertile and had the potential to produce wonderful crops.  There was just one problem.  The Golan Heights was a highly disputed piece of land in Israel.   Wars had been fought over this territory.  So in an attempt to make the Heights undesirable to the opposition, the land had been heavily mined.
After giving us that bit of information, our guide invited us to get off the bus for pictures if we were interested but before we deboarded he strongly warned us, "do not step off the road."  Jim and I did climb off the bus but standing on the pavement I had an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I did not like knowing that we were just feet away from grave danger.  The signs all along the road only reinforced the feeling.  "Danger Mines!"

Danny, our tour leader, went on to explain that the military had maps showing where the mines were but because it was uncertain as to who would end up with the land, the government would not pay the hundreds of thousands of dollars to clear the mines and reclaim the beautiful, rich acreage.

As I thought back on this event, it reminded me of one of my favorite scriptures,  "The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

This week I learned that I have yet another physical set-back (the latest "mine," if you will, in the landscape of my health) which will require an invasive procedure to determine what is happening in my body.  In the midst of this latest news, I began to look for any place that I could find peace and a respite from the anxiety that has been washing over me.  The Deuteronomy verse came to my mind.  The Lord is going to go before me.  He has the map of my life and He will clear the way to take me through this most recent event safely without fear and discouragement.   He will never leave me alone on the road.  And because of that, I am choosing to have hope.

The Whisper

 

When my girls were young, we would sit in church and I would feel a tug on my sleeve. I would bend down and tilt my head toward my little one in her Sunday dress and black patent leather shoes as she whispered a question or request in my ear, "Mommy, when can we eat?" or "Do you have a pencil?" or "I need a tissue, Mom."

I also think of a time when Jim and I were at a solemn event and something tickled my husband. Before he ever got a chance to say anything to me, I knew what he was up to and I wouldn't make eye contact with him but it was too late. His whispered "one-liner" got the best of me and I melted into uncontrollable silent laughter. My shoulders were shaking and I was holding my breath and biting my cheek so as to not burst out during the very serious service.

And then there are the times when we whisper, "I love you"--that wonderful, intimate, life-giving phrase.

In the Bible, there is an account of a man named Elijah. He was a truth teller and the evil king and queen of his day wanted to do away with him. He ran for his life and hid in a cave. After sleeping and eating, Elijah was instructed that God was going to come and that he should look for Him.

It's recorded that, "a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks," but the Lord was not in the wind.  Then the scripture says, "there was an earthquake," but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  Next "came a fire" but the Lord was not in the fire.  "And after the fire came a gentle whisper."  The Lord was in the whisper.  The presence of God was so palpable that Elijah covered his face.

How many times have I looked for God to show up in a big, power-filled way?  "Please be obvious," I pray. How many times have I missed the wonderful sweet intimacy of the "whisper."  Whispers correct and instruct without embarrassment.  Whispers share one-on-one tenderness.  Whispers signal, "I am yours and you are mine."  Whispers say, "I love you."

In the Old Testament, Isaiah writes, "Give ear and come to me;   listen, that you may live."   My paraphrase of those words is, "tilt your head toward me and listen real carefully;  I have life-giving words to tell you."  God is in the whisper.

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.