God's Eyes

There is a song by, I think, Montgomery - Gentry with the lines, "back when I knew it all."  At age 59 I know so much less than I did at 29...so much less.  When I was younger, I was pretty sure I had, if not all, at least a lot of answers, which, frankly is quite ludicrous because I rarely asked questions.  James Thurber said, "it is better to have some of the questions than all of the answers."  I rarely asked "why" questions.  I asked "how" a lot, but rarely why.  I must have been a breeze to raise.

I praise God for my parents who gave me a more balanced view of life when the resident preacher at our church railed against mixed bathing, which is nothing like it sounds.  When I told my mother that I could not go to the Y to swim because Brother So and So said that I would go to hell, she informed me that I most definitely would NOT go to hell, and that she had paid the Y dues and I was going swimming.  I never asked why to either argument.  Imagine my confusion when I was told not to go to school dances because it could end in pregnancy.  I did not ask why.  I had friends whose parents would not allow them to listen to rock and roll in town, but when on vacation they could because no one knew they were Christians there.  I did not ask why.  When it was inferred and sometimes spoken outright that our certain persuasion (don't say denomination) of Protestantism was the only one getting anybody into heaven, I never asked why. 

I believe with all my heart that no harm was intended by those who professed these "truths."  They were trying desperately to help us tow the line, and if the threat of hell would accomplish that, then so be it.  They wanted, with all their hearts, to help us live good lives.  They wanted us to avoid the pitfalls of lust, drunkenness, unclean language, and being poor examples to others.  They loved us.  They meant well.  I do not fault them, but shame on me for not asking some why questions.

I raised children who constantly asked why questions.  As adults, they still do.  Okay, I'm their mom.  Maybe I am biased, but they are two of the most intelligent, thought provoking young people I know.  I have learned so much more from them than they could ever learn from me, and one thing they have taught me is that I can ask why.  No, not that I can ask why, but rather, I should ask why.  It still doesn't come easily to me, but I am working on it.  Thank you, my precious children.

Wednesday night I attended a Bible study.  This is the first time I have been to a class at church on Wednesday night in years.  My moratorium on Wednesday nights started when I heard the punchline to an old joke, "Wednesdays don't count," and continued when I discovered that Wednesdays were the only evening I had the house to myself.  Funny how good habits are so easy to break, and bad ones so difficult.  But, that is a topic for another day.

I don't know the official title of the class, I just know the goal is for us to learn to look at the world with God's eyes.  That is quite a bit different from looking at the world with my eyes, and then convincing myself that God sees it the same way.  It is obvious that I am going to be very uncomfortable in this class.  I am pretty sure that I am going to have to revisit many issues that previously I thought were settled.  I believe that I am going to have a love/hate relationship with this class.  I am fairly certain that I am going to have to visit why questions I never asked before.

We had to answer a questionnaire.  There were eleven questions.  I don't remember them all, but one asked how many people I know who are Muslim, Jewish, Baha'i, Buddhist, or Atheist.  Let me just say, my answer for all demographics totaled approximately 3.  I don't even know what Baha'i is.  Another question made the inquiry as to whether I noticed people of Middle Eastern descent prior to 9/11/01.  My answer was no.  Then, I had to admit that I do feel uncomfortable on an airplane near people of other ethnicities.  I am not proud of that. 

My not asking why created in me an unrefined, but definitely present, viewpoint that God is for white, middle class, protestant (preferably CofC) Americans.  Boy, the confessions are pouring out, but I never even asked why until my son said, "Mom, don't you know that if you had been raised a Muslim, you would be a Muslim?"  Let me repeat, I am not proud if this, but that was really the first time I had ever seriously considered why I am a Christian.  I am a Christian because I was raised a Christian, and I never asked why.   Now, that is not the only reason I am a Christian.  Every fiber in my body believes the Jesus story.  I cannot imagine believing anything else. It is just in me.  But, I am having to ask why about a lot of other parts. 

I do not want to ask why.  God has other plans for me.  He brought into my life Ken and Marshall and MP and Josh and Lee and Preston and Sandra and, above all,  Jesus to help me see how much I have yet to learn and that it is okay to ask why.

So, at age 59, I am more confused than at age 29.  But, I am free. I am free to ask why.  I am free from having to have all the answers.  I am free to not have to figure out who is out and who is in.  That is not my bailiwick.  I am free to love a God who is not capricious, who is love, and who is in charge.  I don't need to know how, and I know why...because he loves each and every one of us whether we are Protestant, Jewish, Buddhist
Baha'i (I don't know what it is now, but I'm sure there will be a Wednesday night when I find out), or Atheist.  And, if I am going to look at the world with God's eyes, I will show my love as well.  I won't be able to do anything else.

So, for today, I wish you why questions, few answers, love, and

blessings

Mercies

Today, I received a phone message.  I will not share its content nor who it was from.  I fear by giving the details its impact might be diminished.  It was fewer than 20 words.  It was heartfelt.  I know it was heartfelt because it came from someone who lives with neither dissimulation nor artifice.  It made my day.  "Morning by morning, new mercies I see."  That message was merciful, and a reminder that great is God's faithfulness.

So, today, I wish you mercies from the Father, the awareness to notice them, and

blessings 

Confetti Promises

It is not fall yet, but the promise of fall is in the air.  Two days of pouring rain have caused leaves to tumble to the ground.  As I walked through Radnor this morning, I felt like the grand marshal in a ticker tape parade.  I wonder if my fellow walkers found it curious that I was waving and blowing kisses.  Some days I have a most robust imagination.

This is my favorite time of year.  It conjures up back-to-school clothes, new paper and pencils, 3-ring binders with the spines still intact, Elmer's glue before dried glue has clogged the opening, a brand new box of crayons...nothing smells better than that.

It makes me think of high school football games.  When the Isaac Litton High School Marching 100+ raised their instruments and played Malaguena we all knew another fall season had begun.  Our Friday night warriors would take to the field, and win or lose, we Litton Lions could not have been more proud.

Years later, I watched my own son play football.  His team won....a lot. I cheered him on, many times more loudly than he would have wished.  I think of dinners with other players' parents at small restaurants somewhere in West Tennessee, and the comraderie we had as parents of those boys we loved (and love) so dearly.  I think of silent prayers offered when one of our boys was slow in getting up after a play.  I think of one mom and me bursting into tears when her son intercepted a pass right in front of us.  Why did it matter so?  I don't know, but it did, and it is fresh in my mind when the weather turns so wonderfully.

This promise of fall makes me think of Halloweens past.  I love Halloween.  No store-bought costumes for my kids.  At age 2, my son went to nursery school dressed like a clown.  He actually wore his dad's size 13 high top Chuckies...all day.  Yet another confirmation that he was a kid after my own heart.  We had Raggedy Ann, Dorothy, witches and ghosts.  The year my son was the queen was most entertaining.  The year my children dressed as headless people was awesome fun.  I love warm apple cider and ginger snaps. My dad carved great jack-o-lanterns.  I loved it when he gave them ears. 

We have friends who owned a house in Gatlinburg.  When the weather turns like this, I think of wonderful weekends at that house with them.  We took beautiful hikes, ate well, listened to peaceful music, read, and had many grand adventures.  When they sold the house, "he who wishes" and I dressed in our hiking clothes, took a picture, and sent it to them with the caption "all dressed up with no place to go."  I miss those times, but I remember them with gratitude.  My friend always says that the third phase of any experience is the memory, which always lasts longer than the actual experience or its anticipation. 

My favorite holiday is Thanksgiving.  The weather yesterday felt like November.  Thanksgiving is that holiday when we as a family gather at my house.  Everybody brings something.  Good and faithful friends join us.  Sometimes we have "out-laws" (our in-laws' families).  Thanksgiving is when we seek out the ones who have crossed our paths who do not have family here.  It may be someone we have met through delivering Meals on Wheels, a fellow football official, a handyman recently divorced, anyone who needs a place to go. The only gifts we bring are our presence and our love.  We remember past Thanksgivings, and make note of those who have moved on to the next phase of their journey through eternity.  We sit around the table after the food has been devoured and tell well-known stories, of which we never grow tired. 

It is not fall yet.  But, the leaves of confetti scattered along the ground is a glimpse of the promise.  So, for today, I wish you sweet memories of autumns past, and

blessings


 

Of Babies and Bath Water

Today at church, I sat across the aisle from a young man and his wife.  I have known him his entire life.  He is as fine a man as one would ever hope to meet.  His father is as well.  I love him.  I love his entire family. His mother is a close and trusted friend. They are a common thread that runs through the tapestry of  my life. 

When he was younger, this young man made some bad choices.  He would be the first to admit that.  It is not my story to tell, so I will not share the details.  They are insignificant.  But, in the course of some years, he lost faith in himself and in God.  He also lost faith in Church....that organized, loving, flawed group of people struggling to reflect Jesus in this beautiful world that is often terribly chaotic. 

He was failed by some of us in that church community.  We did not mean to fail him.   We were at times overwhelmed with our own struggles, our own bad choices, our own blindness.  We failed him because of our ignorance.  We failed him because we, ourselves, did not understand how vast and how complete the love of the Father is for each of us.  While we judged his actions, God looked at his heart.  This young man, in a way, abandoned himself and broke his own heart, and because of that, for a season, he could not hear the loving whisperings of the Holy Spirit.  They were drowned out by a cacophony of guilt and shame.

But, as often happens, when the time was right, God sent him a Damascus experience.  It did take more than one such experience before his eyes were opened.   His life did not change immediately and completely as a result of this experience, but the door was ajar.

To further open that door, he was sent a beautiful young woman, who is now his wife.  She is a woman whose dedication to God is strong and sincere.  Like many of us, she finds Church a vehicle for strengthening her faith and for finding a community in which to live.  She is committed to making it part of the life they share. 

This young man could have focused on how we failed him.  By all means, I hope and pray he is cognizant of those failings and their causes.  How could he ever avoid them himself if he was not aware?  But, I am grateful that he did not throw "the baby out with the bath water." How could he ever help us be better without being part of us?  I am grateful that he is willing to give us another chance for it makes my heart soar to see him there.  It blesses my life to see him...the little boy, the messy adolescent, the troubled teenager and the maturing young man, all of whom I love.  None of whom would I have known without this thing called Church Family. 

So, may we all throw out the bath water, but, please may we all keep the baby.

blessings

Longings

Constant tides bring inconstant marketplace;

Inventory renewed by dawn's first light.

Yesterday's imports, the waters erase;

In today's fresh merchandise we delight.

Shoppers peruse what's there for the taking,

Where no money will ever exchange hands.

Shells, sea, and skies all there at our waking.

"Enjoy," is all the shopkeeper demands.

Oh, take me away to the bonny sea,

To the spot where coconut palms sway.

Where all that we see is totally free

And the balance of the world fades away.

For today, wishing you an "at the beach" frame of mind and

blessings

Daddy

Thirteen years ago today, in the wee hours of the morning, my father succumbed to cancer.  He died as he wanted, at home in his own bed.  My mother took meticulous care of him, concerned not at all with her own needs.  He was a non-complaining patient.  She was a non-complaining nurse.  So, he peacefully took his last breath with a good deal of his family standing vigil by his side.  It was the least we could do.  He would have done it for us.



I wondered, before he died, how we would go on without him.  It would not have honored him if he had not. So, we have.  Family members have married, had babies, moved, earned degrees, started businesses, laughed...continued living.  He would be proud of us. 

He was a wonderful dad.  He was well-known for his gentlemanly demeanor.  He had a wonderful dry wit.  His social skills sometimes could mortify my mother like the night they had dinner guests, and he stood up and said, "well, I don't know about you folks, but I have to go to work in the morning.  Good night."  That can really break a party up. 

He was a tinkerer.  He often "repaired" things around the house, and then had to call a repairman to undo the damage.  I loved Saturdays when he would ask who wanted to go to the hardware store with him.  I was always the one who went.  To this day, I love a good hardware store.  I have his old drill.  The trigger sticks, the chuck key is not connected so I am often having to search for it.  The cord is sticky with duct tape residue where the key has been taped many times.  It is because of those Saturdays that I prefer a drawer full of nuts, bolts, hooks, and washers over a drawer of make-up.  He is the reason that some of the best gifts "he who wishes" has given me include a box of various sized drill bits and a welding torch.

Daddy was one of the most self-sacrificial people I have ever known.  I remember a time in particular when he had pneumonia.  Because of his health issues, pneumonia was very dangerous for him.  He called me, and I was coughing my head off with bronchitis.  He asked if I had cough drops, and I said that "he who wishes" was going to get me some on his way home from work.  About thirty minutes later, he was knocking on my back door with a bag of Hall's cough drops.  For himself, he bought the generic brand, but for his kids, nothing but the brand name was good enough.

He was quite the astute businessman.  He bought me a yellow Opal with a black vinyl top when I was a Sophomore in college.  He picked it out, and surprised me with it.  It was such a cute little bright yellow box of a car (probably, why today I drive a Honda Element that looks like a box).  I was so excited.  About 18 months later, I totalled my little Opal.  After receiving the insurance payment, he bought me an Opal Manta.  When "he who wishes" and I married, of course, Daddy gave us the car.  Several years later, we were about to buy another car and offered to give Daddy the Manta if he wanted it.  He wanted it, but he bought it from us.  Great businessman...bought the same car twice.  If my memory serves, he did that again later with a Ford LTD that he gave us and then bought back. 

Daddy was one of eight children.  He was the second to youngest.  He was the one they always counted on.  When his niece was expecting a baby, he was the one who went to her house and set up the baby bed.  She had a dad, but he was the one everyone always called.  He helped my mother care for her parents as they aged.  He cared for my mother's aunt. He was the one who flew to Florida with her when her son died.  He was the one who picked up an elderly family friend for dinners and Christmas Eve celebrations.  He took care of his own mother, his aging sisters and brothers. He would accept nothing in return.  These are just a few examples of his reliability. 

He was color blind.  Sometimes we joked and said he was design blind as well.  He would put on plaid pants and a striped shirt much to my mother's dismay.  He only got out of the house dressed like that if Mom wasn't there to see him.  One of his worst purchases (he loved a deal) was a blue polyester shirt with brown polka dots.  I was with him when he bought it at Levy's.  It had been discounted about 95%....with good reason.  It was hideous.  I did everything I could to discourage the purchase.  I always thought he bought that thing just to get Mom's goat. 

One of our annual outings...just Daddy and me...was to go to Centennial Park at Christmas to see the Nativity Scene.  As the spotlights changed colors, he always asked me what color was up at the moment.  When lighted doorbells became popular, we would drive around neighborhoods and spot those little lights glowing by front doors.  They were sort of the equivalent of "punch buggies" for us.

He could walk around the yard on his hands.  I never learned how to do that.  He taught me how to drive.  He taught me how to drive a stick shift ~ bless his heart.  He did not teach me how to parallel park, so I still can't. He taught me how to pump gas.  He taught me how to value myself.  He taught me  how to use a screw driver, channel locks, and an electric drill.  He taught me how to make do.  He taught me to be grateful for what I have, and to not focus on the things that I think I don't have. He taught me to stay calm in a crisis.  He taught me how not to view my life as being all about me.  He taught me how it feels to be protected and loved and cared for.  He taught me a lot about the nature of God, the Father.

He was not a perfect man.  He fought depression demons his whole life.  He was physically frail in some ways.  He often suffered physical maladies. In spite of this, or possibly because of this, he bettered the lives of those he touched.  I shall forever live in gratitude that he was my dad.  To honor him, I will try to live a life that reflects the things he taught me.  Thirteen years go today, in the wee hours, he succumed to cancer.  He left this leg of his journey through eternity, peacefully and knowing that he was loved.

blessings,

redemption

The lower case "r" is not a mistake.  I know I've been Redeemed ~ "in Him we have Redemption..."  My  redemption today is just a dim reflection of that Redemption through Jesus, but, still notable.

This morning as I drove to Radnor, I was not in a mood.  When I pulled onto Otter Creek Road, I was going the speed limit, and there, as before, were the gentleman and his dog to whom I gave the stink eye last week.  Now, I haven't dwelled on that event.  I haven't beaten myself up and obsessed over my rudeness.  But, I was not proud of my behavior.  This morning, the gentleman smiled and waved.  I smiled and waved back.  I felt redeemed.

When we walk at Radnor, my brother, Sam, and I like to speak to everyone we pass.  I continue that tradition when I am alone on my walks.  There is a man I see walking at Radnor every morning.  He is tall.  He has a regal bearing.  I wonder if he was in the military.  I speak to him every day, and the most I can get from him is a curt nod.  This morning I saw him coming toward me, and I thought, "I just am not going to make the effort to speak.  Seriously, what is the point?"  But, I just can't help myself.  I said, "good morning," to him, and to my amazement, he smiled and responded with a "good morning" himself.  Yay!!!   Another redemption.

I have a friend who, several weeks ago, sort of verbally jumped me in front of a group of people.  It was not the first time it had happened.  I began to feel awkward around her, and pondered what my response should be.  I tried to ascertain if I was just being overly sensitive.  I thought about going to a mutual friend and asking if she knew of anything I had done to cause these outbursts.  I decided to just keep my mouth shut and give it some time.  I've found that often if I sit quietly and wait, situations tend to work out.  Sometimes, when I draw other people into a problem, it just escalates until it does not remotely resemble the original circumstance.  The waiting seems to have paid off.  There is no awkwardness now.  In fact, I feel a closeness to her that I did not feel before.  I don't know what happened to change things.  I just know my relationship with her has been redeemed.

There is a couple I know.  I have ambivalent feelings about them.  I love them because they are God's children, but I perceive a pretentiousness in them that I don't admire.  I know the good deeds they perform because they tell them.  They love to drop names of the rich and famous that they know.  They like to share how much money they spend on things. Sometimes, like adolescents, they share stories of their own inappropriate exploits.  I believe all that comes from a place of insecurity, but while I might understand it (and emulate it at times), I don't admire it.  I found myself in their presence recently, and when I left the event we were attending, I realized that I had not been gracious to them.  I have no right to be that way.  I did what my natural feelings encouraged me to do instead of being intentional in my behavior toward them.  I made a conscious decision that night to work on my conduct.  They may not have even noticed my aloofness, but I did.  I will work toward redeeming my behavior, if not for them, then for myself.

There are other situations in my life that I cannot redeem.  I have life situations where I deeply regret my behavior.  In every instance of which I am aware, I have apologized.  It may have been too little too late for those to whom I have tried to make amends, but it is still all I can do.  I cannot rewrite history.  I cannot unsay what I have said, undo what I have done, nor unwrite what I have written.  Once I have sincerely asked for forgiveness, and if possible, made amends, I have done all that I can do.  It is up to them to forgive if they can.  Often, I think we fail to understand that forgiveness is for the forgiver not so much the forgiven.  Forgiving can redeem a life ~ forgiving others and forgiving ourselves. 

I am ultimately Redeemed by the blood of Jesus, but I live in gratitude for the small redemptions that come my way as I travel through this journey of eternity.  So for today, I wish you small acts of redemption, awareness of your great Redemption, and

blessings