A Free Will Is Better Than a Free Lunch

Today in Southeastern Pennsylvania, it is about twenty degrees. Yesterday we had yet another day of "wintry mix" precipitation -- which is meteorologist speak for "my truck will require washing again." But this morning was clear and dry, so the dogs and I decided to make a go of it, despite the bitter cold. We hadn't walked far when I noticed a robin hopping along in the remaining snow. "Poor thing is confused," I thought. But then I noticed two more perched in a nearby tree. "They can't all be lost, right?" Of course, when I got home, I had to research robin migration. Of course. (Nerd!) Turns out, not all robins fly south for the winter; they will remain wherever they can find food, and robins, being omnivores, can adapt their diet to the food source available. If food becomes scarce, the robins take off -- literally. That gives new meaning to Matthew 10:29-31. God has thought of everything!

I began to consider, if a few hungry robins can rely on God's timing and provision, why do I have such a tough time with it? It's hardly a matter of life and death for me. When I'm waiting on God for an answer to a "should I or shouldn't I" question, why do I get so frustrated when I am met with silence? When I need God to help me through something, and I feel as though my prayers go no further than the ceiling, why do I feel such abandonment? When I want it now, I need it now, and God reminds me I will be just fine without it -- at least for a little while -- why am I so tempted by self-sufficiency?

Well, the simple answer, of course, is that God designed us in His image: we are intelligent, we can think and reason, and we have a will. But the answer that is a bit more overwhelming is that God has designed us to love Him, not just need Him; to be in relationship with Him, not just reliance on Him. Meditate on that for just a moment. The God of the universe, the Creator of everything -- omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent -- designed us to relate to someone like Him! He is intelligent beyond our wildest imagination, and yet, He wants us to tell Him what's on our minds and in our hearts. He has a plan and a purpose for each one of us, but He inclines His ear to our thoughts, and listens when we present our fears and reservations. He is Lord over all, but He wants us to share in the glory, seeking Him, doing His will and living eternally with Him!

Have you ever really admired someone -- a sports legend or musician, an intellectual giant? What if that person called you -- just out of the blue, called you. "Hey, I've heard about you and your life as a _____ (mig welder, gas station attendant, circus acrobat, sous chef...), and thought it might be cool to kind of hang out for a bit -- that is, if you don't mind." Crazy, right? But God is a magnanimous and perfectly loving being; it's not crazy when you consider all He is. And it's that magnanimous and perfectly loving being who would take such a risk on us: making us in His image, allowing us to refuse Him, patiently bringing us back around when we become frustrated or feel abandoned, correcting us when we choose self-reliance, loving us through it all and pursuing us that we might love Him back, and grieving, I'm sure, when we do not.

My avian curiosity satisfied, it was time to feed the dogs their breakfast. While waiting, their eyes were fixed on me, the most important human in the world. I felt pretty good about myself. As the bowls began their descent, I could see the dogs' focus change -- from my face, to the bowls. Their obedience and loyalty to me was based solely on what I was providing; the gift was, in reality, of greater importance than the giver. I thought of those robins again. "I could learn something from them, " I thought, "but there's something to be said for free will." God has thought of everything!

Lessons from the Laundromat

I spent about an hour and a half at the laundromat yesterday. I hate the laundromat. Clean clothes aside, the laundromat has few redeeming qualities. The air is hot and laced with lint. The television is usually tuned into some mindless drivel like Rachael Ray. The dryers are way too small for our king-sized comforters, requiring the constant stop-fluff-start process so our comforters don't roll into something resembling one of our daughter's slippers -- dry and toasty on the outside, moist and vulgar on the inside. Then there is the issue of time. The laundromat is Stephen Covey's Waterloo. And mine. It is located in a small strip mall with a sandwich shop and a health food store; unless I want a hoagie and a dose of nutritional yeast, there's no doubling up on errands. I put the laundry in, and I wait. I move it to the dryer, and I wait (and stop-fluff-start, stop-fluff-start). Occasionally, there are people at the laundromat with whom I can kibitz -- I mean really kibitz, not just the, "Hey, do you know where the remote to the TV is?" kind of gab. Yesterday, was a sea of cell phones and earbuds. So, I sat and waited and stopped-fluffed-started. In ninety minutes -- give or take -- I had clean, dry clothes. So what's the problem? I didn't do anything. My role in the cleaning process was minimal at best, and nothing else got done.

Women tend to be naturals at multi-tasking; women who have long rested their self-worth in accomplishments, can take multi-tasking to a whole new level. And believe me, I am just beginning to realize where I have placed my worth for many, many years. Strike that -- God is showing me where I have placed my worth. Not my accomplishment, but His and His alone. It's that quest for worth that drives my desire for accomplishment, and it's that desire for accomplishment that drives my compulsive busyness. And I am totally out of God's will.

First of all, my worth is in Christ and Christ alone. According to Jewish Midrash, Abraham's father, Terah was an idol maker; Abraham, by tradition, would have worked alongside his father, learning the family trade. The Bible confirms he was an idolater. Moses was a murderer who personally failed to make it to his destination -- and he lost quite a few of his charges along the way. Eli, the priest who mentored and cared for Samuel, couldn't manage his own two sons. Samson was a hot mess from beginning to bitter end. God chose them. God used them. God loved them. Their worth was intrinsic, and as a follower of Christ, mine is even more so: God loves and values me because He made me, and God loves me and values me because I am His adopted daughter; His Son lives in me and through me. The way God sees me is unchanging because of who He is, and has nothing to do with how much I do.

And let's talk about what I do. Isaiah 64:6 leaves little doubt:

"But we are all like an unclean thing,And all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags;We all fade as a leaf,And our iniquities, like the wind,Have taken us away."

Not merely small or worthless -- disgusting! My agenda, my plans disgust God when I stake my life on them. And that's just what I'm doing if I haven't surrendered those things to God -- I am holding on to my old life, and rejecting the new life purchased for me with Christ's blood at the cross. My accomplishments, the badges I wear, the certificates I hang on my wall are rubbish if they were not earned to be given right back to God.

Lastly, my compulsive busyness. Sin. Sin. Sin. I could write an entire book on the supposed reasons behind compulsive busyness -- mine and anyone else's -- so I won't belabor the point. But if God is not running the show, I am running the show; and that, my friends, is sin. Choosing busyness over any of the things that God has chosen me for, is sin. Plain and simple; cut and dried. (No stop-fluff-start necessary.)

Just Humming Along

Mom is directly below me on the main floor, right now. She is sitting at the kitchen table and humming. Mom's got some things going on with the language portion of her brain; it forms the thoughts, but not the words to express them. Music and music lyrics, however, flow out of her like she was twenty again, and sitting by the radio listening to The Frank Sinatra Show. Mom used to prepare Thanksgiving dinner every year. She hummed as she cut the bread crumbs for stuffing, or whisked the gravy. After dinner, she hummed as she washed dishes. Maybe it was all that humming, but no one's Thanksgiving dinner tasted quite as good as Mom's. When I hear her today, it takes me back to that.

Last year, she and I took the seven hour ride to my daughter's home. Just as we hopped onto the interstate, I tuned to a big band station on the radio. She cruised along, tapping and singing like she'd heard those songs yesterday. She was content. So content, in fact, we had driven some five or six hours before she ever asked where we were headed. And she composes her own melodies as well. One day I asked, "What song is that. Mom?" She replied, "Oh, I don't know. Just something I sing." Her humming used to be a way she covered up the noise of sneaking cookies or ice cream; these days it seems to be a way she comforts herself.

So, today I'm thinking about the things that make us feel secure -- those things that make us feel all is well, or soothe us. And what happens when we can't get to those things, or do those things. The nervousness that builds when a smoker holds a cigarette but no way to light it. The "feeling out of sorts" that happens when we haven't had our morning bowl of coffee. The panic when a ball player breaks his favorite bat, or a mechanic misplaces his "best" shop rag. Those things that we allow to become part of our routine that, when unavailable to us, can throw us completely off course.

The irony is, taking care of Mom was not what I had planned; it does not always make me feel comfortable. I had this amazing life with my husband. We had the run of the whole house -- most days. I could fly to church whenever I pleased, and help with various ministries. I could take the dogs on long walks and stop to talk to folks. I could write until my fingers bled. Those things brought me comfort and lifted my spirits. Now, each day, most of the day, I am a constant source of comfort and security for someone else. (And, trust me when I say, as an introvert, someone who values her "alone time" and loves silence, it is not easy.) Additionally, I am faced with -- for lack of a better word -- a decaying situation everyday. Mom does not improve; Mom will not improve. That is a hard pill to swallow. To feel as though God's plan has you stuck in Neutral, not checking off any boxes, not accomplishing anything -- that, by nature, makes me very uncomfortable.

But I am no longer imprisoned by those natural feelings. Jesus died and was resurrected that I might also be dead to sin and ungodliness, and alive with Christ. I have a new life -- a life that was birthed by the same power that overcame the grave, a life that is marked by complete access to the throne of  God and all that He can do. He wants me to be holy as He is holy, to be selfless as Christ was selfless, to show love as He shows love, and to know He is my comfort and my strength. And He is teaching me this daily. He is altering that part of my character that comes unglued when moments of solitude are few and far between. He is speaking to me -- even from other parts of the world -- and reminding me the life He has called me to live is a life surrendered. It is not based on my design or lived by following my agenda; its success is not measured by fanfare or red lines struck through daily undertakings. He wants me to follow the God of All Comfort, that I may be of comfort to others. And He walks me through it every step of the way.

What a God! He makes my soul sing! Or maybe I'll just hum along.

Remembering a Friend

I lost someone almost two years ago. Someone mentioned her the other day and I still felt that twinge. I have her phone number stored safely in my phone. Whenever it snows, my reflex is to want to drive to her house and shovel her out. I still find it difficult to speak her name; I do not want to remember she is gone. I didn't think I'd be saying any of this when she first got sick. I didn't think it would end up this way. And I certainly didn't think it would have left me thinking about it in the way I do now.

I don't remember the first time we met. I don't remember why we "hit it off." But I know I liked her. She was tough. She was feisty. But above all, she wanted to be loved. Who doesn't, right?

But this was different. "L" wasn't the type to let anyone in, to let anyone love her. She cared for others. She did the heavy lifting. And the first person to get mushy with her risked being cussed out. And yet...

She'd tear up at the drop of a hat. She'd cared -- deeply and selflessly -- for a sick family member, putting her health and happiness on the back burner. She was known for her wacky style, and her equally wacky and spontaneous gift-giving. She went above and beyond to help others. Her family was precious to her. And yet...

She was tough as nails on the outside, and fragile as a wisp of smoke on the inside. A true paradox. Her wide smile drew you in, and her vicious lip cut you down. "Do unto others before they can do unto you."

As time wore on, I knew she was sick -- I mean really sick. I begged her to see a doctor. And she was terrified of it turning out to be something really serious. But we were supposed to lose her too soon. She'd leave us all here to grieve, and then we'd be sorry. Sorry we hadn't been a little nicer to her. Sorry we hadn't loved her properly. Sorry we'd let her go. Sorry we hadn't fought to care for her more adamantly than she'd fought to be left alone.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull.

When she was with us, I was never entirely sure where I stood with her. I'm not sure anyone was. In fact, early on in her illness, when I'd asked others to pray for her, I'd called her a co-worker. I would have liked to call her "friend". I mean, I'd even tried to be her friend. But had she tried to be mine?

What kind of friend is just as nasty to you as they are nice?

What kind of friend will talk about you as often as she will talk to you?

What kind of friend pushes you away when she needs you most? And yet...

As God has worked in my life I have come to know how damaged and misshapen I was before I allowed Him the reins. I learned that God is the Author and Perfector of relationships -- even relationships that don't always fit our criteria for "safe". I thought building myself up as an island was a good thing -- strength, independence, self-sufficiency, and best of all, safety. To others, I was distant and even condescending. My mistrust of others led others to mistrust me; my circumspection caused others to exclude me. I wasn't safe; only ineffective and unforgiving.

In the time "L" has been gone, I've thought a lot about our relationship. And despite her fears, I couldn't help but love her. I couldn't help but recognize in her some of who I used to be, and know she was really trying to be loved, as well as love others. In the best way she knew how, she had tried to be my friend and still maintain walls that made her feel safe.

It's a friendship I will always cherish.