Got Any Plans?

Last June we lost our goofy, big-headed Bishop. I miss him terribly, but his issues with fear aggression could turn an evening with guests into an anxious contest of open doors and closed doors. When he passed I was finally able to use our home as a place of hospitality and my schedule as a blessing to others. I began inviting friends for lunch; Scott and I were planning an end of summer getaway -- our first in years. At the same time, I toyed with the idea of starting a small business; I was committed to eating right and exercising, and I wanted to share that life with as many people as possible. I was writing copiously, and yearned to attempt a book. I had a "four-year plan" with regard to my job, preparing for retirement. Though I had lost, I had not lost hope.

Before the summer ended, everything had changed. Our home was filled to capacity with people in need of care and clothes and a place to sleep and instruction and time. My office was gone, paperwork was everywhere, and my need for order was threatened. My peaceful little sitting room was now storage, and my need for quiet was viciously discarded. My job had been altered dramatically, and my comfortable routine shaken to bits. My time was less my own than ever; my independence, thrown into shackles. My relationship with my husband consisted of a five minute rundown each morning -- who ate and what they ate -- and the same every evening. My health was put on the burner behind the back one. My writing and my personal goals became what dreams are made of. Everything we valued had been touched, violated. And my goofy, big-headed boy wasn't around to curl up next to me or bring a smile to my lips.

To say I felt robbed or betrayed, would be an understatement. How would I ever get past the feeling of loss if all I keep experiencing is loss? I was trying to turn grief into something good; I had refused to sit around moping over a dog; I was being fruitful, right? Well, when planning the future, we must be sure to consult the One in whose hand it resides. When our inhospitable little friend passed on, I knew God was opening the door for us to open the door to others, but He'd not given me any specifics. I had proceeded in the best way I thought possible -- and I'm not saying that was wrong -- but, by the time God did make the specifics very clear, I'd fallen so in love with my plan, I was unwilling to release my grip on it. When God's plan was revealed, I wanted it to feel as comfortable and gentle as the plan I'd created. You know, just a little sacrifice here, a little inconvenience there. Well, when was the last time anyone was deeply, radically transformed by a little bit of pain, a hint of heartache? Would the gospel have reached unheard of peoples if those who carried it agreed to do so only to the point it didn't interrupt their lunch? Would the gospel even exist if the One who holds the future hadn't radically transformed and laid down His future for ours?

And what was all the protest over anyone -- even God -- touching my stuff? That's really what it was. I wanted to give up what I chose when I wanted. "I give myself away." "All to Jesus I surrender." Hadn't I sung those very words over and over? Hadn't I prayed for God to use me? laid all I have and all I am down in service to Him? Wasn't He the one who gave me those things, made me as He determined in the first place?

"The plans of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord." -- Proverbs 16:1 

The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps." -- Proverbs 16:9 

"Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand." -- Proverbs 19:21

"'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,' declares the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.'" -- Isaiah 55:8-9

Thank You, Lord, for the times You have thwarted our plans. Thank You for Your desire to transform and renew us. Help us surrender even our smallest desires to You, that You might use them in Your time and for Your glory! Amen.

Perfect and New

The setting could not have been more perfectly composed. Warm yellow sun, shamrock green grass, azure skies, dotted by snow white clouds. The sound of childish laughter rising on tepid breezes from within the requisite white picket fence. Even my suffocating fear paused to appreciate the charming spectacle. For a moment.

Here we are, in a season that has brought so much hope and beauty and joy. We have experienced victory and blessing beyond measure, a home infused with innocence and abandon, a new vision for the future and prospects we never would have imagined. God has placed hedges of healing and favor along our path; yet, beyond this moment, we really have no idea how or when this journey will end. We have only but to trust and obey. And that is not some trite refrain.

This season of hope and beauty and joy has left us wide open to more disappointment and pain and sadness than we could ever imagine. The possibility of failure and disaster were looming as I paused to notice that perfect Spring scene. As beautiful as it was, it almost caused me to weep. Why, when we allow our selves to love, does death deal such a cruel blow? Why, when we allow ourselves to believe we are free, does fear grip our heart and choke it to breaking? The ministry to which we have been called could end in unmitigated disaster or glorious victory. But for God.

Four years ago, when Mom came to live with us, I knew it was the right thing to do. Scott joked, "What's the big deal? It's just like havin' another kid." At the end the first year, he wasn't making that joke anymore. Having Mom with us was hard. Her presence altered our ability to simply watch a movie together on the sofa. Her eye rolls and pffts every time we asked her to respect our requests tested our patience. Her sarcastic, derisive comments each time we complimented one another, were invasive and embarrassing. Having Mom live with us in our tranquil, loving home caused me to realize I had not overcome as much of the dysfunction of my childhood as I had thought. But isn't that what second chances and a life transformed is all about?

I began to pray God would change my heart, help me to love her. When the day came for Mom to be called home -- and God had assured me she would be with Him (More on that another day!) -- I wanted to mourn her passing, not sigh in relief at a lightened workload.  When the time came for her to slough off this mortal coil, I wanted to miss her; I wanted, when people expressed their sympathies or spoke of my loss, to be truly grateful, not secretly ashamed. With that prayer, as with the opening of a door, God walked in and went to work.

That work is what brought me to these bittersweet thoughts on this beautiful afternoon. Like the perfect nature of the Creator found in His creation, His perfect love lives within my heart. And that is not to say I apply it perfectly, for His vessel is imperfect and too often selfish, but I can feel love for my mother -- love that I know did not exist before I turned my heart toward Him and asked for His healing. I speak more gently and become less irritated. There is love for Mom that causes me to enjoy serving her, and compassion that compels me to pray for a miracle: healing in her mind and body, that she might not leave this earth a helpless shell of who she was. I know that when Mom does go from us my heart will break. I know that when death comes to call I will curse its savage indifference. Because of who she was to me. Because of what God has done for me. And I will give glory and praise to the God who makes all things new!

Nothing Like a Little Crazy to Get Your Attention

Thursday morning. Alarm sounding, electric toothbrush buzzing, the soft blue glow of dash lights seducing me to stay within my warm, cozy truck. Phones ringing and my head pounding. "Gotta get more sleep." Typing furiously, trying to get the last bit of work in before I. have. got. to go! Dashing down the walkway, across the lot, ready to fight rush hour traffic. People rushing to work; dogwatchers rushing home. In the door, kiss, kiss; "Have a good day;" "You too."

Thursday Part Two has begun. "Dra-a-a-ma! Poppi wea-ving!" "Gramma, Tinkerbell is licking me!" I look at the clock -- three hours 'til Bible study. Praise God! Three hours to do the things it takes me six hours to do on other mornings. Are you kidding me? It's the morning routine and letting the dog in and reviewing notes and crowd control and repeating myself and letting the dog out and the quick trip to the market and the television is offline and letting the dog in. Soon the house is fully alive with happy chatter. Peace and joy settle in as we pray and study God's words. The hurry and crazy of the morning fades into the background as the presence of Jesus comes sharply into focus. He is the One who makes all of this possible. He is the One who sustains us through our days and gives us rest all through the night -- even the shortest nights.

But, during prayer, a sound from the basement -- the sound of silence. "Well, that's not good," I think, and I tiptoe out to investigate. My mother and two little partners in crime, liberally applying lotion and lipstick. "Gramma, I helped Nana with her necklace!" "Dra-a-a-ma, I got wo-shun!" And right then, at that very moment, as I stare into those faces, I thank God for the privilege of it all. Of the rushing and the noise, of the delays and the silence. I thank God for the laughter and the unforeseen, for the tears and the drudgery. His love for me is beyond measure, but while He demonstrates it toward me again and again, in myriad ways, I often fail to notice. In my failure, I incur the greatest loss; but in these "neon sign" moments, these moments I pray for -- "Make it clear, Lord, You know how dense and distracted I can be" -- He floods my world with blessings undeserved. My sisters close by and praying. My loved ones before me and laughing. My God forever and in all ways sustaining me; I am overcome by gratitude.

“I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,

But now my eye sees You.

Therefore I abhor myself,

And repent in dust and ashes.”

-- Job 42:5,6 

The Sweet, Sweet Taste of God's Grace

It was 50° when I stepped outside. Dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and slippers, I took my place in line at the window of a blue and white truck. I had been dreaming of this moment for two years!

Mom loves ice cream. When Mom lived up the street she would call at all hours -- "I just figured you could pick up some ice cream if you were going out." "Mom, I'm in bed. I go to work in two hours." She kept seven piles of one dollar bills across the top of her television each week, and would sit on the porch every evening, waiting for Mr. Softee's jingling truck to appear. In fact, it was ice cream that tipped me off to Mom's diminishing capacities: a spot of chocolate gave me to realize she was wearing the same shirt days in a row. And since she's lived with us, a single spoon lying in the sink eventually exposed her nasty habit of eating ice cream straight from the carton -- and explained the exorbitant quantities of ice cream we were suddenly consuming.

The summer before last, as the ice cream truck chugged its way down our street, I silently promised I'd stash some cash by the front door, for evenings when I was home and could get Mom "her usual." And though we had our share of ice cream that year, I was unable to keep my promise to grab her a spontaneous frosty treat. The ice cream truck that had been one of her favorite parts of summers past, and the driver who knew her by name had eluded me. Last year, more of the same. When the leaves began to fall, and I realized I no longer heard the iconic jingle fading in and out as it weaved its way through our neighborhood, I asked God to allow me to chase that truck at least one last time for Mom. So, here I was, on an unseasonably cold and breezy Spring evening, standing behind a neighbor, waiting for a "twist with chocolate jimmies." In tears (because a t-shirt, shorts and slippers in Fall-like weather don't scream "lunatic" quite loudly enough), I carried my offering across the street and into the house, the immeasurable grace of God before me.

Sitting here, weeks later, trying desperately to communicate to you just how much that moment meant, I realize what a silly little thing it was. But it wasn't to me, and because of who God is, it wasn't to Him. You see, God loves me, and He knows the things that break my heart. One of the hardest things I ever had to do was remove Mom from her home of fifty years. The image of Mom sitting on the porch waiting for the ice cream truck, knowing she would never be that person again, has always caused me to regret the curse of this world. But God gave me the opportunity to serve my mom in a way that was special to both of us. He gave me a gift that touched my heart, assuaged my pain, and brought a huge smile to Mom's face. He allowed me to experience His goodness in a world wracked by uncertainty and sickness and death. That's the kind of God He is. He's a God of grace and kindness. He's a God of the silly little things as well as the big important things. It is His nature to give and give lavishly. And He loves Mom even more than she loves ice cream!