Mother Dear

Two days before Mother's Day, I was listening to a radio program on my way home from work. They were asking folks to call in with one word that described their mother. A word immediately came to mind. Perhaps because it was such an unlikely word, I picked up the phone to call. I never do this kind of thing, and it's a syndicated show, so the likelihood of getting through or even that they would be live at that hour, was minimal. It only rang once before I got the message: "Due to a large volume of calls -- blah, blah, blah." I hung up, but knew this was something I had to share.

Mom and I have been together some fifty-five years or so. My earliest memories of her are watching her iron to perfection our ruffled white cotton curtains and her cotton lace doilies. She'd set the ironing board up in the living room as she watched her shows and set to work. I don't recall just how many pairs of those curtains or how many of those doilies we had, but I do remember it taking nearly all day, or seemingly so.

I remember Mom's wigs. She had several different shades. I suppose I find them remarkable, because I remember with equal intensity her trips to the hairdresser every Saturday morning. Some weeks I would go with her, and some of those weeks would culminate gloriously in an Egg McMuffin at McDonald's and maybe, some comic books at the local thrift store.

Mom loved "being crafty." Toilet paper dolls? We had 'em. Grapevine wreaths, plastic canvas tissue covers, and embroidered samplers? Yep. Crocheted afghans and granny square hats? Those too. (There was a granny square vest or two, I'd prefer not to discuss.) Mom made cupcakes for every school event, each one topped with one of her colorful "signature" roses -- crafted with nothing more than a toothpick and Mom's eye for detail. For years, she worked in a snack shop at one of the first retirement communities to come to our area. She lovingly decorated each table, hung streamers, adorned windows, season after season, holiday after holiday. Many of the decorations were custom crafted by Mom on quiet Saturday nights.

But, creativity became one of the first battle grounds between Mom and I. Our church youth group was putting together a project to decorate the church: select a verse that had personal significance and craft a banner illustrating that verse. Eager to get started the following day after school, I rushed out of the church with my felt and burlap. But, when I hopped off the bus the next day, Mom met me at the door with my banner, already completed, emblazoned with a verse that "meant nothing to me." I was infuriated. It was one of many power struggles Mom and I had throughout the years. Mom had only one only true friend, her daughter. Watching me inch closer and closer to autonomy and more age-appropriate relationships with every birthday, Mom became both my ward and my captor. Her dependency drove me toward adulthood while her fear of abandonment demanded I remain unquestioning and childlike. Even in my forties, when I became ill, Mom's reaction upon hearing was, "What will I do if something happens to you?" I learned to be tough but not strong, right but not righteous. Mom was desperate, neurotic, and depressed -- I believe, clinically.

Fast forward to today. Mom requires care almost constantly. Caring for someone you've cared for most of your life, someone who was supposed to care for you and couldn't... well, it has been difficult. But not because Mom made it that way. Because I have been resistant to what God can do and wants to do in me. Mom and I are here for a reason, and we can create our own or seek God's. I am choosing to seek God's. Granted, I may have to seek it multiple times in a day, but I am choosing to seek it. And the Holy Spirit is blessing me, changing my heart. To one that serves with compassion and mercy, to one that is soft and receptive to God's commands; to a heart that loves because Jesus first loved me and gave the whole of His life -- His teaching, His healing, His death and His resurrection -- that I might be made more like Him. The Holy Spirit is changing my heart to one that, when given the challenge to describe my mother in one word, lovingly, compassionately, with all honesty cries out, "Dear. My mother dear."

Life Goes On

I'm sitting here, listening to what would probably be called the "mindless banter" of my family. The girls are simply hysterical -- must be the age (theirs or mine, I'm not sure). My husband, who leaves me in stitches with his approach to just about everything. The littles, who amaze me with their intelligence and awareness as much as they tickle me with their niavete. This is family, and the current "quarantine situation" has made all of this available to me. This is one of the many blessings of it all.

Being an "essential employee" is another, I guess. Nice to have a paycheck, to eat and pay bills. Though many days have I wished I could be spending the time -- full-time -- with the ones I love.

Being able to hit "Pause" when my pastor says something that has compelled me to take a note or stop to meditate on a word has been extremely convenient. (I am trying to figure out where we will install said button on our pastor when we resume live services.)

Invention and outreach. Some of the funniest memes and videos have come out of all of this. And the work that volunteers and staff are doing to educate our children and bring them joy is beyond words.

Listening to my quarantined neighbors interact with their equally quarantined families has been a blessing. Phone calls and Facetime, laughter and the same discussions everyone has been having: "Did you hear she's being tested?" and "How long did you stand in line at Walmart?" Overhearing those common little exchanges has always been a comfort to me; perhaps it has something to do with growing up in a row home. It takes me back to warm summer nights, windows open, lightning bugs flickering in the backyard grass, and grown-ups sitting on the patio enjoying the quiet of suntanned progeny tucked in on clean cotton sheets. Times when there wasn't so much to do.

An empty calendar. Save for upcoming holidays and birthdays, I haven't heard a reminder go off in weeks. When I come home from work, I join the masses of Americans who spend the day in their pajamas, hatches battened and the horse in the barn. No place to go, and all day to get there.

But, there is a dark side. There are things about this quarantine that are not quite as easily accepted or counted as blessings. The toll this is taking on the littles, for instance. They've been champs, they really have, but weeks of seeing only the faces of a few and missing hugs from neighbors and friends, is beginning to militate against their sense of normalcy. They no longer have the joy and safety of strolling unfettered among members of our church family, or wading through a sea of toys in their library group. They can no longer feel the love of others but a few.

Mom, too, is slipping further and, I believe, faster. Winter is especially hard on her, being cooped up day after day. This winter, while milder than normal, was still winter. And now, the winter that never began, appears to be the one that will not end. Mom loves to be out and about, interacting with others and simply going for a ride on a beautiful sunny day. Could I take the chance? Move her from the house to the truck and just get her out? Sure. Could I forgive myself if she got sick? I'm not so sure.

Terms like "shelter in place," "frontline workers," or "uncertain times" seem to breed fear and panic. Why do we think "declaring war" against something immediately makes us stronger, or causes people to take things more seriously? Why do we think the presence of yet another life-sucking illness makes all of life uncertain? When can I meet the person whose life was ever "certain" before this came to our shores?

And then there's the grace. Or lack of it. It never ceases to shock me just how cruel and judgmental we can be toward one another. Though, it shouldn't. We are people of extremes: if you don't wear full PPE, you don't care about spreading this heinous disease; if you wear a mask, you're a sheep or fear monger. Somehow, we think that by a soundbite we can judge a person's entire character, mental fitness, or physical health; by a full two and a half minutes of contact with someone in a Wawa, we can judge whether they are a selfless person or a selfish person. And we do not hesitate to impose those extremes and snap judgments on one another as though we have the right to do so. We do it in our discussion with others, on social media, sometimes, right there -- loudly -- in the market: "Some people have no consideration for others!"

I want to roll out Scripture after Scripture about loving each other and not judging others; that the Lord sees our hearts, and He is working for His glory and our good (if we are His children), and tomorrow on this earth is not promised to anyone; that He longs to shelter us under His wings and He knows our every sorrow -- but I won't keep you any longer, we all have things to do. So, let me just put it as succinctly as I know how:

Trust and obey. God's got this. We cannot control tomorrow, long-term effects on our health or our children, finances, relationships, other people and their behavior, and plenty of other things We have been given a job to do: LOVE (Matthew 22:37-40). God first, then others. And we walk that out by remaining humble, dealing with others justly and mercifully, and staying as closely in step with our Savior as we can (Micah 6:8), knowing all of this will work out for His glory and our good (Romans 8:28)

Friends, enjoy your family. Enjoy the quiet. Look for the blessing in every moment. Be kind. And stay well.

Dirty Hands; Washed Hearts (Part 2)

"Nana! You can't eat! We haven't said the 'thank you' yet!" And before I knew it, my eighty-nine year old mother's hands were being held hostage until she told God how much she appreciated her scrambled eggs. How excited I am that our littles know it is important to say "thank you." I can't say, however, I'm thrilled the "grace police" have shown up at our home. I pray regularly that our family would serve God for generations, but I pray that servitude springs forth from humble hearts, in love with Jesus. I know what it's like to grow up believing in God and knowing what He expects; but it wasn't until far into adulthood that I had a relationship with Him. As a child, I repeated the sinner's prayer -- I was told what to say, and I said it. I memorized verses and repeated "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" each night -- I was told what to do and I did it. But my heart was empty. Religion never fills us up.

The song, "More Like Falling in Love", by Jason Gray, explains this futility and the remedy wonderfully:

Give me rules,
I will break them
Show me lines
I will cross them
I need more than a truth to believe
I need a truth that lives, moves, and breathes
To sweep me off my feet
It's gotta be more like falling in love
Than something to believe in
More like losing my heart
Than giving my allegiance...
It's like I'm falling in love...

This describes a relationship. And the only cure for either blind obedience or flagrant rebellion. Both of which can lead to eternal death.

Jesus went round after round with the Pharisees in His day. He called them white-washed tombs. Outward presentation -- rituals and study and obeying the rules -- had not changed their hearts; they did not love or demonstrate grace. And the heavy burden of laws they placed on the people were causing God's people to become hard, and leading them astray. Jesus had zero tolerance for that. He wanted His people to have a relationship with His Father. He didn't want them crushed and discouraged under expectations any more than He wanted them to disobey God's law. He wanted them to fall in love with the Father and walk in relationship with Him. That is the cure for the deadly pitfalls of ritual rule-keeping or open rebellion. Do you want a relationship with someone who is in it only because someone told them they should be? There's no more joy in that than being in a relationship with someone who obviously doesn't want to be. Someone going through the motions day after day is empty; someone determined to do things their own way, regardless of your interests is division. Love is what fills and unites and changes our hearts that we might obey gladly. Even those God has placed in authority that don't appear to be "worthy" of our obedience.

Think of it this way, our obedience is a form of worship. It's a way we actively show God how we feel about Him. The longer we do it, the closer we grow to Him, the more we learn, obeying God is a risk-free endeavor. He will never do anything that will not bring Him glory, or work for our good.  He has made it clear that He is mightier than any other; He gives power and authority to whomever He chooses. And if we trust His word is true: if we believe He is in control of it all, and if we are sure He is working for our good, we can obey His command to submit to the authority -- good or bad -- He has placed over us. By our actions, we obey them; with our hearts we obey the One who allowed their tenure and the One to whom we relinquish our will. And, hopefully, pray for those in leadership without ceasing.

It is the cleansing of our hearts, not our hands, that brings us into a relationship with the One True and Living God. Surrender yourself to Him today and be washed by His Spirit into an obedient, but fully confident life of victory and abundance.

Dirty Hands; Washed Hearts

With the first rumblings of a "flu" coming from the other side of the world, came the very practical admonition, "Wash your hands." It seems so simple. It seems like something everyone would be -- should be doing anyway. Right? Fast forward to Day 30-something of state quarantine. I'm entering a public bathroom, I hear a flush. A woman emerges from the stall. She checks the mirror, grabs a strand of hair, tucks it behind her ear, brushes something from her brow, and leaves the restroom. I am dumbfounded. I spend days trying to wrap my head around it, until... Days later an office mate returns from the men's room. He is perplexed. He can hardly form the words. Finally, "Can you tell me how you can use the bathroom and not wash your hands?" And there it is! Confirmation! The door is open. I can breathe again! "Yes!" I exclaim. "Especially at a time like this!" Another coworker pipes up, "I see that more now, with the warnings and recommendations in place, than I ever did."

Now, I realize, this may not be a topic for "polite conversation," and this is probably the most inappropriate or, at the very least, strangest way anyone's ever gotten to this point, but "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." Did you see that one coming? Perhaps my coworkers and I were simply more aware of personal hygiene because of the warnings. Perhaps there is some undercurrent of paranoia when it comes to our health and the health of those we love. And, yes, I know we were being judgmental; but, the first question that came to my mind was, "Do people really disdain what's best solely because authorities and experts have recommended (or even legislated) it?"

For years, I rebelled against any kind of authority. I had my reasons, I told myself. On more than one occasion, I needed protection and guidance from those in charge. I was left to find it on my own. They needed me, they took from me, but when I needed them? Nothing. Inside, I was good -- or at least, wanted to be good. Right? Wrong. I came to find, even when I had "no reason," I broke the law. When my paycheck showed up every Friday and my benefits were the best around, when I was treated with respect and given encouragement and appreciation, when I was in no particular hurry, when I had money in my pocket, I broke the law. I ducked out of work early, I took shortcuts, I disregarded the speed limit (by a lot), I shoplifted. Why? Because my heart was deceitful, wicked. I wasn't going to be told what to do -- Pride. Because I could -- Power. I had what I wanted and felt I owed no one anything more -- Selfishness. Because whatever good I was trying to do, I was doing it in my own strength -- Legalism.

The Apostle Paul talks a lot about the law -- so much so, I couldn't possibly go into it all here. But, at the least, he tells us law is necessary. Laws set boundaries, defining behavior that is harmful and making us aware of our need for righteousness. Law reveals the compassionate and just nature of the Lawgiver. Laws provide a way for us, in gratitude for all He has done, to return just a portion of all He is due through obeying and serving Him. However, the law has its drawbacks. One of which is the inability of the law -- even the wholehearted obedience of the law -- to make us right with God. Another one is human nature. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." Even Paul, the suffering, slave to Christ that he was, struggled with his old nature and its disobedience. By placing our focus on obeying statutes and demands it can have the completely opposite result, causing us to break the rules rather than obey them -- like being on a diet, and repeating over and over, "I won't eat the chips. I won't eat the chips." What happens? You become obsessed with the chips and you eat them.

It's hard to believe. We hear the platitudes all the time, that mankind is basically good, that we all desire to help and do right by our fellow man. Not true. James 1:17, tells us that every good gift comes from God. Even the good gift of being good. Whatever good we do is because goodness comes from God. All our "best deeds" are filthy rags. Our legacy, stemming from Adam, is a legacy of sin, a sin nature handed down to us by our human father, Adam.

All this leaves us with a few questions: So, what do we do about this propensity to rebel, to disobey the law just because it is law? And, if all of humanity is innately evil, how do we follow authority and obey laws established by sinners just like us? Well, stay tuned! Tomorrow I will tell you all I can. In the meantime, stay well. And, please, wash your hands.