Lessons Springing Forth

"This year's felt like four seasons of winter

And you'd give anything you think to feel the sun

Always reaching, always climbing

Always second guessing the timing

But God has a plan, a purpose in this

You are His child and don't you forget."

                                             -- "Reason", by Unspoken

It had been a while since we'd listened to this playlist, but when this song came on the other morning? Wow! You're not kidding! 

People have joked about the first few months of this year feeling like two years, and I couldn't agree more. In my neck of the woods, Winter was mild. It seemed as though it had never really gotten started before COVID-19 had us still huddling inside, hunkered down in our pjs, having game nights (and mornings, and afternoons) and over-snacking. But here we are, and it's May, and there are signs that, quarantine or no quarantine, trees will bud, flowers will bloom, and the grass will still grow and grow. Perhaps it is those signs, those tokens of a promise that has everyone in a much more "normal" frame of mind these days. The weather has been warmer and the sun is shining, and the garden stores are packed (so much for social distancing). Families are barbecuing and sitting on their decks. Our neighborhood has been filled with music and laughter, neighbors calling out to neighbors, and the hum of weed whackers. People perceive the promise of Summer and have acted on it without giving it another thought. And given the current situation -- well, I believe we have been cooped up so long, everyone is prepared to enjoy it to the fullest -- even if it all disappears tomorrow. As I observed all this, I wondered how many lessons there are in all of it.

Promise. Does anyone seriously question whether Spring will become Summer, or Summer will become Autumn? It is as sure as my last breath. A promise made and kept year after year. And the signs we see merely confirm it. Just like the promise of eternal life. And, though no one has returned from the hereafter with 5x7 glossies, it is the promises God has already fulfilled for us as a people and as individuals that assure us His words are true. Our sins are paid for, there is a resurrection after death, and the most glorious reward we can receive is to spend that time with Him eternally.

Signs. Look around. The signs are everywhere. Not just of the impending seasons, but of the handiwork of a marvelous, thoughtful Creator. The way those dandelions reproduce! Bright yellow petals whither in minutes when plucked by chunky little hands, but when breaching the domain of a lawn fanatic? Those things are relentless, indomitable! Mother robin, fat with eggs heralds weather warm enough to sustain the life within her; the miracle of life that presses on from generation to generation. An Artist who does not simply mimic beauty, but is the Author of it. And is, Himself, Life -- that is a promise.

Belief in action. A few warm days, and people are plunking down their hard-earned plastic to spend hundreds on rakes, mulch, lawn mowers, flat after flat of flowers, patio furniture, and vegetable seeds. Barbecue grills are scrubbed and loaded up with enough seafood to feed an army. People barely gave it a second thought before they began to act like Spring had sprung. The way believers act on what they know is true (even though some may never see it to fruition on this side of eternity). Those who courageously faced lions and ridicule and sickness and spears -- to serve the Lord and tell others of His promises.

Joy. Bursting forth even in the midst of this strange time. A time when, sadly, our country is divided and its citizens are tested. A time when some are fearful of illness and death, and some are fearful of tyranny and subterfuge. A time when life is not what we are accustomed to and probably not what we would plan. But with a promise, joy springs forth. The fear is placed -- at least temporarily -- on a back burner. Divisions of opinion are left in the cyber world of Facebook while people get out and enjoy the reality of life and promise. Even the bitter memories or grief of a season of sickness or death are displaced by the warmth of light (and Light) on our faces.

There are lessons in this season, in every season. God has not forgotten or abandoned us. If we walk with Him, we will experience the good and the glory He has promised. We can weather even a year of "winters" because He is with us and strengthens us. And it is His promises and the signs of His faithfulness that allow us to jump into action, spreading joy to others, without giving it another thought. We can be light to others because He is Light and Life to us.

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.