A Persistent Teacher

He’s been there all my life, working with me.  He has softened my edges, relaxed my lists, and freed my rigid rules.  He’s helped me realize that emotions, good or bad, don’t last forever and can’t be relied upon to guide my life.  He’s changed my perspective, allowing me to see myself and others in different ways, more grace-filled ways.  He’s taught me to look for answers outside of myself and to value people over things.  He’s given pointers on knowing who to trust.  He has always provided a natural consequence to my actions.  He’s shown me the value in being patient and the potential of seizing the day with lessons in differentiating the two.  He’s taken away my innocence but yet has allowed for healing that could not have happened without him.  He’s revealed secrets about people’s actions and motives not known to others. Sometimes he moves very quickly, distracting me, and other times he marches slowly on, moving me through a situation inch by inch.  His lessons can only be fully understood with his passing; masterful Father Time.

The Knot

As written by my 13-year-old daughter for creative writing class.  I hope you enjoy the silliness of life and language as much as I did when she read it to me. :)

One day there was a knot named Cobbles Knot who really wanted to be unknotted.  But he was so huge and hard from sitting outside that nobody could unknot him.  People drove in their Fords from far away every day to try to unknot the knot that could not be unknotted but still the knot stayed huge and hard and not unknotted.  Cobbles could not do anything exciting because he couldn’t go anywhere because he was so knotted.  So he just sat in a corner and ate popcorn and got bigger and bigger and more and more knotted. Then one day someone came along who said they could unknot any knot that was ever knotted.  His name was Maniac Magee.  It took him a whole day to unknot the knot that no one thought could be unknotted, but he unknotted it and Cobbles Knot was very happy.  THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not by Sight

Sometimes I smile and later I feel happy.
Sometimes I give and later I feel generous.
Sometimes I wait and later I feel patient.
Sometimes I go forward and later I feel courageous.
Sometimes I walk and later I see the path.
Sometimes I am vulnerable and later I feel safe.
Sometimes I am washed clean and later I feel forgiven.
Sometimes I obey and later I understand why.
Sometimes I reach out and later I am held.
Sometimes I hurt and later realize I’ve grown.
Sometimes I am quiet and later I hear His voice.
Sometimes I jump and later He catches me.

Crazy Love

I contacted a friend the other night, needing someone to commiserate with concerning the trials and tribulations of the dating world.  Turns out we are both in a similar boat and the opportunity to share was much appreciated.  As often happens in the world of relationship conversations, things quickly turned to the deeper questions in life, like - what is God trying to teach me?  What is the meaning of happiness?  How much work in a relationship is too much?  How much waiting is too long?  What motivates our deep desire to give and receive love?  Can someone be loved enough to heal a past injury? Are we setting the other person up for disappointment if we think we can love away the hurt- knowing we are only human and prone to fail in our attempts at some point and to some degree? Can we stay close enough to God to provide unconditional love without becoming impatient, selfish or anxious when it doesn’t look like it’s going how we’d like?  Can love endlessly flow from us while being filled only from God?  Does God put love in our hearts for others so He can love them through us even when they don’t appear to accept it?  Is this all crazy?

Then I look at God.  I did nothing to reciprocate before He told me He loved me.  I, in fact, didn’t even like Him before He loved me.  I was dressed in stinky, smelly rags but yet He unashamedly told the whole world of His love for me.  I was not worthy but He didn’t care.  He didn’t give me a time-line I had to comply with or risk the removal of His love.  He had no guarantee as to whether or not I would accept His love.  He took all the vulnerability on Himself. While He tells me what I can do to please Him and show my love for Him, He doesn’t require me to do any of it for Him to love me.  His love makes no sense at all.  It is the most selfless, patient, generous thing I’ve ever encountered.  For God so loved me, that before I even looked His way He gave me the very best He had to offer, waiting with anxious anticipation to see if I would love Him back. He is absolutely, over-the-top, CRAZY!

I Saw Jesus

I was not exactly sure where I was going.  I had a lunch date at a restaurant I’d never been, in a part of town I rarely go.  Downtown.  As I rounded the corner a parking spot opened up.  Gold.  I hadn’t seen the restaurant yet but I was sure it was near.  I’d take the spot. Walking back toward the intersection, I saw him sitting at the edge of the sidewalk holding his cardboard sign.  A beggar. I was disgusted.  “Why can’t he go to the mission?  There are people to help, beds to sleep on and food to eat.  Why does he have to come litter the city with his cardboard sign?” My thoughts invaded my good day and I moved toward the other side of the sidewalk.

After a tasty lunch, entertaining stories and laughter, I headed back to my car.  The beggar was still there.  But as I passed I caught sight of another younger man nearby.  He had a backpack and was rummaging around in it with one hand.  The other hand was extended out toward the beggar.  “Could you use these?” the man asked, offering a toothbrush and toothpaste.  “Oh yes,” replied the beggar, his voice enthusiastic.  And I felt a pang of envy at that moment.  I wished I saw the world through the eyes of the man with the backpack. I wished I had brought a gift for Jesus.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” Matthew 25: 35, 36 NIV

Have you seen Jesus recently?  What gift did you bring?

Stay and Play

Republished in honor of my Aunt Esther who passed away four years ago.  Originally published March 4, 2011.

Ding! Ding! Jeff needed something.  He was ringing his bell.  He didn’t have the strength to project his voice enough to call out.  He preferred his bed over the couch.  Many times I was working someplace else in the house when he needed a drink, or wanted to try a cup of soup, or was ready for more meds.  Sometimes he just had something he wanted to say or was awake and wanted company.  He’d ring the bell.  Ding! Ding!  It was a Christmas bell with an angel on the top.  We had a few of them.  I didn’t set them out this Christmas.  I don’t like the sound anymore.

We’d gotten the idea from my cousins.  They had used a bell with my aunt.  Two months after Jeff was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer, my favorite aunt was given the same diagnosis.  One of her daughters called me.  “We don’t think Mom is being up-front with us.  We don’t know what all this means.  We thought maybe you could understand the test results and find out what is going on.”  “I’ll call her.”

I didn’t talk or visit with her frequently, but she was my favorite.  She shone of Christ.  She loved Him.  She was a joy to be around.  I called.  She was happy to hear my voice and I to hear hers.  She got out the MRI report and read it to me.  My heart sank.  She had “innumerable” spots on her lungs and liver.  She was South for the winter.  She played accordion with a group and they were counting on her to play with them in a couple of weeks.  She was hopeful that she would feel well enough to do it.  Did I think she should leave right away or stay and play?  Stay and play, dear aunt.  Stay and play.  Her accordion performances had meant so much to her over the years.  She needed to do this one more time.  She wanted to know what her options would be for treatment when she got back home.  I said little.  She assured me, “I’ve lived a full and blessed life.  I’m ready to rest if that’s what is coming.  I’ve lived my years.”  Stay and play, dear aunt.  Stay and play.  “I’ll talk with you more after you get home,” I promised.

After the concert she and my uncle headed north to their home and medical care.  It was a long and painful trip for her.  I never had a chance to talk with her again. She died a very short time after - her abdomen fully consumed with the disease.  I was getting ready to leave on a plane to go see her when I got the call.  I went to her memorial service a few weeks later.  They had accordion music at the service.  And it was as beautiful as she had been.  Someday in heaven I’ll hear her play again.  And there we will stay and play as long as we wish.

The Farmer’s Son

“I’d like to come by and visit.  Would that be all right?” His call surprised me.  I hadn’t heard from him in some time. But he was visiting his parents about an hour away and wanted to stop by for a while. “Absolutely!  Come on over.  Jeff should be back shortly.  He’ll be happy to see you.” As the activities of the day would have it, he arrived before Jeff. We sat on the front porch in the warm summer air chatting and waiting.  Soon Jeff arrived.  Jeff wasn’t expecting him and didn’t recognize him right off in his bib overalls and cap.  We’d always seen him in his dress slacks and a tie, this farmer’s son turned banker.  But his friendly smile and firm hand shake immediately gave him away.  We went in the house where Jeff could relax and we could visit about the good ole’ days.

The farmer’s son visited a few more times over those two years.  The last time he came it was obvious it would be the last time. We chatted more about the things “back home”. Before he left that day he said, “You know, I always say I’ll see you again. But we all know one of these times I won’t.  One of these times it will be the last time. In case this is the last time, I want you to know what you’ve meant to me.  I can’t explain it really.  I haven’t known you that well. But know you made a great impression on my life. I think we could have had a lot of fun times together if I’d known you better. If I don’t see you again, I want you to know I’ll miss you.” And the two men hugged and slapped backs like only men can. It was the last time.

I saw the farmer’s son again at the funeral. He drove a long ways for the service. He didn’t stay long.  He just needed to say good-bye one more time and acknowledge the passing of his friend.  I saw him in the foyer at the church wearing his more familiar attire of suit and tie.  Many people came that day that I won’t remember.  But I’ll always remember seeing him there because of the words he dared speak at his last visit.

Why must we wait until the doorstep of death to say words that could have such meaning in life? Or worse yet, why do we sometimes never dare to speak them at all?

Fickle Friend

My Dear Life-long Friend,

Really now.  What are you thinking? I’ve told you nothing new, yet today you are telling me to smile.  Yesterday you told me to frown about this very same thing.  Tomorrow you might be so audacious as to tell me to laugh.  Are you basing your decisions on anything at all? How can I trust you?  You are so unreliable.  I’ve half a notion to unfriend you for your bad behavior.  I guess since you add such spice to my life I probably won’t do that after all these years.  But please, Feelings, take a little lesson from Logic and think it through before you make your recommendations. Then I might listen more intently to what you have to say about things.

Much love,

Reason

Evening at the Symphony

The winds and stringed instruments volleyed their replies.  The timpani rumbled, joining the crescendo. I appreciated the richness of the combination of instruments as played by the Lincoln’s Symphony Orchestra and the Lincoln Youth Symphony. And I acknowledged the tremendous commitment to practice these performers have maintained in order to reach this point in their careers.

As I listened, my thoughts drifted back to my days in the small band at high school.  I was in the flute section, second chair. I didn’t practice a lot, but likely more than most.  I recalled those times sitting in my room practicing: counting, waiting, playing a few measures, counting and waiting some more before my part would join the song again.  While the flute often carries the melody, it doesn’t always.  My efforts while practicing didn’t sound like much of a song until it was played with the whole band together.

There are times in my life when my picture of God seems clear and  beautiful.  Other times I don’t hear anything from Him at all and there is a long, quiet pause in the song He is writing in my life.  Still other times the notes seem discordant and awkwardly timed.  When I fellowship with believers and listen to their testimonies, I realize that what I have experienced and understand is but a small piece of the amazing picture of who God is. It is when we come together and raise our praises to Him that we each become a part of the whole. If you haven’t been to “band” lately, please know the music of God’s orchestra isn’t complete without you.

The Vase

While in Seattle for meetings some time ago, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the blown glass creations on display in the convention center. Their delicacy, intricate forms, curves and vibrant colors astounded me. The display exemplified a small part of the creative work by artist Dale Chihuly.

During meeting breaks (and possibly during a meeting…or two) I meandered down the street to Pike Place Market. The outdoor shops bustled with activity in the warm summer air. Street performers sang, danced, tied balloons and entertained the masses of people winding in unison like a snake through the tight spaces. The workers at the World Famous Fish Market engaged the crowd by throwing their catch of the day across the market space with their chant of “Heyyyyy…..YO!” Vendors tended to their colorful wares of hand-made jewelry, musical instruments and clothing. But the tables that drew me in the most were those with blown glass. The presence of Chihuly’s work in the city has inspired many others.

I stopped and looked at a number of tables with blown glass. Similarities were easy to spot, but with closer inspection some variation in the pieces from each artist could be appreciated. I respected the accomplishment represented there for the artists, and my eyes drank in the beauty of color and shape on display. I wished to bring a piece home as a symbol of the experience but the price tags told me I best leave with an image on my SD card instead.

At one particular table the young woman who had crafted the glass bowls engaged me in conversation. Her excitement over her work captivated me. She explained how she made this one and that one. And how she found the glass for another. And how she likes to use each variation of shape and style in her home. Her face shone with pride. She never tried to sell me anything. She just loved her work. And every Friday night I light a candle in the vase I purchased from her.

I know she appreciated my purchase. And I’m certain she found pleasure in sharing her love for her work with a passer-by. But I imagine there are a few people in her life, the ones she cares most about, with whom she finds greater pleasure in showing her newest design or color combination. Kudos from strangers are nice. But appreciation from a chosen few for how each piece represents something of her and how it is an expression of who she is must certainly be savored by her. The few who don’t have a shallow “Oh you do nice work,” but those who know her well enough to say, “Your attention to detail is striking.” or “Green always is your favorite color, isn’t it?” or “The curve on the lip of that vase matches the curve of your smile.” Those must be the comments she treasures most.

I think of God this morning as I write- the master Creator. How well do we know Him and how much attention do we pay to what He’s made? What does His creation tell us about Him? Have we told Him about it lately? Each one of us is special to Him. I’m certain He would treasure our comments.

Photo credits: Dale Chihuly

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