Thank you, Grrr!

September 7, 2015

I wish I were not such a slow learner. I am facing an unpleasant situation over which I have almost no control. Circumstances are proceeding according to other people's priorities and values, circumstances which impact me directly, but which I am powerless to control. I would like it very much if God simply placed the matter in my hands and said, "You take it from here," but I don't see that happening, and I am hard pressed to see a happy ending to this situation. This is one of those "hard eucharistos" I've talked about occasionally, where I am forced to trust God. I know the Christian life is a life of faith, but there are times I wish it were a little less so.

Be that as it may, I am (reluctantly, I admit) choosing to trust God for the outcome. I feel like Peter when Jesus asked him if the disciples were going to follow the crowd that was abandoning Jesus left and right. "Where else can we go? You have the words of life," was Peter's response. Where else, indeed? I can rant and rail about this situation, but I might as well bang my head on one of those big rocks on our backyard terrace. So, I choose to trust, and as a sign of that trust, to thank God for this situation as it forces me to my knees.

Years ago, Andrew Murray wrote a little book, "With Christ in the School of Prayer." Christ's School of Prayer is not so much a seminar or an academic class that we take. He schools us by placing us in situations where the only thing we can do is pray. It's very pragmatic, but it's also pretty challenging. I'm grateful to have been accepted into this school, but have to admit some of the coursework has been a bit more challenging than I anticipated. It appears as if graduation is a long way off, so I had better buckle down and study, not by reading a book or listening to a lecture, but by actually praying this through.

Missing Worship

September 6, 2015

An interesting end to a warm Labor Day Sunday...Linda and I had gone to one of her sisters for our annual Labor Day corn roast, returning home about 10:15 to see a truck parked by the side of the road down by the swimming hole. Grabbing a flashlight and some protection, we went down to investigate, only to find a young man asleep, feet dangling over the edge of the abutment. The flashlight shining in his eyes not waking him, it took me nudging him with my toe before he stirred. "This is private property, and it's pretty late," I told him.

"I didn't think this part was private." How many times have I heard that? He got up lowly. I thought he was going to topple into the creek before he unsteadily got to his feet and wandered off to his truck. I couldn't smell any alcohol on him, but I think his truck was hitting on more cylinders than he was.

The day began pretty normally for a Sunday, with a quick breakfast before heading to church. This morning I was scheduled for the media booth, which is where I spent the worship hour. When I got home, it felt like something just wasn't right, but it took some reflection to figure out what it was. Here's what I learned: Some time ago, one of my son Matthew's students was told playing on his phone in class with the excuse that he was multi-tasking, Matt's response as he confiscated the phone: "You can't even task!" That's me. When I am running the video for worship, I'm so focused on the technical part of things that I don't really worship. So although I was there listening to the songs, anticipating the lyrics and putting up the Scripture for Joe's sermon, I missed out on what I really needed.

I don't understand those who come to worship sporadically. For me, missing out on it even while I was with my brothers and sisters prevented me from starting the week the way I need. There's something missing inside me. I am thankful that this only happens occasionally, and that most of the time I get to begin my week with people I love in the presence of the God I love.

Bugless

September 5, 2015

Tonight's gratitude will be short and hopefully sweet (although I don't know what "sweet" would look like). Most of the day was spent out in the sun, gnats buzzing all around as I helped Nate cut and load firewood. We loaded onto the trailer what he had cut before, then he took it home, leaving me to keep cutting what still needed to be blocked up.

I am not a sun worshipper. Give me shade any day, except today. The wood was out in a field where the only shade was the small shadow cast by the trailer. I sat there for lunch, but otherwise was sweating it out in full sun. One short foray into the woods convinced me to stay in the field. As bad as the bugs were in the field, they were worse in the woods. Which leads me to my gratitude for the day. Our homestead lies in the shadow of a shale cliff that rises up from the other side of the creek. We have huge spruce trees in front, with a maple and an ash rising between the garage and the deck and an old apple tree outside the windows of the Millstone room. We have a lot of shade. But we have hardly any bugs. I don't know why that is, but I can sit out on the deck as I'm doing now, only occasionally swatting at a mosquito or fly. No gnats or sweat bees at all. I'm tired from all the work, but I'm also content as I relax this evening. I am grateful for this place of quietness; few people have the privilege I have of sitting in the cooling evening, listening to the stream dancing over the shale, giving thanks for strength and health enabling me to help my son get ready for winter.

Better than I Deserve

September 4, 2015

I haven't got this retirement thing figured out yet. After working out, showering, and breakfast, I headed to the library this morning for our writer's group, followed by entering the lyrics for Sunday's worship into the presentation program. All that took me till after lunch. Linda had an appointment with the eye doctor, so I volunteered to cut up the salad vegetables for tonight's dinner group meeting. I was about halfway done with that when Harry showed up, ready to usher me to band rehearsal at 3:00. Instead of coming home, we went straight to his house for our dinner group, from which I have just now gotten home at 10:30. My plans to haul the slab of concrete someone dumped in the creek have been just that--plans--for a week. Tomorrow I'll be helping son Nathan get some of his winter's wood in.

If Einstein's theory of relativity is true and time actually slows down as we approach the speed of light, I wonder if the opposite is equally true; that it speeds up the slower we go. It must be so. I'm moving more slowly and time is racing by. At this rate, I don't have to worry about getting bored. My projects are lined up longer than those crazy people waiting for the latest iPhone to appear. It's good to be at a place where if I just don't feel like tackling a project, I don't have to. It's good also that I have a wife who gently prods me to get at it, which is really the subject of my musings tonight.

I've been thinking a lot lately about all the things she does around here. She handles the budget; has it all mapped out on her calendar when the checks come in and when the bills get paid. Heaven help me if she goes before me; I haven't the foggiest idea of the state of our finances other than we're solvent and were able to pay cash for her car and my tractor.

She keeps the house almost spotless. Almost, because if it's above her eye level, it doesn't exist. Our home is as far from a bachelor pad as one can get without full time cleaning service, and most of it is her doing. She used to chide me about my profession, wondering why anyone would doom themselves to what amounts to a term paper each week as I wrote sermons. But I'm not doing that anymore, and she is still cooking every day. If I had to survive on my cooking, I wouldn't. She does the laundry, loves to mow the lawn, and takes care of the gardens. If that weren't enough, she cares for everyone who calls or stops by, and she loves me. What's there not to appreciate about her? I can't think of anything, and I thank God every day for Linda, the only woman I've ever, or ever will love.

Winding Down

September 3, 2015

As I was changing the oil on my motorcycle, a car pulled over down by the south end of the property and a young family hopped out and made their way down to the swimming hole. School has started and the steady stream of kids taking advantage of the water has slowed to a trickle. Soon the weather will slowly cool and the kids will disappear.

It's been an interesting summer. Opening day of trout season saw a fisherman landing a very nice brown trout and stashing it in the snow as he cast in vain for more. A few other angling adventurers tried their luck, which did not smile kindly on them. Once school was out, the kids were in. And the picnickers. At times they came by multiple carloads replete with blankets, coolers, and even a charcoal grill. Most of them were courteous and appreciative when they learned they were on private property, but there's always the occasional jerk who leaves a mess behind. We've wondered about liability and consulted an attorney who told us the only thing we could do to protect ourselves would be to post no trespassing signs. Problem is, this has been a public swimming hole for generations, and we don't feel right about posting it. So we didn't.

To be honest, I'm going to miss the kids and the conversations we had with picnickers. This weekend will probably be the last hurrah; it will be awhile before we hear children's laughter again. In the meantime, I plan to fill in a few of the gaps in the rocks and low spots in the lawn so it'll be easier to mow in the springtime. I am grateful to be the caretakers of Sunnyside, with the opportunities it has given us to meet people. And my gratitude is not abstract. I thank God who redeemed me through the sacrifice of his Son Jesus, and who has led me to this time and place. Every week in worship, we pray the Lord's Prayer in which we ask that the Father's kingdom come and his will be done, and throughout the week, I do my best to live into that prayer, always including the words about forgiveness, knowing that even my best efforts fall short. And every day that forgiveness is offered through God's marvelous grace for which I am also thankful.

Listening and Seeing

September 2, 2015

"What do you see?" The question isn't overtly stated in the story, but it is implied in the 18th chapter of 1 Kings. There had been drought for three years, and it finally had come to a head. Elijah had singlehandedly done spiritual battle against 450 prophets of Baal, quietly calling on God to rain fire down upon his water-soaked offering. It was a spiritual and political battle the likes of which is rarely seen. The prophets of Baal are rounded up and executed when Elijah hears something no one else hears: the sound of rushing rain. While he prays, he calls upon his servant to search the heavens for a visible sign of what he is hearing. It takes seven trips before the servant comes back with a positive report; a tiny cloud is forming in the distance.

Before anything was seen, someone was listening. Which makes me wonder how often the miracles of God are unseen because we aren't listening. This kind of listening isn't casual, but is intense. Elijah bowed with his head between his knees, doubled over as if in agony. But he listened and persevered in prayer till finally, the much-needed rain came. Elijah wasn't looking at the cloudless sky; he was listening to the whispers of the Spirit. Fire and rain both came in response to his prayers. He stood alone, a mountain of faith because he wasn't looking where everyone else was looking. In fact, he wasn't looking at all; he was listening. Over the last couple weeks as I've been worried about my granddaughter's health, my problem hasn't been her illness. My problem is that I was seeing the illness instead of listening for the voice of God. And like Elijah's servant, I couldn't see anything. Because in God's economy, listening comes before seeing. Maybe someday I'll be wise enough to know that up front, instead of halfway through the situation. Someday...but till then, I am thankful for God's patience, as I am apparently a slow learner.

Test Taking

September 1, 2015

The air is warm, the tiny lights strung around the deck provide just enough light to see, being September 1st, the mosquitos have pretty much given up.If I were taken to imbibing, a glass of wine would be sitting on the table beside me. It's too late for coffee, so lemon water will have to do. In short, it's a beautiful evening here in this corner of Paradise, made all the more beautiful in the knowledge that our granddaughter is safely home tonight. She was diagnosed with something similar to mono, the actual name of which I couldn't pronounce even if I could remember it. She will always have it dormant in her body and just needs to make sure she doesn't let herself get run down so her immunity becomes compromised. Tonight we breathe a big sigh of relief!

People close to me have wondered why I've been so worried about Alex. After all, I've been the one who for over 40 years preached faith and trust in God and in his ability and willingness to heal. Why has her situation rattled me so? I guess now that she is home and has a diagnosis, I can reveal what's been roiling around inside me for the past week. I wrote it down August 25th. Here's what I was thinking:

"Sunday morning, I watched Alex from the sound booth as she walked out of the service momentarily. As she passed by, I immediately had a feeling of dread, that she is not long for this world. The thought shocked me as the words of missionary Henry Martyn came to mind--"Let me burn out for God!"--which he did at the young age of 31. I cannot say whether this thought and feeling was a word from the Lord (which I fear), a premonition, or merely my worries made manifest. But last night as she lay on the hospital gurney, smiling in spite of her pain, this terrible thought returned. As her sisters, Linda, and myself tearfully prayed for her that evening, I couldn't get that thought out of my mind. Linda asked me what was wrong, and I cannot tell her. She worries enough. But it remains, silently haunting me.

Monday night in men's group we studied the Lord's Prayer. So often I pray it almost glibly, but what am I to do with that phrase, "thy will be done," when I want my will concerning Alex? If God wills to take her from us, I'm not sure I can honestly pray this prayer, though it could turn out that I have no choice. If this is a word from God, or a premonition, it is also my hope and prayer that like Scrooge's dream of the ghost of Christmas Future, it is a warning of what might be rather than what inevitably shall be."

I'm not normally one who operates primarily out of my feelings, so when I felt this come over me so forcefully, I didn't know what to do with it. I never received any sort of divine confirmation that she would be all right, and finally had to just leave the whole matter in God's hands--not an easy thing for me to do. The fact of the matter is, I still have no word from the Lord that Alex, or for that matter, any of my family will not experience tragedy. God promises not that we will not walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but rather that we will not walk it alone. The question is whether I will be content with God beside me if he refuses to answer my prayers the way I would like. That's a hard test, and the only way we can be sure we would pass it is by taking that test, which we are usually loathe to do. In the meantime, it is ours to strengthen ourselves in the Lord.

Just this morning I read a text that struck me in a new way, probably because of the new translation in which it appeared. It's Isaiah 29:19 and reads, "The meek shall obtain fresh joy in the LORD." We often equate meekness with weakness, but the word really means 'to have a teachable spirit.' Fresh joy is what we need, not the old stale joy of last week or last year. But it only comes to those willing to be taught by the Holy Spirit through God's Word and God's leading. I've usually been willing to be taught by the Word; following in the footsteps of Jesus when they lead to a cross upon which I am called to die is a whole 'nother matter. I'm walking, sometimes trudging, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other, occasionally taking a few sidesteps, often being dragged by the relentless will of God. Sometimes I stubbornly sit down or even turn back. But tonight, I'm stepping out again, grateful that God doesn't lambaste me for my recalcitrance, but instead embraces me in his grace.