What’s next?

Posted on October 21, 2013 by Margaret

Yesterday I blogged about the webinar that took place two weeks ago, an unnerving experience that turned out to be a wonderful opportunity. My sister Mary, who I’ve leaned on since we were little girls, agreed to drive the 90 minute round trip with me… twice. “It’ll be fun,” she said, letting go of whatever else she’d planned to do that day. Her presence was a great stabilizer.

After praying with me in the parking lot before the webinar she said, “I’ll just stay in the car and work on my Bible study while you’re inside. Let me know if you need me.”

As it turned out, I did. Following the webinar, two editors expressed interest in another book possibility. Since Mary and I had begun writing about motherhood 10 years ago, we were able to share those ideas and receive professional editor- input. (Mary remembered far more than I did.) Although we hadn’t studied our files for years, talking to the editors relit our desire to write a book from old mommies to young mommies about what we wish we’d known at the beginning.

On the way home we marveled at how God moves his light along life’s path one next-step at a time, but not till he’s ready. Nothing may come of this book idea that’s been lying dormant for 7 years, but suddenly he has lit one step and asked us to walk into it.

On the way home we pulled into McDonald’s and decided to eat outdoors, since the weather was picture-perfect. We found a sunny curb out back and continued talking about the step we’d just taken. Before long a seagull appeared, begging for a French fry.

As we tossed him one, he hopped closer, and we noticed he was holding up one leg. His other foot was discolored and withered.

It was an interesting parallel to our conversation. The bird might have said, “I see those French fries but can’t walk over there.”

Mary and I could say, “There are a million books on motherhood, most written by experts. Who wants to hear from two regular moms? Let’s not take that step.” We might have said that, even while facing a lighted path.

But the bird hopped on over, and we fed him well. Mary and I have decided to hop forward, too. Maybe the book won’t come to fruition, but whenever God lights the way, it’s a good idea to step into it.

None of us has the luxury of seeing all the way down a path that’s mostly in the shadows. But when God illuminates even a small part of it, we can step (or hop) forward with confidence. And that’s especially true when most of the path is still in the dark.

“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known; along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them.” (Isaiah 42:16)

Travel Perks

Posted on October 16, 2013 by Margaret

Last weekend my trip out west included 3 airports: Chicago, Albuquerque, and Denver. Many months previously, I’d bought 3 one way tickets online, the best way to form my travel-triangle. It was a laborious task but concluded well, except for one thing.

As I was studying computer pages that night long ago, my frequent flyer miles popped up in a side column: “Would you like to use miles to purchase this ticket?” I’d never done that and wasn’t sure, but it sounded pretty good. So I “spent” 25,000 miles and “bought” the Denver-Chicago leg for free.

Something funny happened after that, though. When I clicked “yes” on choosing a seat, the computer pictured only the front section of the plane. Apparently I’d “bought” a priority ticket. When the next screen prompted me to select from a dinner menu, I knew I had. A flight less than 2 hours doesn’t usually include dinner with its mini-pretzels.

During my 5 days out west, I was surprised at how often I thought of that priority seat waiting for me: 3A, front row. Though I didn’t tell my girlfriends about my mistake, I got gladder and gladder, thinking of all those first class travel perks.

Many of us move through life in economy mode, sometimes wondering what it’s like in either direction (up or down). But God gives and also takes away as he considers what’s best for each of us, so that wherever we “land”, we’ll be where we should be. This reasoning presents problems, however, especially when we think of suffering children or deprived older adults. The world is full of painful shortages, and it’s difficult to come to terms with why God allows them.

As always, our example should be Jesus, a royal king who forfeited his wealth and power to become poor in all categories. He did it willingly, eagerly, although not as an experiment or a contest. He did it out of love so that the rest of us could one day become rich beyond measure, actually sharing his unlimited inheritance. From what I read in Scripture, our future lives will be worth all the shortages we experience in our present lives. The words “priority” or “first class” won’t be good enough.

As for my plane ride? Shortly after take-off, a flight attendant offered heated, moist hand towels to freshen up before dinner, followed by a small china cup of warmed cashews/almonds/pecans. A gourmet dinner tray held more than I could eat, and I appreciated the linen napkin with embroidered buttonhole to attach like a classy bib. If I’d asked for a box of Godivas, they probably would have produced it.

The bottom line, though, was that if I’d been sitting in the cramped back row with a tiny pretzel bag, I’d have made it to Chicago just fine.

“You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.” (2 Corinthians 8:9)

Not Quite

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Margaret

I absolutely love clear, chunky glass. It doesn’t much matter what shape it’s in, whether a figurine, a bowl, or just a blob, but the thicker the better. Imperfections or bubbles in the glass make it all the more interesting, and looking through a piece of it is something I often stop to do.

Ice does the same thing for me. The other day I was dropping some cubes into my tea and said, “Look, girls! This ice is almost completely clear!”

As I studied the beauty of each piece stacked in my glass, the girls were unimpressed. “Mom,” Louisa said, “it’s just ice, and it’s cold whether it’s clear or not.” She didn’t get it.

There’s one chronic problem with lovers of clear glass, though. We can hold it, gaze into it, and look through it, but we can’t get into it. Laugh if you must, but to be fully satisfied, that’s really what we want to do. There’s a whole world inside a chunk of glass.

I remember a special moment on a family vacation to the wintery Northwoods of Wisconsin one January. We visited the resort town of Eagle River and found a spectacular castle built with blocks of ice. Although it was dark outside, the castle was lit from inside, and some of the ice was clear and gasp-worthy.

That evening, while I reveled in the thick ice, our children, ages 16 to 20 months at the time, were enjoying the display, though not nearly as much as I was. Then I saw 7-year-old Hans put both hands on an ice block and press his nose in close. I came up behind him and said, “Isn’t it fabulous?”

“I see stuff in there, Mom,” he said.

Maybe what he really meant was, “I’d like to get in there and see it firsthand!” If that was it, for those few seconds he and I were on the same wavelength.

But as we walked away from the castle, I experienced the same incomplete feeling I always get when studying clear ice or glass. It’s a “not quite” sensation, something similar to our soul-feelings when we can’t quite see God or experience his physical presence. There are times when we have such an intense longing we can hardly stand it, but in this life our experience of him will always fall short of being deeply satisfying.

Thankfully his plans for our future include the one-on-one, visible relationship our hearts crave. The “not quite” will turn into “complete”. I’ve heard it theorized that hell might be the absence of God’s presence, meaning that the human heart’s longing for him will never be satisfied. And I can’t imagine any greater loss.

Although my love of clear glass can’t compare to my love for the Lord, in the back of my mind I have a feeling he’ll take away that less important “not quite” too, and turn it into something wonderfully complete.