Stories in Stone

 

Today I got to do something I’d always wanted to do. While visiting Nate’s only sibling, Ken, in western Illinois, I got to visit two small, country cemeteries. My mother-in-law’s life began in a small farm town less than 100 miles from where Nate and his brother were raised, and we went on a mission to trace family history. Ken’s last visit had been 15 years ago, but he remembered where his relatives were buried, so we started there.

The first cemetery was easy to find, just a quick jog off the main road. The other one, more important because it was located next to the family farm we were also hunting for, eluded us. After a discouraging hour, we spotted an elderly man on his porch. It had been 72 years since Ken’s mother had lived in this farm town. Might he know their family name?

I approached him in as non-threatening a way as I could. “We’re looking for a small cemetery and the Kline farm, close enough to town for little kids to ride ponies to school. It’s an impossible question, but we thought you might know.”

He laughed and invited me into his home to meet his wife who said, “Let’s go next door. Wanda is older than us and has lived here all her life. She’ll know.”

And Wanda did. “The Kline farm is one mile over there,” she said, pointing in a direction we thought we’d already traveled. “But the house was recently torn down. It’s mega-farms around here now,” she said, “one farm gobbling up another.” (We learned this rich soil was currently going for $8500 per acre.)

Ken and I thanked them and drove in the direction of Wanda’s finger-point. Sure enough, there was the cemetery where Ken’s great-great grandfather was buried, a Baptist preacher born in 1793. His ancient headstone had been replaced with a new pink granite one, a mystery to us.

While there, I got my wish to read other headstone stories, finding his children and many grandchildren. Nearly half the cemetery markers were for young children, their few years, months and days carved in stone.

 

My mother-in-law had ridden her pony past this graveyard every school day in the 1920’s, along with her 4 pony-riding siblings. As Ken and I stood there, we had countless questions, but the answers are now buried, along with his relatives.

God knows them, though, and he keeps accurate books. A baby buried only 1 year, 5 months and 3 days after being born was just as important to him as the rare person who lived to old age. But more significant was the magnitude of his love for each one, none loved more or less than another.

When those buried there stepped into eternity, it wasn’t the length-of-days that mattered but the divine love that brought them to God.

“This is the everlasting covenant: I will always be your God and the God of your
descendants after you.”
(Genesis 17:7)

What to wear?

As a young mother, I worked hard to make sure my children were presentable when they went to school, church or anywhere else. The toddlers got their high white shoes polished every Saturday night, and I ironed all the little girl dresses and little boy shirts.

Outfits on school picture-taking days were especially important, and I tried to coordinate clothing colors with the eventual wall display of 8 x 10’s in mind.

Unfortunately I frequently forgot to look at the school calendar. One year picture day slipped past me completely, and the kids wore a haphazard array of shabby clothes. Klaus, then in his shark phase, had been given a white souvenir t-shirt from Florida with a picture of Jaws on the front and a splattering of fake blood on it. The shirt was a grungy white with a stretched neck, and completely unacceptable for picture day. But I didn’t catch it, and that’s what he wore.

I don’t think Klaus did it for any specific reason other than that he loved his shark shirt. When the picture proofs came back, I took one look and was disappointed, but Klaus saw only his great-looking hair. How could I then say, “I can’t believe you wore that awful shirt!”

This kind of thing is what drives moms crazy. But looking now at Klaus in his blood stained picture, I have to laugh. From today’s perspective, it’s no big deal. Actually, it’s a colorful story.

Buried in there somewhere is an encouraging word for today’s young mommies, not just on school picture day but any day. We mothers can get so caught up in our efforts to make our families look good that we’re swept into a parenting panic when they don’t.

The Bible reminds us that only one thing will matter in 100 years, and it’ll have nothing to do with our clothes. The important issue will be where we are, not how we’re dressed. Will we be spending the umpteen years of eternity with or without the Lord?

In the mean time, we shouldn’t let ourselves get stressed over things that eventually won’t matter. But if we’re into fashion and enjoy thinking about what our children will be “putting on” each day, rather than concentrating on them looking good, we can focus on their character. They put that “on” each day, too. Are they kind, patient, giving?

In the end, after all the polished shoes, ironed dresses and even the shark shirts are no more, character-clothes will still look good.

“Put on then… compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” (Colossians 3:12)

From better to worse?

My Michigan cottage has been undergoing a partial face lift recently, with disarray ongoing for 5 weeks now. Those of us who lean toward a disorganized mindset even when our surroundings are in order know that serious thinking becomes difficult if life’s backdrop is in shambles. But as is true of many of life’s improvements, things often get worse before they get better.

I remember that same phenomenon with some of our teens in their battles with acne. Although they’d leave the dermatologist’s office with a fistful of promising prescriptions, their faces always got worse before they got better.

In a less visible way, worst-first is also true in relationship counseling. During the early weeks, complaints and criticisms rise to the surface like cream from warm cow’s milk. But with time, the “better” begins to happen.

This worse-before-better phenomenon is unfolding on a massive scale all around us in our world. More wars, more natural disasters, more fractured families, more violent deaths. Might this mean things are on their way to getting better?

Only if God steps in.

Scripture describes our global situation to-a-T:

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child. Children will rebel against their parents. Such things must happen.” (Mark 13)

But why?

Because the devil is wreaking havoc among us. He couldn’t convince Jesus to commit even one tiny little sin in 33 years of trying, and he failed to dissuade him from enduring torture and death for our salvation. His time to work on Jesus has ended, but this wicked being still has the power to ruin lives through disease, abuse, poverty and countless other evils. He’s also able to tempt all of us relentlessly, and he works on it night and day.

Satan thrills to the possibility of keeping souls separated from God the Father, both in this life and the next. His greatest joy is to take people to permanent destruction, but we know God has the final say and will eventually come out on top. If we follow him, we’ll be on the victorious team.

Sometimes I wonder why the Lord doesn’t just end it all today. How bad will it have to get? He’s coming back to settle the score eventually and strip the devil of his power, so why is he waiting? Most likely it’s to allow as many as possible to believe in him and accept the salvation he offers. His desire is to see every soul come to him.

God knows that the upheaval and chaos around us is disturbing, but he urges us not to panic, reminding us that this “worse” will lead to the best “better” there ever was!

”Yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry.” (Hebrews 10:37)