Category Archives: Life’s disappointments

Mountains from Molehills

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Emerald has been a by-the-book baby. At 2½ months, she has smiled through all manner of schedules and a wide variety of loud commotion. Always even-tempered, she’s amazed us with her calm demeanor through restaurant meals, shopping trips, and doctor’s appointments. And she’s been endlessly patient with lots of cousin-cuddles, kisses, and head-pats.

Tonight, however, her sunny disposition disappeared, and nothing satisfied her. Birgitta and I took turns trying to quiet her in what seemed like an interminable effort to get her to sleep, though in reality it lasted only 2 hours.

Birgitta had gone through Emerald’s regular bath and bedtime routine, after which she’d fallen asleep and been put into her bassinet as usual. This child has slept beautifully through-the-night 3 times in the past week alone, once for a 10½ stretch.

Wailing Emerald

So it surprised us when she began fidgeting in her bed immediately, eventually bringing herself up to a full roar. Birgitta picked her up and tried each of the usual soothers: pacing, bouncing on the exercise ball, rocking, patting, and shush-shush-shushing. Nothing worked.

I tried too, but Emerald refused to be calmed, stiffening her legs and flailing her arms while continuing with earsplitting screams. My theory was that whatever had first bothered her (a burp, an intestinal bubble, a sudden noise) was long gone, and she kept hollering just because she had started and couldn’t stop.

Although adults don’t usually open their mouths and yell full-power like babies do, we sometimes wish we could. We object to something undesirable as loud as we dare, and when the facts don’t quickly change, we get carried away with our responses.

But just like Emerald no longer remembered why she was crying, we can work ourselves into the same kind of frenzy for no good reason too, making a mountain out of a molehill.

It isn’t that God doesn’t want us to cry. I can think of 3 good reasons when he does:

  • when we’re mourning over our own sin
  • when we’re sharing in another person’s sorrow
  • when we’re calling out to him from a place of deep deficiency

In these instances our sobbing has positive purposes, which causes the Lord to rush in and minister to the need at hand.

Asleep at last...

Tonight Birgitta and I came to Emerald’s aid, despite believing she had no good reason to scream. But she’s just a baby, so we gave her the benefit of the doubt. Eventually she wore herself out and fell asleep by default.

We’re still puzzled over why she cried so hard for so long, but thankfully God is never puzzled over our crying, always knowing which good reason is behind it.

And in his great love for us, he’s often willing to comfort us even when we’re crying hard for no good reason at all.

“Let all who seek God’s help be encouraged. For the Lord hears the cries of the needy.” (Psalm 69:32-33)

Pour on the Power

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Back in the 1980’s, Sandi Patty had a musical hit called “Pour on the Power.” The kids and I often had the cassette version playing in our mini-van as we carpooled and ran errands, and I especially loved this part of the song:

You may think you’re at a wall
But it’s just a door, that’s all
‘Cause you ain’t seen nothin’
Till you pour on the power.

She was singing about the power of Christ, but this weekend we came to a wall of powerlessness of another sort: an electrical outage. Very late Thursday night (i.e. the wee small hours of Friday morning) the house went dark during a wild windstorm when several trees fell across nearby power lines.

As the house gradually cooled off, we headed for our down comforters, confident the power would be turned on as we slept. But when morning came, electricity didn’t, so we scooted our chairs closer to the fireplace and warmed day-old coffee in an old sauce pan, laughing about the inconvenience.  When our next door neighbor Bob arrived with an armload of firewood, it was better than Santa Claus.

By evening, however, when the refrigerator’s contents had gotten warm and the hot water cold, none of it was fun anymore. Our youngsters missed their bedtime bath routine, and we worried that 8 week old Emerald, who already had the sniffles, would become cold overnight.

Much of the world has figured out how to live with difficult conditions, but we haven’t, relying on well-powered electrical lines that have made us grow soft in the process. A power outage is cause for complaining, and I even found myself angry at the electric stove/oven because it wasn’t gas-powered.

But as Sandy Patti sang, when we feel we’ve come to a dead-end, we should watch for a surge of God’s power. He’ll always provide that, as well as ideas on how to move forward, despite the dead-end we think we see. He’ll also faithfully match his power-to-endure with our need for it.

As God orchestrates tests for us (some small, some big) he says, “Let’s see if you can apply what you’ve learned about Me and My promises in this situation. Will you believe Me? Will you take advantage of the divine power I’m offering to share with you?”

Our God is practical. He doesn’t expect us to love miserable circumstances, but he does hope we’ll respond to the challenges he sends, even the small ones like power outages, with open minds and cheerful hearts. His desire is that we rely on his power instead of our own to get through everything, no matter what it is.

As for our power outage, I’m not sure if it was the power company or the power of God that turned it back on, but 24 hours after we’d gone dark, someone “poured on the pour” and light (and heat) flooded our home.  It was hallelujah’s all around, and however it happened, we were grateful.

“The Kingdom of God is not just a lot of talk; it is living by God’s power.” (1 Corinthians 4:20)

Minimizing Murmuring

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For several days now, my 7 grandchildren have been at my house making all kinds of racket and having all kinds of fun. Even though they’re only aged 4, 3, 2, 2, 2, 9 months, and 7 weeks, these young cousins (who live far from each other most of the time) are establishing sweet relationships, and it’s a joy to watch.

Today I saw 2 two-year Micah and Thomas wobble down the stairs hand-in-hand, chattering (simultaneously) about the toys they were going to find in the basement. Then 4 year old Skylar and 2 year old Evelyn joined forces to “help” Birgitta change Emerald’s diaper, adding kisses, head-strokes, and 12 extra wipes to the routine. This afternoon Nick and Skylar successfully completed an art project without bickering, and all of them regularly stop to pat crawling Autumn on her head.

Overall, the compatibility is impressive, at least most of the time. But then there are those moments of frustration, fatigue, and unadulterated, me-first selfishness when eruptions come lightning fast and pleasant children melt-down in seconds.

But there’s something much worse than screaming fits. Somewhere between harmony and discord lies the miserable zone of murmuring.

The word “murmur” is an example of onomatopoeia, a word that sounds exactly like its definition. To murmur is to whine or complain about something in an irksome tone, not especially loud or soft but droning on and on, with no end. And during these happy days at my house, we’ve also had big doses of murmuring.

But murmuring is nothing new. The children of Israel did it while following Moses through the wilderness, murmuring about being hungry, thirsty, about their leaders, about leaving Egypt, about the challenges of war, and about most of what God told them to do.

They weren’t the only ones, though. Years later the Scribes and Pharisees of Israel murmured against Jesus and also against his disciples. But New Testament believers murmured, too. None of us can justify pointing a finger.

Except God, that is.

God never murmurs and is disappointed when any of us do it, whether we’re 2 years old, 22, or 102, and he links his displeasure with punishment. As a matter of fact, the children of Israel weren’t allowed to enter The Promised Land for only one reason: their murmuring.

This afternoon Linnea tried to cope with a murmuring toddler as we talked about how difficult it was to listen to steady whining. Then she said, “But I guess since I’m complaining right now, I’m doing it, too.” We all whine sometimes, but God has the same opinion about it today as he did thousands of years ago.

So what can be done? How can we be good examples of “murmurlessness” in front of our children and grandchildren when complaining comes so naturally? Tomorrow Nate is going to give us the answer.

“Do all things without murmurings and disputings, that you may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke.” (Philippians 2:14-15)