Does it add up?

Posted on September 22, 2013 by Margaret

Four years ago today, Nate and I sat in front of 8 doctors and learned his body was full of cancer. In that 2 hour meeting we also learned he wasn’t going to live much longer. I sometimes wonder if September 22 will always be part of a strange equation in my mind:

September 22 + medical news = death sentence.

It might just as well be:

September 22 + cancer = hopes dashed.

When I think of the specific hopes that were destroyed that day, the list is long:

the hope Nate would have relationships with our grandchildren
the hope he’d be able to attend the remaining family weddings
the hope we would travel together
the hope he would be the one to wrap-up his own legal practice one day
the hope I’d be able to ask his advice for many years to come

…and so much more. Since the memory of September 22 is all bad, should that day be deliberately remembered each year?

As always, I asked God what he wanted me to think about that, and he told me, showing me how often the Bible promoted looking back, even at the bad stuff. For instance, he said to the Israelites, “Remember when you were slaves and couldn’t change your destiny for 400 years?” But then he added, “Remember also how I ended it in one day?” It’s another equation:

400 + God’s plan = freedom

In scores of scriptural examples God directed people back to dark memories but always linked them to his presence there: “Remember how you were trapped between a vicious army and a deep sea? But please don’t forget how I rearranged your situation 100% in just a few minutes!” The equation:

military disaster + breath of God = 100% safety

In other words, God urges us to go back to difficult days but not for the purpose of wallowing in their misery. Instead he wants us to recognize that he was in those exact circumstances at the same time we were, adding good to all the bad. He knows we have a hard time spotting him in the midst of a crisis, but when the emergency is over, he wants us to look back and see where he was active during those days.

So now, as I think back to September 22, 2009, I also remember that that was the day God made a promise to us that he wouldn’t leave us alone or defenseless for even one minute throughout our ordeal, and he didn’t. Though he doesn’t usually remove a crisis immediately after it arrives, he does move himself tightly into it, providing supernatural strength and explaining powerful lessons about his sufficiency that always surround us when we’re experiencing trouble. He wants us to understand that every set-back is simply a set-up for his blessing.

So today, in remembering that sad September 22, God gave me a brand new equation to replace the old one:

September 22 + cancer = God’s presence with us!

“Let those on the hunt for you sing and celebrate. Let all who love your saving way say over and over, ‘God is mighty!’ ” (Psalm 70:4)

Voicing It

Posted on September 16, 2013 by Margaret

Back in 1959 when I was about to enter high school, the academic pressure was intense. Over 4000 students were enrolled at New Trier that year, and the school had been voted #1 in the nation for academic excellence. Many of the students went out East to Ivy League universities after graduating, and 98% of all New Trier students went to college somewhere. Facing my freshman year, I knew the going might get rough.

My parents decided to send me to summer school before I began the regular school year, in an attempt to give me a leg up. “At least you’ll learn your way around the building,” they said. And since it was a really big school, that was enough motivation for me.

I took 3 classes that summer: ceramics, speech, and trampoline. Two of them went well, but speech? It was agony.

Getting up in front of the class was bad enough, but I also sensed the teacher didn’t like me. I remember him well, because he had an unusual name: Mr. Pink. After my first speech, I knew for sure he didn’t like me.

I was still standing in front of the class when he gave me his critique. “Margaret,” he said, “some of us were born with voices that are pleasant to listen to, and others not. Yours is not.” And then he told me to sit down.

Maybe his mind had wandered during my speech and he couldn’t think of anything else to say, but I was embarrassed by his comment and shocked to realize I had a bad voice. If I hadn’t been required to deliver several more speeches that summer, I wouldn’t have uttered another word.

What a difference between talking in front of Mr. Pink and talking in front of God. When I talk to God, he doesn’t stop with just hearing my voice but listens to my heart as well. I can even converse with him without using my vocal cords. He and I can talk heart-to-heart about absolutely anything, and he hears me perfectly. His only concern is that I just say something to him, whether I use my vocal cords or silent thoughts. When I do, he promises to hear it all.

Later that summer I turned 14, and my parents’ birthday gift was a reel-to-reel tape recorder. I’d wanted one for a long time so I could record songs off the radio and also send taped messages to several faraway friends who had recorders.

But on the day I first listened to my own recorded voice, I discovered Mr. Pink had been right after all. I did have an unpleasant voice, and I didn’t like listening to it.

After that, I stopped worrying about his comment in speech class. And it certainly didn’t leave any scars, because I’ve been talking way too much ever since.

“The Lord does not listen to the wicked, but he hears the prayers of those who do right.” (Proverbs 15:29)

If Walls Could Talk

Posted on August 21, 2013 by Margaret

A while ago Nelson and I were running errands and decided to take the back roads home instead of the highway (for 28 miles). He said, “There’s lots of interesting stuff off the beaten trail that nobody gets to see.”

Driving along winding roads past country fields, colorful farm equipment, and family vegetable stands, we rounded a bend and came to something significant: an old-fashioned, one-room school- house. Its foundation was of rocks, the rest of it built with small red bricks.

Nelson pulled over so we could take a closer look. A plaque verified its name (Spring Creek School), age (1886), district (No. 3), and current owner (Three Oaks Township Parks and Recreation).

We tried to imagine what students were like as they attended this school 127 years ago, wondering how many studied at once. Though the door was locked, through a window we saw a giant pot-bellied stove and later learned it was original to the school, along with the thick plank flooring and wood-paneled walls.

Immediately I thought of the “Little House on the Prairie” books, much-loved and often- read in our home. Laura Ingalls was a school girl in the 1880’s too, so the children who attended Spring Creek School probably lived lives very similar to hers. Later we learned the “modern” brick school had replaced a cherry-wood, one-room log school built in 1844 on that spot.

Far more important than how the little red schoolhouse came into being, though, or even how well it’s held up through the decades, were the connections made between those who passed through its door. Childhood friendships, student-teacher relationships, mentoring situations, and student-to-student tutoring all probably mattered longer than just school hours. When people left for the day, for the year, or even permanently, what remained?

We learn in Scripture that relationships are really all that matter: (1) God, Jesus, and the Spirit to each other; (2) members of that Trinity to us; and (3) people to people. How we relate is critical (both for now and for eternity) and the Lord steadily supplies opportunities for us to practice making wise choices on both counts. If and when we fail, he doesn’t give up on us but soon provides another go-round at exactly what we messed up the first time.

Children and adults alike can be kind to each other or act badly, choosing to either inspire or discourage others. But in wondering about the children and teachers who used the little Spring Creek School, I like to think that solid friendships were made during the 1880’s and beyond, positive influences that lasted through future generations, all the way till today.

Wanting to find out, Nelson walked to a nearby farm to ask a few questions. Approaching the stand of fresh strawberries out in front, he asked the woman there if she knew anything about the school. “Oh yes,” she said, handing him a pint of berries. “My grandfather was a student there, and our farm here was his farm.”