Category Archives: Thankfulness

Fire-builder

Posted on by

Nelson has always loved fire. I remember catching him lighting matches in his upstairs bedroom when he was about eight. “What on earth are you doing?” I said, alarmed at the prospect of a fire in our very old, all-wooden house.

“I’m testing stuff,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing what burns and what doesn’t.”

He proceeded to tell me he’d cut a tuft of his hair, which burned “real good” in a bowl and had tried to melt a plastic truck, which was “no good.” When I saw a black smudge on the closet door, I asked if he’d tried to burn that, too.

“Yup,” he said, without emotion. “I couldn’t get it to go.”

My heart was pounding, but I tried to stay calm, suggesting his experiments might be better performed outdoors. Over the years he did a great deal of that, learning valuable lessons: fire crackers can explode before you’re ready, and all burns hurt.

Now, in his thirties, Nelson is a master fire-builder, and our old stone fireplace has had inviting fires in it every evening. He loves everything about fire-building, starting with finding dead wood in the forest and hauling it home. Sawing it into log-lengths then hand-splitting it with an ax is rewarding for him, and when the fire is aglow, it’s satisfying for the rest of us, too.

Tonight the fireplace is dark, because Nelson is five time zones away at the University of the Nations in Kona, Hawaii. He’s on his way to New Zealand where he’ll start with another group of YWAM students for 12 weeks of spiritual training followed by a three-month mission outreach.

Although Nelson made sure I had a big pile of ready-to-burn wood before he left, I haven’t made a fire. I don’t get the same kick he does out of arranging, lighting and coaxing a fire into full flame, but the real reason is that he’s not here to sit in front of it with me.

On a cold winter evening, a wood-burning fire invites people to gather for conversation. Sometimes a fire’s attraction is so strong, chairs get pulled into a semi-circle around the hearth, close enough to see firelight dancing on each face.

This winter we’ve shared many meals and scores of meaningful talks in front of Nelson’s fires, beginning last September. When the house was full of family, we’d look forward to baby bedtimes, then congregate in front of the fire with ice cream or brownies, enjoying loving camaraderie at the end of busy days.

But all 14 of them are gone now, and my quiet cottage has only me in it, which is OK. Tonight I’m especially missing Nelson, who was the last to leave, just yesterday. When I got home from the airport and found his touching thank you note on the kitchen counter, I bawled like a baby.

But he’s doing exactly what God called him to do, which brings me deep satisfaction. As a matter of fact, each of my kids and kids-in-law are right where the Lord wants them. Their determination to follow his direction “lights my fire.”

And I don’t even have to go to a cold woodpile to feel its glow.

“Love is as strong as death…  Love flashes like fire, the brightest kind of flame.” (Song of Solomon 8:6)

Sister-Advantage

Posted on by

My sister Mary and I were born 20 months apart. She’s older… and much wiser. Mary’s been my leader and defender since I was born, and I don’t deserve her.

For example, she’s given her last two Fridays to me as a painting partner at the cottage, priming and then semi-glossing the woodwork around all my new windows. In the process she also accomplished the thankless job of painting our “Harry Potter Closet,” the hard-to-reach cubbyhole under the stairs. But painting the underside of steps while lying on her stomach and twisting her neck upward was no problem for Mary. “I’d love to do it,” she said.

And that’s her, always saying, “I’d love to do it.”

Years ago one of my friends gave me a coffee mug that says, “No, I can’t bring 4 dozen cookies. Next question?” I love my mug and quickly related to its sentiment. Mary, however, probably wouldn’t be able to drink from it. She’d rather bake the cookies.

Mom once told me, “Next to your father, Mary is the most Christ-like person I know.” She was right. Mary’s always thinking one step ahead of the rest of us. For instance, she keeps my calendar commitments in her head along with her own, hoping she can help. She’ll say, “Do you have a ride to the airport on the 5th? If not, I’ll take you.” I’m thinking, “Where am I going on the 5th?” and she’s already arranging transportation. But that’s Mary, the biblical poster child for putting the interests of another ahead of her own.

As little girls we were polar opposites. She was quiet; I was boisterous. She was careful; I was sloppy. She obeyed the rules; I tested them. Yet somehow our relationship grew into a strong friendship that’s only gotten stronger with the decades. I’m continually learning from her sterling example and will never catch up.

When Nate had his cancer, she and I often left the house briefly to have prayer times in her car. When I held back tears at the cottage to spare children and grandchildren, beach walks with Mary were my safe times to open the flood gates. When Nate died, Mary was there, as she had been for days leading up to that. And in the 15 months since I’ve become a widow, she’s driven from Chicago to Michigan every Thursday to spend several days cheering and fortifying her grieving sister.

Best of all, though, is our relationship as sisters-in-the-Lord. Mary knows her Bible (because she reads it through each year), and I often ask, “Where is that one verse about…?” She knows. As a Bible study leader she studies Scripture intently and has, in the process, become more and more like its Author. As Mom said, Christ-like.

Today after cleaning her paint brush and pulling on her boots she said, “What are you planning to blog about tonight?”

I said, “You.”

“Oh no. You shouldn’t.”

But of course, I knew she’d say that.

“She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.” (Luke 10:39)

Finding a Champion

Posted on by

Because we raised four sons, our driveway resembled a used car lot or even a junk yard. The boys became experts at finding automotive bargains and owned many a car with a sticker price under $500.

They knew how to fix most of what was wrong with their purchases and usually kept them running for years at a time. Collision insurance was unnecessary, and “ride-pride” was never a problem.

One of those cars, a Chevy Nova bought as a college-car for $400, has become a family legend. Bought eight years ago from a librarian who drove it only three blocks to work and back each day, it’s become the longest-owned vehicle of the 61 cars we’ve owned over 41 years. It was actually sold two times, but none of us felt right about that. In both cases it was quickly bought back.

Like a homing pigeon, this car keeps coming back to us. I wrote about its coat of many colors (six of them) in another post [June 26, 2010], and now it boasts a seventh identity, snow-camouflage, the perfect fit for a Michigan winter.

Last weekend Nelson bought it back yet again from a friend in TN who had owned it only a month. In driving the eight hours home, he couldn’t get over its excellent performance: 30 miles per gallon, straight-arrow handling and a steady ride even at 85 mph.

Some cars are lemons, some are champions. Although this car has a few cosmetic flaws, we aren’t surprised when strangers offer to buy it. Even this week another would-be buyer wondered if it was for sale.

I know a handful of people who are much like this car. They remain fresh and interesting no matter how old and refuse to be discouraged or give up on life.  Enthusiasm for each new day runs high, and their optimism is infectious. They have the rare ability to find something good in even miserable circumstances and then focus on those.

God works this way, too, pointing out the positives to us, particularly when we’re surrounded by negatives. He says, “I know you feel unlovable, but remember that Almighty God loves you more than you’ll ever know,” or “Yes, this day will be a challenge for you, but I’ve gone ahead and made the rough places smooth,” or “I understand how lonely you feel, but isn’t it great to know I’ll be with you, no matter what?”

And one thing is certain: God will never sell us out and promises we’ll never get taken from him either. He’s paid a dear price for us, and we’ll always belong to him.

Always.

“I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” (John 10:28)