Looking for God

Posted on September 15, 2009 by Margaret

Governments don’t have soul, and none of the congressmen who voted “yes” to the tax changes back in 1986, knew our family or intended to hurt us. With their “yeas” and “nays” they didn’t think about Nate’s business imploding as a result of the law change and didn’t see the struggle we’d have to keep milk in our refrigerator.

One of Nate’s favorite things to say during these difficult months, years, and eventually two decades was, “We soldier onward.” I loved that. He gave us the determination to keep marching forward when it would have been easier to quit fighting against overwhelming odds.

During those dark days I often stood in the check-out line at the grocery with a cranky baby on my hip and a near-empty purse over my shoulder. It’s difficult to decide what items to take off the belt to bring a total under $12. Milk, meat and veggies are out of reach when money is scarce, especially when trying to feed a crowd.

I became a pro at saving pennies. I told the kids to put their clothes back into the drawers after wearing them once, to get a second wearing (at least) before washing. That way we saved on expensive detergents. I cared for leftovers by the pea and kernel of corn, and I don’t mean from the serving bowls. I mean from the plates. Bits that were left on each plate were gathered to make one new serving for someone at the next meal. I learned to make soup, most recipes without meat, and we slurped it down, night after night.

During these stress filled days, I began looking for God like never before. I had to know if he saw our situation and how he might offer to help us.

I recognized him first on a bitter cold, icy morning when I stepped out the front door to drive the school carpool. There, covered in sparkling frost, were two large paper grocery bags full of food: potatoes, oranges, cereal, butter, bread, canned vegetables, cookies, peanut butter, soup and rice. Wedged into the bottom was a frozen ham.

The kids, leaning forward under the burden of school back packs, stumbled over each other to look into the bags. “Who? When? Why?” We never got the answers. But we all recognized God that day, and when he came, he taught us something important.

Although he lets us struggle in a million different ways, he’s always watching out for us. Pastor Erwin Lutzer says, “God lets us go into the fire, but he always keeps his hand on the thermostat.” I think he pays closer attention during painful times than when things are going well.

On that discouraging winter day back in the late eighties, God loved us so much that he leaned down from heaven and whispered into someone’s ear: “Drop two bags of groceries on Nyman’s front porch today.” For their obedience, I will always be grateful.

“Oh Lord, I have to pack!”

Posted on September 6, 2009 by Margaret

When the reality of our upcoming move finally hit me, it was like a tidal wave with water up the nose and an undertow that swamped me.

From my prayer journal:

“Lord, Today I have five hours at home to work on organizing and throwing stuff away. All I feel like doing is throwing up. I’m not kidding about the nausea. Where do I even start? Basement? Attic? Garage? Crawl space? Book shelves? I can’t do it alone. Also, I need a handyman, a carpenter, a plumber, an electrician and a landscaper. Who are they? When can they come? How can we pay them? Oh Lord, please prioritize this mess!”

And under I went, swirling in a wave of confusion and chaos, wondering if I’d be able to make it through to order and stability. I called out to God often, whenever panic started rising, which was every hour.

One day I walked into the house with several cardboard boxes, and the phone was ringing. It was my friend Sue from Colorado. “Don and I have cleared two days, and we’re flying to Chicago to help you do whatever needs doing. Don will bring his tools.” Now it was my turn to cry. God had heard my questions, and Sue and Don were his answers.

They arrived toting overnight bags full of work clothes and tools, as promised. After Sue asked, “What needs doing?” it was obvious from my stuttering that I didn’t know how to begin.

“We’ll begin in the basement,” she said with firmness, marching toward the stairs. I followed, quietly whimpering with gratitude. “Get me a marker, a roll of tape, three black garbage bags and those boxes you collected. We’ll start in one corner and work out from there.”

As I stood staring at her in wonder, Sue continued. “One bag will be for trash, black because once something goes inside, you won’t be allowed to see it again. The second bag will be for give-aways. You’ll be downsizing, so you won’t be able to keep everything. The third bag will be for keepers. When that bag is full, we’ll transfer its contents to a box, label it, tape it and stack it.”

I felt my body go limp with relief. Sue had become my life preserver, rescuing me from going under for the third time. As we worked, we talked and laughed. When we came to a questionable item, such as a science project one of the kids had worked hard on and received a blue ribbon for, I began to sink again. “We can’t throw that away!” I whined. But Sue squared her shoulders and said, “Get your camera. We’ll take a picture of it, then get rid of it.” For each “no-I-can’t” dilemma, Sue had a “yes-we-can” idea.

Meanwhile, Don was eliminating items from my “Handyman List” the way a bee bee gun shoots cans off a fence: done, done, done. Slow toilets ran faster, sticky doors opened, a stubborn computer obeyed, rotten house siding morphed into new, malfunctioning light fixtures shone, and 23 other things.

In the basement, Sue and I gradually transformed piles of debris into neatly stacked, labeled boxes ready for our move. Garbage cans were loaded and my mini-van was filled with bags for Good Will. The tidal wave had calmed.

As Nate and I stood at the door waving good-bye to Sue and Don, the phone rang. It was my sister. She was coming over the next day to help me “with anything that needs doing.” God and friends were bringing us through.

Flashlight or floodlight?

Posted on September 3, 2009 by Margaret

When our dog Jack and I take our late night walk through the neighborhood, tree-shaded streets are inky black. I always grab a flashlight, because without it, we’d walk into parked cars and yard fences trying to find our way.

Most of our flashlights are the dollar store variety. Their circle of light is small and often inadequate, although a little light is better than none. Then there’s the heavy flashlight with the powerful halogen bulb. When I carry that one, I feel guilty for producing a swath of light that spills into the privacy of people’s living rooms. It’s a floodlight in a tube.

Last night when Jack and I walked, my cheap flashlight was flickering with weak batteries, casting only a faint yellow glow in front of us. This was irritating since my light would only shine as far as the next spot my foot would land on and no further.

Scripture gives us a word picture of this exact situation. “Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105) When walking along life’s path, I crave a peek all the way down the road, right into my future, preferring a floodlight to a flashlight or a lamp.

But God is the only one who can see all the way down the road. Because of that, it seems sensible to leave the darkness and uncertainty of what’s ahead, up to him. He’ll light it up when we need to see it. Meanwhile, he hands us the lamp of his Word. He says, “One step is enough for now. Walk into that circle of light in front of you, and let me worry about what’s ahead in the dark.”

Last night Jack offered the perfect example of why we ought to take God’s advice on this. He stepped in front of my flashlight’s beam, which suddenly cast his own black shadow directly in front of him. He startled, jumped to the side and searched for the dark villain he’d just seen, but the shadow had disappeared. The walk goes better if he stays behind the light and follows where it leads. blog street