Hold on tight!

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Lovin' my bath!Most babies and toddlers love bath time. Even though it usually comes at the end of their day when they’re tired and cranky, being set into a warm, bubbly tub brings giggles and pleasure.

Maybe it’s the special toys that come out only then or the guaranteed presence of a parent’s full attention. What babies and toddlers don’t realize, however, is that the adults overseeing bath time usually enjoy it as much as they do. Birgitta and I look forward to Emerald’s bath like it’s a favorite TV show or an entertaining read.

This 10 month old baby is petite for her age, so her pink plastic baby tub worked for nearly 7 months. That made bath time easy for Birgitta, since she propped it in the kitchen sink and didn’t even have to bend over to bathe her. When Emerald outgrew that tub, she went directly into the kitchen sink, a small space of bubbly water she thought was designed especially for her.

Figuring it outEach evening Birgitta and I watch Emerald learn things that are ordinary to us but extraordinary to her -– like how to pop bubbles with her finger or suck on a wet wash cloth to get a drink. This week she’s learning that running water can’t be held in her hands.

We adults figured that out long ago, but have we realized how the same principle can be applied to grown-up issues? Our natural tendency is to hold onto what is precious to us, even when it’s in the process of slipping through our fingers: our spouses, our children, our youthful vigor, our homes, our health, our opinions, our safety. You name it, and we’ve tried to hang onto it.

But no matter how tightly we squeeze, though, these things gradually slip away anyhow, making us worry that one day there won’t be anything left to hold onto. Thankfully, God has a simple solution for that:

“Let go of everything but Me.”

Just when we feel like everybody and everything is disappearing like water through our fingers, at that very moment God gives us the exact directive we want to hear. “Hold on tight!” But what he means is…. to him.

If we’re willing to make him the only thing we cling to, he’ll turn around and take hold of us with a loving grip so strong it will never let us go. And in the process he’ll also fill our empty places with his airtight promises and sustaining strength.

Fascinating...So, our choice is to go through life’s transitions trying to grab what can’t be held (like Emerald’s flowing water), or we can let go of what isn’t ours to hold onto and hang onto what is: the Lord himself.

Jesus said, “No one can snatch [believers] away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else. No one can snatch them from the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.” (John 10:28-30)

Yuk!

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Pine-solI like to keep a neat house, but it’s not always clean-neat. Picking-up is easy compared to breaking out the Pine-sol, Windex, and Pledge. This last week, however, the kitchen took on a strange air that none of us could identify. It wasn’t exactly smelly, but something wasn’t quite right.

As the days passed, every so often we’d get a whiff of wierd, and finally, after a week, whatever it was began to reek. Birgitta, Louisa, and I opened every drawer and cabinet, leaning in for repeated sniffs, desperate to find the problem. Was it rotting food in the waste can? In the disposal? Under the stove? In the drain pipe?

None of those.

Although we kept hunting, we also lit scented candles and sprayed room deodorizer. Whatever it was, it continued to worsen until we were gagging and unable to eat anywhere near the kitchen. What in the world was it?

Today we found out.

Reaching into the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink, I twisted to the right to get a pair of rubber gloves hanging over the drain pipe when I saw it. Snuggled up next to the back of the Kitchen Aid mixer was a dead field mouse. At least I thought it was dead. He hadn’t moved as I’d rummaged around at close range, and the smell in the back of the cabinet was absolutely putrid.

So I did what any woman would do. I insta-backed out of the cabinet and slammed the door.

Later when I showed Louisa what I’d found, we marveled at how tiny the little mouse was and how big its stench. It reminded me of a tiny word that always brings big stink into our lives: sin.

Because the devil is very clever, he coaxes us toward evil in mini-bits. “A little won’t matter,” he says. “Besides, no one needs to know.” And for a time, that may be true. But as Scripture says, what we do on the Q.T. will eventually be spotlighted…. when its smell has grown so big it dominates us and disgusts those around us. Our best bet is to clean it out in its early stages, well before it begins to rot us.

Nite niteAs for our mouse, since I was the one who’d put De-con poison in the back of the cabinet, I was elected to take him out. Though he seemed dead and his odor confirmed it, I wondered if he would run up my sleeve when I tried to grab him. In the end, I double-bagged my hand, let out a long, loud yell, and picked him up. Sure enough, he was dead.

Not long after that, the comforting scent of Pine-sol filled the room, and our women-against-beast adventure was over. If only it was that easy to rid ourselves of sin.

“Dead flies [or mice] make the perfumer’s ointment give off a stench; so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor.” (Ecclesiastes 10:1)

Voicing It

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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.

New TrierMy 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.

At 14Later 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)