Leaning into Fantasy

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Margaret

A dear friend from our old Illinois neighborhood called and left a message the other day. “I have some news for you.”

Nate and I moved from there 4 years ago this month, selling our home after having had it on the market for over 4 years. But it took us about that long to get used to the idea of moving anyway. After living there nearly 30 years, it was tough to leave, but we loved the much-smaller cottage we were moving to in Michigan, a beach community that had been our family’s gathering place for 3 generations.

When I re-called my neighbor she said, “Would you like to move back to the neighborhood? Your old house is up for sale!”

That was about the last thing I’d expected to hear. The mid-20’s couple who’d bought our 6 bedrooms had planned to fill the rooms with children, and in the last 3 years had had 2 of them. Hearing that they wanted to move was a big surprise.

Our family had loved living in that century-old farmhouse with its secret closet, 2 stairways, strange attic, and other unique features, so my neighbor’s question was tempting. Move back to my old friends? Our beloved church and pastor? Shopping areas that were 1 mile away instead of 25?

It was a delicious thought.

But later, when Birgitta, Nelson, and I talked it through, the reality wasn’t as tasty. For one thing, Nate wouldn’t be there. He and I had done life together in that home, from weathering storms to bringing new babies there. Without him, that houseful of memories would seem empty and sad. And of course I don’t need such big digs.

Whether we like it or not, time keeps marching forward, and circumstances change, some for the good, some for the bad. We can’t go backwards hoping to recreate what we had. If what we had wasn’t good, we don’t mind. But if it was, we have to firmly deal with ourselves to make sure we don’t yearn for something that can’t be ours.

God’s counsel on this is to be future-focused, “forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.” (Philippians 4:13) In that same passage Paul says, “Our conversation is in heaven.” (v. 20,KJV)

Living and belonging there will be more important than anything we’ve known here, and it’s all still in front of us. Leaning backwards to recapture something that can’t possibly compare with what’s ahead is to set ourselves up for a big letdown.

And so, after we took a visual tour of our old house on Zillow.com, we stopped entertaining the idea of living there again and began listing the many reasons we’re glad God put us exactly where he did.

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:13-14)

Did you mean to be mean?

Posted on February 3, 2013 by Margaret

Every young mom worries about the safety of her newborn, especially in that first month. Will I drop him? Will I accidentally scratch her with my nail? Will he fall off my bed if I nap him there?

But what about us grandmas? We wonder if we’ll stumble or even fall while holding the baby. What if we run out of energy or doze off unknowingly while on duty?

In other words, what if we cause harm without meaning to? I know the answer to that, because it happened to me this weekend. I should say, more accurately, it happened to Emerald.

Our little girl has grown to be 3 months old but has never had her nails cut. Birgitta knew it was time, having been repeatedly scratched by her “caresses.” So I decided to be a good grandma and buy a special baby-sized clipper, the one that had “Safety 1st” in its name. When clipping time came, Emerald clenched her dimpled fists, making her fingertips go white (the same color as her tiny nails). Birgitta just couldn’t do it.

Although I have no memory of clipping baby fingernails, surely I must have, so I volunteered. The first 3 fingers went well, and we heard the snip-snip of her soft nails, but the 4^th finger snip didn’t make any noise. That’s because I’d inadvertently cut the tip of her finger, missing the nail completely!

As Birgitta worked to comfort her screaming, a rush of regret poured through me. Emerald’s first bleeding episode, and it was my fault. I lost 2 hours of sleep that night berating myself, though Birgitta didn’t lay blame.

Sadly, in a few days, Emerald will be hurt again, this time with a vaccination needle. Such “harm,” though, is carefully calculated and allowed to happen for a valuable purpose. Because of that, her mommy will be in favor of her “suffering” on that day.

God uses a similar logic. If we receive a bad medical report, or if an accident occurs, a financial downturn takes place, a hope is dashed, a relationship fractured, a job lost, God is allowing it. But he never lets it happen until he’s first assessed that it has a valuable purpose, much like Birgitta assessed the vaccination.

When life hurts, we can’t imagine why God doesn’t eliminate the pain, just like Emerald will be bewildered and upset at her upcoming doctor’s appointment. But Birgitta is going to orchestrate that, whether Emerald understands or not. The same goes for us.

So, what’s our best response? We should do just what Emerald did when I clipped her finger: she looked to her parent for comfort. We should turn to God in that same way, knowing he’ll never allow pain into our lives without a valuable purpose behind it…

…something far more important than well-trimmed nails.

“I know, Lord, that our lives are not our own. We are not able to plan our own course. So correct me, Lord, but please be gentle.” (Jeremiah 10:23-24)

Workin’ It

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Margaret

The other day Nelson took the middle seat out of his van and drove off in search of firewood. When he’s “in residence” he makes a beautiful fire every night, coaxing all of us toward the conversation circle in the living room.

But cozy fires don’t come without a good deal of hard work first. Nelson has to find the wood, saw it into manageable chunks, load it into the van, unload it at our house, and then put some real man-power into splitting the pieces of stump with an old fashioned ax. Whack! Whack! Hundreds of times. When I ask if it hurts his back or neck, both of which have been injured in car accidents, he says, “I really love this kind of work.”

And I love that he loves it, because I could never haul or split wood like he does. The only effort I could make to gather logs would be to tear out a check from my checkbook. But it’s interesting that Nelson’s way of securing fireplace wood and mine are different not only in the physical effort expended but in depth of satisfaction, too.

We’ve all heard the expression, “He who chops his own wood is twice warmed.” That refers to the heated work of chopping and splitting, followed by the warmth of the fire. But really there’s a third warming, the sense of accomplishment a man feels in bringing wood from forest to fireplace. It’s much like a gardener growing her own vegetables, harvesting them, and then serving them for dinner.

I think God has this same multi-tiered satisfaction in mind for us when we dig into his Word, looking for him. We go on a diligent search, not sure of exactly what we’ll find, but willing to make the effort. We work hard to read, study, and hear him correctly, and when he finally reveals his truth or himself, we experience the deep pleasure of those connections, and want to do it all over again.

Very few things of value come to us without a degree of diligence and (usually) struggle. We sometimes get disheartened along the way and lose momentum, even quitting altogether. But then we miss getting to the good stuff: the cozy fire, the delicious meal, the bond with God.

So we have a choice. We can let blood, sweat, or tears keep us from succeeding at our labors, or we can push through the discouraging moments (or hours) with diligence, counting on God to strengthen us to each task. And he will, whether it’s splitting wood, harvesting vegetables, or studying the Bible. And hopefully, as we’re “being warmed” by laboring in his Word,

we’ll be able to say the same thing Nelson did: “I really love this kind of work.”