One Way

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All of us look for road signs telling us the right way to go, especially while driving. We also watch for signs warning us not to go the wrong way. Turning down a one way street facing oncoming traffic, for example, isn’t something I’d recommend, though I’ve done it many times.

In my neighborhood there are several “signs” that were “posted” 300 years ago when a Potawatomi Indian tribe lived here. Padding single file through the dense woods on moccasin-shod feet, they needed markers to let each other know where the good fishing and hunting was, or which paths led to good portage points for their canoes, or where to find mineral resources.

To accomplish this, they bent young saplings at right angles to the ground, strapping them down with vines or handmade ropes. As the young trees grew, they assumed the sharp angles, and when native eyes scanned the forests, horizontal lines of bent trunks stood out among the vertical trees. The tree elbow, then, was the pointing “arrow” of these unusual signs, and I’ve heard tell we have a couple of them left in our neighborhood.

Yesterday I found one. I think.

As I stood and looked at that tree trying to visualize these same woods 300 years ago, I couldn’t help but think of what the Indians must have looked like walking along the wooded dunes just like I was. I wanted to step back in time to see how they lived. Research says they wore buckskin clothes and feathers in their long hair. They killed game with bows/arrows and used spears to catch fish.

The women “wore” their babies and did most of the farming of grains and vegetables. It sounds like they all worked hard, and if I could live with them for a week, no doubt I’d learn a great deal about my neighborhood and how to exist in it without the benefit of stores, cars, or computers.

Of course I can’t travel back 300 years, but it’s a pleasant thought to remember that God lived in my neighborhood back then, loving the Potawatomi when they were here, just as he loves those of us currently in the neighborhood. He’s no respecter of persons, in that he longs to gather all of us into his family, regardless of where we sit on history’s time line.

I’m not sure what the Potawatomi knew about the “one way” signpost to heaven being Jesus Christ, but I’m confident God had custom-made signs in nature that showed any seekers the way.

I only have one question: would I look ok in buckskin?

“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.” (1 John 3:1)

Grrrr

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America is a country obsessed with dieting, and over the years I’ve tried most of the fad diets. Many were complicated, requiring food diaries, portion weighing, or regular meetings.

Looking for simpler ways to do it, I did find a few: eating only protein, only vegetables, or only diet shakes. But these were “hoax diets,” quick weight loss but even quicker re-gain.

Eventually I heard about a streamlined diet that sounded foolproof. It had only one rule: wait to eat until you growl.

Although stomachs make gurgling noises when they’re full of food, we all recognize the rumbling hunger pangs that come when we’re genuinely empty. They are the body’s call for food, and if we wait to eat until we feel them, we know we’re eating for the right reason.

Years ago I was afraid of hunger pangs. On the rare occasion when they came, they made me edgy, almost panicky. But later I realized they could become my friends, because they were a clear-cut go-ahead to get something to eat.

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This morning as I sat with 4 other women around a small wooden table at church, the sounds of heartfelt prayer went up to heaven as we prayed over 130 requests. Surely our calls to the Lord pleased him, since he has instructed us to make our requests known to him. (Philippians 4:6)

Our little round table was littered with pages and small cards on which Scripture verses had been written. These were supernatural words we were praying into the lives of those mentioned in the requests. The sound of those verses also must have brought pleasure to God, because the Bible’s words initiated with him. (John 1:1)

And then as we continued to pray, I heard a third sound mingling with the names, requests, and verses: a growling stomach. And then two. And finally three! It was stereophonic grrrr-ing.

There were only 5 of us at the table, and I knew rice cakes and peanut butter were keeping my stomach quiet. But I marveled that 3 of these 4 women had skipped breakfast to rush to the church for purposeful prayer, early in the day. And surely because their growling came as a result of putting prayer first, it too was a sound that pleased the Lord.

We prayed on and on, and the growling continued. The rumblings refreshed my spirit as I thought about how keen-to-pray these women really were. God was listening to our prayers and their grrrrs, and I know beyond doubt he’ll not only answer the requests but will also pour out blessing on those doing the praying.

Americans may be obsessed with dieting, but I’m learning that the healthiest obsession is to have a steady diet of passionate prayer.

The angel answered, “Your prayers… have come up as a memorial offering before God.” (Acts 10:4)

 

Bottoming Out

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My first official job was as a waitress in a small California diner, and I tested the cook’s patience as she tried to teach me serving skills. One day I was responsible for restaurant chaos as a result of not having listened carefully about the coffee machine.

In those days, no homeowner had a coffee maker in her kitchen, and I had no idea how they worked. Our restaurant had a big one with 3 burners and 3 pots, a complicated contraption at best.

One morning during a breakfast shift, I made a fresh pot of coffee for the men lined up at the counter enjoying ham and eggs. When I grabbed the pot and swung it around for coffee refills, the bottom fell out of the glass pot, along with all the scalding coffee. Those seated on the stools leaped up in unison as if they’d been choreographed to do so, shouting their complaints.

The cook charged in from the kitchen, immediately sizing up the situation. The coffee pot, half in my hand and half in glass shards on the floor, had been sitting empty on a hot burner. As the fresh coffee dripped into it, nothing appeared different, but the pot had cracked, and its contents were doomed.

A glass carafe isn’t the only thing subject to its bottom falling out. The proverbial bottom can fall out of life, too. When everything breaks apart we ask, “How did we get burned so badly?” Usually it has something to do with being on a “hot seat” too long.

Although the coffee pot incident was completely my fault, we’re not always the ones responsible when the bottom falls out of life. It might be a convergence of unusual circumstances or the result of an attack by someone else. It might even be God, who sometimes lets us fall to a place of brokenness on purpose. (When he does, though, it’s only after he’s tried to get our attention in gentler ways first.)

If we reach out to him for help when we’re at the bottom, the result is a lifting-up with better results than if we’d never fallen at all. To stay in a hot spot that’s burning us with increasing intensity does more damage than if we break apart, for one reason: it’s God who is willing to put us back together.

That restaurant mistake showed me heat can cause disaster. But in the 46 years since learning that lesson, I’ve been careful not to put glass on a hot burner.

When the bottom falls out and God picks up our broken pieces, the fresh beginning he offers comes with increased smarts, and we usually do things differently after that. Although we may end up with a burn scar, it’s always worth it.

“The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.” (Psalm 51:17)