Not as it seems… Part I

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Mom knew how to take the initiative, even as a little girl. Born in 1912, she was only four years old when on a stifling summer day her mother entertained several women from their church. Little Evelyn loved having company and had helped her mother prepare the parlor for their guests. When the women arrived, Evelyn was cordial, greeting each one with her best smile.

Knowing she enjoyed being mama’s helper, her mother asked if she’d like to bring a glass of cool water to each lady as they chatted together. Evelyn was delighted and hurried off to comply. Running back and forth to the parlor, she carefully delivered one glass of water to each appreciative woman.

After the guests had gone, Evelyn’s mother expressed gratitude for her willingness to bring so many glasses of water to the company.

“It was easy,” Evelyn said. “I just got them out of the toilet.”

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Things are not always as they seem. Those cool glasses of water wouldn’t have been quite so refreshing, had the truth been known. Just like the ladies in the parlor, all of us size up situations based only on what we see rather than waiting for all the facts.

As an example, quite a few people have assessed my living situation in Michigan to be an isolated, lonely arrangement unsuitable for a new widow. But the fact is, I’m living here as a result of God’s decision rather than my own.

My first experience with summers in Michigan came long before I met Nate. My parents, along with an aunt and uncle, purchased a small cottage only six blocks from the one I now live in, back in 1946. Mary, Tom and I, along with four cousins and countless pals, made memories in that little three bedroom house until we were bursting at the seams with seventeen children between us, several in-law children and the beginnings of grandchildren. It wasn’t difficult to decide we needed a second cottage!

Nate and I bought our current home ten years ago, continuing to enjoy the same childhood beaches and neighborhoods but adding more space (and especially beds) to the mix. Basing in Chicago, we wished we could spend more time in Michigan and had talked about retiring here one day, away from Chicago traffic, high taxes and the hurried lifestyle we’d always known.

Putting our Chicago area home on the market in 2004, when the real estate bubble was still rising, we hoped to sell quickly. But not many buyers were interested in a 100 year old farm house when new homes were being built on every street. A year passed, then two and three, without a sale. Although we did have several contracts, the economy was tanking, and potential buyers couldn’t secure financing.

Meanwhile Nate’s back began to flare up, and he found himself working less and less. In 2008, we decided to put the Michigan cottage on the market, too, eager to sell one house or the other, unsure of what his health future would be. The outcome would be in God’s hands, and we were willing to live in whichever house didn’t sell. (See Part II, tomorrow.)

”My steps have held to your paths [O Lord]. My feet have not slipped.” (Psalm 17:5)

Seeds of Faith

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As long as I can remember, I’ve loved Jesus. That’s not to say I didn’t set him aside as a young woman when the rest of life seemed more exciting than he did. But something happened when I began having children. The responsibility of caring for another person overwhelmed me, and I felt ill equipped for the task. That’s when I turned back toward Jesus, in need of his help.

It was the beginning of a rich relationship full of wisdom (all his) and joy (all mine). I often felt then (and feel now) unworthy of his attention and will never understand what motivates him to accept me, failures and all, but he does.

As a child I was told Bible stories and coaxed to memorize Scripture. Mom sometimes even paid us to do so. She knew no amount of money would equal the priceless value of “owning” God’s Word. Both Dad and Mom regularly planted seeds of faith in their children and were also careful to tend them.

Even so, I remember coming to a place of doubting Jesus, then being rescued by a necklace Mom had given me. It was a pendant sphere of clear Lucite with a single seed enclosed in the middle. Supposedly it could grow a mustard tree. Mom had given it to me while referencing the story Jesus told about the problem of a small faith and the solution of a big God. We needn’t have a large supply of faith in order to be part of his family or included in his kingdom. He’s the one who did the big job of securing our salvation. We’re the saved; he’s the Savior. My childhood necklace reminded me that small was good enough.

Since then I’ve learned that although my necklace does hold a real mustard seed, there’s no such thing as a mustard tree, only mustard plants. And of course there are many seeds smaller than the mustard seed, such as carrot, strawberry or poppy seeds. Jesus was simply making a point to his listeners using visuals with which they were familiar. He used the mustard seed, because mustard grew everywhere and was prolific. If someone planted one mustard seed, they knew they would soon have millions.

As a child I loved my mustard seed necklace. It felt like I was wearing a little bit of the Bible around my neck, and I knew the Bible was important. Although that piece of jewelry is over 50 years old, it still hangs with my other necklaces, and it’s still a reminder of biblical truth. I’m thankful that when Jesus-seeds are planted in the life of a child, a tiny faith can grow into a sizeable one the same way one mustard seed can grow to fill many meadows.

”Then Jesus asked, ‘What is the kingdom of God like? What shall I compare it to? It is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his garden. It grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air perched in its branches.’ “ (Luke 13:18-19)

Time and Time Again

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One of my favorite singers, Eydie Gorme, sang a song so thought-provoking that several years ago I wrote out the lyrics and filed them in a manila folder under “Time”, which was the name of her song.

She sang, “Back when I was young and summer was forever, ‘good’ was your first name.”

For most people, good times fill the youthful years, along with hope for a happy future. I love looking at this picture of Nate taken in early 1971, because seeing him there in our first apartment, dressed as he is, floods my mind with good-time-memories. I can even remember the tickle of his mustache when he kissed me. It seemed as if we were playing house while he finished law school and I taught first grade. Although we had very little in the way of possessions or money, we had priceless fun together. It was all good times.

And then the clock began moving, ticking even as we slept. Nate graduated, we moved, he became a lawyer, I became a stay-at-home mommy. The kids grew up, went to college, moved away and made us proud. We had weddings and then grandchildren. And in what seemed like a quick minute, time ended, at least for Nate. And my time as his wife ended, too.

Eydie sang, “Time, when did you begin trading your tomorrows for worn out just-todays?”

In mid-winter of this year, when I’d been a widow for three months, I remember sitting in a chair at twilight, my hands in my lap, doing absolutely nothing but listening to the tick-tock of a wall clock. Immobilized by sadness, I didn’t know what to do next. It seemed appropriate to just “be” and to listen to time slipping away. I was worn out by grief, and life had morphed into a series of “worn out just-todays.”

The wall clock is still ticking, but I’m feeling much better these days. Sitting in a chair doing nothing isn’t something I want anymore. I remember Mom saying, as a new widow, “Life will never be the same.” That statement seems obvious, but I think I know the deeper meaning of what she was trying to say: “Without my beloved, life will never be good again.”

I’m sure that thought floats through the mind of every new widow or widower who has had a satisfying marriage. It dominated my thinking for a long time, too. But I no longer agree with Mom on that. Although life can’t ever be the same again because Nate is gone, it can become good again. I know I’ll never stop wondering what today, tomorrow or next year would have been like had Nate remained with us, but today, tomorrow and next year can hold spectacular blessings and positive surprises. Three new grandbabies have already proven that.

Eydie sang, “Time, you rolled into years, years that left me walking, when you began to fly.”

Time is definitely flying, and I may be walking rather than running, but sometimes a long walk can turn out to be a really good time.

“The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong… but time and chance happen to them all.” (Eccl. 9:11)