Do we understand?

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Travel isn’t what it used to be. There are more rules, for one thing, and learning them can be challenging. You’re allowed to take on board a little of some things but not a lot of anything. If you go against restrictions, you can toss most of what you brought into the giant trash can next to the security guard. I’ve seen that can filled with everything from scissors and shampoos to unopened water bottles. Was it necessary for them to take my nail clipper? I doubt a terrorist could launch a significant attack with one of those. My knitting needles, which could rightfully be considered weapons, passed through security without a hitch.

After white-knuckling a drive through wild winds and sideways rain from my house to Detroit, I flew on a Buddy Pass to Atlanta. Nelson’s friend Kevin, a seasoned mechanic with Delta, took me all the way to the plane door, making sure everything went smoothly. After listening to him describe the 800 items he checks on every plane, I felt quite safe climbing aboard.

My flight from Atlanta would take me the rest of the way to Manchester, England, where children and grandchildren awaited. I spent the afternoon enjoying the international terminal there with its multi-national food court and colorful crowds. In the midst of that swirl of activity sat a grand piano and a man in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses playing jazz. He played without stopping for nearly three hours, contributing a great deal to the festive mood of hundreds of happy travelers.

The only negatives were the language barriers. While waiting in line at Panda Express, the three women ahead of me had trouble making their lunch selections understood, as well as paying their bill. At the currency exchange nearby, another verbal skirmish took place when an explanation of the exchange rate couldn’t be comprehended.

Boarding announcements were delivered in multiple languages, and each gate’s destination was posted as a foreign land. At my gate I enjoyed listening to parents instruct their children in another language, although I didn’t recognize it and couldn’t understand their words.

All of this reminded me of the biblical Tower of Babel. Back then, every person on the earth spoke the same language. We don’t know what that was, but how nice to be able to travel yet understand everything along the way. These unified citizens decided to build a tower reaching up to heaven, which displeased God. To abort the process, he visited their building site and in one fell swoop introduced multiple languages. When people no longer understood each other, the project fell apart.

How interesting to ponder that day. In the morning, the whole work crew spoke the same language, but by afternoon, confusion reigned. Yet God was merciful in his punishment. He could have given a different language to each person so no one person would have understood another. Mercifully he gave the same language to large groups of people, who then banded together and left the tower-construction scene to begin building new societies instead.

Today our globe is populated by a wide variety of people and languages, each person precious to God. And the best news is, because he was the one who created the different languages, he’s fluent in them all. When we talk to him, he understands all of us perfectly.

”That is why the city was called Babel, because that is where the Lord confused the people with different languages. In this way he scattered them all over the world.” (Genesis 11:9)

“Firsts” and Foremost

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Before I became a widow, I often thought about women-friends who’d already started down that road. I’d heard about the struggle of coming to each holiday for the first time after a husband’s death and knew a widow surely was sad at Thanksgiving, Christmas and her spouse’s birthday. Other lesser holidays, I figured, weren’t too bad.

Now that I’m ticking off those “firsts” for myself, I realize how wrong I was. Every long marriage has specific ways of walking through each holiday, both the lesser and the greater ones. Granted, some are more important than others, but each one has special meaning for a husband and wife.

I’ve just passed Mother’s Day. As Linnea remembered her father through tears she said, “Papa would have brought you flowers, two dozen roses or something extravagant like that.” She also reminded me that every Mother’s Day celebration is really initiated by the husband, well before the children are old enough to understand. It’s for couples before it’s for children. Linnea helped to lift the gloom by sending a beautiful orchid plant, and Klaus also stepped into his father’s shoes by bringing a bright bouquet of summer flowers.

Today I woke up thinking, “Another first without Nate is behind me.” Although I held it together on Sunday, today has been more complicated. While packing for my trip to England tomorrow, the tears flowed. I couldn’t stop them. Although I pushed through laundry, errands, phone calls and emails, my heart ached and my two pocket tissues had to be replaced again and again.

Honestly, I think it was all about this first Mother’s Day without Nate, even after the fact. The hole he left in our family will never be filled. He loved all things holiday, buying gifts, bringing me flowers, writing thoughtful messages on cards and celebrating at dinner tables.

I’m six months into widowhood, about half way through my “firsts”: Thanksgiving, our anniversary, the Christmas Eve Swedish smorgasbord, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, Nelson’s birthday, Adam’s birthday, Katy’s birthday, a new grandson’s arrival, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, the spring trip, the birth of twin grandbabies, Louisa’s birthday and Easter… 17 biggies are behind me.

Klaus’ birthday will be next, followed by the most poignant “first” of the entire year, Memorial Day. Annually our relation gathers at the family cemetery plot to reminisce about those who’ve gone before us and to be grateful for their lives. Last year Nate was with us, contributing historical information and enjoying the get-together. None of us ever dreamed by Memorial Day of this year, he’d be buried in that same place.

Once we get through that, Father’s Day will be another hard one, then Birgitta’s birthday, Linnea’s birthday, the 4th of July, Nate’s birthday, my birthday, Labor Day weekend, the September family vacation, Hans’ birthday and Lars’ birthday. There are 29 “firsts” to get through in this family year. Although 29 doesn’t eat up much of 365, it does deliver a slew of painful reminders that Nate is gone.

From this vantage point, I’m wondering what the “seconds” will be like, surely less heartbreaking than the “firsts”. My guess is there will be tears then, too, but they’ll be cried in private.

Thankfully, God comes with us into those secret places and looks deep into our hearts. He comforts us based on what he finds there and does his miraculous healing in those hidden depths.

“God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7b)

But Jesus was never a mother!

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Mothers Day, Part III

Although motherhood often overwhelms us, the Lord promises to draw close to the overwhelmed. When we are desperate for wisdom about how to solve a mothering dilemma or get through a crisis, he has promised to be our co-parent. He’s even been our mothering example, despite never having been a mother.

In the New Testament Jesus referred to the 12 disciples as his children and often handled these men exactly as we moms handle our kids. For example:

  • Moms must continually repeat things to their kids. Jesus often said, “Don’t you remember?” or “I already told you,” or “Don’t you understand?” It seems these men only listened with half an ear. Sound familiar?
  • Moms get frustrated for lack of private time, even in the bathroom. Jesus worked hard to get time alone too, but we read, “Jesus went off to the mountain, and they found him…” or “Jesus got up a long while before dawn, but they searched for him…” or “Soon afterward, Jesus went… and his disciples and a large crowd went with him.” Ring a bell?
  • Moms get weary from non-stop serving. Jesus taught, healed, listened, traveled (all on foot), and even washed feet. Sound like bath time?
  • Mothers sometimes feel abused by all the touching and bodily hanging-on that children do. People pushed him, chased him, grabbed his clothes and plunked children down on his lap, but he didn’t resist. He even reached out to these same people with healing.
  • Moms get frustrated having to spend so much time settling disputes. Jesus refereed bickering between his disciples on dozens of occasions, coping patiently with their arguing: “Who’s the greatest? Who gets to sit by you? Why do you fuss over those children? Why don’t we have anything to eat?”
  • Moms hear the word “mommy” hundreds of times a day and sometimes tire of it, since each use of it means fielding a request. Jesus had people shouting requests at him as he walked along, as he entered the temple, as he preached, as he climbed in a boat to leave the crowds: “Jesus, heal me! Jesus, you must come with me! Jesus, just say the word! Jesus, how can I be saved?” He always responded with kindness.
  • Moms get exasperated answering kids’ questions over and over. Jesus used every question as a teachable moment, turning it back on them by asking his own questions.
  • Mothers get irritated at continually being interrupted. Jesus’ entire ministry was an endless string of interruptions. We read, “He was on the way, when…”
  • Moms can hold grudges. Jesus always forgave.

So Jesus was, indeed, a wonderful mothering example, even referring to himself as like a mother hen gathering her chicks around her.

“But,” we say, “he was flawless, and we’re not!”

We know we can’t be perfect mothers, but there are a million ways to be good ones, and striving toward Jesus’ example is a great place to start.

We do get credit for one parenting characteristic we have in common with Jesus, however. He and we would lay down our lives for our children. The only difference is, he actually did.

“We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters [and children].” (1 John 3:16)