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- #197 A Wrench in It
- #195 Gravel in the Grass
- #196 Gravelly Grass--part 2
- #192 Blind Spots and Mirrors
- #193 Letting Things Slide
- #194 Throat Tickle
I am a planner. I lead a predictable--albeit messy--life. I'm a make-a-list, check-the-schedule sort of person. Of course, I married someone who is the exact opposite.
Stan came home from work Monday and jokingly said, "Well, are you all packed and ready to go?" At least, I thought he had to be joking. He wasn't. Work was so slow that he was afraid of being moved off his (cushy) machine. He figured the timing was ideal for using up some of those vacation days he'd been saving. I thought he meant a two or three day trip. He had a longer trip in mind, maybe two weeks. Two weeks! We've not taken a two week vacation during our entire 18 years of marriage. Our sons think a two-hour car trip is long; this trip would take at least 12 hours.
Stan didn't consider this a spur-of-the-moment trip. After all, he was giving me almost three days notice. I got an instant stomach-ache. Three days to plan a ten-day trip; is he crazy? (No time to discuss that now; besides, I never know when he might decide to read these essays of mine.) Then he issued an ultimatum: It's now or never. (I knew he meant it; my carefully planned trips never seem to materialize.) I chose "now" and started making lists: things to pack, mail and newspapers to cancel, hotel reservations to make ("You mean the 19th of March?" "No, I mean this weekend"). Thankfully, it was off-season at the beaches in South Carolina (we were about to find out why it was off-season but that is another essay). My nerves were shot for the next two days but somehow, everything got done on time.
I admit that I'm inflexible; the only change I like is the kind of change that jangles in my coin purse. Abrupt schedule changes, even positive ones, are tough on me. You've heard the saying, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." I know that is true, but I still have a fondness for those plans. I kick up a fuss when my routine is upended.
How about you? How do you handle change?
Sometimes God allows our schedule to be disrupted, wreaking havoc with our neat little day-planners. Maybe our day is disrupted (too many phone calls, a cranky child, an unexpected visit); maybe our week has to be rearranged (we've had our share of that this year due to snow storms); maybe illness or accident or financial trouble wrecks the entire month or year. And sometimes, there are events that change the way we live out the rest of our life. What then? It is easy to mouth Paul's words "in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content" when we don't mind the state we're in. I still look at changes as good or bad by the way they affect temporal things--my temporal things. I can't see far enough to see how those changes affect things eternal. Guess I need to reread II Corinthians 4. And maybe I should stock up on that nerve-calming peppermint tea.
2-16-99
It was mild here yesterday in Northern Indiana: sunny and 50° F. A perfect day for picking the stones out of our yard--and there were plenty of them. When the tractor blade pushed those piles of snow out of the lane into the yard, it was pushing buckets of gravel along with it. The snow has melted, but the stones remain. Kind of like glacial or alluvial deposits.
I asked my husband Stan if perhaps we could just use the lawn roller and smash the stones down into the soft dirt. (Then they wouldn't get caught in the lawn mower blades, right?) He frowned at me so I didn't tell him my other ideas: Making that part of the yard into a Japanese rock garden (no mowing all summer!). Or renting a really powerful vacuum hose and just sweeping up all those rocks. (Surely there must be such a powerful vacuum somewhere.)Ah, but no such luck.
I told my sons we'd see how much we could pick up in 30 minutes. They wanted to start on the biggest piles so that the 5 gallon buckets would fill up faster (they wouldn't let me dump them into the lane: "not until we show daddy how much we did; otherwise he won't believe us"). Today we'll be picking individual stones out of the grass and our progress will be much slower. (My sons were just reading this last sentence over my shoulder and protesting loudly--"you mean we have to pick up stones again today? Why can't you just do it by yourself?")
Tedium. I 'd rather pick up sticks; they are bigger and easier to carry. There are plenty of them to pick up, too, but the stones come first, "Before the grass starts growing", Stan said. Tedium. Nothing like getting down on your knees and raking the grass with your fingers to pick out pieces of gravel. Not like mowing the lawn, where wide swaths are cut and progress is apparent. Tedious, but necessary. (I'm still not convinced about the necessary part but I'll yield to Stan in this; he has already picked up far more stones than we have.)
Do you have any stones to pick up in your life? Any small stumbling blocks--either blocks to your own faith or blocks that might make those who watch you stumble? Any little doubts--about God's character or the truth of His promises? Does He really care? Can we trust His word? Any small areas of disobedience? Any tiny parts of your life that you haven't completely turned over to God? Little stones add up to one big mess. It is that whole concept of faithfulness in small things again.
There is also another way to look at gravel in the grass: as a way to sort priorities. (Since I've stretched the last analogy as far as I can, I'll throw a new one into the mix.) Gravel belongs in the lane; gravel itself is not inherently evil. The problem comes in mixing the two. (We don't like grass in the gravel, either. That is why I have to spray the lane all summer long.) Think of it as a: rendering to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God, the things that are God's:
On company time, we are to give 100% to our employer. Also, we can't use God as an excuse not to pay our taxes, or not to serve on jury duty (I had an acquaintance who wanted to try that.) Conversely, when we are at church or during our devotions, we are to focus completely on God--not to let our mind wander to our jobs, tomorrow's "to do" list, next summer's vacation, problems with family and friends, etc. This is not to say that we are to "put God in a box" or divide our life into neat folders marked secular and spiritual. God should be at the center of all that we do. But don't use serving God as an excuse to be lazy on the job or to neglect your family. God can use you in the lane and the lawn--He is the solid ground beneath them both.
2-10-99
Today was day two of picking pea gravel out of our long, brown, matted grass. I had the boys help for just 20 minutes, then I continued on for another 25. Yesterday, we picked up five gallons' worth in very little time; today the pickings were slimmer and slower; more like gleanings, instead of "handfuls of purpose". My sons were not quite as enthusiastic, either. One son liked to just stand around and contemplate (I'm afraid that he inherited that trait from his mother)--I had to keep reminding him to get down on the grass and actually pick up something. Another son kept bringing me his "treasures" (gravel that was slightly less ugly than its fellows--including one broken shell fossil). The third son found a dead weed--shaped like the spokes of a wheel--that he tossed up in the air to see if it would spin (it didn't).
I sat by the edge of the lane and methodically tossed stones from grass to gravel lane (what a difference a mere 24 inches can make). After all of our work, we had barely made a dent in the mess; you could hardly tell that we'd done anything at all. (So perhaps we weren't quite as methodical as I thought). We had "brightened" a few tiny corners of the yard, but the rest was still in darkness. The thought crossed my mind "why bother?" The task was as daunting as--no, more daunting than ever. (Honestly, we've never had this many stones in our yard in all our 18 years here....at least, not that I'd ever noticed. Maybe Stan used to always pick them up himself?)
I was so tired of picking up stones after a mere 45 minutes, that I went through the yard and picked up sticks, just for a change of pace. We only have one old tree that sheds sticks, but it sheds them with a vengeance: tiny little twigs cascade down at the slightest puff of wind. Bristlecone (merely an affectionate term; I don't really know what kind of a tree it is--it doesn't seem to match up with anything in our tree guide books; that is suspicious in itself) sheds twigs the way an angora cat sheds its hair. I'm always a little uneasy picking up twigs and branches under that old tree. There are a couple of huge limbs dangling rakishly--taunting me to walk under them. I have the feeling that old tree would like nothing better than to fell me one of these days. No, picking up brittle little twigs under that suicide tree was no picnic. But I still preferred that to picking gravel out of the grass. (sigh)
Sage quotes from my husband: "Some things just take time. No one said it was going to be easy" (or did he say "fun"?--I guess I wasn't listening that closely to Stan; he was still picking up stones when I returned from my three-mile walk. I decided to help him a little.) Of course, he was right. That's one of the differences between Stan & me. When I see an overwhelming task, I spin my wheels, wondering where to start. If I'm feeling especially ambitious, I might even put the task on my list (and then study that for awhile). Stan just starts--and finishes, as well. (Talk about opposites attracting!).
Some things take time--like that ten dollar word: sanctification. I see sanctification as the process of being set apart for God; a sort of daily purification. Justification is nearly instantaneous--we are justified before God by our faith in His Son. But we aren't instantly spiritually mature; we are still babes in Christ. Sanctification is the process (notice how often I use that word "process") of becoming more like Christ, of being molded in His image. Spiritual growth is something we experience one step at a time--some steps are larger than others, and some steps are faster, but it is still step-by-step learning.
I would love to be "zapped" with instant spiritual maturity; zapped with infinite patience, gentleness, goodness, etc. (Of course, no one would recognize me.) However, God doesn't seem to work that way in my life. Creation itself took a mere six days--and it could have taken six milliseconds (or no time at all). Creating a new heart--that didn't take long either. But that battle between flesh and spirit--ah, there's the rub! It takes a lifetime to overcome in that battle (and that is if you are willing to learn). Progress is not always forward--sometimes it is like picking up one bucket of gravel while two more buckets are being dumped behind you. How often it seems like you are starting all over again, from scratch. Life can be full of dull, tedious lessons in patience endurance. Why? Maybe we are slow learners. We need that "line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little " kind of lesson. (Isaiah 28:9,10) And God wants our perfection. He wants a clean lawn--not one strewn with gravel. He is willing to work on us; are we willing to let Him?
2-10-99
I'd thought that I was over my cold by now; the virus had already cashed in its requisite ten days. Then, just before I went to bed, I got a slight tickle in my throat. That doesn't sound like anything major, does it? But this tickle wouldn't go away (this also happened to me at church and, just last night, at the checkout counter in the grocery store: eyes watering, sputtering, coughing, unable to squeak out more than a few faint syllables). That night, I was up nearly every hour (Stan didn't get much sleep either, thanks to my coughing fits). I went to the kitchen and tried every remedy I could think of:
| TussinÒ cough syrup thick enough to make me gag |
| boiling hot tea (maybe I could scald that ticklish little critter to death) |
| honey and vinegar heated up in the microwave (one whiff of that is better than smelling salts) |
| zinc lozenges and hot cinnamon candies, |
| even peanut butter (don't ask me to explain this one--I thought perhaps I could suffocate the tickle). |
Nothing worked. I had only a few hours of sleep the entire night--as soon as I woke up, I'd start coughing again. The next day, Stan offered some helpful suggestions: drink plenty of fluids and try not to cough, that only makes it worse. Try not to cough? That is like telling someone: "try not to think of pink flamingos" (What is the first image that pops into the mind--why, pink flamingos, of course!) By that time, Stan himself was coughing up a storm (I wonder where he picked that up?) I called our doctor's office, but as it was a holiday weekend, he would not be in until January 4th. It was now the New Year's Eve. So, Stan and I headed to town on a mission--to find the strongest cough drops money could buy. It is laughable, the way all those cough drop labels lie. They all have the word "tasty" on the front of the package. Who are they trying to kid? Anything with 10mg of menthol in it is not going to be tasty, no matter how much fake cherry flavoring you douse it with. But the awful things worked. They worked.
Seems like a lot of trouble over a simple little throat tickle, doesn't it? I mean, we're not talking about cancer or pneumonia or even the stomach flu. A throat tickle is not something that will have you laid up in bed for days, it doesn't make you weak or affect your appetite. But my, it is annoying! Satan often uses his equivalent of "throat tickles" to keep us off balance spiritually. I am ashamed to admit it, but it doesn't take a major calamity to get my focus off Christ. In fact, those major trouble often force me to my knees. No, it is the small worries and fears that distract me. I need to stock up on spiritual cough drops--and then remember to take them. Something soothing and calming--a quiet time in prayer and reading? Perhaps focusing on God's big picture by reading the book of Revelation? Maybe looking up the words "peace" or "fear not" or "rest" in a Bible concordance? Something to get me back on track. (Spiritual coughing fits are not pretty to watch, either. )
1-8-99
I was paying for my purchase at K-Mart: a six-in-one magnetic game. It had checkers, chess, Chinese checkers, Parcheesi, snakes and ladders, and a Connect-fourÒ knock-off. We were staying at the HolidomeÒ for a few nights and I thought playing games would be a good way to pass the time in the motel room (as well as in orthodontist's office this month; five appointments in one month = many long, boring hours).
I counted out the exact change: $7.34. I put a quarter, a nickel, and 4 pennies on the handy little ledge conveniently placed there at the checkout. As soon as I set down the coins, they slipped off the ledge and fell to the floor. No problem. I picked them up and put them back up on the ledge again. Whoosh--back on the floor, just like the first time. Hmmm... Only then did I notice that the convenient little ledge was sharply slanted down--an aid for writing checks, but not a good place to rest coins. ( I saw my husband Stan behind me in line, sadly shaking his head in disbelief. "One time, I would believe", he said, "but twice??) We've been married over 18 years; I'd have thought he would be used to my behavior by now. I guess there are some things you just don't get used to.
I suppose there are a couple of lessons here for me to learn. One is to pay attention. My observant husband would never have placed those coins on that sloping ledge in the first place. He is missing those crucial genes for absent-mindedness. I'd offer to share mine, but I don't think it works that way. Another lesson is that not everything that looks firm and level really is in actuality. Some things look safe enough at first glance (or at no glance, in my case) but they are slippery slopes that take you down to the very bottom. This slope was rather steep and sharp, but some are so gradual, you don't notice until you are on the way down and can't seem to stop yourself. You aren't at the top of such a slope today, are you? Tempted to try something that doesn't seem "so bad", telling yourself it is "no big deal"? Think of those coins, helplessly plummeting off the edge and down to the grimy floor. Is that where you want to end up?
Or maybe you are placing your faith in something that will only lead to a fall. There is only one firm foundation, one Rock. As the hymn goes, "all other ground is sinking sand" (or sloping ledges) What are you going to trust in? Your own talents, abilities, and power? Some impersonal "force" that you tap into to solve your problems? All slippery slopes. Slopes are fine for sledding and skiing but unless you want to spend your whole life slipping and sliding around, you need to be grounded on higher, level ground. May we pray as the Psalmist:
| "Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not." --Psalms 17:5 |
And then, praise God when He answers our prayer:
| "My foot standeth in an even place"--Ps. 26:12 |
| "For who is God save the LORD? or who is a rock save our God... Thou hast enlarged my steps under me, that me feet did not slip." -- Ps. 18: 31, 36 |
| "When I said, My foot slippeth; thy mercy, O Lord, held me up." --Ps. 94:18 |
May we be held up by His mercy today and kept from slipping.
| "Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling...be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever."--Jude 24,25 Amen! |
1-6-99
Peripheral vision on humans is only so good; we have both eyes out front for depth perception and we can't turn our heads in a complete circle (at least, I can't). So we have blind spots, places just out of our range of vision. That's what those handy side mirrors are for in our automobiles (you do use yours, don't you?)--they help us see what's coming up alongside us. But, the longer the vehicle, the larger the blind spot. Even with mirrors, some of the semi-trucks I've seen (appearing to be longer than our local grocery store) have considerable blind spots. That's why they have those cute signs painted along the side "if you are here, I can't see you."
So, how good do you think your vision is? Can you see the back of your head? (some of you gents with male-pattern baldness may be a lot happier remaining ignorant of what the rest of us can see when we sit behind you) I wear my hair pulled back in a pony tail. If I'm going to leave the house, I sometimes remember to use a small hand mirror along with the mirror above my sink to check how crooked that ponytail holder is. Rather crooked indeed--although I prefer to use the term "jaunty angle"; it sounds like it is that way on purpose--sort of a fashion statement. Again, mirrors come in handy. (Don't let your kids read this--I don't want to disabuse them of the notion that we mothers really do have eyes in the back of our head.)
Blind spots. I have them in teaching my children. That is where my husband's objective viewpoint comes in handy (although I never appreciate it at the time). He is the one who will notice the areas in school where I am letting the boys slide. "How is their handwriting?", he will ask. (I cringe; my own penmanship is less than legible--a trained chimp could probably write more neatly) Yes, we have blind spots when it comes to our children. Or when it comes to how we relate to others. Stan listened to me on the phone the other day. "You were rather curt, don't you think?" (OK, he wouldn't actually use the word curt, but you get the idea.) Ah, husbands. We wives would think ourselves flawless without them, wouldn't we?
I've noticed another sort of blind spot. This may come as a shock to you--you may think yourself the exception to the rule--but we all have spiritual blind spots as well. I've noticed in reading and listening to several Bible teachers, that even such men of God have their own blind spots. In certain areas, they will see clearly, but in others, their own prejudices or pet doctrines and interpretations blind them to any other viewpoint. I'm not going to get specific here because you will probably disagree with me as well!
If any one of us thinks that we understand the Bible perfectly, that we have figured out every nuance and detail, that we know the best way to worship, the best way to serve God--that we know exactly what God's plan for us is--we are wrong. I think that is one reason that humility is so highly commended in the scriptures. (Of course, that is my own opinion and I have blind spots the size of a manatee.) God doesn't expect us to understand everything (if we were omniscient, we would be God, too) but He expects us to trust Him and to be willing to learn. He knows what our blind spots are; in fact, He is probably setting up circumstances to expose some of them (never a pleasant experience for us; growing spiritually can be rather painful.)
We need to have the basics down pat. If you don't know what the basics are, read Romans. We need to read the Word (the Word itself is our mirror) and be obedient to God's commands. We need to strive for perfection but if we ever think we've arrived at perfection itself, we need to take another look around (with a large hand mirror to check those spots we can't see.)
It's always better to admit that you are blind than to keep on pretending you can see.
1-5-99