Just a few days before Christmas…and I think if one more person asks me “are you all ready for Christmas?” I just may have to clock them upside the head. Of course, it’s a pretty reasonable question at this point, but since I’ve been getting asked that by various people since about a minute and a half after Thanksgiving, I’m a little over it. Continue reading “FraGEElay All Over the Place”
Category: Life As I Know It
Perhaps It’s Right in Front of You
A friend recently shared in a Facebook status how she had been looking for her glasses for a good ten minutes before realizing they were on her face. I smiled at the thought and remembered the time my mom couldn’t find her glasses and my dad was helping her look for them—and all the while he was unknowingly wearing her glasses instead of his own. I walked into the scene wondering what they were looking for, and as my mom explained and my dad turned and looked at me, I offered, “Uh…Dad…you’re wearing Mom’s glasses…”
Of course, I found it extremely amusing.* Not only were my mom’s frames pretty different from my dad’s, but her prescription was way heavier than his. I wondered what he must have been thinking through the blur. Perhaps he just chalked it up to a lack of sleep or a rough morning. Whatever the case, he didn’t see that he had the answer right in front of him.
Last week I wrote about listening for God’s whisper, and it reminded me of an analogy that came to me long ago for how God can reveal himself to us.
Think about water.
Scientifically, water presents itself in the three very different forms of solid, liquid, and gas…but this blog isn’t known for its scientific ponderings, now is it? (Not to say this blog is known for anything. It just for sure isn’t known for its science.)
Let’s be a bit more figurative.
You’ve got rain, snow, a babbling brook, blocks of ice, the drip of a faucet, or the crashing of a wave. There is the steam of a hot summer day or the pounding of a waterfall. Water is an amazing creation that manifests itself in numerous ways.
Perhaps God comes to us in such forms, too (though since he’s God and all, his ways are infinite and so much more awesome (literally) than my analogy).
For me, as I bet for you, too, God does indeed show up in various ways. Sometimes in order for him to get my attention, he has to hammer at me in relentless, all-encompassing waves. These God waves are hard to ignore. Just like a real wave, you could get knocked over and even pulled under. (For these last couple years, it kind of feels like this is his go-to form for me. Good thing he offers a Life preserver.)
At other times, there is the diminutive drip of a faucet that offers a steady rhythm that can either be so subtle I miss it…or it drives me crazy in its faint constancy. I think of this way as the little Voice that speaks in the background of my mind. It’s not my little voice, who often needs a kick in the pants, but The Voice (no, not the TV show) that offers me soft reminders of the Way I should be going.
I’ve been blessed to see a few waterfalls in my life, including Niagara Falls. The power is astounding. Even watching from afar, the mist generated from the might of the falls can leave you drenched. There is strength and majesty that cannot be denied. If you, like me, have ever been silly enough to try to stand under a waterfall (not Niagara—I’m not that stupid), depending on the size of the fall, it can feel like a needle-like pelting or a beat down deluxe. (Yes, I’ve done it more than once. I am that stupid. And it’s a safe bet I’ll do it again, given the chance.) No, in the waterfall comparison, it’s not being under the falls that God shows up but the ability to see his glory from afar and remember how beautiful it all is.
I could go on about how rain and snow and steam can each be metaphors for the way God can come to us, but…I think you get the idea. Water shows up in many different ways, and so does God.
Sometimes he is subtle and sometimes not so much. No matter which way it is, though, it IS. And for me, I need to keep my eyes open and understand that the way I think he should reveal himself isn’t necessarily the way he will.
Just like my dad looked all around for my mom’s glasses not realizing 1. he had them on, and 2. his vision was incredibly blurry, I too often miss the answer right in front of me and ignore the signs that are trying to point that out to me.
Thankfully, God is able to meet me where I am and come to me in the way I need…even if my vision is so blurry I don’t know what I’m looking for.
*For those of you who know my ridiculous fondness for a certain joke, please know it took a huge amount of restraint for me not to tell my dad he had made a spectacle of himself.
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Straining at the Oars
If you’ve ever had the pleasure of kayaking or canoeing, you know how even on the most placid of lakes, after a while, your arms get tired from rowing. And if you’re on rougher waters, fighting against the current brings exhaustion much faster—and progress much slower.
This past summer my husband and I were kayaking when it started to rain. It wasn’t much of a rain, but we pulled off and waited till it stopped. Not a big deal. I would not, however, be a fan of trying to row my way in the middle of a dark storm. Nope. I’m already fearful of being that close to deep, dark water—throw in a storm, and I’m toast. (Just ask my husband how much I love the movie Perfect Storm. Not only does it hammer at a phobia of mine, but I am very frustrated that a “true” story is built around guys who didn’t live to tell the story that is being told. But I digress.)
At times, isn’t life just like rowing in a storm? Aren’t there moments or days or even entire chapters that feel like you’re trying to row your way through a tumultuous storm? I know it’s true for me.
Fighting against the wind and current, I try to go in the direction I think best only to struggle and make little progress. It reminds me of the story of Jesus walking on water. His disciples were in a storm and straining at the oars, and when Jesus appeared, they didn’t even recognize him. They panicked. He had to reassure them and climb into the boat—and then the winds died down.
Go figure. Even the guys who hung out with Jesus on a daily basis didn’t always understand his power. I love that there are so many stories in the Bible of the disciples being knuckleheads—it helps me relate.
Life is a bit stormy for me right now, but I feel like I am at a point where I am ready to put my oars up and await direction. As I write this just now I decided to look to see if there is an actual term for putting oars up while rowing, and I learned that “once the rower extracts the oar from the water, the recovery phase begins, setting up the rower’s body for the next stroke.” So…oars up and the recovery phase begins. I like that. I like that a lot.
I’m ready for my recovery phase.
But how will I hear my coxswain? (I can’t help it—I love looking up stuff like this!) Because after recovery, I need to be ready to take my next stroke. If I’m striving to stop fighting the wind and no longer strain at the oars, I need to be still and listen.
I love this passage from 1 Kings 19 where Elijah is to go and listen for God: The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. It was God’s gentle whisper that spoke to Elijah—not the obvious and fierce wind or earthquake—but a soft whisper.
And so I am listening for God’s whisper—I wish it was easier to hear, but perhaps it is this way because in order to hear it, I need to shut out all the other noise and focus on him. And maybe he won’t bring calm waters at all, but he will help me navigate the storm. After all, there will always be storms. Calm waters come, but they also go. Knowing how to row through the storm is critical in navigating life. I’ve got to listen to my Coxswain!
Even though I am at a point where I’ve concluded one chapter of straining at the oars and am now ready to listen for my next right stroke, I know the temptation to row my boat my way and strain at the oars will be an ongoing battle for me. I know there will be times that I will exhaust myself and make no progress because I think I have the answer. But I also know that I have a Coxswain who is in my boat waiting to help, forever patient even when this knuckleheaded rower fights the wind with all her might.
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10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day
With Thanksgiving this Thursday, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on those very things for which I am thankful…and maybe you are, too. Continue reading “10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day”
The Long Goodbye
So many goodbyes can be seen down the road…like the last year of junior and senior high school, or eyeing that college diploma shining in the distance while the final credits are being racked up…You know it’s coming and are able to soak up some of the bittersweet moments that come along with marking the milestone.
Those kinds of lasts are often communal—they don’t call it “class of” because you are graduating by yourself. Moving forward with others has a different feel than turning a life corner on your own. Sharing the experience brings a camaraderie that helps celebrate the joys and cushion whatever sorrows may come along with the farewell.
Solo goodbyes are tougher.
If you read last week’s post, you know that “lasts” have been on my mind, and they continue to be as I am about to say another goodbye.
I’ve had several “solo goodbyes” in my life, as I’m sure most of us have. I remember when I transferred universities after my freshman year. All the friends I made were, of course, sticking around for sophomore year while I was headed to a new place to call home. Pre-dating the era of texting and Skyping meant leaving one state for another would make it difficult to stay connected. I recall driving away as a group of my friends waved on, tears on both sides—I tried to etch their faces into my memory as I realized I would most likely never see them again.
And I was right.
Even then, I was aware that the promises of “we’ll keep in touch” would fall away quickly. It rarely ends up like the movie Grease—there are no cars flying into the sky while vows are made that “we’ll always be together…”
Life goes on.
This goodbye will be no different. Life will go on. (Though unfortunately my paycheck won’t, as this is the very first time I am leaving a job not of my own doing.)
The plane will keep flying its route even though I am no longer a part of the crew. Perhaps there may be a brief moment or two of turbulence, but that is all. The itinerary will not change. It will still be all systems go.
Life goes on.
Most all of my previous jobs have had long goodbyes where I knew well before my last day that I was closing one chapter for another. This meant I was able to appreciate the good parts while looking forward to leaving the bad parts. And again, this goodbye will be no different. Even though it was not by my choice, I was given a lengthy notice—and another long goodbye. It has been an odd experience to stick around for a while in a job you know you are losing.
But now the closing of the chapter is here, and the goodbye feels both real and surreal at the same time. Having been at this job for over 14 years, it is the longest work chapter of my life…heck, my job is as old as a high school freshman! If I stayed for a couple more years, my job could get a driver’s license!
It’s been quite a ride.
In that time, I have made many memories and friends. I smile at the recall of cubical volleyball, prank phone calls, and lunchtime giggles. Of weathering each other’s various storms both professional and personal. Of sharing in an understanding with colleagues that only comes from mutually inhabiting a crazy workworld over so many years. Of knowing the hard work I have done for nearly a decade and a half.
Yes, as the goodbye finally arrives, I know my days will be very different. Experiences will end and relationships will change. But there is no going back—there is only going forward—and I can’t wait to find out what God has in store for me.
Can you hear the final keystrokes of this chapter?
I can.
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The Rhythm of Days
This past week began with a baptism and celebration of a friend’s baby and ended with a funeral for another friend. From one end of the spectrum to another…and it reminded me of both the beauty and pain of life.
When my son was a baby, a friend gave me the children’s book Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. It’s a beautifully sweet picture book that reminds parents to not only enjoy the “firsts” of their little ones, but also the “lasts,” too. I could never (still can’t) get through it without tears. “Mom, why are you crying? Is something wrong?” my little man would ask as he looked up at me with big eyes, wondering why the tears were welling as I read to him. Through my sniffles, I would reassure him that all was well…but I could already feel the time slipping away.
And that is indeed life. We have certain things in our lives that happen to a rhythm, but then one day the rhythm changes, and what was routine is no longer. Aware of this, I really do strive to be mindful of “lasts” with my son. Like when he grew to the age where carrying him was getting harder and harder, it would flash across my mind, “Could this be the last time?” I didn’t want to take anything for granted; I wanted to tuck the memory away in my heart for safekeeping.
But even with that mindfulness, there is no way to know the lasts for most things. I didn’t know the last time my son would snuggle on my lap and really fit my lap. Or the last time he would say “brefkist” instead of “breakfast.” And I doubt I’ll know the last time he willingly holds my hand as a boy—though there will most likely come the day he will hold my hand as a man in order to make sure his old mom doesn’t fall.
Even though I know the lasts are coming, I simply don’t know when in order to be able to savor them in the moment.
Sometimes I recognize the lasts in hindsight. Having lost my dad at a relatively young age, I still sometimes reflect on the “lasts” of my time with him. The “lasts” I didn’t know were lasts until he was gone. Especially while looking at old photos, I find myself noting, “That was the last vacation we ever took,” or “this was the last birthday he celebrated…”
I wonder what would have changed if I knew it was a “last” for us? Certainly Kingsbury’s book title reflects the answer. Knowing would be so very bittersweet.
My heart hurts for my friend whose husband’s funeral I just attended. She had no idea of the lasts that she was experiencing. There was a familiar rhythm to life, and then, in an instant…he was gone. The “lasts” had been recorded without warning.
And now, along with the “lasts” she may eventually come to know, she will embark on a whole new journey of “firsts.” While many of the “firsts” are painful—like first holidays celebrated or returning to a favorite place filled with memories—the day will come when some firsts will offer the hope of better days, and new life rhythms will be created. The “lasts” are final, but the “firsts” can just keep coming. Thank God for that.
In the end, the firsts and lasts of life are only part of the story. Important parts—but not the only parts. They help us mark times of growth or change, but if they escape us, life goes on. The rest is the InBetween.
And so, for me, I must continually strive to be present for the InBetween, aware of the fragility of it all but savoring the beauty of it as best I can…Listening for the rhythms of life and dancing to the beat of each day’s song.
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