Anniversary

I was laying in bed a few moments ago reflecting on the day when I realized it was September 1st. I mean, I knew it was, but I remembered. My dad died on September 1st, 1983. I was 12 years old. I did some quick math and counted 25 years. That is a crazy long time for him to be gone. I've lived twice as long without him as I did with him, and yet I will still name that loss as one of the most defining events of my life.

I stared at the green light on the baby monitor blinking in the dark and thought about the sermon I heard yesterday in church. Our pastor spoke about Jesus as the healer, how that was so much a part of who He was that He sometimes healed people without being asked and without any demonstration of faith on the part of the needy one. It was a great sermon, but I confess it really would have rattled my cage 15-20 years ago. How does He decide who to heal? I just don't know, and once in a while something rises up in me and wants an answer to that question. When I was 11, I sat in the bottom of my closet for a year asking God to heal my dad, and believing He would. I was so surprised when dad actually died because I always thought God was going to change it, that there would be a happy ending somehow.

I still don't know why He didn't heal my dad, but I'm grateful tonight that about 10 years ago, He began to heal me. Deep in my heart I was bitter and angry, and I mistrusted God's intentions toward me. But then I heard some teaching about Jesus' encounter with the widow in Nain. How she was walking by with her dead son in a funeral procession when Jesus saw her and was so moved by her pain that he raised the son up right then and there. She didn't ask Him to do it. She didn't demonstrate any faith in Jesus. There's really no indication in the passage that she was aware of Him being there at all. Which of course she wasn't... if you've ever buried someone you love, you know how the world stops turning and other people cease to exist. There is only the immeasureable, white-hot pain that is all you are in that moment. Of course she didn't see Him. But she passed Him, and it was as if He couldn't help Himself. He just intervened, powerfully. It's an amazing incident really. And the teacher concluded (not just from this passage) that healing was an integral part of who Jesus was. He'd never known suffering in heaven, let alone death. It was His nature to heal and restore... she concluded that any time He chose to act in a different way--withholding healing--it could only be for some greater glory to come, almost an act of restraint on His part. This was the beginning of healing for me. It was the first time I could see that God was still good and compassionate and loving, even though He allowed this to happen to me. Now I can say honestly that I'm not bitter anymore. I don't doubt God's goodness. I believe.

25 years feels so strange; there is a sadness and a longing for all I never knew about him. But there is joy in what I do know: my dad loved to fish and shoot guns. He liked tomato sandwiches with butter and often asked me to bake a potato for him when he was sick. He liked football and Hogan's Heroes, CCR and Simon & Garfunkle. (I love all of those too, except Hogan's Heroes!) And he was a good rescuer for a daughter dreaming scary dreams in the night. One of those nights he let me sleep in his bed (mom was working), and I fell asleep listening to him tell a story about his grandpa while a black & white movie played in the background.

Tonight I am thankful for the 12 years I had with Dad. And I'm thankful that in Christ, the hardest things we have to walk through in life are not for nothing. He's not just slapping us around... but working something in and through and around us that is so big, and so ultimately good. I'm thankful that those hard things are for maturity and growth and grace and perseverance and faith. And faith and faith and more faith. He can redeem anything--any mess, any family, any anything.

I write this for myself, to mark what to me is a profound day. But I hope it encourages someone reading who is also on a hard path... to keep trusting in spite of the circumstances, and believe God for the good, because he promises to bring it. And He is faithful.

Preschool

I just dropped Brynn off for her first day of preschool. I was feeling emotional in the car on the way when Jim called my cell. I immediately felt a huge lump in my throat. Isn't it funny how you can be right on the verge of losing it, and all it takes is a nice gesture to send you right over the edge? He called to talk to Brynn and wish her a good first day of school, which was so sweet I cried all the way to the by-pass.

Outside her room, we hung up her back-pack and stood in line waiting for 9am. I thought about how I smashed her finger in the stroller out in the parking lot and forgot my camera. No Awesome Mom awards for me today. I wished she knew even one other child in class but reminded her how good she is now at making new friends. Then I thought about baby-talking and dandelions and started to feel that lump in my throat again. How many clover bouquets have I put in tiny vases? And how many more will there be? Will they just disappear one day like the baby-talking without even saying goodbye? And then the door was open and her teacher was saying, "Good Morning Brynn." She didn't want to go at first and I held her for a minute. "Give me a big, strong one... okay, now you're ready." Somehow I smiled, then off she went, and I saw all our mornings at home together go with her right through that door. And right now all I can think is, I'm so glad she still calls it puh-sketti.

My mother-in-law will sometimes say wistfully, "Where does the time go?" I don't think anyone really knows where it goes, but I might know how. Not fast, like we always say with the benefit of hindsight. I think it actually goes like the turtle in the storybook, very slowly. A little bit every day, down some invisible drain. You don't feel it much, which is what makes it so dangerous. Because you could go for years not noticing, not paying attention, and then realize a whole huge chunk of it fell away when you weren't looking. When you were doing the dishes, cleaning the house, running the never-ending errands, or working on other things. Or maybe it slipped away while you were actually taking care of the child... because we can really lose a lot in the routine and the hard of it.

But here is the thing that makes the first day of preschool easier on this Mama: I know I'm not missing it. I'm just not. I'm so thankful for the words of older, wiser moms in my life... who let me know very early on that the biggest mistake I could make in this adventure would be to wish it away. To wish they would just be walking or talking already, or be potty-trained or good cleaner-uppers. But once a milestone like that comes along, you can never go back to the way it was before. I think if we could just grab onto this truth as moms it would make the hard days so much easier to navigate. Though I fail a lot, I have determined not to let these times slink away unnoticed. The first time Brynn pronounced "excited" correctly instead of saying "upcited" made me so sad, because I knew she would never say it the baby way again. So I pasted upsided tenderly into my mental scrapbook and started looking around for the next precious thing. Because no matter what the mothers of teenagers say, I know there are more to come. Maybe those moments just become better hiders as the babies grow up.

And so on Brynn's first day of preschool I renew my promise to engage these hard milestones, to feel them (even the hurt of them) and find the joy in the growing and the growing up. All the while pondering these things in my heart. So if you see me this week in the hall outside Mrs. Ballard's room wiping my eyes... don't worry. That's just me, not missing it.

Restaurant Stuff

Brynn: (very serious) Mommy. I have some delicious food I made just for you.
Me: Really? That's great, where is it?
Brynn: (holding up her pointer) One minute.
She leaves, and comes back with a tiny basket of food.
Brynn: This is a orange-grape sandwich. It's in a basket because I couldn't carry everything.
Me: Awesome.
Brynn: (producing another item) And here is some yummy, yummy corn.
Me: Thanks. That looks great.
Brynn: (handing me food in a pitcher) And this is a grape-pizza sandwich. It's so good.
Me: Wow, thanks.
Brynn: (clasping her hands) What would you like to drink?
Me: Um, diet Coke. With lots of ice--don't forget the ice.
(She returns with the cup of diet Coke.)
Brynn: Anything else?
Me: I don't think so, but thank you very much.
Brynn: (turning to leave) C'mon, Katy. (It is now that I see Katy is tagging along behind, holding a purple plate in one hand and a skillet with the lid on in the other.)
Me: Are you teaching Katy how to make food?
Brynn: Yeah. Me and Katy are servers. We're serving food. We have to go now Mommy. Eat your food, okay?
Guess they had other customers.

Poor, sad little blog. The insane busyness is coming to an end, and I will give you some attention soon.

Please stay tuned, readers.

Rant #1

So yesterday we got a flyer in the mail inviting us to a church--a Baptist church. (We are Baptist.) I read the front of the flyer and thought to myself, Impressive. I always like to see a church willing to spend money in order to draw in new people, particularly those who are lost or unchurched. My enthusiasm, however, would be short lived. I flipped the mailing over and saw a couple of phrases jumping and waving to me from the top of the back page:

King James Bible

Old-Fashioned Baptists

Okay, really? On a mailing that went to every house in my neighborhood and probably most of the county? Let's be honest, Church Who Sent the Flyer. You don't really want me to come to your services. In fact, you told me so quite explicitly. Because while I do own a KJV Bible, I primarily use the NASB or the NIV, and you've indicated that is a dealbreaker. Why? Why do you care what translation I use to study God's word? And what does "old-fashioned Baptist" even mean? That you are Calvinists? (Not likely.) That you don't dance? That there is an age restriction? I noticed you have a youth minister on staff and must confess I find it ironic--good, but ironic. Do you require the KJV in high school Bible studies? Are your teenagers "old-fashioned Baptists?"


I've got hang-ups too. I have opinions and feelings about what I like and don't like in church and worship--everyone does. But I hope to always find myself in a church where those feelings are being challenged, where I don't like every single song every single week and I really do have to deal with the diversity that is the body of Christ. Most days I have a pretty positive outlook on the Church. But some days I think we are nothing but a fractured bride waiting at the altar for her Groom, with a sad explanation about why our hands are at the other church where they read from the King James and our legs went to the late service because the music is more contemporary. Yesterday was one of those days for me.

Please join me in praying that we--myself included--can get over our personal preferences, especially when clinging to them is costing us precious fellowship with a large number of God's people.

Food for Thought

"The question is not whether we are good at theology, or "balanced" (horrible, self-conscious word!) in our approach to problems of Christian living. The question is, can we say, simply, honestly, not because we feel that as evangelicals we ought to, but because it is a plain matter of fact, that we have known God, and that because we have known God the unpleasantness we have had, or the pleasantness we have not had, through being Christians does not matter to us? If we really knew God, this is what we would be saying, and if we are not saying it, that is a sign that we need to face ourselves more sharply with the difference between knowing God and merely knowing about him." -- J.I. Packer, Knowing God

Sold!

After six weeks on craigslist and two yard sales, I finally sold our double stroller. I think I can hear the sound of our attic junk items settling into a bit more wiggle room. Hallelujah! It's finally outta here!