God on the Line

"I've got a story to tell you," Dad said over the phone today. I love to hear his stories.

First, he told me about the work he had been doing on the new rental house he bought and about the pilot light on the water heater that wouldn't light. Then he mentioned the calls he made to my soon-to-be brother-in-law and to his furnace repairman, trying to find someone to help him.

And then, he told me about the call he received from someone who dialed the wrong number.

When I get a wrong number, I try to be polite, but I don't usually start a conversation with the caller. My dad apparently does, though. And this time, it happened to be God on the other end of the line. God with a tool bag, that is.

My dad asked the caller who he was trying to reach, and it turns out that the he works on furnaces and water heaters, and he just happened to be doing a job a block away from Dad's rental house the following day. 

My dad tried to hire him right there on the phone, this guy who called the wrong number. But then, the man talked my dad through the repair step by step. When Dad got to the house, he was able to fix the problem himself. No service fee, no repair bills. Just lots of wonderfully hot water.

My dad had been praying over the house and the work he was doing there, asking the Lord to help him be a good steward, wondering if he had taken on too much. And specifically, my dad was stumped about the water heater, trying to figure out who to call, worrying over the hidden costs.

"Do you think the Lord looks out for me?" he asked his wife after telling her the story. For a man who is thriving after a major heart surgery just seven months ago, it seemed like an obvious question. But my dad already knew the Lord was watching over him in the big stuff. After all, he also is a cancer survivor.

It's the little things that make us wonder, however. Does God look out for me when my water heater is broken? 

Last week, I wrote about the miraculous story of Jian, whom God saved from a life of poverty and shame by allowing him to be adopted by my friends Jon and Shelly just days before he would have been legally ineligible for such an arrangement. I have marveled all week as I have followed Shelly's blog and talked with her on Skype and exchanged emails. God is undoubtedly looking out for that family.

But in a week when the little things have been a challenge for me, I am marveling again at God's timing and purpose in a man who called the wrong number and just "happened" to have the answer my dad needed, had prayed for, even.

If I look carefully, I can see that God has been looking out for me, too. It just takes eyes to see.

:: A friend who helped me secure the first mortgage on my home just "happened" to ask me if I would be interested in refinancing. As he did the research, he realized that this was perfect timing. My interest rate will drop more than 2 points, and I will save thousands of dollars.

:: A construction supervisor who had been out of work the past 2 years was referred to help me with the drywall repair from my laundry room flood. He gave me a really generous quote and did the job quickly and professionally for about half the price I was expecting. As he finished up, I asked if I could refer him to other friends. He said no. Mine was his last private job because he was going back to work full-time the following Monday.

:: Last week, as I was picking up pizza to take to my mom's house for dinner, I thought it would be nice to pick up dessert from a bakery since it was her anniversary with my step-dad that weekend. I had no idea where I could find a bakery, since I was picking up the pizza in an unfamiliar town between our homes. As I pulled into the parking lot of the pizza place, I saw a bakery three doors down. It had just opened.

How has God been looking out for you? Do you sense Him more in the big things or the little things at this stage in your life?

The Art of Tea (and Cookie Decorating)

 

We were just a group of five sitting around my coffee table drinking tea. But as we sipped, we experienced what the Japanese tea master, Sen no Rikyu, developed with his art of tea: "communication equalizing any who took part."

It was the second discussion in what I have called a "Conversation about Art, Faith, and Culture," and this second meeting brought fewer than the first. Still, among the five of us we are single, mother, wife, grandmother. We are writer, photographer, musician, painter. We are in our 30s, 40s, and 50s.

We are artists, and when we drink tea, we are the same.

But according to Makoto Fujimura, in his book Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art and Culture, the art of tea was not to just bring people with differences around a table to make them the same for a few minutes of refreshment. The time around the table, not unlike the table Christians gather around at communion, was also a way of creating peace. Shalom.

As the five of us considered the community that can happen around art, we realized that it is the shalom that makes collaboration possible, even necessary. Fujimura describes it like this.

The world needs artists who dedicate themselves to communicate the images of Shalom. Jesus is the Shalom. Shalom is not just the absence of war, but wholeness, healing and joy of fullness of humanity. We need to collaborate within our communities, to respond individually to give to the world our Shalom vision.

Collaboration and community in art become a form or process for the world to see, exemplifying the same humility and love that Jesus offers to the world. As we release ourselves and others from perfectionism, as we help heal the wounds of hurt, as we patiently encourage younger artists: in all these ways we exemplify grace and minister peace to fellow artists and the world.

And of course, there were also cookies. 

Before we talked art and peace and grace, even before we sat around and drank tea, we used knives and paintbrushes and bags with tips and made plain old sugar cookies works of art to share with each other.

And if we had stopped right there, fingers sticky, glaze dripping, colors bleeding into each other, we would have known more about art and collaboration than when we had started.

How does art bring shalom to your life? How do you use art to connect you with others?

ALL things?

Last week was a bad week.

I guess it was time for one. My life has been sailing along swimmingly for the past few months. Except of course for the day I nearly had to swim through my laundry room because of a minor flood. Apart from that, things had been going well.

But last week was hard.

I didn't lose my job; the cancer is not back; my house didn't burn down; no one died. Looking back on it, could the week really have been that bad?

But it was. 

My dog was sick, and though I thought she might be dying, it turns out that she has one of the grossest, easiest to fix ailments a dog can have. She has infected anal glands. I know. Gross. In the meantime, I spent the week wiping up spots off the carpet. And one time, I actually had to quote Bible verses to myself to keep from crying.

A possible relationship ended before it really ever got started. I wasn't in love or anything; I barely know this man. But I had hope for a couple of weeks, and when things didn't go anywhere, I lost hope again. I did cry a few times over that one.

I got a really big water bill, even though the leak was fixed and I already paid $380 last month. I spent two and a half hours in a meeting for work that I thought should have taken 15 minutes. I also thought I had addressed the entire issue in an email two months ago. My best efforts to teach Bible study were overshadowed by a minor point that was miscommunicated and misunderstood. And I was so busy I couldn't get to bed, or get up, on time. I spent the week running.

A few times during the week, I felt like I couldn't do it. The hundred little things that make up a day seemed too hard. But when I actually said those words out loud to myself, "I can't do this," I heard back, "Yes, you can. You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you."

I've thought of that verse in the past when I was doing really big, hard things, like going through chemotherapy or serving in a ministry. But I had never applied it much to ordinary things.

"I can clean up dog messes through Christ who strengthens me."

"I can sit through long meetings at work with patience and kindness through Christ who strengthens me."

"I can call the phone company and straighten out my bill through Christ who strengthens me."

I can do ALL things, even the things that suck the life out of me, through Christ.

What are you facing this week -- however mundane or ordinary -- that you need to do through Christ?

If God Can Do That . . .

Almost 14 years ago, on September 29, 1996, a baby boy was born in China in the city of Nanjing. He was just one of almost 55,000 babies born every day in that country, one of 432,000 born every day in the world.

Before he was very old, his parents or a doctor or maybe a government official discovered he was deaf. He became one of the 20,000 children who are born or found to be deaf in China each year.

The discovery doomed this boy to a life of social isolation, poverty and discrimination, in a superstitious culture that sees disability as a sign of bad fortune. And so, he became one of nearly 600,000 orphans in a country that doesn't know what to do with its disenfranchised.

This heartbreaking story becomes almost unbearable when you realize that each day he gets closer to age 14 means his fate is nearly sealed. By law, when orphaned children in China turn 14, they become ineligible for adoption, international or domestic.

One child in a country of millions; one day looming large. By all accounts, this childhood statistic was about to become an adult statistic for the rest of his life.

But . . .

Around 2004, my college friends Jon and Shelly decided to become foster parents. With Shelly's compassion and Jon's vocation as therapist, they determined that they would specifically target children with special needs to invite into their home.

With their exceptional qualifications, a brother and sister were quickly placed in their home. The special need? Their new foster son was deaf. Within days, Jon and Shelly had begun ASL classes and began reorienting their lives to be part of the deaf community. In addition to sign language, they learned about deaf culture and became part of the deaf education program in their community, eventually even leading educational programs for other families with deaf children.

Within a couple of years, their foster son, Tanner, became their legal son, and they all began to learn what it meant be a family of three.

But after a few more years, they began to wonder what it would mean to be a family of four, and once again, they turned to the foster care system to see what God had for them. But God didn't have another son for them in Texas. Almost 14 years ago, God had created a son for them in China. That one boy out of millions had a place in their family before they even knew they wanted a family.

Jon and Shelly learned of Jian's story on May 22, 2010, just four months ago. But as soon as they heard about the boy, they also knew what would happen on September 29. If he wasn't adopted by that day, there would be no adoption.

And so, against all odds -- International Chinese adoptions usually take years -- they took the first step in expressing their interest. One form led to another form which led to home studies and trips to the Chinese Embassy. Each week brought a new deadline, and new "Go/No Go" point which could have ended the process.

But with each step, the Lord moved mountains. Forms that normally take weeks to approve were hand stamped over night. Documents that require special signatures were speedily signed and sealed. Time and time again, the adoption agency said, "We've never seen this happen."

But . . .

There is a God in heaven who doesn't work under deadlines or play the odds. He doesn't accept faxed requests or certified mail; he just listens for the deep cries of our hearts. And when Jon and Shelly cried out on behalf of Jian, God moved more than mountains to bring them together. God moved the government of the People's Republic of China to care for one little boy among millions.

Jon, Shelly, and Tanner arrived in China yesterday, and in 24 hours from now, they will welcome Jian into their family.

You can follow their three weeks in China navigating the final hurdles of this amazing adoption through their blog, where they plan to post daily.

If God can do that . . .

Seeing Through the Eyes of Another

I was a tourist that week, trying to take in the sights and essence of the Pacific Northwest. And since it was my first time in Washington, my sister-in-law had lots of road trips planned. We would drive to Seattle for a day at Pike Place Market; we would play in tide pools and find star fish in Crescent Harbor; we would drive to the top of Mount Erie to catch a wide view of the Sound; we would picnic at Deception Pass; we would take a ferry to Friday Harbor.

During the first two days of vacation, our plans went off without a hitch. I ran along the shore until I was out of breath and shopped at the Market until I was nearly out of cash. I saw large swaths of landscape I had never seen before and decided all trees should be allowed to grow so tall.

But by the third day, the marine fog came. And for hours each day, I could have been in Muskogee or Ogunquit or Jeffersonville or anywhere, really. All we could see for miles and miles was fog.

It's one thing to be in my hometown and have the fog roll in. It's like walking through the house at night in the dark on the way to the bathroom. I might stub a toe now and then, but generally I know my way around. It's another thing entirely to be somewhere new, somewhere I really want to see, and be stuck in the fog. 

It can almost ruin a girl's day. Almost.

Though the fog delayed us, however, my sister-in-law had such a vision for what she wanted to show me that she would not be deterred. As we wound our way up Mount Erie, the fog snaking in and around the trees, she told me about the view that I would have seen. Since I had ridden over the Deception Pass Bridge several times, she could point from the shore where the bridge started and stopped. And when the fog began to lift, I saw that she was right.

And on that hour-long ferry ride to Friday Harbor, she told me about the islands and my nephew's boyscout trip to a campground we passed and the whales that sometimes swim by and Mount Baker in the distance. So by the time the fog had lifted on the trip home, I just soaked up what I already knew was there.

What I couldn't see for myself, I could appreciate and admire through the vision of someone who loved me.

May I always see so clearly.

--

Today, I am writing in community with Ann Voskamp and friends, discussing the spiritual practice of Seeing. Follow the link above to read Ann's thoughtful post and then scroll to the bottom and see what others have written. 

return :: REDEEM

Deep down in the fogginess of nearly forgotten, I see myself at an impound with a friend. One of our cars has been towed, but over the years, I can't even remember if it was mine or his. Or hers. I'm not actually even sure who I was there with.

But I see the place vividly. It's really not much more than a junk yard; the office is a trailer. And there are a lot of us there, waiting. We have come back to get what is ours.

I wouldn't have gone there by myself, even if it were my car. And I feel vulnerable. Really vulnerable. How did we get ourselves into that mess?

And the man in charge, if that's what you can call it, is just really making more of a mess. The line grows longer as slowly, slowly the papers are filled out, the vehicles are located, the money changes hands, and we drive off, each of us in our own car.

One of us has just paid a lot of money to get back what was already ours to begin with.

As I read the book of Ruth this week, preparing to teach my Wednesday night Bible study, this foggy memory of buying back my own car became clearer and clearer to me. Really, that's what the book of Ruth is about: God buying back what was already His.

Moab wasn't exactly a junk yard, but it was a place no self-respecting Israelite would have traveled during the good years. But in a famine, Elimelech had temporarily relocated his family in hopes of survival.

As it turned out, only his wife, Naomi, and the two Moabite women his sons had married, survived; Elimelech, Mahlon, and Chilion died of what was probably some type of plague. After everything had been taken from them, Naomi and one of her daughters-in-law, Ruth, eventually made their way back to Bethlehem. Naomi returned to her homeland; Ruth, to a land she had never seen.

But they were vulnerable, really vulnerable. Disenfranchised in every way -- female, poor, powerless, their only hope was that a near kinsman would redeem them, buy them back into the family, restore them to the land and to their God. Which is exactly what Boaz did.

Though the book of Ruth is all about redemption, it's first about returning.

Jesus is waiting for us to return, in fact; He paid a lot of money to get back what was already His to begin with. 

Getting My Head in the Clouds

Recently, I attended an IBM user group meeting where I learned about "cloud computing." The presentation was all about saving money and hosting software and the way of the future. When we broke for lunch to discuss how "cloud computing" could change the way we do business, I had just one question.

"What is 'cloud computing'?"

Ideas that don't connect with real life often don't stick with us. As the Heath brothers say in their book, Made to Stick, "Language is often abstract, but life is not abstract."

So what should the presenter have done to make cloud computing more concrete? Get his head out of the clouds? Actually, the best thing he could have done would have been to get our heads into the clouds.

Just tonight, I think I figured out the real value of cloud computing as I labored over setting up my new laptop. I had to reconfigure my internet connection to go wireless; I had to install my printer; I had to move email contacts and recategorize "My Documents." Then, I had to download software just to be able to type this post. Wouldn't it be great if all that stuff was just stored somewhere, like on a network, and all I had to do when I got my new computer was just log on?

That's cloud computing.

And that's a concrete way of bringing my head into the clouds. Why couldn't the presenter have explained it that way: giving me an example, showing me what the idea looks like. 

Giving people concrete ways of connecting with our ideas isn't hard. We just sometimes forget: "we forget that we're slipping into abstractspeak. We forget that other people don't know what we know. We're the engineers who keep flipping back to our drawings, not noticing that the assemblers just want us to follow them down to the factory floor."

Maybe we just need to get our heads out of into the clouds.

Today I am writing in community with other bloggers from the High Calling Blogs blogging community. We are discussing the Heath brothers' book Made to Stick. If you would like to read what others are saying about this week's chapter from the book, click on the button above. If you are a blogger, read and post along!

Messy Grace

I know a couple who attend my church who came to know Jesus while they were living together and not married. They had a daughter together, so they couldn't easily dissolve their family while they worked through the new conviction of sin. So, within a couple of weeks, they married.

Another man I know, who also happens to know and love Jesus, smokes like a chimney. He was already a smoker when he became a believer, and he has continued to smoke to this day. He also was a drug addict. Over time, Jesus healed him of that addiction. He's holding out hope that Jesus also can help him with the cigarettes.

And I can tell you more stories. Even my own. Though I met Jesus when I was relatively young, I was already experimenting with words and drinks that might have embarrassed a sailor. Before I could quit all of that, I met Jesus.

Grace doesn't wait until people are cleaned up to grab them; grace gets a hold of person and suddenly they are in the kingdom of God. They have to sort through the details, all of the messy, dirty details, with Jesus later.

Rahab the harlot found herself the victim of this drive-by grace when two Israelite spies were on her roof and the Jericho police were at her door. She had heard of Israel's God and knew of his power, and when confronted with His truth she believed. In that moment, just a minute or two in kingdom of God, her first act of faith was a lie.

"The spies? Oh yeah, they were here, but they left."

I don't know about you, but I wish the gospel were a little less messy. How great it would be if Jesus would give us a list of his commands, help us meet them, then usher us into the simple, easy life of the kingdom. It would be easier to know who believes and who doesn't. It would definitely be easier to explain to people what they are agreeing to when we ask them to believe.

It also would look a lot like we were cleaning up our own lives.

In his book Twelve Extraordinary Women, John MacArthur says this is one of the primary lessons that Rahab can teach us.

She is not a lesson in how to better ourselves through self-improvement. She is a reminder that God by His grace can redeem even the most horrible life.

CS Lewis describes this brilliantly in his chapter of Mere Christianity called "Nice People or New Men."

If you are a nice person-if virtue comes easily to you beware! Much is expected from those to whom much is given. If you mistake for your own merits what are really God's gifts to you through nature, and if you are contented with simply being nice, you are still a rebel: and all those gifts will only make your fall more terrible, your corruption more complicated, your bad example more disastrous. The Devil was an archangel once; his natural gifts were as far above yours as yours are above those of a chimpanzee.

But if you are a poor creature-poisoned by a wretched upbringing in some house full of vulgar jealousies and senseless quarrels-saddled, by no choice of your own, with some loathsome sexual perversion-nagged day in and day out by an inferiority complex that makes you snap at your best friends-do not despair. He knows all about it. You are one of the poor whom He blessed. He knows what a wretched machine you are trying to drive. Keep on. Do what you can. One day (perhaps in another world, but perhaps far sooner than that) he will fling it on the scrap-heap and give you a new one. And then you may astonish us all-not least yourself: for you have learned your driving in a hard school. (Some of the last will be first and some of the first will be last.)

It might be easier if the kingdom of God were a little less messy. 

But then again, I probably wouldn't be there if it were. And neither would you.

The kingdom of God is messy so that we all can find our way there through the grace of Jesus.

Unexpected Stickiness

If you've never watched a movie with me, let's just say you are probably one of the lucky ones.

Though I try to restrain myself at the theater, when I watch a DVD at home, I am constantly assessing the plot line and the clues (even if it's not a mystery) to try to figure out what's going to happen. And I'm not exactly quiet about my theories.

A lot of the time I'm right, which makes me a little smug.

But sometimes, I'm wrong. Which makes me really, really happy. Those are the movies I usually like the most, the ones that break my "guessing machine."

According to Chip and Dan Heath, in their book Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die, our "guessing machines" are the part of our brains that make logical predictions and often are right. We rarely hold on to new ideas we already know. But an idea that is surprising or unexpected? Those are the "sticky" or memorable ones.

Common sense is the enemy of sticky messages. When messages sound like common sense, they float gently in one ear and out the other. And why shouldn't they? If I already intuitively "get" what you're trying to tell me, why should I obsess about remembering it?

I am also really drawn to people who break my guessing machine, too. Because so much of my life feels like a cliche, I thrive on the unexpected. Recently, I learned that my new brother-in-law who likes video games and motorcycles also likes to shop at yard sales. I love that! It made him a lot stickier in my book! (This guy, too! He's a quilter.)

And speaking of the unexpected, this post really isn't about movies or my brother-in-law, it's a book review.

So, read this book. 

And then let me know if this post was sticky enough for you! 

Today I am writing in community with other bloggers from the High Calling Blogs blogging community. We are discussing the Heath brothers' book Made to Stick. If you would like to read what others are saying about this week's chapter from the book, click on the button above. If you are a blogger, read and post along!

What You Eat When You Eat Alone

Eating alone is a common occurrence in my house. After all, I live alone. But though I could easily slip into a habit of granola bars for breakfast, fast food for lunch, and cereal for dinner, I’ve decided that eating alone is not an excuse for eating poorly.

With that said, what I eat when I eat alone is definitely not always what I serve guests. For instance, if you come to my house for dinner, you might have grilled chicken, sautéed vegetables, a mix of whole grains, and fruit cobbler.

If I ate those same ingredients alone, the menus would look a little different. One night I might have only sautéed vegetables. The next night, I would mix the remaining sautéed vegetables with the whole grains and also eat the leftover potato salad from the fridge. Night three, I would probably nix the cobbler and blend the fruit into a smoothie, bake the chicken in the oven before it goes bad and throw it in the freezer, and then pop popcorn.

Night four: I would order pizza.

Besides trying to achieve an overall healthfulness in my eating, the other guiding principle in eating alone is to avoid waste. Sometimes, the two values are at odds.

Recently for dinner, for instance, I had half a leftover hamburger and half a piece of barbecue chicken – leftovers from my and a friend’s dinner the night before. To try to balance that out, I also had green beans that I had cooked a few days earlier, and a freshly cooked ear of corn. But let’s face it. Two meats in one meal? Too much!

Authors Deborah Madison and Patrick McFarlin, in their book, What We Eat When We Eat Alone: Stories and 100 Recipes, share a number of humorous and compelling stories of people eating alone. What started out as an icebreaker on international trips, turned into a “realm of confession” for the people they would ask on the bus or while they were sharing a meal.

But “why” people eat alone was the story behind the story.

Though more and more families do seem to be eating dinner together again and one New Jersey town even offered a week-long discount to encourage family meals, everyone finds themselves eating alone from time to time.

What about you? What do you eat when you eat alone? Do you indulge? Eat leftovers? Stick with a single food? Hit the cereal box?

::

Recently, I decided to treat myself to a dish I normally wouldn't cook when I am eating alone: Unwrapped Bacon Scallops. It was delicious, though (pictured above). I cut the recipe in half and had enough for leftovers the next day.

Unwrapped Bacon Scallops
from Simple and Delicious magazine

1 1/2 cups uncooked instant rice
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
1/2 lb. thick-sliced bacon strips, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1 medium zucchini, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1 lb. sea scallops
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 tsp. seafood seasoning
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
2 green onions, chopped

In an ungreased 1-1/2 quart microwave-safe dish, combine rice and broth. Cover and microwave on high for 7-8 minutes or until liquid is absorbed and rice is tender. Let stand for 5 minutes.

Meanwhile in a large skillet, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp; remove to paper towels. Drain, reserve 1 Tblsp. drippings.

Saute the onion, zucchini and garlic in drippings until tender. Add scallops; saute for 3 minutes. Add the tomatoes, seafood seasoning and thyme; saute 1-2 minutes longer or until scallops are firm and opaque. Fluff rice with a fork; serve with scallop mixture. Sprinkle with green onions.

::

Today, I am joining Ann Kroeker for Food on Fridays when she discusses all things food. Since I am a bit of a foodie myself, I plan to join her discussion often. Stop by and visit her yourself, too!

A Harvest of Patience

I don't know if the spinach and broccoli seeds I planted a few weeks ago for my fall garden were going to sprout up or not. But now, I'll never know for sure because I cultivated those rows and did a second sowing right over the top of those little patches.

It's a character weakness of mine, really, that I can't wait until the weather turns to see if the seeds will grow. But all kinds of seeds strewn throughout my life have been hoed up in the activity of impatience. Only God knows the abundant crops I have forfeited.

In this flaw I have found a sister in Sarah, wife of Abraham, sojourner from Ur. It was the Lord himself who had planted a promise, making a covenant with Abraham that his seed would number the stars in the sky. Abraham was already married to Sarah when God announced the prophecy; surely she knew God meant it for her, too. 

But Sarah was so old, even when the promise was given, and then so many years began to pass, and eventually, she pulled out the hoe and the seeds of her own design and went to work on a new plan. The fruit of her folly was not just the Ishmael, the son of her maidservant, Hagar,, but also the humiliation and jealousy and derision that grew from the work of her own hands.

I feel sorry for Sarah. The plan she hatched could have spilled out from the contours of my own imagination. It seemed like the only possible solution for seeds that weren't sprouting: plant some new ones. But God had something better. And when He finally spoke the promise again, long after Sarah's failure and this time in her direct hearing, all she could do was laugh.

According to John MacArthur, in his book Twelve Extraordinary Women, that laughter revealed a lot about what Sarah had learned through the years of her impatient faithfulness.

Despite her occasional bursts of temper and struggles with discouragement, Sarah remained an essentially good-humored woman. After those long years of bitter frustration, she could still appreciate the irony and relish the comedy of becoming a mother as such an old age. Her life's ambition was now realized, and the memory of years of bitter disappointment quickly disappeared from view. God had indeed been faithful.

I have no doubt that is the remedy to my own impatient faithfulness, remembering that God is faithful. He doesn't need my promptings and ploys to accomplish His will. He just needs me to wait.

The weather is starting to turn here, in Indiana, and I will certainly be laughing if I get a double harvest of broccoli and spinach. But I'm also hoping, as I reflect back on the restlessness of my life, that the Lord will give me a double harvest of patience, as well.

Message in a Bottle

My sister and her husband had been doing some improvement projects around their yard -- planting hostas, digging out an old retainer wall, filling in gaps in the yard -- when they found a hidden treasure.

A burial ground of old bottles. 

There were soda bottles, medicine bottles, lotion bottles. Some of the bottles were clear, others milky, one a bright shade of blue. There was even a small, flat bottle that had Avon imprinted in it -- cold cream from a by-gone era. In all, about 10 different bottles emerged from a little section no more than a square foot.

When I stopped by their place Sunday, the bottles were in a neat row, as though in a police line up. I didn't recognize any of them. But a couple of them did catch my eye, smudged and dirty though they were. As I pulled them from their queue and claimed them for my own, I wondered whether they would be worth cleaning up.

Those bottles bounced around in the back seat of my car for the past two days, as I criss-crossed the county of my birth visiting family, driving past my old high school, singing the lyrics to Sara Grove's song, "Less Like Scars."

And I feel You here
And You're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But You are able
And in Your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars and more like
Character

When I finally got home and began unloading the car, I saw those bottles again and remembered. I remembered that when I had taken them from the ground, I had made a commitment to at least try to clean them up, try to redeem them.

I filled a bucket with water and submerged the bottles, hoping some of the dirt would soak off. After a few minutes, I started scrubbing with a soft brush. Then I used my fingers, gently wiping away the years of grime, the stains of time and neglect.

And gradually, I saw that the bottles were going to be beautiful again, even if they did have some marks that would not rub off and some dirt around the cracks that would never come clean.

Those marks and that dirt give the bottles character; they are evidence that these bottles were lost and someone found them. 

They should feel right at home here.

Still Running Redux

My recent post, "Still Running," caught the eye of one of the High Calling Blogs editors and was included in their August Round up of must reads. Thanks HCB!

To see what other blogs were featured, check out the post, "Around the Network: Taming Time and Unleashing God."

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The Natural Order Restored

We sat down at my kitchen table for lunch, my dad and I, just like we have dozens of times since I bought this fixer-upper four years ago. This house has been a joint project for the two us: me, the owner and supplier of materials; and my dad, the one who does all the work.

On this particular day, Dad was cleaning the gutters, scraping out the sticks and leaves that had accumulated from spring storms that had blown through in waves. Though his handiwork fills my house—from the closet doors to the kitchen sink—that day was only his second workday since he had heart surgery back in February.

As we sat down to eat, we bowed our heads over steamy plates of squash frittata and creamed peas, hints of basil and dill mingling with gratitude and hope as words and tears spilled out of my dad.

“We’ve had quite a year,” I said, after the “amens” were whispered and the eyes wiped. Dad nodded.

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