Treasure in a Box

A precious memory from the days when my now-biggish kids were little...

Tired from a long morning of momming and ready for my afternoon break, I took the kids upstairs for their naps, then returned to the kitchen to put away some dishes.  

Minutes later I felt the gentlest tug at my shirt.  My eldest, then a sandy-haired kindergartener, knew Mama could get grumpy about appearances during what was supposed to be naptime, and his face registered cautious hesitation as he stood with his hands cupped together in front of him. But his dark eyes also held a hint of some mysterious excitement that I couldn’t resist.  “What is it, child?”

He opened his clasped hands to reveal a flat white star, not much bigger than a quarter.  There were, I knew, a dozen or so more of its brothers on the ceiling of his bedroom, clustered in a glow-in-the-dark constellation above his bed.  

Picturing all sorts of shenanigans that might have knocked the star down, I gave him my best Tell Me The Truth look.  “How did you get that?”

He gazed at the star and then at me.  “I looked down on the floor and I saw this and I thought it must have fallen off the ceiling."  His eyes turned once more to the small object in his hands.  "And I was just so glad that I was able to hold a star.”

Little boy.  Sweet boy.  Darling small child who once was. I’m so glad, too – so glad that for a little while I was able to hold a star . . . to gaze into my hands as they pulled you in for a hug and behold something so precious, so perfect, so lovely that it almost hurt to look at it.

I reassured Isaac that we would put the star back up on the ceiling where it belonged, but in the meantime he’d have to take very good care of it.  “Oh, I will.  You know that little box on my nightstand – the wooden box with the little latch?  I’ll keep it in there, and I’ll be so, so careful with it.”

----

Sometimes we don't notice the stars.  There are so many, and they are there with so much faithful consistency, that we forget to marvel.

As we walk through each day we neglect to notice the colors, the smells, the sounds.  We forget to wonder how, and why. We forget to take our glasses off and let the tree lights blur and feel from the inside the joy of living a loved life.

Lord grant that I might see, every day, the beautiful treasure that is in my hands. All the little treasures. Let me look at the world, at my life, with the wondering, trusting eyes of a child.

And when, for a heart-pause moment, I see with sudden clarity one of the thousands of blessings hidden along each day's path, Lord grant that I might be so, so careful with it.

----

In this Christmas season, I can’t help thinking of another little treasure, a star that so clearly belonged in the heavens but came down to be with us for a while.  There’s a baby in the manger.  He’s a child, and He’s God.  I can’t comprehend, but I can sit still and marvel that He’s here.  And I can tuck Him safely in the little box that is my heart, and be warmed from within by the glow of God’s unfathomable love for me. 

First published in The Alpena News on December 21,2015. 

Someone Else

The Spirit of the Lord will come upon you . . . and you will be changed into a different person.  1 Samuel 10:6

I keep forgetting who I am.

So I'm rehearsals for this play. It's called Leaving Iowa, and it's a hoot. I get to play five different characters in the play. Five! How awesome is that?

At one point in the second act I become three different people in the space of two pages. It makes my head spin!

Not that I'm complaining. The more roles the merrier, as far as I'm concerned. I love climbing into someone else's head and playing around in there for a little while. When I step into the theater I shake off the everyday and become...a cheerful small-town waitress. Bursitis-ridden Aunt Phyllis. A hog farmer's wife who has found the secret to contentment.

The most fun characters to play are the ones that are not like me at all. Holy cow, what fun it is to clomp about in a hideous hat and garish dress, complaining loudly in an awful New York accent. I never get to do that in real life!

It's just nice to get to be someone else for a while.

Because sometimes I need a break from being who I am.

I know a lot of people are afraid of being in front of a crowd, but to me the stage is the one place that is safe. I mean, think about it. In real life, there's no script. No guarantee that there will be a happy ending. In real life, I am me and nobody else, whether I like it or not.

On stage, though, I don't have to be the same old me I always am. I can slip into someone else's skin and live their life for a little while. Their words are all written out for me, their difficult situations neatly resolved by the time the curtain closes.

I want to live a life like that, neat and tidy and safe. Sometimes, when I put on that other person, I wish I didn't have to leave.

It seems perfect to me that our show opens on Halloween weekend. Costumes! Halloween is all about being someone else. The sky's the limit of who you can be on October 31st. Clone trooper? No problem. Slap on a white helmet and you're good to go. Time lord? Just need a fez and a bowtie. If you can dream it, you can be it!

And the children merrily don their masks and wigs and capes and look at themselves in the mirror and rejoice in the chance to be someone else.

Life isn't all that bad, most of the time. But still. Look around. Look at the television, the magazines. Look at the person next to you. Other people have it better, surely they do. Other people know what to say and who to be. They seem so content with who they are. If only it were possible to wear their shoes for a while.

We all have moments when we wish we were someone else. A thin person. A wealthy person. A healthy person. A person who gets to take a break once in a while. We dream of another life, a better life, a life in which we are someone else.

While we struggle with who we are, there is one person we will never be - a person unloved by God.

Instead, someone else - our Jesus - was condemned in our place and crucified for our wrongs that we could daily become someone else, a new creation in Christ, forgiven and redeemed through Him.

Sometimes I forget who I am. I'm not just me. I'm someone else, too. God looked past all the masks that I try to put on and saw the real-life me inside. He saw that I needed Him. He put His loving Word in my heart, and wrote the ending to my story.

Because of the cross, we are changed, each one of us, into a different person. A complete person. A real person. A whole and wholly loved child of God.

Because of Jesus, we are exactly who we ought to be.

First published in The Alpena News, October 17, 2015

Plenty of Time

Me, trying to decide on a topic for my column: "Jonah, how has God made a difference in your life this week?"

Pragmatic nine-year-old son, after a moment's thought: "Well, it's only the second day of the week...He still has time."

That kid cracks me up.  I can't figure out when he went from the Trying to be Funny but Not Succeeding stage to this child who is legitimately witty, making me giggle on a regular basis.

Then again, it's no wonder I haven't noticed the change in him.  He's a third child.

Anyone else out there have three kids?  With your first, you try to get it all right.  Oh my gosh, the stack of baby books that I read with a glazed-eyed fervor...I haaaated those books.  They had so many RULES to follow, and they always told me all the things I was doing wrong!

Nevertheless, that sonnyboy of mine sure got the attention as I tried my best to be The Most Awesome Mom Ever.  I filled in baby books.  I took pictures.  I videotaped his first word.  (It was "bus," by the way.)  I read him three stories every night, doing all the voices. I carefully filled his new Bob the Builder lunch box with with a sandwich cut into a fun shape and a special hand-written note every day, so he could know how special he was to me.

The second child gets to escape a lot of the mistakes you made the first time around. But there's a little less time for number two. I have a few snapshots of my middle-child daughter's enormous little-girl grin, but I couldn't tell you her first word.  She got pre-packaged chips and fruit cups in her hand-me-down lunch box with the occasional note scrawled on a napkin reminding her to bring home her snowpants. And she never learned by heart the words to Goodnight Moon.

And then comes number three.  Our third arrived several years after his sister, when the older two were already off and running.  Jonah was relegated to accessory status, carted on my hip to preschool field trips and little league games.  I think maybe his big brother read him stories sometimes, and surely we have a picture of him around somewhere. And lunches?  Forgot the lunchbox. The third kid gets hot lunch. Even on hot dog day.

Since then, life has gotten ever busier.  Band practice, driving lessons, orthodontist visits . . . life revolves around the big ones.  And, as always, Jonah tags along for the ride, going wherever we go because he doesn't have a choice.

He's a part of our family life, but he's always on the fringes of it.  It's not that I forget about him.  It's just that I sort of . . . forget.  About him. Sometimes.

Jonah is pretty awesome about understanding his third-child role.  Really, he's amazing. Never complaining about being the little one, he keeps his head up, accepts what he's given, and waits in unhurried expectation for whatever good might be coming his way.

But still.  I wish I had done better.

------

It's only the second day of the week. God still has time. It was said so simply, but with such confidence. My boy didn't have any big, exciting God-sightings to report.  But he believed, no matter how unremarkable the present might be, that there was something special in store for him. And he was okay with waiting for it.

How has God made a difference in our lives?  I really like Jonah's way of looking at it.  There's still time.

It makes me think of being a not-always-great mom. And it reminds me that my kids will wait cheerfully and patiently while God keeps nudging me toward getting it right.

It makes me think of how God will keep working in my life to help me smooth out my rough spots and become more like Him.

Simplicity and acceptance and peace.  Because the only thing that really matters, the Thing that makes all the difference in the world, has already been taken care of.  The cross has given us eternity. As for the rest - well, God can handle that.  He's got it under control.

That fourth-grader reply was so simple.  I almost corrected him.  I almost reminded him about how God is a part of every moment of our lives in so many little ways, and there is never a day without Him.  But in that moment it was so much more fun to laugh, enjoy my boy, and let my heart send up a thank You for this week's life lesson.

A little shrug, a little head tilt - everything's not the way it seems it should be?  Eh.  It's early.  God still has time.

First published in The Alpena News, September 19, 2015.

It's About Time

"But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, 'You are my God. My times are in your hands.'" Psalm 31:14-15a

The trouble with summer is that it goes so quickly.

In early June its possibilities seem endless. Leisurely afternoons at the beach. Campfires in the back yard. Finally cleaning out the shed and digging up the overgrown perennials in the garden. Kayak rides and quiet conversation. Drives in the country. Playing catch at the park. Bike rides. Long walks with the dog. In early June, it all seems possible.

And then time sweeps in with her long arms and snatches the days out from under your feet and you land with a bump in late September. Suddenly you're putting your vacation photos on your screen saver and pruning your mums and shopping for back to school supplies and wondering what happened to your Junetime dreams.

It is tempting to think of time as a solid. Twenty four hours in a day, seven days in a week, 31 million-plus seconds in a year. Something that can be counted is something that ought to be tangible. One ought to be able to hang on to each of those 31 million seconds and make them matter.

But there is nothing less in our control than time. The complete contrarian, it saunters when it should run and flits forward when we most want to hold it back. It is relentless, unmerciful, taunting as a will-o-the-wisp and twice as agile.

Here at the twilight of summer, standing looking wonderingly back at the season that has slipped away, I'm a little afraid to turn around and face what is coming next. Will it, too, skitter away from me, giggling with mischief as it goes?

Of course it will. Football games and apple cider will give way to shovels and mittens in the catch of a breath, and I will once again be left wobbling like a Weeble and trying to figure out what just happened.

Time, oh precious time . . . if only I could hold thee more tightly and bend thee to my bidding!

How humbling it is, and how heartbreaking sometimes, to submit the inevitability that is Time.

And yet...

We are not alone in time. It rushes around us, whooshing in our ears, making a day into a moment and a moment into a lifetime, but we do not stand in the storm by ourselves.

Through all the days made too short by their busyness, in all the hours that stretch on beyond endurance, there is by our side One who is bigger than time.

Our big God, who alone is outside of time, entered time in the person of His Son. He didn't leave us alone to flounder in a whooshy, tippy-time world but showed us in the biggest way He could that we are loved, that He is for us and not against us, that the Maker of time itself is on our side.

Wrapped in the comfort of not-aloneness, we see our zippy moments and our crawly hours and our very lives very differently. Time, with all its erratic eccentricities, becomes a gift to enjoy and savor. And our place in that time gains a whole new meaning.

When the to-do list gets longer instead of shorter and the day is full of too few hours, we can give thanks for the blessing of busyness and for the hope of tomorrow. When we are willing the minutes to pass more quickly, we can lean on the One who loves us and who spends His time by our side, ready to hear our hearts.

We cannot hold time. Instead, our time is in God's hands . . . the biggest, safest, most loving place it could be. With the inevitability of God's presence in every moment in our lives, our days are blessed and a blessing - all 31 million seconds a year.

God Comes With Us

This year’s family vacation was epic. In a grand, The Kids Are Leaving The Nest Soon gesture, we decided to fly out to Portland, Oregon to see some of my relatives and then spend two weeks driving home. A lot of togetherness, a lot of beauty to see…and a lot of lessons to learn. 

 

It was wonderful to see my West Coast relatives again after 20-some years. I loved seeing all of them, but I especially enjoyed spending time with my uncle. I never noticed how much he is like my dad, who lives in Heaven now. Same nose, same facial expressions, same speech patterns, same laugh. When I looked at him, I saw my father. It was wonderful. 

…I sure hope that when my loved ones look at me, they see my Father’s face. 

———

We got to see tide pools. They're SO cool. There were mussels and anemones and crabs and starfish. We hopped from rock to rock, sidestepping shells and critters and crouching to marvel at the colors and shapes. Inquisitive fingers discovered that starfish feel like rocks but anemones are sticky and a little bit creepy. 

My daughter picked up a little hermit crab shell, squealing with delight when one tiny claw came out and poked at the air. As she held her breath, a second claw emerged, and then a quivery antenna. The small creature waved its appendages about in a fearsome manner, finally letting them come to rest on Emmalyn’s thumb. “He's touching me!” she cried excitedly. “He's touching me!!”

…We crouch in the shells we build for ourselves, fearing the great big God who has chosen us. What joy it gives Him when we gather our courage and reach out for His hand.

———

If you see a flower that looks like Queen Anne’s Lace only really, really big – as in, taller than you are – I offer you this advice: Don't Pick It. It turns out Giant Hogweed has toxic sap that can lead to really bad burns on your skin. Bad stuff. Which is a real shame, because it's a lovely flower.  

…Sometimes my insides don't match my outsides. But, even knowing my darkest secrets, God still picks me. 

———

Northern Montana is golden. Hills and hills and hills crouch in all directions, dressed not in the cool green forest of Michigan but with a low-lying gold, smooth and sinuous, curvy and beguiling. Hills upon hills, not a man-made structure in sight except the one gray road ribboning between them. 

Going deeper and deeper into the Montana wild, a person can get a little nervous. A little claustrophobic. The golden hills seem to inch closer, each one more barren than the last, the remoteness of the place becoming tangible. The hills are lovely…but what if one never finds their way out? A body could get lost in those hills, could wander for days without seeing another human being. The gray ribbon road becomes a lifeline. 

...Life gets lonely sometimes. Burdens menace and fears loom large. But with our Savior leading us, there is always a way out. 

———

It has been thirty-five years since Mt. St. Helens erupted. It belched out smoke and steam and ash and lava, causing massive flooding and avalanches. It swept away cars and people and homes and trees and ground, devastating the landscape. 

And now, many years later, the trees are growing back. The ash has been turned into art. The scars where the lava flowed are being softened by wild flowers. 

…Where my anger bubbles over and sin explodes, the forgiveness earned by Jesus covers over and makes me beautiful again. 

———

Driving Going-To-The-Sun Road in Glacier National Park takes a special measure of courage. The astonishing views of jagged peaks and graceful curving valleys and sky-to-earth waterfalls are equaled for breathtakingness by the rock walls, dropoffcliffs, and menacing overhangs one must traverse to see the sights. Daughter Emmalyn, who is much troubled by such thingsas the possibility of plummeting to our demise, huddled in the back seat and trembled at every curve in the road. I told her that if she needed to close her eyes it was okay…but she could also remember that Dad was driving. And Dad would keep her safe. 

…We can shut our eyes and cringe at life’s perplexities. Or we can enjoy the ride with our hair whipping in the wind. Either way, our Father, who takes infinite care of us, has everything under control. 

———

We are never alone on our journeys. As we go and do and explore, our maker is there, whispering His presence in our ear. There are lessons to be learned everywhere, if only we turn our ear to hear them. No matter where we go, God comes with us.

Unfinished Business

Wake up. Remember, ah yes. Need to write my column today. 

Make hot cocoa. Feed cats. Open blinds. Sit down at computer.

Check email. Research kitchen timers on Amazon. Check weather forecast. Stir hot cocoa. Type a paragraph.

Child requests breakfast. Walk toward kitchen. Remember dryer hasn't been emptied; go downstairs to laundry room. Pull out laundry and dump into basket. Carry upstairs. Child has made toast. Set laundry basket on kitchen floor to wipe up jelly on counter. Make egg/cheese/mustard sandwich. Remember hot cocoa. Return to computer.

Type a paragraph. Check email.

Egg is runny - mmm - but dribbles off the side of plate onto computer. Get up for napkin. Clean off computer. Take dishes to kitchen. Remember we're out of milk. 

Go to store. Go home via the lake.

Put away groceries. Bump into laundry basket. Pick up and head to bedroom. Notice computer. Set laundry basket on table. Check email.

Write a paragraph.

Fend off snuggly cat. Snuggle cat. Check email.

Google cat hair removal tricks. Check price of duct tape on Amazon. Get up to feed the parakeet. Sit back down. Check email.

Write a paragraph. 

Take laundry basket to bedroom. Organize shoes under dresser.Visit dust bunnies. Return to computer.

Check email.

Look up pork roast recipes. Put pork roast in slow cooker. Rummage in fridge. Eat a slice of bologna. Remember I don't like bologna. Pet dog. Sit down at computer.

Check weather. Check email. Write a paragraph. 

Wander outside. Play catch with son. Pull a few weeds. Close eyes and listen to wind.

Go back inside. Sit down at computer. Type a paragraph.

Shiver. Wish for a sweatshirt. Wonder where I left the basket of laundry.

Decide to finish my column tomorrow.

-------

It's not that I don't want to finish the projects I start. It's just that I'm really, really bad at it.

My husband will back me up on this. He has earned sainthood by putting up with twenty years of my unfinished projects. Good intentions in hand, I charge fearlessly into any situation, determined to Make My World Better and Contribute To Society. And I do a pretty good job of it most of the time, until it comes to the last bit. The finishing part.

My home is full of tubs that tell the tale of my errant ways. There are tubs full of classroom supplies in the living room, awaiting my attention. Tucked into the basement storage room isa tub of craft supplies from our booth at last summer's Nautical Festival. I'll put them away eventually.  Probably. 

Somewhere in another of my tubs you'll find the blue curtains that I decided to make for our very first apartment that were never hung up because I didn't finish sewing the last hem. I come across them every once in a while, contemplate getting rid of them, and then decide that I'll finish them eventually and put them back in their tub.

Why? Why is it so hard to finish a project? Why is there a ladder in my kitchen that will be there for the next week and a half?

Only one answer, I suppose. Because I'm human.

Oh, sure, there are a few of you out there who get all of your projects finished right away. I admire you intensely. But c'mon, there's got to be something that you don't get done right, right away. Because you're human. 

We mess up. We leave things unfinished. It's what we do.

We don't fully forgive. We neglect to notice our neighbor. Our innocence is incomplete.

The detritus of our unfinished projects litters our landscape, reminding us of our failures, pointing to our inability to take care of the crucial business of life. The ladders in our spiritual kitchens mock us and tell us we are doomed to inadequacy.

It would have been easy for God to not finish the project of humankind. At the beginning maybe we seemed like a good idea, but before too long we had proven that we're not really a project worth finishing.

And yet, there was a death on the cross. And an Easter resurrection.

I may not finish the work that is given me to do. But God never considered leaving incomplete the salvation of my soul. All that needed to be done to make each of us the whole, forgiven, completely loved children of God we are intended to be has been accomplished. 

There may be twenty year old unhemmed curtains in my basement , but because of Jesus, I am complete.

It is finished.

 

 

 

New and Improved

Therefore , if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!  -2 Corinthians 5:17

"Mrs. Riddle, have you always had short hair?"

This question from one of my inquisitive eighth graders, no doubt eager to distract me from our U.S. History lesson, flashed me back in time about nine years. 

My youngest child was a few months away from entering the world. Feeling the need for a drastic change to offset my ever-expanding, baby-filled waistline, I took the plunge and tried a new hairstyle. In an hour’s time I went from a lifetime's worth of long and straight to a strikingly different look of short and layered.

I was nervous about looking at my reflection in the mirror for the first time, afraid I might not like the new ‘do, but when I finally took a look I absolutely loved it. And I kept on loving it, continuing to like the new style more every day. It was easy, it had personality, and, if I do say so myself, it looked a lot better on me than my old limp locks.

At first I was self-conscious about going public, but it was fun to get others’ reactions on the new look. Everyone was very complimentary. My husband, bless his heart, told me that I looked pretty – which, let me tell you, men, is a sure-fire way to make a wife smile. Several people at church said that they didn’t recognize me at first and wondered what strange lady was sitting with Pastor’s children. I’ve never been one for spending time fussing over my looks, but suddenly I loved to stop in front of a mirror just to re-examine the new hair, tuck a strand into place and take a moment to feel great about “the new me.”

Who would have thought that something as simple as a hair cut could turn me into a whole new person?

It’s fun to be made new. To be re-created. It’s a joyful experience to see yourself in a new light and to like what you see. It’s a delightful thing, a wonderful thing, to be a forgiven and washed-clean child of God.

Who would have thought that something as simple as a cross could turn me into a whole new person?

I can’t help getting excited about the change of Easter. Oh, sure, the holiday itself is fun, what with the jelly beans and the family time and all, but the really great part about Easter is getting to be a new person.

In the wee hours of the day I’ll crawl out of bed, sneak around the house so as to not wake the children as I make my morning cup of hot chocolate, and open my Bible to the resurrection account in the Gospels to read about the new person, the resurrected Jesus, appearing to His friends.

Amid the smell of the lilies I’ll proclaim with my Christian brothers and sisters, “He is risen, indeed!” and know that with His rising He raised the new us, the new and improved and lookin’-so-good body of believers, who once were dead to our Father because of our sin but now are alive and lovely.

With every egg and chick and flower and bunny I’ll be reminded of new life – the new, post-death life of the metamorphosed butterfly, of the glorious Christ, of the me who can put all my ugly and black sins behind me and know they are no more, and in my Father’s eyes I am – it gives me chills to even think it – beautiful.

I love the new me. I love the person that daily comes forth and arises, forgiven despite everything, leaving behind the unattractive person that I see when I forget to look at myself the way God looks at me. There is real joy in Easterly newness.

I hope that when people catch a glimpse of the new me that God’s created, the tickled-to-be-forgiven one, they can see where my new look comes from. Because my stylist, I happen to know, is always glad to get a referral. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I know where you can get a great new look. Oh, wait, I think you’ve already been to see Him. The Easter-morning light in your eyes that is sparkling up from your forgiven heart is His distinctive look. Andfriend, I’ve gotta say, you look marvelous.

The Beauty of Wrong

I was convinced our field trip was going to go poorly. 

Turns out I was wrong.

Our first stop was the Bruski and Stevens Twin Sinks in lovely Leer. I was sure that the kids would groan, "But it's just a hole in the ground!" Turns out I was wrong. They were delighted with the depth and breadth of the pits. And, huzzah, none of them fell in.

Next we visited the Cracks in the Earth, over near Sunken Lake. I thought surely the kids would think them dull. Turns out I was wrong. There were middle school monkeys clambering into every crevice, calling to each other delightedly to come and see, marveling at the softness of the moss and popping up out of the earth every which way. By the time we moved on they were breathless and beaming.

One more stop lay ahead, the mysterious Mystery Valley. It's a lake that sometimes is and sometimes isn't, groundwater filling it full and then whooshing away through underground passages in an escape that happens so quickly that they say sometimes a whirlpool forms over the main sinkhole that is its bottom. (How cool is that??)

I figured we would get to the shore, the kids would say, "Huh," and then we would turn around and go home. Turns out I was wrong. The lake was mostly drained. A pool of water lay at the far end of the long bowl of lakebed. The kids tturned to me with bright, pleading eyes. "Can we go play in it?"

In moments my muck-booted monkeys were stomping about in the water, pretending to be river monsters and finding tiny shells and conquering islands. They crouched and examined the weird fibrous mucky skim in one part of the lake, brought me the strange exoskeletons of small water creatures, and gasped at the water line high in the trees.

Nothing, I thought, could add to this field trip. It couldn't get any better. ...Turns out I was wrong.

Heeding my "Gotta go!" cry, the kids were reluctantly turning from their play and shaking the water out of their boots. One of them, probably stalling for time, pointed to the little rise at the very end of the valley. "Can't we just go peek and see what's over there first?"

We tromped up the little rise. When they got to the top, the kids stopped. There was a moment's breathless pause. Then, with one voice, they gave a collective, "Woah."

There at their feet was the greenest, clearest, prettiest pool of water I've ever seen. It lay in perfect emerald stillness, serenely reflecting back the layered wall of rock that rose to imposing heights behind it. The students just stood, absorbing this unexpected wonderfulness.

That didn't last long, of course. In a few moments they were giggling and scaring each other with trailing wads of watery moss. We squished cheerfully back across the lake bottom, the kids piggybacking and skipping a bit in the morning sunshine.

Sometimes it is wonderful to be wrong.

------------

Life With God. It seems like it should be such a heart-warming thing. But . . . can it really be as amazing as the satin-voiced radio personalities make it out to be? It's a lot to ask of life, that it would be all warm and glowy and full of holy contentment. Surely it can't be as good as all that. 

Our God is so much fun, isn't He? I love the way He loves us. He doesn't wait for us to come looking for a Life of Godliness or to feel properly religious. He comes to us, right where we are, and sits down in the midst of our lives. He shakes His head affectionately at our low expectations and tells us just how wrong we are.

Little blessings tuck themselves in around us and fill our days with joy, if only we have eyes willing to see it. Our God walks beside us, hearing our hearts with ceaseless understanding. He sends laughter in the midst of tears, sits beside us in the waiting room, and shows us His face in the faithfulness of a friend. 

And then, just when we think it can't possibly get any better, we walk up Calvary's hill, look up with unexpecting eyes, and have a moment of emerald-green clarity in which we see, if only for a instant, how unfathomably, incomprehensibly, unchangingly we are loved. And our hearts pause, stopped in their tracks, and utter a breathless, "Woah."

My logical brain tells me that life as God's child just can't be as good as I want it to be. But our loving Lord and risen Savior comes to us again and again with His illogical love, offering surprise after surprise, exceeding every expectation. It is so good - so very good - to be wrong.

A Science Lesson

I love learning new stuff.

Which is a good thing, because I'm doing a whole lot of that lately. Twenty years after receiving my teaching degree I finally have a classroom of my own. Trained to be a high school English teacher, I had to laugh at God's mischievous choice of placing me in a 6-8th grade classroom teaching pretty much everything EXCEPT English.

While I consider myself a human of at least moderate intelligence and awareness, I am shocked daily by the things I don't know.

For example, did you know that glaciers are totally cool? Pun not in the least intended. Well, maybe a little bit. And did you know that the United States owns Puerto Rico?? You probably did. But I didn't.

And then there's the mysterious pi (I actually know what it means now!), the infinite awesomeness of maps and the comical War of 1812 involvement of Mackinac Island. All new and so very interesting.

The newest, most intriguing entry in the Things I Didn't Know category involves bodies. We are in the midst of a Human Biology and Health unit in 7th-8th grade science. (The reproductive system comes up in a week or two - pray for me.)

What an absorbing and mysterious subject it is, learning about what is inside the human body. So far we have marveled at the strength of bones, the resiliency of muscles, and the many functions of the epidermis.

The current lesson is about the circulatory system. Want to guess how many times your hearts beats in a day? A hundred thousand times! Doesn't that just beat all? (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Every day since before you were born it has kept pumping away, never tiring, never complaining, never asking for a break. Such a miracle. How, I wonder often, can one look at the marvels inside the body and say there is no Creator?

But that's not my point. It's just a bonus side thought.

The thing I really wanted to tell you about is red blood cells.

Okay, so the job of the red blood cell is to zip through your lungs, pick up some oxygen, and then truck around your body delivering its cargo wherever it might be needed. Your body has lots of red blood cells - about 37 trillion of them. They look like little red doughnuts. But here's the part that really got my attention.

Every second - every second mind you - two MILLION of your red blood cells die.

That thought absolutely creeps me out.

Eventually those dead cells are recycled into new living cells - the job of the spleen, I believe - but that still means that all the time, every moment of the day, I am walking around with millions and millions of dead things in me.

I am full of life. And yet I am full of death. It is in me, in every part of me, inescapable, a part of my very definition. The thought gives me the shivers. Makes me want to somehow swat at myself with a rag the way I would at mold, trying not to touch, cringing and saying eww eww eww.

A body full of death. This is what we are.

Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Christ Jesus our Lord! Romans 7:24-25a

It gives me the shivers sometimes, thinking about how much there is in me that I don't want to have there.

I probably look like a pretty decent person from the outside, at least of average good-ness. But I know what lies within. I know the urges, the weaknesses, the pride-driven selfishnesses that race around my insides, making mockery of that which looks like goodness from the outside of my skin.

It helps a little, I guess, to remember that I'm not alone. We all live in bodies of death. The person next to me who seems so good - they, too, are full of that which makes them cringe.

Who will rescue us? Who will take this thing that is so full of wrongness and make it right?

Thanks be to God through Christ Jesus our Lord. You know the answer. The kids in Sunday School know the answer. It's Jesus. Only Jesus.

He takes this evil that is within me, and with the shedding of His own dear blood He makes my ever-thumping heart pure and good in the eyes of my Heavenly Father.

And icky, creepy, inescapable death is replaced with life, flowing to every part of me and delivering the fresh air of forgiveness.

So I guess what I'm saying is...Jesus is sort of like a spleen.

See? You learn something new every day.