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. 

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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.

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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.