Powering Up

We were in the middle of our usual morning scramble to get ready for school when the lights blinked. Blink, blink...and then the house went dark.

We scurried around, gathering candles and tripping over cats and adjusting to this new wrinkle in the day. Alerts on our phones reported that power outages were widespread and repairs were going to take a while. The kids cheered when news came that school was cancelled.

The day sped merrily along, a mostly-sunny sky making us almost forget that we didn't have power. Things changed, though, as the sun started to settle in for the night. An element of panic crept into the day along with the darkness.

The house started to get cold. We remembered we were going to spend several hours being stuck in the dark. Our phones were losing their charges and there was no prospect of a hot supper. Suddenly the power outage wasn't quite so fun.

We were feeling kind of gloomy about the evening's prospects when someone had the great idea. Our church building still had power. Why couldn't we go there for a while?

We packed up some food, our phone cords, and a few decks of cards and headed to church. Inside it was bright and warm. I heated soup on the stove in the church kitchen along with some water for tea and hot cocoa.

As our phones charged and Christmas music played on Pandora, we ate, ate a little more, and then got out the cards. We chatted and laughed as we played several rounds of Nerts, nibbling cookies and enjoying being together.

The evening had turned into night before we decided to pack up and head home. Such a surprising day it had been. I most certainly had not expected to end the day at church, getting fed and warmed and charged up to head back out into the darkness.

It may have been an unconventional use of the church facilities. But it seemed utterly appropriate.

I sometimes get teased for being a church-goer. It's a waste of a perfectly good Sunday morning, from one perspective. I do understand that. Frankly, I don't always want to go to church. It can be tough to give up the time when there are things I'd rather be doing. Sometimes I'd rather stay home by myself and jump into the to-do list.

I still go to church, though. It's not because of a social obligation or because I think it's the right thing to do, or because I think I'm somehow holier if I sit in a pew for an hour every week. I go because I'm cold. And hungry. And it's dark out. And I need to recharge.

God is not limited to a building. I can, and do, spend time with Him throughout the week, talking to Him as I drive, remembering His lessons of patience and humility when I get frustrated at work, feeling His comfort when I'm sad and His encouragement when I'm weak.

God is not limited to a building...and yet, I go to a building each week because I want time when I know I can do nothing but be with Him. On Sunday mornings I step away from the world for an hour and breathe quietly and take time to listen, and think, and absorb. I am reminded who I am and whose I am. And when I shyly head for the doors and back out into the world I am fed, and warmed, and powered up by my time with my Creator.

...at least, that's the way it should be. Let's be honest...it's not always as peaceful and lovely as all that. I'm usually running late and I slide into the pew harried and frazzled. I want to listen to the sermon but catch myself daydreaming about lunch instead. As I speak the words of the liturgy my brain is busy critiquing the outfit of the woman in front of me and wishing the service would be over already.

We come to church to be with God, but we are still so very human, and so very full of flaws, even as we stand in His presence.

And yet, He still meets us there. He still feeds us, still speaks to our so-distractible hearts and offers us His forgiveness, His comfort and strength.

Our all-powerful God, who set aside His power to come to us as a helpless baby and to hang on a cross, comes to us still. He comes despite our weakness, even when we don't remember to come to Him. He comes holding out to us the life, death and resurrection of His Son and saying Here, look how much I love you, just as you are.

When we are weak, and cold, and hungry, and the world is dark, still we are not powerless. There is food for our souls, warmth for our hearts and light for our lives in the manger hay. Oh come, let us adore Him.

First published in The Alpena News, December 9, 2017

The Sun Also Rises

One of the benefits to the days getting shorter is that lately the sun is rising through the trees at just about the time I'm getting ready for work. Makes for a pretty view out the window.

I'm reminded of a late-summer morning fiveish years ago, when I was determined to get the full New Michigander Experience by witnessing my first sunrise over Lake Huron.

The air was gray, but a wash of light was beginning to warm up the trees in the back yard. I tiptoed past my sleeping husband, eased the van keys off of the dresser, and slunk out the kitchen door.

Minutes later I pulled into a parking spot at Seagull Point. I turned off the engine and prepared to be awed.

My eyes scanned the dark horizon, anxious to catch the day’s first glimpse of the sun. I was tense, alert. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I waited.

And waited.

The water moved restlessly, jostling a seagull who had settled in for a sit. It rolled across the length of the shore like a man sealing an envelope. In the distance, several silent lights blinked mysteriously.

The day was beginning, and it was lovely. But still, the sun refused to rise. The event for which I’d come, the arrival of the king of the sky in all its majesty, simply would not begin.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I rolled my neck and stretched my shoulders. I cleaned my fingernails. I wished, fervently, that the sun would get a move on.

A toad galumphed across the parking lot. I thought of my family back at the house, probably still dreaming happy dreams and tucked in up to their chins. ...Oh, dear. It occurred to me that I hadn't turned off my alarm clock. My family was going to be roused from their peaceful slumber by the waah, waah, waah, waah of my buzzer.

The horizon had grown pinker now, but there was still no sun peeking out to steal a look at the new day. I had rushed out here to see a sunrise, but the sun was not rising. I sighed. This timing wasn't working out for me. I had things to do, people to see, alarms to turn off.

The color had reached out across the water now, and the ripples of the lake reflected back a glorious, undulating rosy glow. Stay, the waves called to me. Stay, and wait a bit longer. The sun will come.

I thought of my sleeping children and the alarm clock, and the to-do list on the counter. Waiting would have to wait. I pulled onto the road and headed home.

As surely as the sun rises, [the Lord] will appear. Hosea 6:3

Waiting patiently isn't easy. Not when we're waiting for the sun, and not when we're waiting for God.

I don't know about you, but I can get kind of demanding with God. I get it into my head that I have an important life schedule to keep, and I want Him to keep up. I get impatient when He doesn't seem to be paying heed to my timetable and wish that He would get a move on.

Our wait for God to make His appearance in our lives is often filled with fidgets and sighs. Lord, we pray, hurry up and help me find my keys. I don’t know how I’m going to pay this bill, Lord, so send me money – quickly. I’m lonely; I’m restless; I’m unfulfilled. Heavenly Father, make it all better. And please, dear God, do it today. I’m waiting.

Which, when you think about it, is kind of funny. As funny as becoming impatient with the sun for not moving fast enough.

In the wisdom of creation, the sun does not pop up to lighten my sky whenever I want it to. Goodness, what a mess things would be if it did. No, the sun arrives on the horizon calmly, steadfastly, at just the right moment.

The sun will come...and our loving God will appear. We look for Him and tap our feet when we do not see Him, but He is as present as the sun, as reliable as the sunrise. And when the time is just right, He will let us see what He's got planned for His impatient children.

Not all mornings are glorious. Maybe I won’t find my keys. Maybe I won’t be able to pay that bill. Maybe my mom’s cancer won’t go away. Maybe the sunrise that is coming is not the one for which I’m hoping.

But I know that the sun will rise.  Because the Son rose.  On Easter morning He leapt from His tomb, defeating death, liberating light, and claiming us as His own. And with that knowledge, that certainty, as certain as the morning sun on the Sunrise Side, we know, we KNOW, that we are God’s beloved people for whom He will always be present. As surely as the sun rises, He will appear.

How, how could I turn away, sighing with impatience? The Lord of all, who loves me, is as certain as the sun. When the time is just right, I'll see the good that He has been working in my life. In the meantime, maybe I'll find a day to mosey to the lake and take in a sunrise. It'll be worth the wait.

First published in The Alpena News on October 14, 2017.

A Good Choice

Eight, nine, maybe ten times I signed my name on the paperwork, the J getting a little loopier with each go-round.

I handed Rich the papers. He handed me the keys. I grinned and gave a little happy hop. The car was officially mine. 

(A quick note here…I know there are differences between SUVs and sedans and trucks and crossovers…I’m just going to call them all cars to keep it simpler. I hope that’s okay with you.)

There are two teens of driving age in my house. That means that lately the white Soccer Mom van I've been driving for years has been commandeered by the offspring for carting friends around, getting to work, and hauling drums. We decided it was time for Mom to have her own wheels.

It was fun to shop for a car for me. We test-drove scads of cars, comparing features, comfortableness, and cup holder counts. (They kids were entranced by one car that didn't have power windows. "Mom, check it out! You get to roll up these windows by yourself!!")

Each vehicle had its good points and its not so good points, things to like and things to critique. There was no perfect car out there. But that was okay. The goal wasn't to find perfection. It was to find a car that I loved.

At long last I settled on a 2008 Jeep Compass, forest green, the basic model with lots of miles on it. It doesn't have any of the little niceties that new cars these days have (except seat warmers – my, but I do love seat warmers).

It does, though, come pre-loved with a handful of dents and dings. The back bumper guard is cracked. There are perky rust bubbles starting to form around the tire wells. Inside, the tan fabric seats sport a number of snazzy burn holes to match the mysterious puncture marks in the ceiling.

It's not much to brag about, my little green car. But it's mine. And oh, how I love it.

My car was sold to me in an "as-is" condition. There's a 30-day warranty to cover anything really horrendous, but I had to buy it knowing that it isn't in factory-perfect condition. It will probably have some problems down the road. In fact, there's a rattling sound coming from somewhere down below that probably shouldn't be there, and I’ll probably need to get that looked at.

Before I decided on a car, I was worried that if the car I chose turned out to be flawed, I'd regret my decision.

I don’t think that will be a problem, though. Yes, it might give me trouble. It might cause an ache in my wallet and make me shake my head. But I don't regret my choice. This is my car. I'm willing to take care of it. It's not going to be perfect...and that's okay.

I chose this car because I love it. And I love it because I chose it.

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You did not choose me, but I chose you...  John 15:16

I've got dents and dings that give evidence to some rough patches in life. My odometer is ticking away, and I ain't getting any younger. I may not be rusting just yet, but I can be rough around the edges.

But when God went looking for someone to be His child, He wasn't looking for perfect. He was looking for me.

Jesus didn't live-die-rise for the elite. He didn't come humbly to raise up those who are grand. He came to walk beside the incompletes, to share life with those who have rattles that need to be fixed and holes in the upholstery that need to be accepted as-is.

We were chosen, my friends. Our Savior pointed at each of us and said, "There...that one, with all the flaws…I want that one."

The One who paid our price to make us His now holds us dear. He treats us with care we don't deserve. We are His, chosen and loved.

We were chosen because we were loved. And we are loved because we were chosen.

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Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12

The people in our lives, even those nearest and dearest to us, come to us as-is. They are going to need maintenance, and they will sometimes make us shake our heads, and they might cause an ache in our hearts.

If God chose me, as-is, then it seems to me that I can accept some dents and dings in the people I love. And the people who try my patience. And maybe even in the people who drive me nuts.

I think that’s what I’ll try to work on this week as I drive around in my nifty green car. Remembering I’m the one God chose to be His. And choosing to keep loving as I have been loved…dents and all.

First published in The Alpena News on September 16, 2017.

Moths and Windowpanes

Save us and help us with your right hand, that those you love may be delivered. Psalm 60:5

It was a day for exploring. The little watchtower on the hill invited us in, the locked latch on the door willingly giving way to our tugging fingers.

Inside it was cool and dim. The floor was crunchy with dead Japanese beetles. A cylinder of space rose before us, like standing in a miniature doorway at the bottom of a Pringles can. In the center of the barrel was a thick tree trunk, wrapped around by a spiral of thick wooden steps winding up out of sight.

We looked for a moment at the buggy mounds on the floor, checking for anything living that might creep or crawl in alarming fashion, then started up the stairs.

My gentle niece plodded steadfastly one step at a time, carefully avoiding beetle bodies, while her younger brother scampered up ahead of us, blonde hair bobbing in the half light.

The steps curled up around the trunk a time or two, landing with a thump at a little bare platform in a little bare room overlooking the countryside. A small wobbly bench hesitantly invited us to sit, while a mysterious box of light bulbs sulked on top of an incongruous stool. More insect corpses littered the floor, and the remains of three small birds told a sad tale of fluttering futility.

The room was ringed around by windows, or the remains of windows at any rate. Some openings bore screens with the glass missing, some had glass with the screen missing, and some were a bit of both but not quite enough to cover. It was clear to see how the unfortunate birds had gotten in, and simple to imagine why they been unable to find their way back out.

A white flicker caught my eye. In the corner of one window a moth pecked at the glass, fat fuzzy body bumping against the pane. I imagined his puzzlement as he saw the big white sky just there ahead of him but couldn’t manage to flit off into it. I don’t know how much brain can fit into a moth’s head, but whatever part of it wasn’t occupied with escape must have been filled with vexation at the sight of what he wanted so exasperatingly just out of reach.

My eyes travelled the gloomy occupants of the room. Belly-up beetles dotted the floor, three unlucky birds lay in sad broken heaps of feathers, and one lone moth struggled for freedom.

The thought of the moth’s struggles, the picture of him growing weaker and miserable and eventually becoming one more corpse on the floor, was too much for me. I had to help him.

Catching a moth isn’t easy. The creature easily evaded my fingers as I tried to cup my hands over his frantic wings. His panic grew as my big hands moved in to trap him against the window. I could imagine how terrifying it must feel to see the darkness moving in all around, how much he must have wished to flee the very thing that was his only chance at freedom.

At last I had the moth trapped. Slowly I slid my hands until I had nudged him up onto one of my fingers. I wondered what my warm skin felt like to his tiny insect feet. I cupped my hands around him, careful to avoid injuring the fragile wings that hammered against my fingers. Carefully I carried him away from the window on which he had been beating himself, slid my hands through a slice in the screen nearby, and pulled my fingers apart.

The moth froze for a moment, and then launched himself joyously into the air. As my small friend careened off and away, I couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Perhaps he was congratulating himself for his narrow escape from the Dark Scary Thing that had entrapped him, patting himself on his fuzzy back for the courage and determination with which he had battered through that pane of glass.

I smiled and watched him go, knowing he’d never know what I had done for him. That’s the way of it, for moths and for men. Sometimes we don’t know a rescue when we see one.

_____

I beat my wings, pounding myself against the glass that holds me back from what I can so clearly see before me. Why?? Why can I not go where the way seems so obvious? Why can I not get the peace, the happiness that seems to be just there, just where I ought to be able to grasp it?

Again I thump ahead in a rhythm of confusion, trying and trying with all my small strength to break through the pane that keeps me from what I think I want, determination growing into ferocity. Why? How? Unfair, unjust! I will, I can, I want, I need, unfair, unfair, why, why??

And then things get worse. Scarier. Dark. I lose the semblance of control; life and its bigness sweep over me and the vision of freedom that was before me is blotted out. I batter against the darkness but despair is all that remains. I weep in a heap on my kitchen floor knowing in my core that I and my heart have been hurt beyond repair.

And then…light. Fresh air. A clean , soft breeze. I lift off, free of the glass, free of the sadness and fear and worry. As I soar, I think of the bad, dark time behind me and marvel at my courage, my wisdom and determination that somehow broke through and set me free.

How often, do you suppose, do we silly fuzzy-footed creatures fail to see, in the darkness, our wings beating in vexation, that we are being gently, quietly, lovingly carried to freedom by the hand of our Savior?

For us, small as we are, for us our Jesus wept. For us He lived ferociously. For us and our nothingness he climbed a tree without spiraling stairs, viewed the angry world around Him, and gave His life. Why, why in heaven or on earth, would He then walk away, leaving us to beat against our windowpanes alone?

You see what you want. It’s right there. But you can’t have it. It doesn’t make sense. You flap and struggle but you get nowhere but bruised.

Silly moth. You will keep trying. That’s what moths do. But when it gets dark, and all seems lost…take a moment to consider the feel under your feet. Perhaps…quiet your wings, stop, notice the warmth, notice that you are being gently moved…perhaps what surrounds you is the hand of your Savior, lovingly, gently, carrying you to freedom.

First published in The Alpena News, August 19, 2017.

Wait Loss

I didn't mean to lose weight. It just sort of happened.

One Saturday I got to wondering if there were an app for tracking how much you eat. Silly question...there's an app for everything! I wasn't planning to use it, mind you...I didn't need it, because I was eating just fine, thank you very much...but I was curious.

Just for fun, I downloaded a calorie-counting app with a simple user interface and cute little food icons. I plugged in the requested information about my age, weight, and height and randomly chose a weight loss goal, just to play along.

I recorded the eggroll I'd had for lunch. Bing! Up popped the nutrition information, including calorie count. Pleased with how easy and rather fun that had been, I entered the rest of the day's food. I probably wouldn't keep up with the record-keeping, but it couldn't hurt to do it for a day or two.

That evening I received an email. From my app. It told me that if I could keep recording my food for three days, my chances of losing weight would triple. I do like a challenge. Three days? I could do that.

Turns out three days wasn't nearly as easy as I thought. Recording what I was eating made me realize that maybe my habits weren't so great after all. It didn't feel good, seeing evidence of my weakness. But after my second day my app sent me another email, congratulating me on my efforts and cheering me on for tomorrow.

I did make it those first three days. A woo-hoo message and a blue electronic badge were my reward for recording my food intake, along with another bit of encouragement: don't give up. Not yet.

I noticed pretty quickly that my app wasn't demanding that I change my eating habits. It simply gave me a safe place to honestly record the decisions I was making each day. As I began to let go of my fear of admitting my bad choices, it became easier and easier to make good ones.

It's been 95 days, according to my app, since I started logging my daily food. In those three months I've lost 31 pounds and three clothing sizes. I've tried to exercise a little more, mostly by taking longer walks with the dog, but mostly the change has been as simple as writing down what I ate, with an electronic device to cheer me on.

I always thought weight loss would be hard. Too hard for me. I thought it was something other people did. So I never tried. Now, with a spring in my step that wasn't there 31 pounds ago, I can't help wondering...why did I wait so long?

........

There are so many things that I've never done because I felt like they would be too hard. So I've never tried.

I haven't tried being a person who doesn't hold grudges. Or a person who chooses to always see the best in those around me. I haven't tried reading my Bible every day...well, I did try, but when I failed I gave up and haven't tried again.

I haven't tried confidently laying my biggest worries in God's hands. Or my greatest shame. I haven't tried living each day with a truly thankful heart.

I can't help wondering...what am I waiting for?

Wouldn't it be fun, three months from now, to think about all the weight of hurt or worry I've left behind me? Wouldn't it feel fantastic to look at the number of days I've lived in gratitude, or to know I've dropped several sizes of pride and self-absorption?

I think back to what made the difference, what finally got me to get off my rump and change the way I ate. I have to be honest...it wasn't me. If it were contingent on nothing but my willpower, I could have never made the change in myself, no matter how strong I like to think I am.

What made the difference was that silly little app, cheering me on, holding me accountable, being on my side. It was just what I needed.

If it were up to us, nothing would ever change. We're not strong enough to be who we want to be, not all on our own.

But we're not on our own. More than any electronic gadget could ever promise, we have a faithful Creator offering encouragement for our every moment. Cheering us on. Holding us accountable. Being on our side. Sending much more than an email - sending His very Son, a message of unconditional love, allowing us to see ourselves as the forgiven and daily-made-new people God has re-created us to be through Jesus' death and resurrection.

No need to download; He's already there. Right there, ready to hear your truths. Eager to encourage, challenge, equip, and forgive.

So...what are you waiting for?

First published in The Alpena News on June 24, 2017.