Now, What Did You Say Your Name Was?

It was a beautiful day. Bright, sunshiny.  Even the slight humidity didn't bother me.  I hopped on my lawn mower.  It is my happy place.  I know I've talked about it before.  I'm going to be like the guy in "You've Got Mail" who keeps writing columns about his typewriter . . . But its one of the few places where I can be sitting and accomplishing something at the same time.  Its a place where I can send my thoughts and prayers heavenward. 

Its funny.  I thought I knew what I was going to be thinking about during my quiet time. Yes, even the sound of an engine can be less invasive to my thoughts than my four children and husband!  I was going to tweek the schedules I'd made out for me and the kids, think about my classes, the kids new classes, my painting projects, the adorable photo boards I'd planned on making with the kids this very afternoon.  But . . . someone showed up.  Someone I hadn't seen for a little while .. . or at least like this . . . .  And plans changed.  

You see, I've been thinking about Grief for some time now almost like a person.  I know its not, REALLY.  But it sorta shows up like that. Like a companion.  I kind of want to give it at least a capital for the first letter of its name. This might sound funny, but I wasn't expecting it to look like this today.  I have come to understand a little something about Grief.  I never thought a year ago I would have any perspective at all.  And now, I don't know,  I'm no expert, by any means.  I just have some experience, you know?  Anyway, like I was saying, I've learned something about Grief.  I don't think its something that ever goes away.  I think it just looks different.  It changes faces.  And it looks different on different people.  Grief can be felt on the sunniest of days.  And it can express itself even in a smile and a happy recollection.  Grief can be in laughter and enjoyment of holding sweet pictures (or scrolling through them as we do these days.)  Its just there.  Dressed differently today than yesterday.  Grief can be bold and strong, giving you all the more reason to fight for the next.  It can be tired, very, very tired.  

And today, it showed up very much dressed just the way I'd first encountered it.  It took me.  It really shook me.  I mowed and mowed and mowed.  I cried.  The tears streamed and the sun beat on my face.  And I don't know exactly what it was that moved me.  I don't know what makes today so different than yesterday.  I can't forecast what tomorrow is going to look like based on today.  That's just the way it is.  And that's just the way its going to be.  

A good friend recently described to me that its like learning to live with the person you've lost in the "sidelines of your mind."  This said it well for me.  My own experience is that I can continue to be productive.  I can think, I can focus.  I have laughed. I have been sad and frustrated over other things.  You may think it is an exaggeration for me to say that I don't know if there has been a second that Pam has been out of my mind.  But I don't think it is.  I'm trying to think.  It doesn't mean I'm always sad.  Grief doesn't always look like today.  It doesn't always hit me in the stomach and double me over.  But it is always there. Pam is always there.  And I wonder how long it is going to be like that.  And I wonder if I even want it to ever change.  

So I can mow the grass for twice as long as needed, because I need to, and think about Pam.  And then I can put the mower and my thoughts in "park" and take the kids to the movie, "Planes," like I did today.  But I can't help wondering if she'd sneaked a Heath Bar into the theatre the last time she went.  Heaths were one of her favorite candy.  And I guess that's just how it is and how its going to be.  "So, this is what you look like today, huh?  And what did you say your name was?  Grief.  Yes, I recognize you now."

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

    and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

Where Do You Want the Couch?

God has given me some very good gifts these past couple weeks.  I've been thinking about funny stories of Pam.  (I like the funny ones especially). So . . . I've been trying to write them down.  I remember when we were new to the school (Valley Christian School).  We were new to everything as we had just moved from Minneapolis to here in April 2004. The school was the first place we made friends.  And Pam was my first friend.  Like I said, we were new to the school and the house.  We didn't even have a lot of furniture.  It was pretty sparse.  But I was happy because we were getting a couch and chair for what we now affectionately call, "the piano room."  I really don't know how this topic came up one morning as she and I scooted Emily and Michaela off into Ms. Wilson's class, but somewhere between the pre-school room and the front doors, exchanging details about what the next seven hours of our day might look like until we met again at 3:00 she learned that I planned on re-scheduling our furniture delivery because it conflicted with Elisa's or Isaac's well check-ups. I know I keep repeating this, but I didn't know her well yet.  I had just met her.  But then she (like I would soon find out was her way) had a solution to the problem.  "I can come wait at your house for the couch while you take the kids to the doctor."  I must have been thinking, "Um.  Okay.  Could you repeat that?  People don't just offer to do things like that for people they just meet."  I really can't remember more of the conversation, but . . . . . somehow, Pam ended up at my house, I believe in my front door for the first time.  I set her up.  I probably made her coffee.  I don't know.  But I was off to the doctor's with my kiddos.  In retrospect, had I known her better I would have sent her to the doctor's with the kids and I would have stayed and waited for the couches!  She would have done it . . . I'm sure.  Well, anyway . . . I was just down on my hands and knees washing the floor around that couch and thought of it.  It made me smile . . . and cry a little . . . mostly smile  . . . and she was pregnant too, with Paige.  And she had Logan.  He must have been so little.  I wonder if he just played in the living room while she waited?  So, the end of the story is that I came home and my couch and chair had been delivered and Pam was on her way back to Canneday Court.  I love that couch.  Pam and I have had a lot of coffee and conversations on it since that very "weird day."  :)  I sure miss her a lot.  And life is sure different now.  But I still love her.  And just thought some of you wouldn't mind a story.  I hope it makes you smile too.  

If You Want to See the Kingdom . . . Spend It All.

 A few weeks ago our senior pastor, Gary Russell, began a series on the Beatitudes.  As soon as I heard, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" my heart quieted and I kind of said to myself, "hmm, there's treasure here."  I've read the Beatitudes many times and often pondered over that first one.  I'm sure there are many who have unraveled this long before me, but when something comes alive to me for the first time I just get very excited.  And since I'm pondering this again this morning, I thought I'd just ponder right here, in a note.

     He talked about the deficit we all have without Christ, and how we are born poor and in need of him.  I loved that.  I thought about that and recognized the truth in it.  But something was also was stirring in myself. What is that?  When you hear a message, but God has a treasure in there for you in that moment?"  Pam had just been talking about that . . . . What did she call it?  That girl had been digging into the Hebrew and Greek . . . goodness . . . . she found something . . . . wish I had written it down . . . 

     Well, as I sat there listening, I just kind of told God, "I'm spent.  I'm not discouraged.  I'm not without hope.  I've seen you move and I expect to still see great things, but I am empty again.  I realize all you've given me in these last few months . . . but I've spent it all . . . . "

     And that's when I heard him kind of tell me, that its okay. He wants to fill us back up again, but sometimes it requires our emptying, or using up every last drop of what he has given us for this day.  And then he will give us more.  And not an equal amount, but twice, three times, even ten times what we had before.  In other words, spend yourself spiritually . . . live from paycheck to paycheck because we might be poor, but he is rich and willing to reward those who steward all he gives, all he teaches, and all he reveals.  So hope more, believe more, have a little more faith, even in disappointment.  

     I have seen his kingdom come, demonstrated in loving kindness and power.  But my heart's desire is to see more.  When you get the chance to see someone encounter His love you really do become poor over and over again in the sense that you recognize His profound goodness and many times your own inadequacy.  I am void until He gives me more of himself for this day.  Looking back at these past several months, I can recall so many times that I have witnessed his power, in Pam, but also in others.  People are being delivered from depression, and others oppression, marriages are being restored . . .  "Father, I've seen your heart.  There's so much more you want to do.  But so much is required, perhaps more than I have . . . so give me more of yourself.  Tell me, talk to me, teach me, position me.  What I have is not enough.  What is required is all you you.  So that's what we want." 

     I guess I'd just like to add the verses that brought me back to these thoughts this morning.  They were in Psalm 34 where previously I had made verse 18 my home for the week, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."  But I read the whole chapter again and settled on verses 4-6 and thought about how there is no shame in being at the end of yourself and telling Him that you need more of him for this day.  In fact, that is what might be required.  Set pride aside and be destitute for a minute. I don't have have it all together, but I have his Word.  

      "I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.  Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.  This poor man called, and the Lord heard him . . . . "   And you can call too. 

     

     

Pam's Testimony

Just thinking about my mom

I was thinking about my mom this morning.  There was no particular reason.  I was just thinking about her ways, about her mannerisms, the funny things she’d say, and yes, some of the funny faces she’d make.  I found myself laughing out loud.  I can see bits and pieces of her in me.  (I see my dad too, and to be honest I always kind of felt that I took after my dad a bit more), but especially as I grow older I see a definite reflection of her in me. 

I also find myself remembering her (when I think of her, that is; she’s not gone!)  with a somewhat rosy recollection.  That may be age too.  Not that there wouldn’t be things I wouldn’t change about her . . . . Let’s be honest, what child wouldn’t?  But as time goes on I am more and more happy and content to remember and meditate on the things that make me smile. 

There is a way a daughter perceives her mother as a child in sort of an idealistic picture frame.  This can be in the way she remembers how her mother looked to what she did or accomplished or even in smaller and more subtle ways, like how she smelled or sounded on the phone.  My mom smells like Jergens cherry almond lotion.  And whether she still wears it yet, I can’t really say, but for me, that is what she will always smell like.  Interestingly, it said a lot about her.  Utilitarian.  She didn’t have a lot of use for perfume (that I can remember).  But a nice smelling lotion served its purpose and was pleasing to ones senses as well.  On the phone she sounds like a southern bell. 

I also always thought my mother was pretty, particularly pictures of her in her twenties.  She had a sort of professional, neat and tidy look, in my opinion.  One little known fact is that she did work for the FBI.  She did clerical and secretarial work.  I remember seeing her use her Greg’s short hand most of my childhood.  She still does, I believe, while taking notes over the phone, writing down times of kids’ baseball games or dates of plays, etc.  I always thought she had the most beautiful handwriting.  Perfect cursive with a perfect slant.  I did not inherit nor practice such handwriting.  Mine is short and “sqwonk,” a term my husband coined that has not yet made it into Webster’s dictionary.  Has it?? 

She always seemed so smart to me, knowledgeable in current events and history.  I don’t remember her reading many books, fiction or non-fiction.  Most of her reading enjoyment came from the newspaper or magazines.  But I think back now to how hard she worked and as a mother myself how it might have been a challenge to find much time to read at all.  She was (is) a very discerning person.  I could see her read right through a person at a glance.  Good or bad.  I think she judged most situations and personalities accurately, cutting to the core.  Maybe someone was having a bad day . . . . or in another, they probably responded that way to everyone in life . . . .

Getting back to the FBI.  When I was little and thinking my mother quite smart and perceiving, I could envision her as an American spy.  Her hair pinned back neatly and curled under.  Pictures of her in her pencil skirts, heels, and pearls, Jackie Kennedy style helped the image.  Its so funny to look back at family pictures of my mom in her short hair-cuts and seventies wardrobe.  The two pictures seemed so contrary with each other it was hard to believe that it was my mother in those pictures.  It seemed like it had to be another person. 

I always thought she had beautiful hands.  Her nails never wore paint but were perfectly manicured.  Her nails really did seem as strong as “nails.”  They still do.  I don’t know how she kept them.  Mine are usually neatly short.

I realize that some of these thoughts are a bit random.  Maybe in time I will come back to them and add to or rearrange. Make more sense of them or add meaning.  But they are what they are today.  And mostly, what I think of when I think of my mom is someone extremely self-sacrificing.  That can be said for her today as well.  But back then, when I and my three sisters were growing up I have to admit probably everything she did was out of what she perceived our best interest.  (Some things I will without shame still adamantly protest were NOT for my best interest), but I believe she meant well. 

I can’t think of one thing she ever did out of self interest.  This is not always a good thing.  I think of all her talents and wonder to some degree if she had dreams that might have turned out quite nicely if she had let herself have just a little of herself to herself.   But that is not for me to judge.  What is for me is to observe.  And I would say she has done quite well for herself  to have four daughters who love her and would argue with anyone who thought she had a selfish bone in her body.  Four daughters with great husbands and seventeen grandchildren graduating from high-school and college left and right, or moving to the next grade or the next level in a number of activities or interests so quickly it would make your head spin. 

I think the Bible verse I heard her quote the most was, “the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way.”  Psalm 37:23.  I think what I remember the most about her saying that is it being accompanied by “and I just heard that verse in my head . . . “  I’ll have to go back and ask her when she heard that.  I guess it was enough to me that she heard it at all.  That she heard his voice.  So many don’t. 

She’s not perfect.  But I’m not a teenager anymore.  So I’m not writing on those things.  Just thinking about my mom .. . . 

To Isaac "Under the Maple Trees"

I see you best under the maple trees,

Sometimes swinging or digging in the dirt,

Sometimes gathering sticks to build a fire.

I like you best there.

I watch you from my bedroom window

And see you more closely than eye to eye.

The sun shines on you leaving a halo on your blonde head.

You are a light, an angel.

I see you clearly there,

Darting in and out of the tall trees

And their shadows and their dappled light.

You are not a blur to me.

Your image is precise,

The outline of your tall frame and slender build.

I see how you've grown.

You look taller out there with the trees . . . 

You will always stand taller where you belong . . . 

I hear you best when you are under the maple trees,

An occasional laugh or boyish sound.

I know the leaves crunch beneath your feet.

You look so happy to be out there.

You told me someday you will live on a farm.

I hear you better when you are under the maple trees.

You must have deep thoughts out there.

You are making plans. 

If you need to think more clearly,

If you doubt or need to be reminded,

Go stand under the Maple trees.

You will always stand taller where you belong.

Now go stand there.

Did I hear you right??

Its been a tough morning to find any quiet time at all.  The kids have had a lot of questions as we close the end of the school year.  And Greg is particularly unsatisfied with anything we try pacify him with.  Its all "old" to him.  He needs adventure like a duck needs water.  

Well, I finally sat in my chair in disbelief at the sudden quietude.  That is a word, right?  :)  - - - "God talk to me."  Sometimes when I have so much filling my head and I don't have any idea of where to start with my own words, this seems like a good place to begin a conversation.  I was quiet for a minute.  And then the verse, "my sheep hear my voice," came to mind.  I thought, "I've read that so many times.  I probably don't need to even look it up . .. " but I did anyway.  

"My sheep hear my voice.  I know them.  And they follow me."  John 10:27

The "I know them" part kind of struck me.  Have I paid much attention to that?  "My sheep hear my voice." and "they follow me"  have been pretty quotable.  Yes, those I remember pretty well.  But here, right inbetween God telling us that we hear his voice, and that we follow him is the very comforting and reassuring certainty that he knows us. WELL, I might add.  And it kind of fell on me that as he talks to us he is taking very careful thought as to who we are.  Our thoughts, personalities, ideas, interests, gifts, desires, questions.  And still he says, "they follow me."  All of a sudden those words sounded so confident. It made me think that the more confidence we have in Him that He speaks to us, the more confidence He has in us that we will follow him.  

I think sometimes I get caught up in doubting what I feel He's impressed on me, or said to me.  "Did I hear you right?"  I ask.  And there is nothing wrong with wanting to be more certain that it is His voice we hear and not our own.  I'm not advocating randomly going around doing things in God's name without searching out the matter.  Yes, examine your heart.  Ask him questions.  Search out the matter with him.  But I ask myself this morning, "How much more important might it be to God that my heart wants to hear his voice and follow him than that I get it right everytime?"  I think maybe that just like anything God gives us, including his voice, that we be good stewards of it.  If I think he's said something. I'm quite sure I should do something about it.  Add to that faith, and I believe he will increase my ability to hear as I steward his voice and in obedience follow him in doing that which he's laid on my heart.  

"So, in the practice of stewardship I share this this morning, God.  :)  For what its worth.  Only because I just get so excited when you talk to me.  There's nothing I want more.  God talk to me.  Keep talking to me and let me just abide in you and I'm a pretty happy gal most of the time.  I may not get it right all the time.  But I have a lot of good friends who pretty much love to hear from you too and may have similar questions at times.  So please, fine tune my radio reception.  I'd really like you to think about me confidently that I'm someone who hears your voice and will follow you.  And thanks for talking to me.  And for knowing me.  That sits sweetly this morning, God."