Day 2

Day 2

It sure was easy to pick out a beautiful thing for Day 2! I was working my third 12-hour shift in a row, and so I felt less than enthusiastic about getting up that morning. But as I stepped out into the 10-degree morning, the beauty was dazzling. The sun had just broken above the horizon, flooding the world with rosy pink light just like turning on a light switch. As I drove down the road, beneath the tunnel of trees all dressed with the latest style of snowy embellishments, I rejoiced to be alive to see such a day—and I decided it might be worth going to work just for the privilege of being out and about on such a morning!

Fresh, puffy snow had covered everything, and the sunshine, still low on the horizon, traced a shadow-world against the brilliant surface—a parody landscape of ridiculously stretched houses, trees, fenceposts, and cars. I marveled again that I have such a beautiful commute—I pass two dairy farms, a goat farm, and lots of fields and forests, dotted by old farmhouses and insubstantial trailers, many of them with wisps of wood smoke trailing from the chimneys. The homes bespeak the people who live in them—not rich, except in ingenuity and resourcefulness, a bit battered and run-down, but standing bravely through another winter. I’ve really come to admire these Mainers, especially the rugged elderly folk who have weathered 80 or 90 years of bitter cold winters and short growing seasons. They strike me as nobility dressed in heavy boots and flannel shirts, men and women with natural dignity who at the same time glow with congenial down-to-earthness. They are a generation of loggers, farmers, and factory workers, who have developed a cheerful attitude toward hardship—like the little old lady who, when I told her I had come to start an IV, responded cheerfully, “Good!” Perhaps seeing my surprised look, she followed up with, “I guess if it’s got to be done, you might as well do it!” Or there’s the fellow whom I pass on my way to work; he strides cheerfully down the sidewalk through the frigid air, carrying his lunchbox in one hand and his coffee mug in the other. Apparently he missed the memo that he is supposed to feel sorry for himself for having to walk to work in the dead of winter.

I’m proud to call these people my neighbors, and privileged to help care for them and learn from their plucky attitude!

Day 1

Day 1

I was at work on Day 1 of the Savoring Glory challenge. It was an incredibly busy day in the emergency room where I work, and to be honest, I saw a lot of unbeautiful things and realized just how important this challenge will be! After all, it’s easy to get a rather warped perspective on the world when you work in a place like that. There really isn’t anybody who drops by the ER to tell you what a great day they’re having!

Nevertheless, I did come across some beautiful things. One occurred in a rather distressing setting. I was caring for a child who needed to have an IV placed, and while the nurses (not me, I was happy to pass off the job for those more experienced!) were trying to place the IV, the little boy was crying at the top of his lungs. His mother and grandmother were helping to hold him down, and as the process continued, the grandmother asked me to take her place at his shoulders. I looked at her face and realized that tears were streaming down her face just as profusely as on the face of the little one. My heart went out to her, and I realized how much it was costing her to do what was best for this beloved little one.

I thought how often the Lord has to subject His child to some difficult thing, sometimes in correction but sometimes just because it will be for the loved one’s ultimate good. We cry out in our pain and think that God is cruel to hold us in the place of anguish, for we cannot fathom how there might be any good associated with this affliction. But I wonder how often, if we could see into heaven, we might realize that the One Who has been touched with the feelings of our infirmities (Hebrews 4:15) is as eager for the pain to be over as much as we are! He would never cause His beloved child to suffer a needless twinge of pain, never mind a great affliction. And yet His love is too strong to shield us from what will ultimately bring blessing.

I thought about this and other glimpses of beauty that I had seen throughout the day, on my drive home. My headlights highlighted the snow, which was falling fast. I love snowstorms, and even when they make my commute a bit slippery, I can’t help but enjoy them. At any rate, I was still pondering which beautiful thing to write about, when I forged up the still unplowed driveway, and saw the most lovely sight of the day. My Dad, bundled up in his fur hat and big coat, was out shoveling a path for me from my parking place to the house. What can I say—I was just so touched! Chivalry is very much alive, and I’ve got to be the most blessed daughter on earth. =)

Savoring Glory--My 30 Day Challenge

A while ago a friend sent me a link to this video, introducing me to the idea of setting goals to do something new for thirty days straight. http://www.ted.com/talks/matt_cutts_try_something_new_for_30_days.html

At the time I watched it, I didn’t have any inspirations, but the other day it came to me; for thirty days, I’m going to make time each day to notice and write about something beautiful I encountered that day. There are several reasons:

1) I’ve been in a big writing slump lately, and need a manageable way to get back into the habit of picking up my pen (okay, keyboard) and recording some of the things worth remembering each day.

2) I’m discovering that my attitude is at least as important, if not more so, than my knowledge. I really don’t need to understand many of the mysteries of life in order to live well, but my attitude will permeate every single thing I do, and will either be a weight or a buoy to all my efforts. When I am rejoicing in God, I am walking in fellowship with Jesus Christ, “in Whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” (Colossians 2:3) And joy, like love, is far more a decision of the will than an emotion of the heart. It means intentionally noticing the things that God does, reveling in His glory and power, and doing what I can to ensure that in the midst of this sorrowing, ungrateful world, God will be able to look down and see one heart that is thankful for at least a fraction of His gifts.

3) In January, the Lord began to show me just how much I was in the habit of being ungrateful, and He has been reminding me continually to give thanks. Since I began to consider gratitude as one of the “must do” items on my daily agenda, my life has been so suffused with joy and delight in God, that I can’t attribute it to anything but His gracious blessing in return for a rather weak effort on my part. I can’t help but think how many more joyous people there would be in this world if we began to habitually count our blessings, and how much more God would be glorified in His people! Frankly, I don’t see how people who do not have a relationship with God, can find ultimate joy in this life, because the gifts are truly made precious by the love of the Giver. But those of us who are His by faith in Christ Jesus, have been absolutely deluged by the goodness of God, and gratitude ought to be only commonplace!

I’m going to endeavor to post my daily observations on my blog and on Facebook (that will help keep me going)so I invite you to join me on my thirty-day adventure—and if you’d like to try it yourself, I would love to read your experiences, too! It certainly would be a lovely contribution to the Facebook climate!

My idea was to do this for the month of March (which will be very timely, as March is, in my opinion, the most uncongenial month in New England). I’m a bit late with the first couple posts since I was working the first couple days and didn’t have time to post. But I’ll try to catch up here and go forward on a daily basis. Feel free to pester me if I’m slacking!

Endings are such a good time for reflection. In the midst of a whirlwind week of packing, cleaning, organizing and rearranging the house, getting together with friends whom I won't see again for a while, and finishing up at work, I find myself pondering the things about life that seem to become more obvious in retrospect.

One realization is just how blessed I am to have so many people who love me and whom I love. I HATE saying goodbyes, but sometimes goodbyes cause me to value my loved ones even more than I usually do.

I remember when I realized a couple years ago that loving and hurting go hand in hand; if you love someone, you are signing up to be disappointed and hurt--no matter how much the other person wants to avoid disappointing or hurting you. There just is no way that another human can possibly do the right thing every time, or meet all of your expectations--and ultimately, there are painful goodbyes involved, too. True love always involves sacrifice; to love someone is to commit to give of yourself and to put the other person's interests ahead of your own.

Why is it, then, that giving of oneself seems to result in overflowing richness? Why is it that as I look back at the relationships I've had with people around me, I feel most enriched by the people to whom I gave the most of myself, my time, my prayers and sympathy? You might say that they cost me the most, but now I feel more enriched by them than by those whom I only loved as far as it was easy.

And when I remember the times that I refused to demonstrate love, deciding to spare myself the sacrifice, I remember them as times of poverty--poverty of joy and fulfillment and peace. When I chose to keep for myself, I was impoverished; when I chose to give, I was enriched.

These years could have been a lot easier. But, except for the times when my selfish decisions got in the way, they could not have been more blessed.

Perhaps this is the secret behind Jesus' words, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." (Acts 20:35)

The Results Are In!

Three years ago, when I moved here to care for my grandparents, I began an experiment. My life up to that point had been unusually comfortable and easy, and I felt that I needed to be stretched and put in a position where I had to depend on God more directly. I wanted to prove to myself that God was enough for all my needs—that I didn’t have to depend on my parents, or the church I’d grown up in, or any of the other supports that I was used to.

I didn’t know what I was getting into. The past three years have been the most difficult—and the most wonderful—of my life. Looking back, I marvel at the goodness and perfect love of God, how He so perfectly balanced struggle and strength, giving me challenges that were just hard enough that I had to reach for Him in desperation, but not so hard that I was crushed beneath them. My heavenly Father custom-built my load, knowing just what I needed to learn and what disciplines I needed to develop—and although it has not been nearly as heavy as that which so many other people carry, it was just heavy enough for me.

As my time here draws to a close, I’ve been thinking about some of the lessons that I’ve learned (or at least begun to learn.)

I’ve gotten a glimpse of just how weak I am, and just how strong God is. I guess I knew this in theory before, but I had never before reached the point of KNOWING that I did not have the strength to do what was required of me.

I’ve found that I’m more impatient and selfish than I ever suspected. And that God is able to give patience and love that I could never manufacture on my own.

I’ve been lonely beyond anything I felt before, and learned that although God usually doesn’t wipe away all the loneliness, He can wipe away the tears. And depths of loneliness can become portals to the sweetest fellowship with Him. He may not give me the one for whom I’m lonely, but He gives me One far better, Himself.

I’ve learned that hope and disappointment come together when applied to any thing or person on earth. How comforting it is to know that hope in God “does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Romans 5:5)

I’ve begun to learn that “apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5), but that “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

I’ve learned more about how unlovely I really am, at the core of my being—and I’ve learned a little more about just how much He loves me.

I used to live in dread of facing a “real” trial in my life. But the Lord has so proven Himself to me during these years, that although I know better than ever how unable I am to handle trials, I also know better than before how faithful He is sure to be when hard times come.

And that’s really what my experiment comes down to—it has proven God’s faithfulness and goodness to me. I am stunned by the intricacy of God’s dealings with His own, as He weaves together all that we don’t understand and asks us to trust Him for the results. And yet the simplicity of His care is breathtaking, “I was brought low, and He saved me.” (Psalm 116:6)

I am not the same person that I was three years ago. It’s not that I’ve become any stronger, any better in myself, any wiser in my own reasoning—on the contrary, I’ve learned a lot about how utterly inadequate I am. But I do know my God better, because He has been nursing me along, spirit, soul, and body, with infinite care and love.

Hardship plus random chance, fate, luck, or whatever you want to call it, could never result in the blessings that I’ve experienced. This is the work of the God Who at once keeps all the stars and planets in their place, and gives me about fifteen breaths and seventy heartbeats each minute, who arranges the kingdoms of the world and the minutes of my days. It’s the work of the God Who knows me better than I know myself, and loves me better than anyone else could love me. It’s the work of the God who “did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all; how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?” (Romans 8:32)

The experiment has been a success. God has proven Himself worthy of every fragment of faith that I placed in Him—worthy, indeed, of so very much more faith than I had! I hope that for the rest of my life I will be learning to trust Him more, and will thus see His works more and more clearly. It’s an exciting prospect, because I’m already sure of the answer. It’s underlined in my Bible, Psalm 25:3, “Indeed, none of those who wait for Thee will be ashamed.” I will never have to admit that God failed me, that I drew on one of His promises and the check bounced.

I can’t say it any better than David the king, “Blessed be the Lord, because He has heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped; therefore my heart exults, and with my song I shall thank Him.” (Psalm 28:6,7)

Changes

You should see my room right now.

The bookshelves are empty except for a few stragglers, the walls are stripped of pictures. My closet has gone from being overstuffed to just comfortably full. My bed (which at the best of times is nomadic in style to make room for bookshelves) has been reduced to a piece of foam on the floor with my sleeping bag.

In the middle of a floor is a pile of boxes whose labels provide interesting reading material. Most of them are liquor boxes, because they are (a) free and (b) strong--and no, I have not been imbibing. Ironically, the slogans on the liquor boxes make more sense to me than the slogan of one computer box, "Inspiring Innovation Persistent Perfection." Apparently computer programmers don't use punctuation. When my mind wanders from my work, I stare blankly at the sentence (if you can call it a sentence) and the words rearrange themselves into rather awkward sequences like "Perspiring Innovation Insistent Perfection." After all, didn't somebody famous say that genius is ninety-nine percent perspiration, and one percent inspiration?

And what, you ask, is the point of this new decorating style? Well, friends, I'm moving. Packing up my bags and heading to the state that eats more ice cream than any other state(good choice, don't you think?)!

All joking aside, I am, in fact moving, sometime in October. Fall seems like the season that most highlights change, and changes are happening here at the farmhouse. The Lord has made it clear, through many different means, that the time has come to transition the care of my grandparents to others, who are fresher for the job and ready to tackle the challenges with new ideas and enthusiasm. I'm so thankful to know that Grammy and Grampy will still be able to live in their home for the time being at least, and to enjoy this beautiful place.

It's very strange to go through daily life and realize how much there is to leave behind. When I first moved from home in Connecticut, I didn't know that I wouldn't be returning. But now, the fragrance of the fields, the beauty of the sunsets, the familiar sights on my commute, the special people I work with at my job and at home, and most especially my grandparents themselves, all become more dear because I know I'll be leaving them soon.

At the same time, I am quivering with excitement about the new opportunities and experiences that are in front of me. I can't wait to live with Dad and Mom again, in their new house, in a town full of people and places I've never encountered! It will be fun to share the lives of my childhood friends who live near my new home, to hold their babies and build forts with their kids. I'm looking forward to a season of rest with time to refocus and see what the Lord has for me next. Maybe I'll even be able to write blog posts regularly again!

There's just no way to describe what the past three years have meant in my life--the lessons and challenges, the frustrations and disappointments and defeats, together with the adventures and joys and personal triumphs. Each blade of grass in these fields where I've walked and talked with God, represents one of His mercies to me. Each of the brilliant stars stands for one of His precious and magnificent promises. I like to think of it that way. Because Maine is full of grass, too. And the same stars that shine here, shine there as well.

Not Forgotten

The other morning I went into my grandparents’ bedroom and saw something startling. Grampy had scooted down to the bottom of his hospital bed, and had his lower legs up over the footboard, trying to get out of bed (he has side rails on his bed to prevent him from getting up without help, and falling. The sheets were tousled and pulled out of place, a clip on lamp had been knocked down, and everything was disarranged. Trying to keep the scolding tone out of my voice, I asked, “What were you trying to do, Grampy?”

“Oh,” he replied. “I was trying to get up! I figured it was Sunday and time to be getting ready for church, and I guessed you’d forgotten about us.”
I was frustrated—frustrated not so much at my grandfather but at the old age which has left him confused and mostly helpless. It wasn’t Sunday. It wasn’t time to get up. He has not walked without assistance for almost three years. And I had not forgotten him.

I tried to explain, but couldn’t quite hide my annoyance and hurt, “Grampy—“ I began, then stopped myself from continuing, “I couldn’t forget about you any more than a mother could forget about her child!” There’s no point in reminding him of the resemblance. Instead, I tried to remind him gently, that for three years I have not yet forgotten about any of his major needs—his meals, his medicines, his risings, his goings to bed—and that he can trust me to be there to help him when it’s time for him to get up.

And as I spoke, it was as though another Voice was whispering in my ear, “But [Rachel] said, ‘The LORD has forsaken me, And the Lord has forgotten me.’ ‘Can a woman forget her nursing child, And have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you.’” (Isaiah 49:14, 15) And He went on to remind me how for the twenty-one years that I have known Him as my Savior, He has not forgotten a single need, but has known and cared about and provided for every detail of my life.

As I helped Grampy move to his wheelchair so that I could fix his sheets, I realized that probably he had been working for a good half hour to get as far as he had, only to end in a futile tangle. All that time he could have been resting in quiet trust that help would come when it was time to get up. The analogy was inescapable, and as I got him settled and went back to my room, I was so humbled as I realized what hurt I must give to the Lord when I doubt His faithful care. Grampy has, after all, some reason to doubt me; now and then I’ve forgotten some detail of his needs. But the Lord has always provided for every need of mine long before I realized it was a need!

So often, when I could be peacefully resting in the knowledge that He will work at the right time, I’m squirming about, trying vainly to figure out how to accomplish what I think needs to happen. Like Grampy trying to find a way around the side rails that are there for his protection, I try to clamber over the limitations that God has put in my life for my safety. And it seems like the Lord must look down at my foolishness and want to say, “My child, don’t you realize that I’ve never forgotten about you yet? The time is not right, and your way is not right, and you aren’t strong enough to manage on your own anyway. Just “wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:14)

I don’t even have old age for an excuse!