The Edge of Eternity

Late nights have always been my time.  I am not sure how the genetics fit in, but my father worked nights for years and seemed to thrive.  My brother Gary was a night owl from birth, and the stories told of my parents trying to keep him in bed as a toddler are legendary.  When our daughter was tiny and my husband worked nights, one could find me vacuuming the house at midnight – a probable cause for the fact that my offspring can sleep through anything short of an earthquake.  Night time is “my time.”

Tonight, however, is different.  I sit in my father-in-law’s recliner under the soft glow of the computer screen.  Beyond the partition the oxygen tank hums rhythmically in harmony with the labored breathing of one who will soon shed his mortal body and be transposed into eternity.  It has been a long wait – and may be longer still.  Only God knows the time that is perfect for Dad’s entrance to Heaven.  Until then, we wait in peace. 

We wait, and I wonder.  I wonder so many things.  For a believer, death is not the enemy.  It is, they say, not death, but the dying that is the struggle.  But is it?  On this side of the partition, I hear the struggle for breath and long to provide relief.  Is it so for Dad?  We observe no responsiveness and have not for days.  Is he listening to his own breathing as well?  Does he hear us as we sit by his bedside and fill him in on the day’s happenings?  Does he recognize our voices?  Did he hear his wife tell him that it is okay to go?  Perhaps so.  But I wonder as well, as this man of God stands on the very edge of eternity, is he listening to other voices.  Are our voices distant?  Is he listening instead to the sounds of the angels crying “Holy, Holy, Holy” on the other side of the gates of pearl and gold?

Who knows how long this final act will play.  Experience tells me it could be hours or it could be days.  Our lives on this earth, however, are but “a hand’s breadth in eternity” so does it really matter?  As long as God chooses, Dad will remain on the edge.  I choose to believe that this time for Dad is spent in  joyous anticipation of the final realization of Heaven, much like a child revels in the anticipation of Christmas morning, only 1000 fold!

And so I sit, bathed in the light of the computer screen, listening to the duet of oxygen pump and breathing, and strain to hear what Dad hears – that Angel Chorus that is calling him finally home.  

Visitors and My Happy Place

Everyone should have a Happy Place.  For some of us, it is a mental place that we escape to when the stresses of life grow to great to endure.  Some have, however, a physical Happy Place we go to and just being there brings us a sense of well-being.  I have (for the time being) traded my mental Happy Place (places, actually) for a physical one.

It all started when I got the bright idea some weeks ago to power wash our huge deck (12X36).  It has not been cleaned since we moved in in 2009, and most likely, since the house was vacant for some years before we bought it, the time span was even greater.  My husband (we call him McGyver because he can build/do anything) had planned to tear down the old boards and make something of them, and replace them with new because they looked so terrible.  But, when you work excavation, when you have the money (the summer when you are working 50-60 hours a week) you have no time; and when you have time (the winter, when you are laid off) you have no money.  And so the deck remained in its original state: grey, moldy and gross.

Enter the wife with the pressure washer.  Who would have known that water was so powerful?  Not only did it take off the old paint, the mold and crud, it also gouged a couple of holes in the wood (before I figured out the right pressure).  It should also be noted at this point that aiming the pressure washer carelessly close to your bare feet is not wise.  It may be some time before the skin grows back on my big toe (ouch).  Regardless of pain and suffering, the deck now looks new and is awaiting a fresh coat of sealant.  Yay me!

So...deck furniture, plants and a newly purchased portable awning in place and I have a new Happy Place.  It has become my favorite spot for morning coffee, devotions, homework, and random sitting and pondering absolutely nothing!  Enter...my visitors.

The first to discover my new Happy Place were the local mosquitoes.  I am beginning to believe, as my cousin Zanna would say, that citronella candles are really just big glowing "Eat Here" signs.  The little buggers descend upon the deck just before dusk, like football players at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  Candles seem to be no deterrent.  Bug spray, though smelly (and apparently detrimental to newly manicured nail polish ...another story for another time) seems to have remedied the problem.

My next visitor was far more welcome.  Sitting on my deck couch the other day, I heard a pleasant buzzing and looked up to see a hummingbird sipping at the flowers on one of the hanging plants on my awning.  He looked at me as though to say, "thanks for the snack" and buzzed away.  He has been back several times since, and I imagine that my sister Cindy has sent him to check on me.  She loved her hummers so much!  I think I will name him Bing Humsby.

 My most recent visitor surprised me this afternoon.  Anticipating the rain this morning, I had covered the couch with a throw before retiring last night.  Upon return from my multiple errands this afternoon I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed my homework and headed for my happy spot.  Who should I find under the throw but a good sized tree frog.  He seem to be resting from the stresses of his day and looked at me disinterestedly.  After enduring an impromptu photo shoot, he very graciously gave me the couch and took residence first on the leg of the end table, and later in the corner of the deck.  As he eats mosquitoes, I have invited him to stay, and named him Geraldo Aquatica.  (don't ask me why...it just is).

So, my Happy Place is rapidly filling with friends to share it with.  Unfortunately, none of them seem to enjoy two sided conversion, and the offer of tea didn't appeal to them.  SO.....if you are in the area and wish to join my tea party, I will be on the deck with Geraldo and Bing; the mosquitoes have not been invited, but they tend to be party crashers, so bring the bug spray!

Mother of the Bride

This weekend I had a rare privilege - I stood five feet from my daughter as she exchanged vows and became a wife (officially).  The wedding was lovely, albeit surreal in several ways.  The journey to this moment has been fraught with pitfalls, tears, joy, frustrations, and tremendous blessings.  We knew it would happen eventually, but the timing was not up to us - it is always, regardless of the players, God's timing that matters.

When I held my daughter for the first time more than 22 years ago, I must confess the path that she is on was not the one I anticipated.  God, you see, has a much bigger vision that we.  Who would imagine that a child raised in a mission in Eastern Kentucky would find her comfort zone in the middle of Chicago?  I pictured her raising animals on her own little farm.  Instead she is raising a daughter in the middle of one of the nation's biggest cities - and doing it well.

Standing amidst the trees and fountains of the Art Institute of Chicago's Gardens, I watched the eyes of my son-in-law to be as he quoted those sacred vows of commitment.  A peace washed over my soul, and tears welled up - tears of gratitude for God's faithfulness.   I now have a son as well as a daughter; one whose love reflects the love of Christ, though he has yet to release his life to God.

Many of our friends- brothers and sisters in Christ - will question the wisdom of "allowing" our daughter to be "unequally yoked" spiritually.  That, however, is not an issue for us - Meng has already shown his great character and his openness to Samantha's faith.  God's timing, again, is perfect.  All we need to do is trust and pray.

Now they begin a new life together.  Not much has changed from a week ago - Meng will continue his last year of medical school.  Samantha will complete her final semester for her undergrad degree.  They will continue to raise Emma as a team and build on their relationship.  But now, bonded by the laws of both God and man, they are one flesh.  What God has brought together, let no man put asunder!

Babies and Puppys - the Conspiracy Theory

I am beginning to become paranoid.  It seems to me, however, that my granddaughter Emma and her puppy Bailey are in cahoots together.  The baby needs a diaper change; while I am changing her the puppy messes on the floor.  I go to let the puppy out; the baby empties the dog dish on the floor.  Emma pulls down the box of kleenex off the end table; Bailey pulls out the tissue and shreds it; Emma helps.  Yes, it is a conspiracy that even Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts could not thwart.

The problem with the whole thing (you see, they are very, very good) is that they have the whole adorable/cuteness factor working in their favor.  They use it to its full potential, too.  Grandma says, "Emma, don't touch that!"  Emma turns to Grandma and smiles that melt-your-heart smile and says "Hi!"  Grandma is chasing the puppy around trying to extract Big Bird from his tiny jaws.  Bailey drops the toy, cocks his head to one side, and...well...he has these little black jelly-bean eyes.

"Put him in his kennel" the parents say.  "Put her in the pack and play...let her cry for a while".  Oh, PLEASE!  Have you ever heard the most pitiful tiny puppy whimper resounding from behind bars?  Have you ever witnessed a sad little black nose poking out of the tiny window in a kennel door?  AND what Grandma worth her salt is going to listen to her adorable granddaughter sobbing in the next room as though her little heart would break any moment?

Could it be?  Is it true?  Have I become an old softie in my old age?  That hard-nosed teacher who kept her classroom in order is conquered by a one-year-old and a puppy?  **GASP**  It is true....I have become a Grandmother in the truest sense....bifocals and all.  IN FACT...yesterday I wore my hair in a bun all day and wore sensible shoes!  HOLY COW!

I would expand on that thought more, but right now I need to catch a shower...the baby is in her pack and play and the puppy in his kennel; the toys are picked up and the shredded tissue discarded.  All in the house have been fed, watered, and *ahem* done their business.  I think I may have five minutes before I am needed again.  I really DO love my life!  :)

Showers of Blessings!

I have always been fascinated by nature's power.  When I was a little girl, I would kneel on the couch with my chin resting on the picture window sill and watch as a storm would roll in from the west.  I would watch for the flash of lightening, and count "one one-thousand, two one-thousand..." until the crack of the thunder would arrive.  I can remember once watching the wall of rainfall travel closer and closer across the farmer's field that stood opposite our  house.  High winds would blow the trees and for some reason I never feared.  The excitement of the storm seemed to supersede any fear I had of ending up in the Land of Oz!

 In my later years, when attending a teacher's conference in Pensacola, Florida, hurricane Erin happened to visit that region at the same time I was there.  While the hundreds of teachers at the conference were huddled in the hallways of their buildings, I was sneaking back into my 6th story dorm room to catch a glimpse of the most powerful storm I had ever been through.  After all, what is the fun of being in a hurricane if you can't see what is happening outside?

A view of the flood at the beginning

The same view as the waters finally slowed

More recently (as in yesterday) I once again witnessed God's creation in all its power when a flash flood washed across the campus at the boarding school where I am working this summer. Accustomed to living in the area, I knew that a flash flood in Eastern Kentucky is fairly common...but this was an uncommon flood.  It lasted hours and left a landscaping nightmare behind when the deluge finally ceased.  It left behind silt, mud, rocks and debris; and found its way into several buildings on campus as well.  Cleanup from this mess will take a while.  It quite literally changed the landscape of this end of campus.

Still..in the midst of the storm (and its aftermath) as much as I am awed by the power of nature, I am far more impressed by the power of God working in His people.  I watched teenagers kick off their shoes, roll up their pants-legs, and wade into the muck with shovels to dig out the sidewalks and concrete entry to the dining hall.  I saw others wading through the silt and dirty water in the church basement, hauling out drenched carpets and soggy books.  I watched administrators bailing water from step-wells with waste baskets to keep basements from flooding. They were not concerned that their job description did not include menial labor, nor were they concerned that their dress clothes would be ruined.  I watched small children helping to bail water and carry things out of flooded areas. And do you know what the most amazing part was?  They were having FUN!  Drawn together for the benefit of God's ministry, students extended their daily job training cheerfully and put their backs into a task that most would deem highly unpleasant and adults shed their daily tasks to pitch in where needed. 

A lot of water that doesn't belong there!

 And the blessings don't stop there...a local church heard of our "disaster" and a work team arrived less than 24 hours after the flood to assist in the cleanup.  Prayers have been lifted, and God has answered in a mighty way.

Bailing water out of the church basement entrance

So today I am in awe of the blessings that happen when God's people pull together.  We have had our share of showers this week (in fact, even as I write this the showers are falling on the decimated grounds we are working hard to reclaim).  The greatest showers, however, have been the showers of blessings we have experienced in a time of need.

                                           God is so good to us!

Ode to a Mother

Motherhood has been the topic of millions of sermons, essays, books, songs...the list is endless.  Throughout recorded history the topic of motherhood has been a hot one.  Now, I shall add my ramblings to the countless others...just because this is my blog, and I can do it if I want to!  **smirk**

One would think with my (cough) many years of experience, that I could consider myself an expert on mothers.  After all, I HAVE a mother, I AM a mother, and I have RAISED a mother.  At this point I suppose I should have gleaned all there is to know about motherhood, and in placing it on the page could wow you with my superior insight.  This is so far from reality that I laugh (ha ha) at the thought.

With all the countless experiences there are in motherhood, not one of us has mastered the trade.  There are just too many variables to consider.  Each of us "mothers" in their own unique and imperfect way.  Sure...there are those who seem to make mothering look effortless...and others who seem to struggle with the role each day. We have all seen the "Leave it to Beaver" mothers, who we imagine are dusting their homes while wearing a skirt, high heels and pearls; who arrive at the door with milk and cookies for their little darlings as they return bright eyed and still freshly ironed from a long day at school.  We have also seen the "Rosanne" mothers who yell at their children and live amidst the clutter and chaos of everyday life.  Most of us live somewhere in between.

I am thoroughly convinced that parenting (today "mothering") is the most challenging job on the planet.  And we have so little training to do it!  Have you ever thought about the fact that in order to flip hamburgers at McDonalds you have to go though "training," but when you have a baby they just send you home without so much as an orientation?  Suddenly we find ourselves with this needy little (adorable) creature who depends upon us for their very survival.  The realization hits that every decision we now make not only affects us, but our children as well!  We are now the ones who will nurture their dreams, bind their wounds and clean up the messes that our children get into...and don't think it stops at 18 or 21...this is a lifelong commitment!

SO...for all of you mothers who have experienced the joy of sleep deprivation when your new baby is home for the first time; to you mothers who have found the curdled, half filled bottle under the rocking chair (you were wondering where that went); for you mothers who have wiped gooey fingerprints from glass doors, hallway walls and the dog (peanut butter and jelly does not go will with fur); for those who fished toy trucks out of the toilet, extracted toast from the VCR and stepped on Cheerios in the hallway in the middle of the night; to those who have dried tears and mended skinned knees with a kiss; who have sat through t-ball, basketball, baseball, soccer...and cheered even when the score was 20 - 5; to those mothers who walked all day in the mall for the "perfect dress" for your teenage daughter, only to find that you "embarrassed her" when you met her friends at the pretzel place;  to you mothers who have prayed for your children, laughed with them, wept with them; wept FOR them....

For all those mothers and many more...I wish you a hearty Happy Mother's Day and offer you a "Well Done!"  Throughout the chaos, there are those special moments...when those sticky little fingers wrap around yours; when that hyperactive child wearily climbs into your lap to snuggle; when that teenager gives you a smile; those times are when we remember...this is why we do this!

 

With Malice Toward None...

Death and dying has been on my mind of late (in case you haven't noticed).  In general it is not a morose topic, but rather one of reflection.  One wonders what lies beyond the grave, and how it will be revealed to us as we pass on to eternity.  For those of us who have Hope, we see death as a transformation into a higher existence; one of perfection and eternal peace.  Death for the believer is not the enemy; Jesus defeated death at the cross. 

Death, in my opinion however, is not an event to celebrate.  When a believer passes into eternity, we celebrate their life.  We meet together to reflect upon their accomplishments on earth and celebrate their eternal freedom with Christ in Heaven.  When my sister passed last month we celebrated the tremendous testimony she left us; her impact on hundreds of people will echo throughout eternity.  I would never have thought to celebrate the death that took her.  Death, in fact, had been rendered powerless by the blood of Christ. 

Likewise, I do not celebrate the death of an unbeliever.  Their death is a cause for true mourning, for they have no hope of peace with God.  In the past few days, the death of a terrorist has caused great rejoicing in the world.  I cannot join in that celebration.

Yes, I am glad that justice was done.  Yes, I appreciate the sacrifices made to remove this tremendous threat from the world. No, I do not question the importance or necessity of the actions taken by our government.  Yes, I love my country.  But...I can appreciate the event without celebrating the death of the man.  He had the same chance we all have to do good in the world.  He had the same opportunity to seek the Truth and be set free.  Instead he used his considerable intelligence for evil.  His choices caused death and pain around the world.  Still, his soul was precious to God, and I am certain God's tears fell as he passed into eternal judgment.

As the body of Christ, we need to take great care to display our faith for all to see.  Christ commanded us to love our enemies.  Not that we support them...not that we refrain from trying to stop them...but that we keep the cancer of hate from filling us so much that there is no room for His love...for if we act out of hate, are we not as bad as our enemies?