Time . . . and the Will of God

Is your to-do list as long as mine?

I wrote the list I'm working off today on the back of an RSVP card from Sharon's wedding. A check-mark means I've started the job; a cross-out means I've completed it. No sooner do I finish one task and I think of another. So much to do . . . so little time. Does the clock tick and tock in fast-forward these days?

Way back in the 1970s, in the days of dorm life and due dates, classes and curfews, I felt the same way. The pressure never ended. Always another assignment . . . another exam . . . and so little time (with so little sleep). One day, my fiance (the same great guy who put fragrant flowers in my mailbox and pulled me away from the library at 9:00 every night) made a statement I still remember: 

"There is always time to do the will of God."          

The will of God . . . How do I get the will of God on my list?

Jesus answered a similar question, one that asked, "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment?" What's really important? What should be at the top of the list?

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets (Matthew 22:34-40).

What on my list reflects the words of Jesus?

I'm learning to jot down what I think I need to do as I read the Scriptures and pray each morning. To separate the important from the urgent. To ask for wisdom on how to spend each precious moment. To be still and listen. I'm trying to compose my list loosely, leaving some margin for unanticipated, yet God-ordained, interruptions . . . perhaps a change of plans or a different direction altogether. 

I find a list helpful to keep my story focused. I'm sure mine looks different from yours. But the will of God for all of us includes a deep love for the Lord and a sensitivity to those who walk beside us. On these two commands hang all the rest. Maybe before I start writing down all that "should" be done, I can pause long enough to jot Barry's advice at the top of my list, along with Jesus' summary of what it means.

             "There is always time to do the will of God."           

Love God.

Love my neighbor. 

       

Home Town News Story

It's not every day you see an article about your home town on the front page. On Saturday morning when I retrieved the newspaper, I glanced at the headlines like I always do, and there on the left side, "West Seneca, N. Y." grabbed my attention. I learned that Winchester Elementary School now houses a robot that allows a young student  with life-threatening allergies to attend school from home. The very school my sister and I attended in the 1960s. We lived close enough to walk.

Winchester Elementary School

I can still see the long wide hallways and the quiet library with dark wooden tables and chairs where the librarian read It's Like This Cat. I can hear the lunchroom monitors banging their trays on the tables when it became too noisy. We bought milk for three cents, peanut butter cookies for a nickel, and ice cream for a dime.

In first grade, Miss Pinjack made me write sentences for dirty fingernails. ("But I was playing in the sandbox.") She also taught us the principle of evaporation by using a red pen to mark the decreasing water line on a clear drinking glass.We made silhouettes one year and played with a huge ROY-G-BIV parachute in gym. Much to my mother's dismay, we learned the new math. When I didn't know my multiplication tables by fifth grade, she patiently tried to drill them into my head. "7 x 8 is 56. See? 5 - 6 - 7 - 8."

I did pretty well in school. But I loved music class and chorus. With a beehive of graying hair, Mrs. Nixon played the piano as we sang from graded music books in the sunny classroom at the end of the short hall. My sister and I laughed through these songs as we did dishes in the evenings:

Come and hear the German Band, German Band, German Band.

Oh, the weather is so grand for the big parade.

First there comes the drummer, and as a drummer, he's quite a plumber.

He's off the beat on every number, and no one knows how come

They let him drum! 

Our concerts made a lasting impression on me. In the turbulence of the 1960s, we sang "Let There Be Peace on Earth," "Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor," and "No Man is an Island." At the time, I didn't recognize the significance of the lyrics, but they somehow struck a chord in my heart, and I've remembered them word for word all these years.

I'd love to go back to Winchester Elementary School, to walk those familiar hallways once more. To peek into my classrooms and wander around the playground. And just maybe I would meet a four foot robot careening down the hallway at the end of a line of second graders. All going to Music in the sunny classroom at the end of the short hall.

What stories do you remember from elementary school?

 

A Valentine Story

"Together"

We dance together, you and I, in step to life's music.

The sound of trumpets and flutes

Twirls us around busy everyday.

The driving bass and roll of drums

Command matching steps of duty.

But when the soft whisper of violins catches us close and slow,

I look into your eyes

 and know,

Whatever the orchestra plays,

We will always dance . . . together.

I'm not a dancer. And probably never will be in the way most people think of dancing, say, at a wedding or a party. But I do have a dancing partner. He and I dance together every day.

We've danced to romantic strings and organ overtures. We've swayed to lullabies by night and rocked to blues by day. We heel and toe with busy everyday tunes and march in rhythm with dutied steps: left, right, left, right . . . . We've tapped in the shadows and twirled in the spotlight. We've held it together, dancing partners for life.

But sometimes we step on each other's toes. We find ourselves moving to contrasting tempos - or even two different songs. Our rhythms and steps fall out of sync. As I think about it, our dancing styles couldn't be more opposite. He usually likes the fast-moving music, out and about; I enjoy quiet and slow, at home if you please. When our good intentions fall apart, we muster up a forgiving smile . . . or find ourselves a little space. We'll make another attempt. Soon.

 
As lesson-lacking as our dancing appears at times, I'm grateful to have a partner like Barry. Because I know, whatever the orchestra plays, we will always dance . . . together.

Happy Valentine's Day to my husband.
I love you.

Book Review: Help for the Hurting Heart

Fall is my favorite time of year. I began last September with hopes for a productive "school year" on many levels. I jotted down a few family initiatives, writing goals, personal objectives, and some disciplines I hoped would lead to growth and a deeper trust in God. Even as I looked to the future, God seemed to take me back to the past, back to an issue of forgiveness.

Have you ever found yourself stewing over how someone has wronged you or a loved one? Resentment begins to mount, and pretty soon you find yourself rehearsing your side of the story. This person owed you better, after all.

When someone creeps into the present wearing the dark offenses of the past, bitterness and unforgiveness often follow They worm their way into our minds until we drag the shackles of resentment around, shackles that chain us to the very offenses we want to forget.

I didn't want this to happen to me but I admit, I struggled to get on top of this one. I journaled. I prayed. I read Scripture. More than once tears slipped down my cheeks. Bit by bit, God helped me work it through.

Some of the principles that helped me the most came from Dr. Steven R. Silverstein's book, Help for the Hurting Heart: A Christian Perspective for Those who Have Learned that Forgiving and Forgetting Doesn't Work. From the back cover:

 "Help for the Hurting Heart" will take you to the place of learning to recognize, repair, and rebuild personal relationships that have been damaged throughout your lifetime. Join Dr. Steven Silverstein as he teaches you the essential tool of forgiveness and shares what he's learned about expressing forgiveness to others for the sake of your relationship with Jesus Christ, for your spiritual and emotional well-being, and for the enjoyment of your relationships with other people."

I keep those September journal pages marked and read them over once in a while. They help me remember the grace granted to me when Christ forgave me and, in turn, the grace I intentionally granted in the form of forgiveness. They also remind me to pursue the golden rule in the dailyness of life. I want to forgive as I need to be forgiven.

I'm glad God nudged my story backwards last fall. I hope the process helps brighten my forward steps with more freedom and grace. 

A Brand New Year, but the Same Old Me

Every year, it’s the same. When the magic of Christmas morphs into a craving for normalcy, we attack the house with determination! Like tin soldiers, we march the boxes of holiday decorations up to the attic to hibernate for the next eleven months. The furniture pieces finally stand at attention in their rightful places. The vacuum readies the floor for inspection. When my planner says December 31, I feel driven to launch the new year clean and organized — well, as much as possible with a loveable pack-rat husband in the house!

For me, when another year makes its debut, there’s something invigorating about the pursuit of unlittered spaces, tidy drawers and easy-to-find-it closets. I delight in the mystery of a fresh journal and the anticipation of an unexplored project or opportunity. Deep inside I find myself eager for change. Even the concept of new acknowledges the reality of old. I feel grateful for the prospects of starting over, for the relief of leaving the past behind. I’m more than ready to press the reset button.

So much potential waits unbirthed in the word new. So much promise. A new year and a new beginning . . . but there’s one problem. I’m the same old me. What difference does a new calendar make? I have the same weaknesses, the same blind spots, the same propensities for mistakes, for…sin. I’d like to wrestle out of this prison suit of flesh, but it marks me. Though positionally I’m free from sin and I’ve been named a new creation, my very nature still contains me like barbed wire. I can't seem to live up to my own ideals. Like the apostle of old, “I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do — this I keep on doing” (Romans 7:18b, 19).

A brand new year, but the same old me. Yet, God is the same, too (Psalm 102:27). He is the great I AM (John 8:58), “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). He offers the same love-motivated redemption (1 John 3:16). His forgiveness cleanses me (1 John 1:9). His promise to never leave me or forsake me gives security and stability (Hebrews 13:5). I, with my flesh-stamped heart, can enter the new year’s untold secrets with confidence. The God of the universe remains unchanged. I can count on Him.

As I step into 2013, I want to focus on the same gracious, consistent God instead of on the same old me. I want to reach beyond the temporal sense of time to the eternal. I long to hear His words when He will press the reset button for the last time: “Behold, I make all things new” (Revelation 21:5).

Even me!

Even you!

* First published in Catapult Magazine, Vol. 9, Num. 24, 2010.12.31-2011.01.13.

Heavenly Peace

Rummaging through my memories this past week, I uncovered some peace and perspective, a remembrance tucked away the Christmas of 2004. Here's my story:

Stars peered down to watch us stand among a group of bundled up strangers in the crisp, cold darkness. As we waited, bits of conversation and clouds of white escaped our lips. The frantic pace of all that comes with Christmas suddenly seemed far away here at Quiet Valley Living Historical Farm.* How many years did I determine to somehow simplify the holidays? Tradition’s strong tug and the fear of disappointing my family put miles on my Reeboks, piles of bowls and cookie sheets in the sink, and lists in my dreams. I physically felt the pressure, and even coming here for this “nice family event” became one more thing to do.

My husband squeezed my mittened hand, and our little daughter smiled up at me as a costumed guide led us to a blazing outdoor fire. We sat on rough log benches and listened to him recount bits of local German history. The fire snapped and leaped. I began to warm up to the idea of sharing this time together. The peacefulness of the place seeped into my heart, and the tension slipped out into the night.

Our tour took us inside log cabins to simpler celebrations in various time periods. We visited a one room school house where we sang carols with our stranger-friends. And yes, the pathway even led to the barn. Here, among the farm animals, musicians played the old Christmas hymns on a guitar, violin, and autoharp. Interspersed with the sweet melodies, the familiar Old and New Testament Scriptures whispered God’s beautiful story of hope for mankind. Tears blurred my eyes as my heart reached for each word. Somehow, standing in the clear winter chill enveloped only in the wonder of a miracle, the holiday season came back into proper focus. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior . . . Emmanuel . . . God with us” (Luke 2:11; Matthew 1:23). The lump in my throat could not stop the prayer from my soul - a prayer of confession, of thanksgiving, of praise for His lavish love and grace.
 
As we walked back along the path lit with white paper bag lanterns and gratefully sipped hot cider, I savored this heavenly peace. Back home the pile of packages still waited to be wrapped, the cookies still needed frosting, and events still filled up too many boxes on the calendar. Yet it all faded into the background. The image of redemption stood clearly in the forefront. God used the simplicity of the past to give perspective to the present. “Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift” (2 Corinthians 9:15).

                                           
*Quiet Valley Living Historical Farm
Old Time Christmas 2012 
Saturday & Sunday, December 8th and 9th

Public tours - 3:30 p.m. to 7:15 p.m. with continuous tours every 15 minutes
Reservations not needed. The last tour starts at 7:15 p.m.
Group Tours (12 or more) by reservation only, from 2:30 to 3:30 p.m.

All photos from Quiet Valley Website

Crazy Quilt

Gathered from an old trunk

Negligent in design

Few quilting stitches, tiny and even

 No fibers of cotton

No log cabins or geese flying

No stars pieced

Contrary angles

Puzzle pieces mixed up

No story told

A kaleidoscope of color

Silk, wool, velvet

Threads of gold

 A timeless treasure

Sarah Lynn Phillips

Victorian Crazy Quilt, 1890