Going Green

We do a lot of recycling in our house: paper, cardboard, glass bottles and jars, tin cans, plastic . . . Some weeks the lid to the recycle bin barely closes, especially if I've been cleaning out. Which, as I mentioned in my last post, I feel driven to do this time of year. I cleaned out the end table drawers, the kitchen closet, dresser drawers, and the linen closet. And I'm still going through Barry's papers and notes. I don't keep them all, but I want to touch every paper. I still can't get over how many subject areas he studied.

Sometime in the late eighties and early nineties, Barry served on the committee to begin the recycling drive in our community. We still try to conserve and go green as much as possible by recycling, composting, and opting for more natural materials and less packaging.

The other day I ran across an ancient text where the color "green" caught my attention:

[Most] blessed is the man who believes in, trusts in, and relies on the Lord, and whose hope and confidence the Lord is.

For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters that spreads out its roots by the river; and it shall not see and fear when heat comes; but its leaf shall be GREEN. It shall not be anxious and full of care in the year of drought, not shall it cease yielding fruit.*

In some ways, this season of my life could be characterized as "the year of drought," a year of firsts, of change, of learning to manage on my own, of handling everything from crawlspace issues to cars to single parenting. Maybe you can identify. Not that we haven't experienced many wonderful blessings, yet how easy to succumb to the "fear" and "heat" of daily adjustments and to "be anxious and full of care," resulting in a life void of the fruits of joy and peace.

 

I want to be like a tree with green leaves even in the dry times. Don't you? I'm learning that going green in this sense has a lot to do with trust. Confidence and hope in the Lord. Believing and relying on Him. And somehow God takes our loss and recycles it into compassion, sensitivity, and a stronger connection to the One who demonstrates His faithfulness in every circumstance.

So, the next time you put something into the recycle bin, remember that going green means more than salvaging paper, plastic, and glass. It has a lot to do with trusting God to write our stories in times of abundance and drought.

 

*Jeremiah 17:7, 8, The Amplified Bible

To Begin Again . . .

We made it through another holiday. 

I didn't know how this Christmas would be for me and the girls since Barry passed away in May. I have to admit, it proved harder than I thought . . . hanging the "Our First Christmas" ornament on the tree, shopping and wrapping alone, seeing the empty recliner on Christmas morning. BUT we did okay. We laughed. We sang. We stayed up too late. I love these five-star kids of mine--three daughters, a son-in-law, and two grandboys. 

I spent today cleaning out drawers and a closet. It's my way to unwind, to reflect and plan. One lingering Christmas thought keeps coming to mind. Maybe it's what I need to take a deep breath and begin again.

It's typical to remember Mary as the promised virgin, the mother of the Messiah. Can you imagine the responsibility of mothering this baby? This toddler? This young son? I can't fathom what it must have felt like to lose track of the twelve-year-old Son of God! And then to see Him grow into a man, the God-man, who had an agenda even Mary didn't always understand. 

This year I received a Christmas letter from a friend who lost her husband to cancer about a month before Barry passed away. Cherie's letter resonated with me:  "Do we give much thought to Mary, the widow? Jesus was 33 years old when He died. but first, He took care of the needs of His widowed mother. He turned His mother over to the care of John. . . . who took care of Mary as if she was his own mother." 
 
Losing a husband as dedicated and caring as Joseph must have dealt a hard blow to the woman who pondered so much in her heart. Did Joseph die before their children reached adulthood? Was Mary a single mom?

After Jesus' resurrection, we find her and her other sons among Jesus' followers in the upper room. She was present when another apostle was chosen to take the place of Judas Iscariot, when Peter preached his first sermon, and when the Holy Spirit came. Later, when great persecution came to the believers in Jerusalem, was she among those who scattered or did she stay? We don't know.

Whatever the case, she chose to number herself with those who believed her Son to be the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6). She stayed involved. She stood for the truth. She exhibited faithfulness.

What a wonderful example as we begin 2016. I want to be involved, to be faithful, don't you? 

Photos from google images.

Rethinking Mealtimes

So, who's the main person who feeds the people at your house? The one who cooks, packs lunches, and makes sure everyone is fed and nourished? In my home, it's me. I enjoy it most of the time.

Do you sometimes resent all those hours in the kitchen because of the more worthwhile items on your TO DO list?  At times, I do. Especially this season of the year. Recently, I heard a statement that has revolutionized the way I think about the time I spend in the kitchen. 

"Jesus took time out of His sermon to feed people."

I found the story in all four gospels. People had come from far and near to hear Jesus teach. When "the day was already far gone," Jesus sent the disciples among the people to search for food "that these may eat." All they could find was a little boy's lunch, consisting of five barley loaves and two small fish. In the end, Jesus fed 5000 men plus women and children from this little lunch, lovingly prepared by an unnamed mother that morning. Several ideas stand out in bold as I read this story.

• Jesus asked the people to sit down, which they did, in groups of hundreds and fifties, "looking like so many garden plots" (The Amplified Bible). Even though the hour was late, they didn't "eat and run" or eat standing up. They sat down.
• Jesus gave thanks. A simple tradition that acknowledges a heavenly Father who takes care of us.
• The food was simple yet nutritious: fish and bread.
• This picnic was an organized affair, not a free-for-all. Lots of helpers made it work. Jesus distributed "to the disciples and the disciples to those sitting down."
• There was plenty. The people ate "as much as they wanted."
• Nothing was wasted. Jesus gave specific instructions to "gather up the fragments that remain, so that nothing is lost."
• In the gathering dusk, the people went home with more than full stomachs. The experience touched them. "This is truly the Prophet who is to come into the world."

All worthwhile activities, wouldn't you agree? So much more that just getting the crowd fed. Translated into our century: a simple menu of plentiful, nutrient-dense food. A table of seated family members and guests. The giving of thanks. A setting for conversation, for sharing the wonder of daily miracles, for telling stories that reflect God's faithfulness. A feeling of warmth and belonging. It doesn't always happen this way, I know. Yet even though mealtimes have their challenges, perhaps these observations are worth our consideration. Perhaps there's another way to view our work in the kitchen.

The next time we're tempted to sigh over the endless cooking and baking responsibilities and all that goes with it, or even feeding a baby every three hours around the clock, let's remember how Jesus took time out of His important kingdom service to feed people. There's a whole lot of worthwhile-ness in that! 

Quote by Jennie Allen, Restless: Because You Were Made for More, W Publishing, 2013, video for Lesson Six.
Story from Matthew 14:14-21, Mark 6:33-44, Luke 9:11-17, John 6:1-14. 
Photos from bing.com

The Ultimate Trade-off

I've been anticipating the holidays coming up. The first Christmas without the man who, year after year, came huffing and puffing down the stairs and over to the tree on Christmas Eve, huffing and puffing because of all the "heavy" gifts he carried down for me. When the girls were little, they squealed with delight. The tradition continued all the way up until 2014. Who would have dreamed this Christmas would be different? We're already feeling the loss.

My wandering thoughts have also reflected on what Christmas meant for Baby Jesus. His represents the greatest loss of all, really. The reality of this came together for me at the mall . . . 

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Sleigh bells jingled in the background, and lights twinkled as I waited at the end of a long line of strangers to exchange my cash for my daughter’s Christmas gift. In a limited sense, I became poorer so she could become richer. When we give a gift, we sacrifice money—and ultimately time. Yet my transaction didn’t make me truly “poor” or make her truly “rich.”

But what if our family left our suburban home with only the clothes on our backs? What if we left our cars in the garage, our furniture, our technology, our clothes, our freezer full of food, our education, our jobs, our children’s school, and all that we have and do. And what if a refugee family from a third-world country moved in and suddenly acquired all we left behind . . . while we took up their life of hand-to-mouth poverty? We, who had been rich, for their sakes would become poor that they might gain our riches.

What if a billionaire traded places with the poorest of peasants? 

What if the Son of God became poor for earthlings like us?

Jesus willingly embraced the ultimate poverty. He left His Father and all that encompasses the celestial sphere to become a helpless infant. He took on human limitations. The hand that formed the heavens with the moon and the stars, wrapped themselves around a teenage girl’s finger as she lovingly swaddled Him in homespun strips of cloth. He became utterly dependent on the people He created—for milk, for shelter, for protection. Although He was the Word from the beginning, He had to learn to talk. Taking on humanity demonstrated no small sacrifice. He traded all of heaven’s glory for our sakes so that we could acquire all He left behind.

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We celebrate Christmas because a Savior came to provide eternal life. We sing carols about joy, celebrate with candlelight services, and re-enact the Nativity. We rejoice in the benefits of His grace.

But Jesus experienced unfathomable loss. Loss for a sinful people who may take the incarnation for granted. And if becoming a baby wasn’t humbling enough, He gave up His life as the ultimate sacrifice. For our sakes—all because He loves us.

This Christmas, l hope we will remember God’ unspeakable gift. It’s through His poverty we become truly rich.

Joy to the world!

 For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich (2 Corinthians 8:9 NKJV).

 Reprinted, in part, from Christian Devotions.

Crossing a Different Kind of Atlantic

This Thanksgiving, I feel a little like a Pilgrim.

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Not that I have much in common with the brave little group who sailed into Plymouth on the Mayflower November 11, 1620. They chose to leave all they knew to come to a wild land of unknowns   . . . all for the sake of religious freedom, so the story goes. I wonder if some of them had second thoughts. Yet not one of them sailed back to Europe with the Mayflower after the harsh winter.

In one sense, they left their past behind. Yet in another way, they brought it with them. Their customs, their dress, their values . . . their God. The Pilgrims, as we call them, arrived and stayed in the New World, bonded to their tried and true beliefs. Likely, the very beliefs that gave them the perseverance to follow hard after what they perceived to be the will of God.

Maybe their experience is a little like what happens when life changes for us. We find ourselves crossing an Atlantic of another sort, leaving behind the familiar to discover a season of unknowns, of risks, of uncertainties. Sometimes we make the journey because we desire change - perhaps a new job, better habits, a new baby. And sometimes we're in a new place without our choosing it - an illness, financial loss, or the death of someone close to us . . .

Like the Pilgrims, we bring the past with us, too. The past with its victories and defeats, its wisdom-gaining experiences, its values and beliefs. And the underlying assurance that we have an everlasting God we can trust, no matter where we find ourselves, no matter what happens in our life stories. 

So, this Thanksgiving I want to give thanks.

For the past: For nearly thirty-six years as wife to a man who loved God first, then others - especially me. For all he unwittingly taught me about life, helping me ahead of time with the adjustments and unknowns. For all he poured into our children. For his example of perseverance and grit.

For the present: For God's abundant grace, provision, and care. For the kindnesses of so many who have made this journey bearable and offered up prayers on our behalf. For children and a family who call and care. For the gift of grandchildren.

For the future: For the promises of God which never expire. For new opportunities and experiences. For a coming "New World" of eternal life "forever with the Lord," where we won't be pilgrims anymore.

Have you crossed a different kind of Atlantic recently? Let's gather with the Pilgrims and Indians of the seventeenth century and remember our past and present blessings and the assurance of a bright future.

Pullin' Out the Paint

I love our home.

Our family moved in on the last day of July 1987. We overlooked the worn shag carpet, the1970s flowered orange wallpaper, and the steel windows, which we had to push from the outside to close. We knew we'd someday remodel the kitchen with very little cupboard or counter space surrounding the old ceramic sink. Yet to us, it became our home. With a wonderful job opportunity for my husband and two little girls underfoot, we moved in with young energy and resolve.

Over time, we tore up old carpet, tamed walls with quieter colors, replaced windows, reworked the bathroom, and after much deliberation, gave the kitchen a makeover. In 1998, we tore down the tiny garage and replaced it, doubling its size and adding a guest room in the back. More recently, we sided and insulated. In between all that, Barry mowed the grass, cleaned out gutters, and repaired broken faucets and leaky pipes. He primed and painted. He took good care of our little "estate."

He's gone to live in his heavenly home now, where he's free from all the chores he so faithfully took care of day after day, year after year. I suddenly inherited all those responsibilities. And I'm finding it a bit overwhelming.

Our daughter, a senior in high school, has done a wonderful job keeping the yard looking trim. I've appreciated help from extended family, neighbors, and friends. Yet I worry about how long I can live here and keep the place up. Our place. Our home.

In the past couple weeks, I've noticed a couple of neighbor friends, single like me, caulking and painting. One just retired and the other is 70-something. There's courage to be found in the initiatives of those around us. I've set mouse traps, cleaned siding, and fixed doorbells the past few months, so why couldn't I scrape the doorway leading into the garage, pull out the paint, and brighten up the side entry a little?

I suppose someday I'll have to trade this property for something smaller, but in the meantime, I want our home--my home--to be more than plaster and paint, I want it to be warm and inviting, a safe and nurturing space for all who cross the threshold, with room to sense God's presence and study His Word, to pray and write and laugh and cry. 

To grow.

So next time you're pulling' out the paint, remember the deeper purposes of home. And even when we have to downsize, we can take that part of it along with us.

 
   

The Best Halloween of All

I've never cared much for Halloween!

Oh, it's not because I think it's a bad holiday--although there's a dark side to October 31st that deserves some caution. There doesn't seem to be harm in dressing up, carving pumpkins, and dunking for apples.

But for me, the ultimate introvert from a young age, I found going door to door trick-or-treating the worst possible form of embarrassment. It just wasn't worth the bag of candy we brought home. I even insisted my younger sister go to each door ahead of me.

Our neighborhood had TWO nights where droves of kids thumped up on our front porch calling "trick of treat." Beggar's Night (October 30th) and Halloween.

Then there was the year we had huge piles of leaves lined up in front of our house, waiting for the town leaf vacuum truck. Some kid dropped a match or two, and before long a fire blazed high and wide. To my elementary-school eyes, seeing the leaping flames and fire trucks left a lasting impression.

Halloween became a little friendlier when I became a mother. I didn't take my kids out to gather candy, but we always carved pumpkins while my husband answered the door and gave out candy. If no scary faces presented themselves, he'd invite our little girls to take a peek.

The best Halloween weekend of all came years later in 1997. We had our usual pumpkin carving, a rollicking fire in the fireplace, and a special snack. I never let on that a surprise treat was soon to arrive. Halloween night labor brought our third baby girl into the world just before 1:00 p.m. the next day! 

I'm glad God never tricks us, taunting "Gotcha!" He treats us to His blessings every day of the year. 

And this Halloween, we have been blessed with another treat: a sweet baby boy to add to the family, born October 29th. Welcome William Conrad!