A Springtime Remembrance

Springtime memories. Do you have some? I do.
  

Today, as I took a walk, I did a little remembering. The new grass, the trees loaded with blossoms, and the warmth of the sun reminded me of a similar day sixteen years ago. But that day, I didn't walk.

It had been six weeks. Six long weeks. Six weeks of complete bedrest. Six weeks to save a baby girl, still unnamed. Day after day, from my station on the couch, I could see only the lilac bush through the dining room window. Every day, hopeful leaves pushed out a little bit more. Every day, I prayed for the little life growing inside me. Psalm 139 became my constant companion. It seemed our baby said, "I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made . . . "

Finally, the day came for me to get up, to have another ultrasound, to see the doctor. I gingerly found my way into the car. All the way there and all the way back, I could hardly believe the transformation that had taken place since that bleak day in March when doctor's orders took me off my feet. Trees in bloom boasted a myriad of color. Tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils nodded their pretty heads in the warm breeze. Forsythia and azaleas lit up the landscape. The air smelled fragrant and sweet. The grass . . . could it grow any greener? The sun sent its healing rays deep into my soul. I couldn't get enough of spring's fashion statement. On the way home, my husband drove me up and down the side streets. Tears slipped down my cheeks. After the drama of a surprise baby almost lost, the beauty of new life gave me hope.

All these years later, I still remember that day. I also remember the midnight feedings, the times I rocked her and sang, the coloring pages, the play dough, the first and last days of school, the books we've read together, the piano recitals, the track events, the funny things, the tears, the vacations at the beach, the hugs, the long talks, the shopping . .  and the countless blessings that little girl, now fifteen, has brought to our family.

Precious memories. All of them.

Perhaps it's time to take a walk. To think back. Any springtime memories come to mind?

Spring: Moment of Wonder

a bit of bulb

dropped unnoticed

from my hand

late last fall

yields one tiny

blossomed jewel

cradled

in the hand

of a squatting child

on a sunny day

*Photo: Sharon at 2 1/2 years old.

Amazed by Grace

I

Guilty I stand,

Hands shackled behind me.

Guilty I stand, head bowed, alone.

The sentence echoes

against the walls of my heart:

"Condemned to die!"

Guilty . . . Condemned . . . Without hope.

II

Righteous He stands,

Hands scarred, perfect as God Himself.

Righteous He stands,

Raised up from dying

condemned--instead of me.

Unshackled from mortality like a prisoner freed,

He breaks away the rusted handcuffs of my sin.

Amazed by grace, I go free.

 For He made Him who knew no sin

to be sin for us,

That we might become

the righteousness of God in Him.

2 Corinthians 5:21 

  

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.