Good Grief

By Jane Thornton –

Respectful whispers brush across the church lobby. Hugs cling a little tighter than the norm. Sunday Best is slightly more prevalent than on a typical modern Sunday, even if the predominant color is not black like it would have been fifty years ago.

Family and friends have gathered to celebrate the life of my father, David Hines. A few moments before the official assembly, a disturbed murmur of horrified gasps ripples across the room.

“David Hines fell in the baptistery!”

A moment of stunned silence follows.

“I thought they didn’t bring the casket here.” A friend’s undertone reflects her shocked disbelief.

Stifled laughter flutters through the family. Not dead David, grandkid David. Where else would a ten-year-old boy who arrived thirty minutes early for a funeral be but playing near the baptistery?

I go to see for myself. Sure enough, there stands my nephew, khaki pants and plaid shirt darkened and plastered to his wiry frame, a puddle forming around his loafers. My embarrassed but resigned sister-in-law hustles him off on a frantic Wal-Mart trip for dry clothes.

Ten years later, that story highlights our reminiscing. Everyone enjoys a hearty laugh over the spectacle, including a semi-sheepish David.

Last week, our church laid another David to rest, a brother we all agreed was a “mighty man of God.” Sunday morning after the funeral, we took several moments to share memories. Numerous memorable hospital visits brought appreciative tears. Reflections on Dave’s unique eccentricities brought poignant chuckles. We sang his silly song. We wept and laughed at his love for kids.

At the funeral of Lazarus, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35 NIV). Even knowing he would conquer death, Jesus shared his friends’ sorrow. I wonder if laughter shuffled through the crowd when Martha protested the stink of opening the grave. I wouldn’t be surprised. Several stories show Jesus’ sense of humor and comic timing. I love knowing He participates in all our emotions—the joys and tears found in the everyday vagaries of life.

When teaching English, I offer “good grief” as a prime example of an oxymoron. But as I reflect on funerals, silly songs, and sopping wet boys, I see that through our faith, God makes good grief a reality. “‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be o God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Corinthians 15:55-57 NIV).

Comment Prompt: Any funereal yet funny moments you can share?

Nine Tips for Peaceful Progeny

By Jane Thornton –

As my son, recent college graduate, returns home for a final roost before testing his wings, I have been reflecting on our strategies in raising him. I thought I’d share some that were more successful – we’ll save stories of the less successful for another day. I don’t claim these as my own ideas; we gathered whatever worked from friends, books, and our own childhoods.

1. Either/Or –Give children options while guiding them toward your own goals. We used this often enough that four-year-old Matt mimicked our policy with his little sister. “Merry, here’s how you play this game . . . Merry, you can play the way you’re supposed to, or you can just not play. Those are your choices. Do you want to play the way you’re supposed to or not play?”

2. Odd/Even –Matt got odd days, Merry even, for both chores and privileges. Before I’d holler for a helper, I’d remember the date and address the appropriate kid. As we’d head for the car, instead of hearing “Shotgun!” and squabbling, we’d hear, “It’s the second, my day in the front.” No questions asked.

3. Change it Up – Honestly, I’m not so good at this, but my husband Wes is a master. When the kids (and I) circled around in a pointless argument, he abruptly asked some completely unrelated question. Although his tactic was glaringly obvious, we would all frequently comply.

4. No-Thank-You-Bite –Although now I only rarely turn my nose up at anything edible (still no brussel sprouts), as a child I preferred meat and potatoes only. Somewhere I heard that our taste buds change every seven years; true or not, I use it as a mantra for tasting. Although this plan doesn’t eliminate all fussing, we found requiring a bite much more manageable than a whole helping.

5. Two-Minute-Warning –We got much better cooperation with “Two more times down the slide, then we have to go.” If fussing ensued, the number decreased to one more time – or a return to that first strategy: “Two more slides or now – which do you prefer?” Same thing applies to chores: “You need to start cleaning your room in the next thirty minutes” works better than “Get in here and clean your room!”

6. Say Sorry – Not them, me. When I could hear that shrieky tone enter my voice, my kids responded with great forgiveness if I stopped and apologized for taking out frustrations on them. Sometimes a bedtime apology was called for due to a long day of grouchiness. I’m hoping they’ve picked up on this model for future relationships.

7. Nights Up – We weren’t terribly consistent with this, but I love the idea. Give each child some alone time with the parents by allowing them to stay up past bedtime once a month and choose an activity. Some things we did: bake cookies, play games, wrap Christmas presents, read a book.

8. Celebrate Spirituality – I love this tradition. We celebrate our children’s spiritual birthdays—the day they chose to follow Jesus. Each year we go out for dinner, often inviting friends. Everyone present sets a goal for spiritual growth. At each celebration, we review our old goals before we set, or reset, new ones.

9. Age and Absence – Not an idea or strategy, this point is a reality to reassure you. As the kids grow up and are not interacting daily, they learn to appreciate parents and each other. I’ve experienced the joy of maturing relationships with my own siblings, and now I get glimpses of the future of cease fire in my children’s sibling battles!

Comment Prompt: Share your parenting strategies, please.

Shattered Illusions of a Goody-Goody

By Jane Thornton

Confession: I captured my husband under false pretenses.

Not intentional deceit, I make every effort to be open; I strongly believe in being frank—but somehow, on first impression, most people judge me to be ladylike. This notion even lingers beyond acquaintance. Perhaps some of my traits and habits reinforce the reaction: I have a girly southern voice; I collect china cups and saucers; I tear up over Hallmark commercials and romantic movies.

Even those who are not so impressed with me have been known to categorize me as a goody-goody.

Unfortunately, as my husband discovered after our wedding day, the illusion does not hold up under day to day living. I’m often loud, silly, grouchy, and selfish to name a few not-so-ladylike attributes. Thank God, over the last twenty-five years, Wes has found other reasons to love me!

One day in the first year of our marriage, I shared with him the story of what I considered the follies of my youth:

As a freshman in college, I wanted to spread my wings and test my new freedom. I stepped outside of my moral standards and went with a group of friends to well-known strip club. (Please hold back your gasps; there’s worse to come.)

I felt daring, cosmopolitan, wild. Upon the urgings of the crowd, I even tipped a dancer a dollar and asked for a kiss. I flushed with my audacity. I managed to rationalize and smush any shame.

We tromped back to the dorm and fell into the dreamy slumber of slightly tainted innocence.

The next afternoon, I developed a scratchy throat. By evening, my glands were swelling and red. I scrambled through my mail, and, with horrified dread, I re-read the letter from my mother: “Mimi says to be careful. She read an article saying that there’s an epidemic going around of gonorrhea of the mouth.”

Fear drove spikes through my heart. Shame escaped its prison and swamped me. I cried myself to sleep, nightmares haunting me with the necessity of confessing to my parents that I had an STD.

I did not.

And, I did not confess my misdeeds until much later. In spite of my own regrets, I was surprised that when I told Wes, seven years later, he was angry. Now, with the perspective of our silver anniversary, I know that I shattered some of his illusions with that confession.

Recently, I revealed this story to a church friend. She, too, was horrified and grossed out by my peccadillo. I tumbled off the pedestal I didn’t know she had put me on. That fall is probably a good thing since I don’t belong there.

Praise the Lord that I do not have to earn the image of being good. In Romans, Paul says Jesus gave me His righteousness (3:22). “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24 NIV).

Comment Prompt: What impressions – true or false – do people have of you?

Right or Left at Oak Street?

By Jane Thornton

“Mrs. Thornton, we’re so sorry, but we can’t find Matthew.” The voice of my eleven-year-old son’s principal echoed through the earpiece.

The world slowed.

“What do you mean?”

“His teacher let him go to the restroom at eleven this morning.”

My gaze flew to the wall—two o’clock.

“The class went to lunch, and she thought he had returned and gone with them, so she didn’t notice he was missing until the end of the meal. We’ve searched the entire campus and can’t find him.”

I wanted to scream, And you’re just now calling me? But somewhere in the depths of my foggy brain, I knew this was a tough call to make, and screaming wouldn’t find Matthew.

“The police are on their way. You can meet them here at the office.”

Denial stupefied my mind. Stunned fear jumbled my thoughts. Matt had run away before (to the park down the street); surely he was voluntarily missing. A school employee had seen a kid walking down the road during her lunch hour. Thirty-five years of training in manners managed to squelch my desire to screech at her, Why in the world didn’t you stop him?!

Matt had been headed east. Our house was five miles northwest. He had a friend who lived seven miles east. We made frantic phone calls. No one had seen him. The police cruised the roads in both directions—no sign of him. They sent my husband home to wait in case he called or showed up. I stayed at the school office.

Time dragged. The police asked questions; I can’t remember what they were. I made phone calls. I prayed. I grasped at every straw-like possibility that would bring my son safely home.

And God blessed us beyond belief.

At five, Wes received a call. Matt had made it four miles to the freeway where he walked down the middle of the construction area and got in the car with a construction worker. Thankfully the man took Matt to Whataburger where they called us.

Matt had gotten fed up with school and decided to come home. Roads look different on foot and alone than when riding with Mom. Every time he came to a familiar street name, he chose the wrong way to turn. He never realized he was lost.

I assume since God is omniscient, He doesn’t have the fear of the unknown that we have as parents. But He is our Father, and I have to believe that he does suffer the agony of the known. He sees us making those wrong turns and knows the consequences we will have to suffer. He knows how lost we get even if we don’t.

He also knows our final destination. But then again, so do we, and still I agonize over the path my children may take to get there. Does God suffer when we don’t listen to His guidance? “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it’” (Isaiah 30:21 NIV).

Comment Prompt:  What incidents have reminded you that God feels our emotions with us?

Off-Kilter

By Jane Thornton –

Noise swirls around me. Paper rips. My niece shrieks in triumph. She got the present she knew she’d get; the slight doubt my brother managed to plant has been slain. A crack of laughter erupts from my son at the antics of his cousin. My other brother heaves an exaggerated sigh of contentment as he swallows his first morning taste of Mexican Cheese Fudge. My daughter gurgles over the baby. Muted carols fill any chance moment of silence.

In the midst of the chaos, I sit in an oasis of stillness.

The whole scene is off-kilter. Tears brim, threatening to expose me. My breath claws at my chest. I stare at the ceiling light, forcing the tears back where they belong.  Daddy is not here, but that’s not the main issue. We’ve managed three holidays without him.

My mother slants me a sweet smile of understanding, but her paper-crumpling speeds and takes on a slightly frantic jerkiness. Guilt swamps me. I know she can’t stand having her grown baby unhappy—and she’ll take on her own guilt over my feelings.

Our first Christmas as a blended family. Some traditions discarded, new traditions started. I know resenting any of it reeks of pettiness. I know my step-siblings are going through the same struggle in reverse. I can rest in the deep security of my mother’s love that overrides any jealousy. I know we celebrate Jesus’ birth—which broke all kinds of traditions.

But it still hurts. Unreasonably. Full of shallowness. Drenched in selfishness. My heart aches.

Seven years after this scene, the differentness has become easier. I love Johnny, my stepfather. He treasures my mother. He’s funny; he’s wise; he’s generous. I knew all that then, and I know it more thoroughly now.

Still, we all wrestle with accepting the ways of our new families. Somehow I have to learn that my way is not the only way. I have to believe that my way may not be the best way for everyone else. (I’m not convinced of this at all, so it’s scary to think what God may have to do to persuade me!)

Not to be sacrilegious, but . . . Sometimes I think the way God lets the world run has gone off-kilter, too.

Actually, I rationalize secular problems with the presence of evil and sin and people who don’t know better. But what about the church? If we all know and love Jesus, and we are all trying to please Him, why does it so often seem out of whack?

I know part of the answer is our humanity. But so many scriptures promise His ability to move us beyond the capacity of our flesh. So, my answer is mostly, “I don’t know.” I do know “the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. . . But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:25, 27 NIV).

Recently, a friend shared her struggles with Christians acting un-Christlike. After years of ministry, disillusionment with the church is driving her to withdraw. I have been pondering what gives me assurance. I cling to the deep faith that I see that is making a difference and pray to understand the rest. And I sing the hymn that echoes Paul’s words to Timothy:  “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day (2 Timothy 1:12b KJV).

Comment Prompt:  How do you reconcile the way things ought to be with the way things are?

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