Time Out

By Jane Thornton –

My daughter just called me Satan.

Not in so many words, but the “Get thee behind me, Satan” sentiment came through loud and clear. And too late. Off in Abilene, she is doing a great job of making lifestyle changes, shedding close to twenty pounds. She called and asked for her Easter basket to be healthy instead of the normal overflow of chocolate. Yes, we unashamedly still do baskets and probably will until we have a new generation to take over the children’s roles.

I complied, but with company in the house for the holidays, I filled the three candy dishes scattered throughout our living room. As strong as she has become, that inconsideration did not do her in. However, eight other adults scooping out Cherry Sours by the handful and heaping seconds of chips and salsa onto our plates brought her down with a crash.

She lay face down across my bed and moaned about my bad influence. After I laughed, I apologized. So much for being a supportive mom. Thoughtlessness and my own gluttony undermined us both.

A glimmer of proper parenting broke through, though, when I reminded her that all was not lost, or regained, and we could start fresh the next morning—Easter morning, perfect day for renewal.

Perhaps, this provision, at least in part, inspired God’s creation of time. As an eternal being, He exists beyond seconds, days, years, millennia. But all of these units bestow opportunities for His children to start over, with His grace removing the errors of the past. With each day and awakening, the world rouses to the prospect of new beginnings and do-overs. Each season, each year, each decade, nature reflects these chances. With technology, we’ve even broken down our days into innumerable measurable moments that provide starting points for restitution, rejuvenation, and restoration.

Sometimes our needs require us to move in both the space and time continuum, to use science-fiction lingo.

When I was a sophomore in high school, poring over the signatures in my new yearbook, I found the inscription, “To the girl I cheated off of in chemistry…”

What? I never gave that guy permission to copy my paper. Unfortunately, he probably knew that I had allowed others that privilege. I was too chicken to stand up for what I knew was right and didn’t want to be labeled even more of a goody-goody than I already was. A precedent had been established. A slippery slope breeched. I didn’t know how to halt the slide.

Until we moved.

Torn away from my home and friends by one more military decision in my father’s Marine Corps career, I found a silver lining in this opportunity for a clean slate. I could re-establish my integrity.

Not every weakness demands a move of a thousand miles, but some do. Thank God for the feet, yards, miles and the minutes, hours, and years He puts between us and our sins.

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12 NIV).

Comment prompt: How will you take advantage of God’s do-overs? When?

Cutting the Unbiblical Cord

By Diane Mayfield –

I never dreamed giving our daughter away in marriage would be so difficult for me emotionally. It has been. I’ve struggled with this reality for almost two years. The gap between my intellect and my emotions on this leg of life’s journey has been expansive.

My daughter is an intelligent, spunky, outgoing, lovely young woman who married a great guy that we all enjoy and love. They are creating their own life together as husband and wife. Hooray! This was always our dream for her, part of our equipping her for God’s plan. I rejoice in this and praise God for what He’s done in allowing my husband and me parent this delightful young woman.

So, what’s the problem?

The problem is that my heart isn’t where my mind is. After thirty years of being a big priority in this woman’s life, I am second fiddle and it hurts. I know, I know. This is what I parented her for. I’m trying, but until today, my efforts were not succeeding. I’m weary of the battle. I’ve struggled with feelings of betrayal, loneliness, rejection, disappointment and anger. I misinterpret many things because I’m reading them through eyes that are blinded in so many ways.

A few weekends ago, I was hurt once again. I was horribly hurt and tired of it. I made assumptions and started telling myself untruths. I created quite a story inside my head, leaving my stomach in one big knot. The chatter in my head went something like this. “Well, I failed. I attempted to build in family values but they are not there. I don’t matter. I’m nothing.” The assumptions and lies went on and on until I was sliding into a deep hole of darkness. After venting to God and my husband, maybe not in that order, I moved on with the day.

Then I saw a cord-like image in my mind floating in the air. It was an umbilical cord. An umbilical cord provides support and sustenance between the mother and the baby until the baby can sustain life on its own. What I had created in my imagination was an “unbiblical cord” between my daughter and me. It was time for surgery.

I surrendered that day to God, the Master Surgeon. He cut away the emotional “unbiblical cord” that I wanted to maintain. I might have moments when I try to reattach it out of my fear and loneliness but I am certain the Holy Spirit will remind me of the surgery performed this day. The only umbilical cord I need now is the biblical one. It’s the one that connects me to God through Jesus.

Then came new vision. While rocking my six-month-old grandson, God opened my eyes to the woman my daughter had become. In my mind’s eye I saw my darling daughter delighting in her nephew as she played with him. She bent down to soothe his tears when he cried. No longer did I see my daughter, but a young woman, truly separate from me. In that dark room, rocking that precious child, light came to my blinded eyes.

With the “unbiblical cord” gone, I can now enjoy a different connection with a beautiful young woman who just happens to be my daughter. A different bond is forged between two separate children of God.

I hesitated to share this story with you. I do so because I suspect someone else might be going through the same thing but feeling too embarrassed to admit it. I never dreamed I would find the reverse “leaving and cleaving” so hard. One of you might be in that place too. If so, my hope for you is through the gentle work of the Master surgeon and healer you too will have the “unbiblical cord” cut. Then you and your family member or friend can start a new journey, separate, but joined together in a new relationship.

Comforted by Snowflakes

By Makenzie Allen –

Snowflakes fall and I wonder if there is a pattern only God can see. Up in heaven, does He scatter them just so? Or does He toss them into the wind and let them spiral any way the invisible pull takes them?

I just finished reading the book of Job. One of my favorite parts is when God demonstrates His power by asking Job a series of questions.

“He says to the snow, ‘Fall on the earth’. Have you entered the storehouses of the snow? Stop and consider God’s wonders. Do you know how the clouds hang poised? Where were you when I laid the earths foundations?” (Job 37: 6, 14, 16 and 38:4, 22).

And just as I am humbled daily by God’s wonders, Job was humbled as well. The thought that God measures out the waters and tells the winds where to blow, well, it is humbling. What a powerful God we serve.

Job asked God many questions about his struggles. “Why is this happening to me? I have honored you in all my ways. Where are you Lord?”

Job did not get a response from God for quite some time. He felt utterly alone and broken. No earthly possessions were left for him, and his spiritual life took a beating too. Tattered rags and dirt clung to him as he wept for the loss of loved ones, for the long days spent apart from God. Yet in all that time, Job never tossed his faith to the wind. His hands might have torn at his clothes in mourning, but his heart never tore God from His rightful place there.

After many long nights spent without sleep, Job heard from God. Happiness was a key component to that meeting I’m sure. God told Job of the many wonders He had made, of how He alone controls the seasons and the great beasts of the earth. God has it under control. Waves roll, thunder ignites, but God is ultimately in control.

Up on His throne, God can see the big picture. No puzzle piece looks smooth and whole on its own. But God uses every one of those pieces in our lives, making for a pretty stunning picture in the end. God has our jigsaw puzzle lives figured out. Little by little, He is putting that puzzle together, you and I just get to marvel at how it comes out.

As the snowflakes melt on the tip of my nose, I look up to the sky. If God has storehouses for the snowflakes, and plans for these frozen water droplets whom last all but two seconds, surely He has a plan for you and I.

Arriving

By Kathleen Brown –

My mother sits, obviously exhausted but still erect, on the brown hand-me-down sofa in my son’s apartment. He hasn’t come home from work yet. Thank goodness.

When we arrived in Colorado after a two-day trip from Texas, Mom was dozing in the back seat of the car. “We’re here! We’re at Mark’s house!” I sang out, certain she’d be happy to see him.

But I’m not sure she ever heard his name. “Where are we?” she asked. “What is this place? Take me home. Right now!” Her voice grew louder with each word.

As I parked, I discovered what panic tastes like.

Somehow, Dad coaxed Mom out of the car and into the apartment. Separately and together, we explained to her where we are. Her response was to kick off her shoes and begin shouting again. “Turn on the TV! Sit down and be quiet!”

The look on Dad’s face told me he’d been through this before so I followed his lead. Together, we obeyed. Silent and still, we sat like rabbits in a thicket waiting for the fox to pounce.

After half-an-hour, the full absurdity of the situation hit me. I motioned to Dad to follow me as I walked down the hall toward the bedroom. Simultaneously, Mom announced she was going outside. For a walk. In the early dark of autumn, barefoot, in a neighborhood strange to her. She insisted she was going, and going alone.

What happens next runs through my mind like a horror movie. Dad and I standing between Mom and the door. Her mouth open, yelling; her eyes wild; her hands beating at us. Dad breathing hard, grasping her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. Me pleading, “Stop, Mom! Stop! That’s Dad!”

Dad eventually maneuvered her to the sofa. Her body still taut with rage, she fell into the cushions, landing slowly, clumsy, like a thrown log.

Now dead calm rules the room. I’m afraid to talk, afraid I’ll ignite Mom’s rage again. Dad sits in a worn leather recliner, looking at his knees. His face shows no surprise, only weariness.

Finally, Mom lays her head on the arm of the sofa. Soon she’s asleep. Thank You, Lord. Still Dad and I don’t talk. Lips set, hands limp in his lap, he won’t even look at me.

Is all this for real? It must be. No grown adult could feign that kind of tantrum. But my mother yelling at my father? Hitting him? This isn’t confusion; this is rage. Maybe she didn’t realize it was Dad?

Finally I must say in my mind the word that won’t be set aside any longer. Alzheimer’s. Is this Alzheimer’s?

When Mark walks in from work, Mom’s awake. Whatever tempest ravaged her earlier has been calmed for now. She’s smiling, calling Mark by name. My father’s face can scarcely contain his happiness.

So we eat. We laugh. Just for tonight, I pretend nothing happened.

I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow. And I won’t be alone. I’ll have help. Infinite help.

God, my Father, I know it was Your power that stilled the storm in my mother’s mind. Your compassion gave us moments of peace and the comfort of familiar pleasures. Thank You, Father. I trust You to lead us forward, one day at a time, down this unknown road we travel. You know me, Lord. Don’t let me race ahead toward panic. Remind me to let You go first. I will follow wherever You lead.

Life Pimples

By Jane Thornton –

The mirror confirmed my fears. I had a zit on my chin. Nasty and inflamed. But not yet rupturable. Which didn’t stop me from worrying at it, trying to make it disappear. The monstrosity had birthed itself just in time for the holidays—and, thus, pictures.

I first noticed the zit’s arrival in the car on our trip to my parents’ house. A little discomfort drew my questing fingers to my jaw. The spot reacted to my touch with nervy tenderness. I tried a discreet look in the visor mirror. I knew better than to draw the ruthless attention of my teenaged children. In the dim car light, I pretended to get a stray dust particle out of my eye while casting concerned glances at the lower half of my face.

I’m not sure what gave me away. Perhaps shielding my jaw line while craning backward to answer a simple question about when we’ll get there looked unnatural. Whatever, my family pounced. Did I say family? Yes, not just my children, but my adoring husband joined in the laughter disparaging my anxiety.

So I gave in and pleaded for reassurance that the blemish was not too obvious. Their snickers belied their wide-eyed, soothing words. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I rushed through the greeting hugs and scuttled to the bathroom.

No comfort there. The blotch glared angrily, dominating my features. Vainly, I doctored. Time and healing would have to run their course. With sheepish self-awareness, I returned to the living room to re-embrace my folks.

Only to be met by ridicule.

My son and daughter each had big, red dots under their laughing mouths. Even my husband had taken a turn with the lipstick tube. His eyes gleamed with humor above his spot-enhanced chin. I screeched in ultimate betrayal when I took in my mother’s giggles over her own fake zit.

What could I do but turn a good sport, grin, and bear it—and, of course, take a picture to record their cruelty for posterity? However, I did experience an odd relief at their acknowledgement of my condition. No more hiding. Everyone had seen the sore and laughed and moved on. Why was it funny? Because they had all experienced the same thing before and could relate to my worries.

Could we do the same with our spiritual pimples? Instead of concealment and shame, could we recognize each other’s sins and flaws and deal with them openly? “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16 NIV).

No one would assume we were bragging about a skin blemish by admitting its presence. Everyone would know we hated it and planned to treat it vigorously. We might even get suggestions for effective remedies.

The analogy breaks down a bit at the mockery. There is room for shared amusement at our mutual imperfections, but none for derision. We don’t want to laugh at sin, but we can laugh with the joy of forgiveness and the ability to come clean and move forward, supported by our family who also claims God’s grace.

Comment prompt: Do you have a story of an awkward moment reclaimed by laughter?

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