Why Have Children?

So I was just reading a book that asked why people were not given good reasons to have children as well as all of the reasons to avoid having them.  (If you're wondering why this topic appeared in the reading of a still-single girl, I understand.  But reading good advice concerning relationships and financial questions about three moves beyond your current status really isn't such a bad idea.  You should try it!)  But back to all of the reason people are given for not having children.  It is quite evident that the majority of young people have bought some or all of these rationalizations for intentional childlessness.

An amazing number even of young Christians will say, "Oh, we're not quite ready to have kids.  We like our freedom/sleep/time/money too much to have children just yet."  Unfortunately, many of those who have ill-defined reasons for avoiding children will continue putting it off until the possibility no longer remains.  (Of course, the best parents are not those who selfishly put their needs before those of their children.  But that is another question entirely.)  Last summer, it seemed that all of the young married couples who were my age or a little younger had decided that they might have children and decided to declare it to the world.  It hurt!

You see, the first "career choice" as a child was to "grow up and have a hundred children."  Well, I have grown up.  And reality has checked my ambitions somewhat as to the number.  But I still believe that my childhood dream wasn't such a bad idea in principle.

Getting Them Together

How strong will our churches be in fifteen, twenty, thirty years from now?  About as strong as the Christian families formed by the marriages of today . . .

How many young Christian couples do you know today that are likely leaders for the church of tomorrow?  How many will even be members of the next generation of the church?

In my experience, there are far too few individuals who marry their spiritual match.  More times than I would care to count, I have seen strong young men with solid convictions and a heart for God yoke themselves to young women concerned only with how they look to the nearly man.  I have seen good women concerned with serving God purposefully in their lives with young men who would put the cross to shame.

Here is how the scenario generally works out:
Good boy has been taught to respect girls; good girl has been taught not to be forward.  Good boy takes this injunction very seriously and respects girls so much that he hardly dares speak to them.  Good girl, in her attempt to avoid being forward, refrains from speaking to guys much at all.  As a result, good girl and good boy might live next door and never even improve upon their acquaintance despite their mutual respect.

Bad boy comes along and charms good girl by acting like the good boy or as if she has turned him into a good boy.  Bad boy and good girl eventually marry.  Good boy then despairs of there being any good girls who will really like him because the one good girl he knew just married a bad boy.  Bad girl comes along and flirts with good boy, flattering him and appearing to improve ever so slightly under his continued influence.  Good boy eventually marries bad girl.

The trend of mismatches in my social circles has become one of my greatest concerns.  How do we remedy this situation?  How do we get the good ones together?

3 Ways to Comfort the Grieving

1. Companionable Silence.  A couple of months ago, my best friend asked me, "How do you really comfort someone?  I just sat there and didn't know what to say."  My reply, "Honestly, that's sometimes the best thing you could do."  There is nothing more comforting than a friend or acquaintance being there with you in your pain and caring for your well-being.

Grief entails shock and a review of memories.  It's a private thing, in a way.  And there is nothing that can be said to make the grief go away by itself.  Being nearby and willing to listen, when the time comes for talking, is worth more than all of the heartfelt condolences in the world.

2. Physical Touch.  Sometimes, a gentle touch on the shoulder can comfort.  Other times, the context demands more.  Hugs are wonderfully healing.  It can be difficult, while in the middle of grief, to recognize the loving care others offer.  A hug can break the barrier-haze that shuts others off from sight.  (But beware:  Hugs have been known to open a flood-gate of tears.  Do not attempt this unless prepared to hold them tight while they cry.)

3. Pray.  Eventually, it comes down to this . . . .  You cannot heal their heart and make their world right again, but God can.  Commend them to His care--not once, before moving on to enjoy your life that remains sunny in the midst of their loss, but continually.  Jesus called the Holy Spirit the Comforter in the Book of John (15:26 KJV), but His work takes time.

But why am I telling you this, right?  I would never want you to have the pain I experienced in learning this lesson.  Painful lessons change us and teach us the really important things about life.  Unfortunately, I've lacked the trust necessary to share my lessons with others.

It has been a little over fifteen years now--more than half of my life.  My older sister died when just barely twenty.  That was the ultimate tragedy of a horrible, horrible six months in our family.  She had been married a short time earlier, and her unborn baby did not survive either.  I never got to know either one of them very well, but I think we would have been good friends.

Do what you can for those who are hurting and then leave them in God's hands.  And may you be blessed with the joy of comforting those whom God loves.

Who You Are Not What You Do

Who are you?  Not just "What's your name" . . . .  But what defines you?

I sat in chapel one weekday morning as the lecturer explained the deeper implications of our small talk.  "If you've ever listened to two men talk," he told us, "this is how the conversation begin: 'So, what do you do?'  Many of you have been dreaming about something you want to do like becoming President or changing the culture."

He was right.  Every one of us in that room had something noble that we wanted to do whether it was in politics or the church or even so broad as changing the world.  But he challenged us that day to spend less time thinking about what we wanted to do and to focus more on what we want to be.

Figuring out what we want to do can be difficult.  Do I write history books or design fashion or become a missionary or have lots of kiddies?  Or do I perhaps do all of those things at one time or another--maybe even all at the same time?

Choosing what we want to be should not be so difficult for those of us who are Christians.  We are to become Christlike (Rom. 8:29 ESV).  We are told that the fruits of the Spirit are "love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance" (Gal. 5:22-23 KJV).  We are told that "God is love" and His perfect love is defined for us in great detail (I John 4:8 ESV; I Cor. 13:4-7).  Surely, these are the things that we ought to strive to be.  We are also given stepping stones to the maturing of our faith (II Pet. 1:3-11).

For a very long time, I have found it difficult to measure myself by these Biblical standards.  It can be challenging to approach the task of self-assessment in an unbiased fashion, and yet it is crucial that we know where we stand and continue to learn and grow in godliness.

As we approach the end of this year, I want to challenge each of you to join me in measuring yourself against the Scriptural yardsticks provided and setting goals for who you would like to be or become in the new year.  If necessary, involve a mentor who knows you very well and can provide an objective viewpoint.  For me, the process will also include a little assessment of what I have learned this year and how I am changed as a result.

We cannot change the world for Christ until we are changed by Him.

That Feeling of Success

Have you ever felt that (ista) feeling of success, which does not feel like success at all.  Perhaps not.  But the feeling exists, and I've been learning the proper response to it recently.

Jason Stevens felt that feeling when he received a check for $100,000 to spend as he pleased. He stood dumbfounded amidst applause and finally said, "Don't get me wrong.  It's not the amount.  But I expected, I don't know, a different feeling . . . ."  Miss Hastings reassured him by saying, "Perhaps that is because now, you are a different person" (The Ultimate Gift, 2006).

The same feeling hit me when I finally submitted my senior thesis after researching and writing for a year and a half.  I knew that it was a wonderful accomplishment, that it was the result of hard work, that it meant I would graduate on time with my class, that it was a visible symbol of all the learning and growing I had done during the four years of college.  But it felt blasé, as if was just any other assignment and all of the extra time and effort really meant nothing special.

What we know and what we feel often collide.  Our feelings are sometimes false, no matter how true they may seem.  When we can analyze our reaction in a situation and realize that false feelings are robbing us of the joy and confidence gained from successful achievement, we must choose to believe the truth and reject that despicable feeling of disappointment mingling itself with our success.

The Goodness of God

In order to know and trust God, we must understand his character.  It is possible, however, to know God's character truly and yet refuse to adjust our expectations to fit that truth.  Or perhaps, we have been persuaded by Satan that certain of God's characteristics do not pertain to His dealings with us.  God's grace and mercy and faithfulness must be reserved only for those people who have it all together, who are perfect already.  That would make sense, wouldn't it, to our finite human minds that have only just grasped the holiness and justice of God's nature?

But here are a few truths that must not slip from our minds even as we view the righteous indignation of a holy God against sin:

God is love.  And here I quote from I John 4:8 (ESV).  We've all heard this before, but have we actually thought about it?  What does it really mean to say that God is love?

[God] is patient and kind; [God] does not envy or boast; [He] is not arrogant or rude. . . . [He] is not irritable or resentful; [He] does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  [God] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things  (I Cor. 13:4-7).

How does that picture compare with the one in your head labeled "God"?  He said in Jeremiah 31:3, "I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you."  His faithfulness continued even when His people failed and were utterly faithless.  (I checked the context to make sure He wasn't just talking to the "good" people.)  He loves you and me, not only those fantastic "other people."

God plans for our ultimate good.  I know well enough that this does not always feel true.  But are we to base our faith and trust upon what we feel is true or what truly is?  Even if our life has just been torn apart at the seams or if we wonder how the best could eventually come from the barely adequate position of our current life, God does have a plan for us and He does know best how to execute it.  Our impatience and fearful worrying will not help us get there any more quickly, but they might keep us from the joy and contentment that could be ours along the way. "Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.  And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7 KJV)  That thanksgiving for God's power and benevolent protection is key to experiencing the peace of God because frenzied praying that lacks thankfulness becomes just so much more worrying.

For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose (Rom. 8:26-28 ESV).

 God gives us wisdom.  Although we do not immediately understand the wisdom of God's plans for us, He has promised to give wisdom generously to all who ask of Him (Js. 1:5).  He is a loving, benevolent, and all-wise father not to be judged by any human "likeness" we may idolatrously put before His face.

Trust Him.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will will hear you.  You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart (Jer. 29:11-13).

Trusting Our Perfect Parent

Trusting is difficult.  We must first believe that others are capable of meeting our expectations, and then we must wait patiently for them to do so.  This process, then, involves three parts:  the capacities of others, our own expectations, and our level of patience.  Our being responsible for at least two-thirds of the process explains why we often end up trusting some people too much and trusting others far too little.  Even our belief in others capabilities can be determined by our own preconceptions rather than their actual skill level.  Therefore, choosing to trust the correct individuals is a responsibility that lands squarely on each of us eventually.

God is the only individual who merits our unbounded trust because He alone is omnipotent.  How then do we trust Him?

First, we "must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who seek Him" (Heb. 11:6).  This is our very first step toward a trusting relationship with God.  But He has already given up His only Son for us, allowing Christ to die that we might be redeemed from our sins (John 3:16-17).  Could there ever be a better reason for trusting anyone than that He loves each of us that much?  "Love . . .  endures all things" (I Cor. 13:7).  "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13).

But sometimes we doubt this love--and fail to trust--because of our expectations.  We expect that God will make our lives easy; that we will not experience deep, soul-wrenching pain; that we will automatically prosper in all we do (Gen. 39:3).  We wish that God would come and speak to us face to face or reach out physically and touch us.  We ask for these things because we do not know God well enough and are instead concerned only with those things that we want (James 4:3).  We are quite willing to take for granted God's manifold blessings to us--as long as they come how and when we want.

Our expectations of God should be informed by knowledge of His character.  "Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?"  (Job 2:10)  God has promised that "all things work together for good to them that love God" (Rom. 8:28 KJV).  But He also "reproves him whom He loves, as a father the son in whom he delights" (Prov. 3:12).  Should we then consider God inconsistent and untrustworthy because He does not meet our human expectations?

No, we should not.  We must trust God to act consistently with His loving character by doing the best thing for us, whether or not it first appears as a good to our limited view.  We must patiently trust God to "give unto [us] beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that [we] might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified" (Is. 61:3 KJV).

"What if trials of this life are [His] blessings in disguise?"--"Blessings," by Laura Story

You're Making a Statement

A friend and I had just returned from a lecture on gender issues when we dived into discussion of gender roles in society.  Conversation then turned to how our clothing choices reveal views concerning gender issues and our own selves.  She asked me a question I would like to ask all of you:  "What do you intend to communicate through your clothing?"

This question thrilled my soul.  Never until that very moment had I realized so clearly why I chose the clothes I did.  Hats and skirts and contacts and cute heels--all of these and more had their individual explanations.  Overall, it must have sounded something like this, "I want to communicate love and femininity and respect for men and a challenge to the status quo and modesty--not that illusive line that a skirt apparently must meet to be acceptable, but the quality of an humble heart--and conviction and godliness."  That is a tall order, I realize.

Photo credit: Chelsea Miller

In describing what I wanted to communicate through clothing, I defined not merely how I wanted to appear but also who I want to be.  You see, clothing can be used as a tool of manipulation to curry the favor of the masses or develop a particular image in order to gain friends or influence.  But clothing can be so much more than that!  It reveals who we are and how we think of ourselves.  It shows the fashion icons whom we emulate and which cliques we think are cool.  Nearly everyone can remember a time during their teenage years (or later) when they attempted to fit in by dressing to fit a particular code or when they struggled to find their own personal styles while browsing all of the bewildering variety of clothing options on the market today.  I know I have definitely done both of these things.  But we must make choices regarding the clothing we wear, and we must accept that those choices will affect how other people see us and sometimes even what their reactions toward us will be.

Even when we are not intentionally communicating through our fashion choices, we tell the world a great deal about ourselves through what we wear and how we wear it.  Do you notice shirt collars?  I do.  After being in a room with one hundred people for an hour, it is unlikely that I could tell you the color of a particular individual's shirt.  But I could tell you the precise state of his shirt collar and probably give you some analysis on whether the state of his collar seemed consistent with his overall attitude.  Little details are important in these sort of analyses.

Our clothing is our first introduction--before the handshake, even before names are exchanged usually.  Clothing tells our story, and we need to make sure that story is told accurately.  What do you want your clothing to say?

What's the Point?

So, you go through the day, doing the things that are expected of you and getting a lot of stuff done.  But do you ever find yourself asking at the end of the day,

What's the point?

I often do.

What's the point in my doing a job that anyone else could do just as well?
What's the point of this task that bores me to death?  Is it even important that it gets done?
What's the point in doing the same mundane thing every day if you don't even enjoy it?
What's the point in going to college if you're just going to work for minimum wage?

I ask myself all of those questions--almost every day.  But those are just the surface questions.  What's the point? is a more cynical form of the root questions.

Why?  What is the purpose of this task?

If there is no purpose to the task, why in the world do we continue doing it?

So the first question is a counter-productive grinding of one's mental wheels to the point of exhaustion and a subtle, lingering discontent.  The second group of questions serve us well in organizing our lives.  But there are a couple of deeper questions that provide even more insight and a guide to prioritizing our lives.

What did God create me to do?

Now, this question I find difficult to answer.  There are so many little things I can do.  There are so many big things I could do if I knew that I should and prepared myself to do them.  Perhaps to others it will seem like over-analysis or a morbid level of self-focus, but I often ask myself the follow question:

What is the purpose that I am still alive?

Sometimes, I have a clear answer in mind.  Sometimes, I can only wonder at the reasons for my existence that are present in God's mind.  But the question always reminds me of a few important truths that must guide my life, goals, and priorities.

God created me for some special purpose.
Since I am alive, it is evident that I have not yet fulfilled His purpose for my life.
It is important to pursue God's will for my life, especially that thing only I can do.

What is the thing that you must do because God created you to fulfill His purposes by doing it?

(And yes, this is a lifelong question.  Please do not expect to answer it fully in one night.  If you could, you would probably have already accomplished it.  And you would probably also already be dead by now.)

But if you have even the tiniest inkling what a part of that purpose might be, I would love to hear it!

Why love the sky?

Because it’s so huge!

That’s why . . .

There are clouds—and clouds—and clouds—

Ever been caught in a deluge?

With the wonderful wet

And a smile and a sigh,

Look up at the sky

Full of clouds—and clouds—and clouds—

As the lightning flashes by

And splash in the wet

Under clouds—and clouds—and clouds!

Photo credit: Brianna Watts, TN

Rebelutionary Conservatism in Fashion

I will not soon forget one dinner conversation I had around a year ago.  While discussing clothing, a girl made an off-hand comment about liking shorter dresses because they felt rebellious.  Although not particularly approving of her rebellion in the first place, I felt that dinner was much too short to correct such a problem and focused instead on the idea of immodesty as rebellion.

"For me," I said, "dressing modestly is quite sufficient rebellion."

She did not understand what I meant right away, and I guess you might be wondering as well, so I will explain.  By wearing very short skirts, she might have been rebelling against her parents.  But she was actually choosing to look just like everyone else by doing so.  Instead, I choose to dress modestly even if it is in rebellion against the standards set by modern fashion designers.  It is much more satisfying, in the end, than merely rebelling against one or two individuals.

You see, it is not a bad thing to want change.  But change is not a good thing in itself, either.  Revolution is either good or bad depending on what we are overthrowing.  If we uproot high standards and morality, we will live to regret it.  Perhaps we should instead choose to exercise our independence in favor of feminine modesty rather than in favor of the mysteriously over-sexed androgynous figures drawn by fashion illustrators.

After all, conservatism is the most revolutionary option.

What's the Difference?

I want to love people.  I want to make people happy.  I want to marry a good man and love him well.  I want to have children and raise them to love God and obey Him.  I want to be a part of a community of people who choose to love each other because God first loved them and not because their neighbors are all particularly lovely.

More than anything, I want to show people the love that God has for them.  Perhaps, then the pain of the world would not seem so great.  I know that pain and loss and grief for the things that we have lost can make us wonder whether the people around us care or whether God Himself cares.  I know what it's life to feel that the pain of life is just all too difficult and perhaps it were be easier just to die.

I felt that way once.  But then I remembered that God does not do things haphazardly, and He must have put me here for some purpose.  I realized that giving up and surrendering to my own pain would only increase the difficulty for others around me.  For a while, it did not seem that any good could ever come from the losses I had experienced.  It seemed that all the hurt of the world was for naught.  But then I learned to see my pain as a blessing that could help me to touch the hurting, dying world around me.

The world around me is dying for love--God's love.  Often, I do very poorly at loving them the way God has loved me, sin and baggage and all.  Sometimes, I wish that there were perfect people in the world for me to love and almost convince myself that then I could love more perfectly.  But I know that I wouldn't, because I am still human.

So, I know I can't change the whole world.  I cannot make everyone feel the love of God and understand His truth.  But I can reach out to the girl I meet on the sidewalk, the one with deep pain in her eyes, and offer a simple hug.  I can notice others' strengths and encourage them.  I can share the joy God has given me through the multitude of colors and textures present in this world.  I thank God He allows me to see beauty and invite others to join me in admiring it.  I can spread love and joy where I am, knowing that the small difference it makes is enough.

What difference do you want to make?

This color always makes me
extraordinarily happy.
I hope it brightens your day, too!

My Favorite Project

Only once have I had a project that made me love working--that kept me curious and enthusiastic through long, tedious hours.  Somehow, I've not ever told many people about my favorite project.  You see, most people don't seem to care at all about genealogical research.

So how in the world did I discover an unusual joy in such solitary work, seated in front of a computer for eight to twelve hours a day?

Ann Boleyn (father's side)

It was the evening of my grandfather's visitation when I first got my hands on a piece of extensive genealogical research.  (I had been quizzing him for some time concerning his time in World War II and recording the details of every distant relative that he could remember.  Their lives--both the everydayness of the births, the deaths, the marriages, and the more extraordinary event of three generations named Andrew Jackson because they were farmer Democrats.)  A distant cousin gave me ten generations worth of research she had done.  I was thrilled!

By the time we reached home, I had read the whole document and found an error in the chronology.  And so the next morning was the beginning of my project to correct the record.  I determined to complete the project in honor of my grandfather.  The next morning, I sat down in front of the computer armed only with a single web address and began my search.  It took me a full week to retrace her findings, then I began the more intensive process of searching further back.

Pocohantas (mother's side)

Never had I been so focused.  Never since have I been so focused.  My zeal and focus for the project produced measurable results.  Over a period of approximately six months, I researched approximately one thousand years worth of genealogical data on my dad's side of the family and another four hundred years worth of data on my mother's side.  This has been my greatest accomplishment so far.

Yet the sense of accomplishment gained was only a bonus because the true joy lay in the research itself.  Every detail--a date, the precise spelling of a name, especially the discovery of twins--each detail thrilled my soul.  I should clarify that the details themselves did not thrill me, but the people did.  Thousands of years worth of people--once-living people!--kept me company during those long hours at the computer.

The Meaning of Interesting

"What do people thank you for?"  Oddly, it took me some time to answer the question for myself this past week.  That is not to say people never thank me.  It is a result of my typical response to their comment, which is to sidestep the compliment.

If I listen carefully, I can hear myself brushing off the compliments as if they were burrs that might mat my fur if I allowed them to get near me.  When someone says, "Thank you for dusting the banister," I say, "You're welcome!  But it's just part of my job."  When someone thanks me for my insight on dealing with people in a particular situation, I assume they would have come up with the same idea if they had time to think about it.  If someone credits me with doing the tedious people-wrangling involved in a group, it brings to mind how I got the job through my lack of experience with Excel.

Caveat: I have not actually read
this book, but it looked
interesting . . . .

There is one compliment, however, that I can never quite refute.  "Thanks, Tish!  You make our life interesting."  I got that one the other day, and it helped me realize that people thank me and compliment me all of the time without my even noticing.  You see, this time I was so busy trying to decide whether the modifier interesting represented praise or an insult that I had no time to brush the thanks away.  And it got the heart of a big problem--my ignoring the things that people really find helpful, that change the world in small ways, that make life interesting.

So what is interesting, really?  As some of my friends know, I can use the single world interesting to signify anything from high praise to absolute disgust--the difference comes from intonation and expression.  But the true meaning of the term--the definition used by my literalist sister--is something that catches our attention and interest.  I am a curiosity to her because I am so different.  Being interesting means I have the power to bring joy and laughter to her life.  It means I have a contribution to make.  And, despite the amount of time it took me to decide this, it is a compliment!

Just Me

Tonight, I'm in a really weird mood.

I'm just me--for all the world to see.

It's been a long time since I've been just me.

Usually, I'm in character.  A character that is like me, of course, but not all of me.  There is a proper mask in the appropriate character painted for every occasion and sort of company.  But all of them are at least three shades more pale--more boring--than just me.  That's not an accident.  It's only possible to avoid notice and fit seamlessly into the setting if we are painted perfectly for the part at hand.  So there is a proper character for giving a speech or singing a solo or teaching a class or writing a blog post.

And then there is just me.  Me is the one that pops out around true friends--sweet or dorky or snarky or convicted.  But now me is just tired down to the core and content, but not really sure how to describe that weird feeling that comes from watching a pink and purple sunset over tree-covered mountains and more than a little disgruntled at the unusual lack of words.

And so
to bed I go.

Why Anger?

Earlier today, I received a writing prompt that asked, "What really makes you angry about the world?"  Having recently returned from a successful and fulfilling day at work and reveled in the beauty of the weather, I felt myself to be at peace with the world.  So the first question on my mind was, "Why anger?"

Is anger supposed to be the emotion that first moves us or the one that moves us the farthest?  Why not love (of which I have already written quite enough for a long time)?  Or joy?  Or beauty?  Or peace?  Considering our sinful human nature, I have no doubt that anger is one of the hottest passions in our souls.  Occasionally, that anger might even be right and productive if it is carefully directed and controlled (John 2:14-17 ESV).  But the Scriptures urge us to temper our passions rather than feeding them.  "Whoever is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city" (Prov. 16:32)

There is a reason that we are directed to temperance.  Oftentimes, our anger is not the pure sort directed against evil or injustice for the sake of others' good.  My own anger frequently results from hurt.  That might also be a productive sort of anger if it were directed toward removing the cause for the would, sometimes merely by stating my hurt.  Yet is is also in those times that we can choose to hide our hurt from others by cloaking it in anger or even try to remove the supposed "cause" of our wounding by locking others out of our hearts and lives.  Often I choose this route only because I have no idea how to communicate my hurt effectively.

And so I will finally answer the question above.  Nothing can make me angry at the world.  Sometimes, I choose anger at particular circumstances where wrong has been committed if I hope to effect a change.  Other times, I choose anger in order to hide my own weakness or pain.  But here is how I find peace: by giving my pain and anger and guilt to the only one who really does really know what to do with it.  God.

Responses to God's Call

Have you ever run from God's calling?  I have--more times that I would like to admit.  My object is never to actually disobey God, but I protest and grumble and ask Him why He couldn't have thought of someone older or wiser or less ignorant or less feeling to do His bidding in a particular situation.  It really is rather like the conversation Moses had with God before going to get the children of Israel (Ex. 3-4).

The thought crossed my mind to call this the Moses Complex.  But that really is too dignified a name for my problem.  It is merely the habit of making excuses.  And each of these excuses, if we look closely enough, bears another name.  Laziness, pride, selfishness, miserliness, cowardice, faithlessness, and rebellion are just a few of their names.  On reading the conversation between Moses and God the other night, I was astonished to realize that God got angry with Moses over this bad habit of his (and mine).  It was not merely disappointment at this shy servant's reticence; it was anger over his determination to argue with the God of the universe! (Ex. 4:14)  I have no desire to rile the God of the universe myself, so I looked for other examples of responses to God's calling.  Here are the ones I have found:

• Samuel said, "Here am I" (I Sam. 3).
• Esther fasted and prayed before courageously going before the king without regard for her own safety (Es. 4)
• Job said, "Blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).
• Jonah took flight (Jon. 1:1-3).
• Mary said, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord" (Lk. 1).
• Jesus said, "Not my will but thine be done" (Matt. 26).

There are many better responses to God's will than excuses and whining, and they serve as reminders to us to respond more heartily to God's call rather than following the examples of Moses and Jonah.  If you know of any examples that we ought to follow, please remind me of them!

True Story 3: Roses for Stephanie

Leslee raced with bowlegged strides down the middle of a deserted lane.  The hot dust rose behind him as his small bare feet struck the road.  In his grubby hands were a dozen wild daisies, their stems limp in his grasp and their heads bouncing as he ran.

           

Seconds later, the rumpled redhead stopped beside two great oak trees.  He knocked and waited a moment for an answer.  "Come in," a little girl called.  "I've almost got supper ready.  Will you stay and have some?"

           

The lad walked in—shy, yet eager.  He hid the wilting flowers behind his back as he teased, "Stephanie, I brought you the flowers you wanted, but you make this house pretty all by yourself."

           

Stephanie turned, whipping her blonde pigtails around.  "Where are they, Leslee?  Where are my roses?"

           

"Here are your roses, Stephanie.  I picked them for you myself," he admitted proudly as he pulled out the bedraggled stems.

           

"Oh, Leslee, these aren't roses at all!  They're only wildflowers."

           

"But Stephanie . . . the wild roses weren't blooming yet, and these were the only ones out there.  Someday, I'll get you the real ones; but can't we pretend these are roses for today?"

           

"No, Leslee.  Daisies just aren't the same," she exclaimed as she cast the broken stems in the stream outside the back door of her grapevine house.  "Let's wait to play house again until the wild roses bloom again."

           

So saying, Stephanie left her forest playhouse in despair.  Leslee was not so quick to leave.  Staying to take one last look at their deserted hideout, he noticed the tangled strand of flowers caught among some rocks just below the stream. 

           

Quickly, he waded in until his rolled-up pants nearly touched the water's surface.  Leslee leaned down to retrieve the rejected offering and glanced back up just in time to see dainty pink ruffles disappear around the bend.

True Story 2: Lovesick

William McGowan made it home from World War I just in time to plan a Christmas wedding with his lifelong sweetheart, Ida.  Everyone said they made the perfect couple.  Whenever they were together, her practical approach to life made the perfect foil to his zany charm and incessant humor.

Bill's homecoming party was a time of great rejoicing.  The tiny town of Topaz, Missouri, consisted mostly of his mother's Turnbull family connections.  Bill and Ida were the toast of the town that night.  Women of the town presented them with a friendship quilt in the double wedding ring pattern.  William's right ear ached abominably, but what was that to having a clear bill of health from the army doctor and a pretty girl on his arm?  He ignored the pain and enjoyed to the full their time in the spotlight.

It was not to be their last time with the town's full attention.  The lovely Ida, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, came down with a fever the next week.  She died of influenza three days before Christmas.  At the precise time planned for their wedding, Bill McGowan and Ida were interred side by side near that same little church on the hill.  Bill McGowan had died a day after his intended bride of an acute ear infection.

But family lore to the third and fourth generation said that Bill McGowan died of a broken heart.

True Story 1: A Field of Goldenrod

It was August of 1945.  The still, close heat of Missouri summer called for iced tea and an afternoon nap in the hammock on the front porch.  But it lay unoccupied, and the house was silent.  William Henry Ash and his lovely wife Lydia walked with their seven daughters and a few grandchildren across the hillside pasture to meet their returning son.

Children splashed playfully across the creek while their young mothers stepped gingerly across the slippery stones.  As they waded through the golden blooms on the far hillside, Mildred stooped to gather a bouquet for her dearest brother.  His tall, uniformed figure appeared on the crest of the hill.  She shielded her eyes from the sun until close enough to make out the strong, young face.

His gentle smile broadened in recognition of the familiar faces coming to meet him, and he scooped the smallest girl up into his arms.  Soon everyone had gathered about him--laughing and crying, chattering with news, and peppering him with questions.  Winford smiled, new creases appearing around his eyes, and laughed at the loving confusion that prevented any answer.

He accepted the bright yellow flowers his sister offered, and thanked her warmly. The whole family joined in laughter as he promptly sneezed.  It was a bouquet of ragweed.  He retrieved a handkerchief to wipe watery eyes and hugged Mildred close.  She never forgot that day.