A Most Precious Secret

Recently Ethan was tested in school, as schools are wont to do, for his reading level. At no surprise to Bill and me, and most of the rest of the world, Ethan came out at a 4th grade level in both his reading ability and his comprehension. He has been reading since he was 4 and reading on his own at least since he was 5. He is in a Gifted Program at school, in his case, a special class filled with “Ethans” who are (in first grade) all doing second grade work and beyond. Recently he and Bill had a lively discussion about Geometry!

Ethan enjoys reading, especially if the book is going to inform him about something he wants to learn more about (the list is long and varied). He also enjoys reading “silly” books (my term) aimed at kids his age like the books about Captain Underpants and the Weird series. But he also still enjoys having his mother (and sometimes his grandmother) read to him.

Just as I did with our two kids, Becki and he had a great time while she read to him the Narnia series. Lately, when Becki is not too tired, he snuggles next to her in his parents “big” bed while Becki nurses one of the twins and reads. The current series are the Harry Potter books. Becki loved these books by J. K. Rowling when they first came out and now she passes that love on to Ethan.

As happens to many children, Ethan gets absorbed into the story and it spills over into his daily life. While they were reading the Narnia series we often had a lion accompanying us on our walks. He is currently all into wizards and spells and incantations.

While we were at Ethan’s house, on a recent visit, he was pretending to be a wizard, wearing a cape and carrying a magic wand and riding on his magic horse. Suddenly he asked me if I would like to become a wizard. Like any grandma, I immediately said, “Yes!” So I was instructed to step near the “golden stones” and he “zapped” me with his wand and I was suddenly a wizard.

Ethan was quick, however, to inform me that I was just a beginning-wizard and had a LOT to learn about wizardry. For one thing, I had a lot, A LOT, of spells to learn.

Suddenly he handed me his most special magic wand, the one with the peacock feathers attached, then he handed me his magic flute. And, after deliberating for a minute, he handed me one of his most precious possessions, his book-of-spells. In the past this book was his book of secret writings, which he had told me on an earlier visit, was NOT to be read by ANYONE. Some of the writing in the book is in “cat writing” which is his secret, cursive writing that no one else can read. Other writings are in his phonic spelling and so cute…but I cannot share them with any of you.

I was honored, almost to the point of tears, that he entrusted me with this most precious of his diaries. I am to study the spells, memorize them, and bring the book back next week when we visit again. But the point is, that he entrusted me with this book. What a joy! What a delight! What an honor!

I hope in the years to come that Ethan will entrust me to at least read some of his other most special writing. And may we all respect his desire to keep some “secrets” just to himself.

God has also entrusted us with a most precious book, writings of His own heart. Some of that book seems to us to be “secret” for it is difficult for us to see the deepest meanings, other of the writings are delights and joys and go to His heart for us.

Just as I am with Ethan’s trust, may I also be overwhelmed with God’s trust to give me His writings. May I find joy, delight, honor that the God of the Universe, The Beginning and The End has trusted me to know, at least some, of the secrets of His heart.

Do Unto Others...

Recently a friend of mine recommended that I read The Explosive Child by Ross W. Greene. I did, and as I frequently do when reading new information, began sharing with Bill. It wasn’t long before I was reading the entire book to Bill and we were discussing these both old and new ideas on child rearing.

The book is written primarily for parents of “explosive” children, kids who easily move to a temper tantrum situation. Ethan does not really fit in that category, though he does lose his temper fairly easily, but we found many of Dr. Greene’s ideas instructive both for us as grandparents and in terms of the Church – but that will be a different blog entry someday.

As I was reading Dr. Greene’s ideas about talking to your children about what needs to be accomplished rather than yelling at them, or ordering them to comply with your wishes, I remembered an idea that had occurred to me very late in our own child rearing days – Christ’s command to us to treat others the way we wish to be treated also applied to our own families.

Most of the time, we raise our children in the same way, or very similar, that we were raised. Far too often this means telling them what to do, when to do it, how to do it. And when this doesn’t accomplish the results we are looking for, we begin to raise our voice. Quite often the louder our voice gets, the more insistent we become, the more our kids resist.

Or, to avoid what was painful in our own childhoods - yelling parents - we give in far too easily to our kids’ demands (not always what they really want) and then are frustrated by our “lack of control” and feelings of inadequate parenting.

Almost never do we think about treating our children, as we are instructed to treat everyone, the way we would like to be treated.

How many of us like to be told (ordered) what to do? How many of us like to be interrupted when we are in the midst of something we find important, or interesting? How many of us like to be yelled at, embarrassed in front of others (how many times have you cringed in a store as a mother, or father, reduced their child to tears), or punished by having the thing(s) we love the most taken away from us?

It is not an easy task to treat others the way we wish to be treated. It often means putting much more thought into our actions. Quite often it means slowing down long enough to listen, and really hear, what the other person’s wishes are. More than occasionally it means putting our own desires on hold while we meet that other person’s needs.
What if we applied these principles to the way we treat our own children? What if we ask them to do something (or stop doing something) rather than tell them? What if when they say they don’t want to engage in a chore, we offer to help them, or we turn it into a game, or we explain (patiently) why this chore needs to be done and why we need their help?

What if, when we ask them to stop doing something, in order to do something else that we want them to do, and they resist, we find a suitable compromise that works for both of us. Such as giving them time to finish a game, watch the end of their show, say goodbye to a friend on the phone?

These are all behaviors that we would like applied to us, why can’t we apply them to our children?

Many people worry that not teaching our children to instantly obey commands will not prepare them for life, where instant obedience is often the rule. But teaching our children to want to be cooperative, to be able to see a chore that needs to be done and be willing to do it, to learn to set limits on their own desires in order to participate in activities that are good for the whole are even more important lessons and, I believe, will also teach them that there are times when instant obedience is needed. Besides, they are no doubt getting all those lessons in most schools that are more than a little rigid.

Bill and I tried this on a recent “kidnapping” trip to our vacation condo at Christmas Mountain. We had the best four days with Ethan ever. He had a great time and we thoroughly enjoyed being with him. All the chores were done in record time and with laughter and joy. I know this isn’t an adequate test, and when we are tired it never works quite as well, but is our Modus operandi from now on.

Who knows, if we learn to treat our children as we would like to be treated, as Christ commands, it may spill over into treating our own siblings differently, our own parents, that coworker, that literal neighbor, and, hope against hope, the world of people around us.

Can you imagine a world where everyone treated everyone with love, compassion, understanding… Can you imagine a family where everyone treated everyone with love, compassion, understanding…

Some people call this heaven!

In the Valley of the Shadow

I am a part of a weekly Bible study group. This fall we returned to our study of the Psalms using Eugene Peterson’s study guide.

The study encourages the participants to “pray the Psalms” and helps the student to see 12 of David’s Psalms as various types of prayers.

David is one of my favorite persons in Scripture. His vulnerability and subsequent honesty have resonated with me at a deep level. And his Psalms are often conversations with God set in a beautiful prose. The study has encouraged me to look at some of these very familiar Psalms in a new way.

A week or so ago we began our study of Psalm 23. This Psalm is familiar to most people, even those who rarely or never attend church. We hear it most often read at funerals. Many people have memorized its words, but I suspect few have really thought much about the meaning behind those words.

We read this Psalm at funerals because of the words, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

I suspect that most people think this means that time that people experience just before death, while they are dying. But David is talking about a far different place in life.

The Psalmist uses the picture of sheep to talk about his relationship with God. David had been a shepherd for most of his early life. Sheep and the care of sheep were part of the way of life in ancient Israel, so using sheep as an example was a natural idea.

The picture is of sheep faithfully and trustingly following the shepherd’s leading. Even when that way went through a deep and narrow valley where rocks could cause a sheep to fall and boulders could hide a host of predators. Even though the way is fraught with danger, the sheep go where the shepherd directs; they trust him to use his rod to protect them and his staff to guide them.

Why? I asked myself, why does the shepherd take the sheep through such a dangerous place? The next verse gives us a clue, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Because the path leads to a place of good grass and fresh water; perhaps the only way to these delights (for sheep) is through that dangerous valley. But the sheep trust the shepherd and as a result get to enjoy the delight.

This has been a summer of “the valley of the shadows” for our family and for a number of my friends.

The anticipation of the twins and then the premature arrival of the twins had been fraught with shadows, and it looks like this valley may stretch ahead for several years. Colin, who weighted in at 1 pound, 7 ounces, now weighs about 5 pounds, but 3 months on the ventilator and 4 months of oxygen have left him with severe Chronic Lung Disease.

In ways that they and we never dreamed, Becki and John (and the rest of the family) have had to trust their shepherd-nurses and doctors, and the “Good Shepherd” every day.

Then three weeks ago Bill came home to say that he had lost most of the vision in his right eye. An emergency visit to the surgeon who had performed his cataract surgery three years ago revealed that he had retinal detachment in his right eye and a retinal tear in his left eye. Laser surgery the next day and then the insertion of a gas bubble several days later have been the “rod and staff” that we are trusting to take us through this valley as well.

We are trusting our Shepherd to restore most of Bill’s eyesight and to guide us as we adjust to whatever change in lifestyle this might mean, both with Bill’s eyes and with two new grandchildren who will need more than the usual amount of care for the next several years.

While we have struggled to walk our own path through this valley, a number of friends have had their own struggles too. At least three of our close and special friends have experienced major life changes at a time in life when you expect the way to be more smooth. Another friend who is an artist had been dealing with an injury to her hand that will take a very long time to heal and be restored. We have several other friends who are ever dealing with economic changes that will at best take years to overcome.

Often at the mouth of the valley I ask, “Why Lord? I don’t want to go down this path. It is too hard.”

The answer is always, “Trust me! Follow me! I will be with you all the way through this valley, just as I have been in all the other valleys of your life.”

This has been a summer of great pain. It has also been a summer of great learning. A summer of “little” joys that are all the more precious because they shine in the darkness of this valley.

My spiritual muscles have been stretched climbing over the rocks, my eyes have had to adjust to the dimness, but I anticipate such joy ahead because the Shepherd is leading and He has never let me fall and He had kept the wolves away all my life.

The Feast is Ready

We arrived at Ethan’s house right at lunch time on our second “kidnapping” this summer.

He hopped and danced his way around the living room and announced that we were having a “feast” for lunch. “It’s my favorite meal!”

When the twins were delivered via C-Section a few weeks earlier, at 28 weeks, folks from Becki’s church had rallied round them and created a sign-up list that would cover at least one meal a day for the next two months. There are some good cooks in Becki’s church (but then I haven’t met a church yet that didn’t have at least a few good cooks) and the steady stream of meals arrived - one gourmet meal after another.

We walked into the kitchen and sure enough, there was the “feast” being laid out on a buffet table. Many of the meals arriving at Ethan’s house were more than 3 people could consume at one sitting and so Becki had assembled a wondrous array of salads, breads, condiments and other delicious things to eat.

When all was ready we were invited to help ourselves to whatever we wanted to try and soon we were all sitting around the table with heaped plates, getting caught up on our conversation. Several times Ethan urged us to try whatever he was eating at the moment that he was particularly enjoying. “This is my favorite meal!” he announced once again.

At the end of the meal there were far fewer containers to stuff into an already full refrigerator, but each of us felt satisfied with our “feasting”.

I made a mental note and at the end of our “kidnapping” set out a feast of our own.

“This is my favorite meal!” Ethan announced as he helped himself to leftovers that he had enjoyed the first time around, or leftovers that I had doctored for this “feast”. At the end of the meal, as at Becki’s, I had far fewer containers to return to the refrigerator.

We did another “feast” when we “kidnapped” Ethan again three weeks later. He could hardly wait to talk to Mom and Dad that night to tell them all about the “feast” we had had this time. His favorite was some left-over steak that I sliced very thin and heated up in BBQ sauce and left-over grilled onions. But he helped himself to a zucchini pancake, veggie-and-dip, stir-fried squash and a piece of cornbread. We are all fortunate that most of the time Ethan has a wide range of enjoyment.

While we ate I told him about my own favorite meal when I was growing up. We called it a “banquet” but it was the same idea. Once or twice a month, on a Sunday night, my mother would set out all the left-overs from the week. We were allowed to choose what we wanted to eat and inevitably our father would finish-up whatever we didn’t eat. If there wasn’t enough food to satisfy our dad, at the end of the meal he would break out his hoarded chunk of Limburger Cheese and carefully slice off a few thin slices to eat on bread or crackers. We kids would avoid that end of the table because we hated the smell of that cheese.

Ethan laughed at his picture of my family table and dove into the next item he wanted to eat. He was not at all disappointed at the end of the meal when I brought out TWO kinds of homemade cookies. And his joy was complete when I allowed him to take one of each.

Bill and I have enjoyed our own kind of “spiritual feast” as we have traveled through life. Oh, certainly the Word of God is a feast all by itself. But I am talking about the “feast” we have encountered as we have traveled from place to place, church to church, the “feast” that other people present.

It took me awhile to realize what a “feast” was available to us. I did not always fully appreciate the delectable “feast” that presented itself as I encountered folks in many different parts of the Church whose backgrounds were very different than mine. They did not always express their faith in the same “language” as I did, but I have come to understand that there are folks with a deep faith-walk, all over the place, in every part of the Church that I have had the privilege to explore.

I have, finally, learned to “taste” and savor other perspectives of the same God whom I love and want ever to know better. He has revealed Himself to me though the “dishes” that others have prepared with exotic spices and flavors of their own perspective that I did not even know existed.

And because I have learned to “taste” so many other “dishes” I have grown in ways I did not even know were possible. The “feast” at God’s table is so much greater than I ever dreamed growing up.

I believe that He invites each of us to the table to “feast” with one another. Sadly, too often, our “culinary” background keeps us from at least tasting what is available. But the Feast is ready and we are each invited to the table.

How Much Do You Weigh

“Grandma, Grandma, I weigh 54 pounds!”

Thus began a recent “kidnapping” of Ethan for six days in our home. He loves being “kidnapped” and we have been able to do that three times this summer.

Ethan has always like weighing himself on our scale. I am not quite sure why. Maybe it is the lighted digital readout. Maybe it is that the read-out is in bright red. I don’t know why, but he has always weighted himself at least once a day on that scale.

This visit, however, he weighed himself as soon as he got up each morning, after every meal, every time he had to use the bathroom, before and then again after his bath. Each time he would rush from the bathroom and report what the scale told him.

Most of the time it was within a pound or so of 50 pounds, sometimes 51, sometimes down to 49. I didn’t pay too much attention. I would off-handedly comment “that’s good”, or “Oh, well, you will gain it back after we eat.”

Then, about mid-week, Ethan came out of the bathroom and announced with great apprehension, “Grandma, I only weigh 47 pounds!”

This time I finally heard the panic in his voice and realized that this obsession with his weight had some cause.

I reassured him that all of us have a couple of pounds that go up or down, depending on what we’ve eaten, what time of day it is, etc. “Really?!” he said. “Sure, that is normal.” He bounded away apparently reassured. But later in the day when his weight was back up to 49 pounds, I could tell that was more reassuring than my words.

I finally made the connection when he interrupted his phone call with his mother, Becki, to tell me that Colin had gained an ounce.

“Ah, ha!” I thought to myself, “That is the reason.”

Colin, the boy baby of twin babies delivered at 28 weeks gestation, only weighted 1 pound, 7 ounces at birth. Every ounce, up or down, was a cause for rejoicing or alarm. At the time of Ethan’s visit, 9 weeks after the babies had been delivered, Colin had finally doubled his birth weight, while his sister, Roni, was over 6 pounds and gaining.

Weight has been a very important subject this summer and Ethan was duly alarmed when he saw his own weight go down.

We were able, finally, to talk about Ethan’s weight and the ups and downs of everyone’s weight. From that point on I was able to point out to him, “You are wearing heavier clothes than yesterday.” “You just ran up and down the stairs several times, that’s why you weigh a pound less.” And once when he weighed himself before going to the bathroom, and then again, after going to the bathroom, even that can affect what the scale says.

“Grandma, you get on the scale.” He urged several times. I assured him that I weighed myself regularly, but I didn’t want him knowing what I weigh. He seemed to accept that as he danced off to the next activity on his list.

No one, but my doctor, knows what I weigh, besides me. I have a horror that if others knew (beyond what they guess) they would think less of me. Our society is obsessed with what we weigh. I once was a part of a group that attempted to use Scripture to guilt us into losing weight – it did NOT work.

In truth, God does not care what we weigh. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart.” God tells Samuel. The only time God is concerned with our physical weight is when the cause is from a not-right-heart.

But how about our spiritual weight? Can our spiritual weight go up and down? Most of you are already nodding your heads. Most of us have experienced those “highs and lows” of our faith-walk, those spiritual weight gains and loses.

I think it is quite possible that some of those “ups and downs” of our spiritual weight are quite normal. Just as I reassured Ethan that our literal weight goes up and down every day, so does our spiritual weight.

It is when our spiritual weight has numerous days of loss that we need to take note, we need to check our “feeding schedule” and do something about it.

Fortunately God’s table has a boundless supply of what we need and He is ready to feed us whenever we are ready to take in the next supply of spiritual nutrition.

And how about a spiritual weight-excess? I think when our spiritual pride begins to take over our dependence on God, that is a form of spiritual weight-excess. I am grateful that God has a wonderful spiritual weight-loss program that works quite well. All I have to do is ask and He puts me in the program – it does not take too long before I am humbled and in awe in His presence again.

On our last morning of the kidnapping, Ethan weighted himself, as usual, first thing in the morning. Then again after breakfast – his weight had gone up. Then he weighed himself a short while later after using the toilet. He was somewhat alarmed (again) that he had lost a pound. “Well, of course,” I used my most reassuring voice, “you just went to the bathroom.”

“Oh!” he pondered. Then he went to the water-filter faucet in the kitchen and drank a whole glass of water. Then he weighted himself again and sure enough, he had gained a pound.

We had nearly an hour before we were to head out on the two-plus hour ride back to his house. Ethan drank at least two more glasses of water and weighed himself after each one. I was too busy making sure we hadn’t forgotten anything to pay that much attention.

We did have to make one emergency stop on the way home.

The Community of Caring

“How are the twins doing?” our neighbor asked as she walked across our lawn and sat on our patio…for the first time. “I will be praying.” She reminded us when she left half an hour later.

“I have been praying for the twins, how are they doing?” we are asked every week at church.

“You prayed so many times for me and my kids, now it is my turn to pray for you and the twins.” wrote a friend from a former church.

“Give us an update.” The neighbors from the other side asked as they joined us on the patio…another first after two years of being neighbors.

“I have been following Becki’s blog (www.preemiejourney.blogspot.com/) and am praying every day for the twins, wrote another friend in an email.

“I put Becki and the babies on the prayer chain at church.” Wrote a friend in a letter. So Becki, John, Ethan and the twins, were added to yet another church prayer chain – that made several Lutheran, a Methodist, a Congregational, a Catholic and a prayer chain at work - that we know about. Who knows how many other places that we don’t know about.

When it was confirmed that Becki was pregnant, and then it was confirmed that she was pregnant with twins, her doctor immediately put her into the high risk category – automatic for mothers in their 40s and doubly automatic when it is a “multiple” pregnancy. Becki grew so large so quickly that we all agreed it was only a matter of time before she would be put on bed-rest.

I began praying the day she told us about the babies that they would grow healthy and strong and stay in their “nest” as long as possible. I learned long ago, however, not to TELL God what to do, but to ask, leaving the bottom line in His hands.

When Becki told us that one twin was at the top of the “normal size for gestational age” and the other was at the bottom, my heart did a little flip flop. That just didn’t sound o.k. to me, but Becki’s doctor assured her that this was quite common.

Several weeks later, however, all our hearts did more than a little flip flop when Becki was told that “Baby A”, the smaller twin, had not grown since the last ultrasound.

She was admitted that day for complete bed rest in hopes that the placenta surrounding Baby A would begin to work more efficiently. Several days later Becki and John were faced with the horrific decision about what to do concerning their two babies. Should they give Baby A (perhaps) more of a fighting chance by removing both babies from the womb, but that would put Baby B at greater risk. Or should they leave the babies where they were to give Baby B more time to grow, knowing that this put Baby A at a great risk (perhaps).

I cannot even begin to imagine having to make this decision. My heart ached with them as they discussed and debated, and eventually decided to leave things as they were.

They faced this same (or similar) decision two more times and then at 28 weeks, when Baby B had a greater chance of doing well, the babies were delivered by C-Section.

Veronica (Roni) was born first - weighing 3 pounds, 6 ½ ozs and 16 ½ inches long. She yelled her outrage at being yanked into this world and took her first breaths.

Colin was born a minute later at 1 pound 7 ozs and only 12 ½ inches long. He also cried a bit and took a breath.

They were put into the same heated isolette with oxygen, ventilator, feeding tube and all sorts of monitors.

We held all let go of the breath we had been holding, and then took another deep breath to again hold as we waited through those first hours and days.

As of this writing Roni is off the ventilator, moved up two levels in the NICU, getting some of Becki’s milk at each feeding and generally doing well…for a 3 pound baby who now weighs about 4 pounds.

Colin’s story has been more up and down, he is still in the most intensive care part of the NICU and still on the ventilator, but hopefully they can soon move him off of that. Each day seems to have a bit more ups than downs, but there have been many downs. Even at now 2 pounds, he is so tiny it seems a miracle that he is even here.

And so when people ask, or write, or email, or phone we ask people to keep praying.

In Romans 12 Paul tells us “Laugh with your happy friends when they're happy; share tears when they're down.” (The Message).

Often we struggle with how to live out the Golden Rule. We can’t wrap our heads around how to love God with our whole being and, especially in these days of a global community, we spend a lifetime trying to figure out who our neighbor is and then what it means to love him/her as ourselves. But it seems, when it comes to caring about the pain of a family, our empathy level kicks in full force. Even for those who have never had children themselves.

It has been a journey so far, one of ups and downs, of fears and joys, of breath holding and releasing. It has also been a journey of great caring – of being cared for and cared about from the most unexpected places.

The journey isn’t over and neither is our growing through this experience.

Peace, Be Still

I sat in the boat surrounded by my comrades
Fog shrouded our little ship
Fierce winds blew us first one way and then the other
When the wind parted the fog, we could see the waves tossing higher and higher
We baled frantically, making no headway as the waves crashed against the sides
Occasionally I glanced toward the back of the boat and still he slept
How could he sleep when our very lives were in danger?
Finally someone woke him with the words, “don’t you care if we drown?”
He woke and looked into our eyes and said to the wind and the waves, “Peace, be still.”

I sat in the boat surrounded by my church
A fog of mistrust shrouded our little ship
Fierce winds of controversy blew us first one way and then the other
Waves of accusation tossed us higher and higher
Folks baled frantically, but the waves of mistrust crashed against the sides
Threatening to swamp our little ship.
Occasionally I glanced to the heavens, but He seemed to be asleep
How could he sleep when His own Church seemed to be in such danger?
Finally someone roused Him with the words, “Don’t you care if the ship goes down?”
He stood in our midst and looked into each of our eyes and said, “Peace. Be Still.”

I sat in the boat surround by my family
A fog of damaged relationships shrouded our little ship
Fierce winds of broken dreams blew us first one way and then the other
Waves of misunderstanding tossed us higher and higher
We baled half-heartedly, but the storms of life crashed against the sides
Threatening to swamp our little ship
Occasionally I glanced into the midst of our turmoil and wondered if He was asleep
How could He sleep when our family threatened to disintegrate with each new wave?
In my anguish I cried out, “Don’t you care if we all drown?”
He stepped into our midst, laid His hands on our shoulders and said, “Peace, be still.”

I sat in the boat in the midst of my world
A fog of doubt and fear shrouded my little ship
Fierce winds of a world gone awry blew first one way and then another
Waves of corruption tossed me higher and higher
I had stopped baling because I could make no progress.
Was God asleep, did He not care?
I cried out in my anguish, “Lord, help me lest I drown!”
He stepped into my world and looked into my eyes.
He touched my life and said in a voice only I could hear, “Peace, my child. Be still.”

Jump, Ethan, Just Jump

We were sitting by the side of the pool at the hotel in St. Louis watching Ethan and John “swim”. Actually John was standing in about 4 feet of water, about 6 feet from the edge of the pool and Ethan was standing on the edge of the pool in front of him.

John was trying to get Ethan to jump into the water, but Ethan was fearful that the water was too deep.

Earlier John had taken Ethan into the pool and had him duck his head under the water. They had stood at just about the same spot where John was wanting Ethan to leap. Fear soon turned into panic and the recently turned six-year old just couldn’t make the jump.

“I’m right here, Ethan. I will catch you so nothing can happen to you.” John pleaded with Ethan to “just jump, Ethan, just jump!”

But Ethan was having none of it. The water looked too deep to him and he knew if he “just jumped” water would go into his nose and then what would happen…he couldn’t “just jump.”

His daddy continued to encourage him, cajole him, coax him, even became stern with him, but nothing would move Ethan from the edge of the pool into the water.

Meanwhile a boy of about 8 was watching from off to the side.

Suddenly without warning this boy ran and leaped from the edge right next to Ethan into the water right next to John.

He waded to the steps and then did it again, this time causing a large ripple of water.

Ethan stood up straighter and watched as one more time the boy ran and leaped, this time turning his body half-way-round so he landed facing Ethan instead of away from him.

Suddenly, Ethan leaped from the edge of the pool and landed right in front of John. Joy suffused both their faces and John praised Ethan for his overcoming his fear. Soon Ethan was climbing out of the pool and leaping toward John over and over. In fact, John had to keep backing up to keep from being dive-bombed by a six-year-old.

Many times in life God stands in the water of our lives encouraging us to “just jump” assuring us that He is there to catch us. We hesitate because the water looks too deep and we just aren’t sure what will happen if we just leap. “Moments” pass and we know we should trust Him, but it is too scary.

Then someone, sometimes even just a stranger, comes along and leaps into the pool and we see that He was right and we can really do it. We leap, we land o.k. and joy suffuses our entire being. We realize that we should have been able to “just jump” but we are grateful that someone else came along and showed us the way.

Love is Patient

Recently I was asked to read I Corinthians chapter 13 as a part of the worship service. Most of us are familiar with this chapter from weddings, it is often called “The Love Chapter”. I have read it dozens of times.

Here are verses 4 through 13 of that chapter:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
As I practiced it aloud in preparation for reading it in front of the congregation, I was struck in a new way what Paul was talking about. And I was convicted of my failure to live out these verses. Jesus told us that loving one another as we love ourselves is half of all we need to do to keep God’s commandments. We forget what love means but Paul spells it out for us.

This has been a hard winter for many in our country, and as a result many of us have forgotten what love means. We grumble about the economy and joblessness and loss of lifestyle. We point fingers and blame and critique every move of everyone in government and big business.

I fear that as a society we are slipping further away from really living out a lifestyle of loving one another.

Paul begins with “love is patient”. We need, I need, to remember to be patient with others. Patient with the car ahead of me that is moving a bit too slowly. Patient with the older person with their cart parked in the aisle while they ponder the shelves. Patient with that child that is too tired to behave the way we think they should. Patient with an economy that is slower to recover than I want it to.

Maybe if we/I practice patience my world will become a more happy place, maybe it won’t matter quite so much because I will be happier.

Maybe, just maybe, the idea of patience would be good for our society, our world.