Carrying One Another’s Burdens

I will never forget the day I drove home from the Bible study I was leading at the country church where my husband was the pastor, while teaching full-time at the University of Wisconsin, Whitewater. I was crying so hard I could hardly see to drive.

“It is too hard, Lord!” I sobbed.

It was another Wednesday when the burdens and troubles revealed by the group far outweighed the joys. Not just trite burdens, but real loads of concern about health issues, children gone or going astray, economic issues. Cancer was taking too much of a toll on our group.

One of the things I wanted to teach and leave with this group was praying for one another. We ended each time of study together by sharing the things we wanted each other to pray about in the coming week. At first I did all the out-loud-praying as none of the folks gathered had learned to pray in public. Eventually the group became comfortable with talking to God in each other’s presence.

As the people shared their burdens I carefully wrote them down so I could both pray accurately with the group, and later as I remembered these things during the week in my private prayer time.

As we went around the circle that Wednesday, the burdens seemed to get heavier and heavier.

When it came time to pray I could barely keep the tears from flowing. I left the group and headed back to my job at the University with a heavy heart, a truly aching heart. It was too much. It was too hard to care so much about all these other people.

As I sobbed my way back to work the verse from Paul’s letter to the Galatians (6:2) repeated over and over in my head, “Carry one another’s burdens...and so fulfill the law of Christ.” A small voice kept insisting “this is what it means to carry someone else’s burden.”

In the weeks that followed that Wednesday I watched a wondrous transformation take place as the group, who were largely polite to each other, began to really care about each other.

And I came to love them as I had never allowed myself to love a group before.

That group has morphed over the years, but they still meet on a frequent basis and have stuck with each other through some thick and thin places.

Recently a friend of mine began sharing with me and several other caring friends her concerns about a niece who suffers and struggles with a brain dysfunction. Our friend shared with us a detailed email about this girl’s recent experience. It was filled with details difficult to read about.

At one point I was considering just skimming the rest of the email – the suffering revealed in great detail was upsetting to me. Then I realized that this too is a part of carrying one another’s burdens. We cannot adequately get under the load of someone else’s pain if we do not know what that pain is.

So I read to the end and now I pray often for this young girl.

Sometimes it means taking the time to listen, really listen and hear the burden of someone else.

Sometimes it means having to experience the burden for ourselves.

Bill and I could not really understand the agony of having premature babies. We did not really understand the ache of standing by an isolette and wonder if that child would live, and if he lived what problems would he have. Our twin grand babies have taught us so much about carrying that kind of burden.

Most recently, I could only look in from the outside and sympathize with those who have suffered a stroke or other disabling physical experiences. Then I tumbled down the basement stairs and broke my right arm.

Suddenly I too cannot use that arm. I am like a little child learning to feed himself. I have to suffer the dependence of having Bill zip my coat, help me dress, even pull up the covers at night.

Unlike a stroke victim I can still speak clearly, I can walk just fine, and I have a full expectation that my arm will heal completely in six months. But my heart will now ache whenever I hear of someone who has suffered a stroke, or any bone break. I now share their burden.

Paul tells us in Galatians 2 that when we do this “we fulfill the law of Christ.”

Remember, when asked on several occasions, Jesus said the law could be summed up in two statements: love God with our entire being and love our neighbor as ourselves. Carrying someone else’s burden is loving them in the way we want to be loved.

The most supportive person, the most empathetic and caring (carrying) person in my broken arm episode has been my fried who cut a finger on her right hand so severely that she needed surgery and therapy. She knows what I am experiencing..and she cares.

In the hustle and bustle of this sometimes frantic world, may we each take time to stoop, pick up and help carry someone else’s burden.

Exercising our Gifts

He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go to church in the morning and he wasn’t too sure about the Children’s Program that night.

We had kidnapped Ethan at the beginning of his Christmas vacation which included the Sunday before Christmas.

He has not enjoyed our small country church, it is a simple country church and he is used to a choir made up of professionals (music is their profession outside of church). Since Grandpa is the pastor (which doesn’t faze Ethan one bit) he needed to come with us, or I would have to stay home with him.

First he said he was too tired to go to church. Then he decided that he didn’t really feel well enough to go to church. I told him that was fine, but then, of course, we would not be able to go to Old Country Buffet afterwards with Aunt Deb. It is amazing how quickly he felt both well enough and awake enough to attend church.

Ethan and I sat in the back of the church while the kids finished their ragged rehearsal and Grandpa greeted folks as they came in from the snowy cold. Ethan watched with interest as the kids straggled back to where we were sitting and struggled to remove their pajama-like costumes covered with spots and sporting a variety of tails or humps -for the camels.

I had told him well in advance of our kidnapping, that we would be attending the Children’s Program and that I would be helping with the cookies and punch afterward. So we headed to the church again that evening with a rather subdued, resigned Ethan.

He perked up considerably when we got to the kitchen in the basement of the church where Cheryl was busy setting cookies on glass platters, choosing from the great variety of both homemade and store-bought cookies provided by the parents and sometimes grandparents of the kids in the program. Ethan helped me stow the makings for the punch in the refrigerator, helped me search for the cups we would use and then helped Cheryl fill the last several platters. I allowed him to eat one broken cookie before the three of us headed upstairs just as the kids were lining up to march into the sanctuary and up to the platform.

Cheryl, Ethan and I set up folding chairs in the back. Ethan chose the one directly opposite the aisle to the front of the church where he would have the best view of the kids up front. Bill joined us after he finished greeting the 90 or so folks gathered on this cold night.

The program was interspersed with musical numbers that the kids sang and hymns where the audience was invited to join in. Ethan enjoys finding the hymn himself and singing along as he reads the lines. Cheryl was a little surprised when she went to help him and he wrested “his” hymn book away from her and sang out the correct lines of the carol. She glanced at me and I shrugged my shoulders.
The kids did an amazing job, as happens every year, in spite of the ragged dress rehearsal we had witnessed that morning. We slipped out just before their last number and Bill’s benediction, and dashed down the stairs.

Ethan staggered as he helped me carry gallons of punch and 2 litter bottles of 7-UP over to the cut glass punch bowl Cheryl had supplied. He dashed back and retrieved the orange sherbet to add to the top. I began ladling out the punch while Ethan helped Cheryl arrange the platters of cookies on the serving shelf.

I only had a dozen or so cups filled when the kids noisily made their way down the steps, the older boys pulling off their costumes and dumping them in a heap in the corner of the room.

The line surged toward the platters of cookies when a small voice sternly commanded, “Halt! We are not ready for you to begin.” The line of kids instantly stopped dead in their tracks. Cheryl and I struggled not to burst into laughter as this 6-year-old controlled the entire situation.

The kids waited, looking at Ethan, and then at Cheryl and me as we quickly finished enough of our tasks to be ready. Then Ethan again boomed out, “O.K. you kids can go through the line. Keep the line orderly. Only take two cookies.”

Cheryl stood there dumbfounded and I smiled with amusement as the line of 20 or so kids quietly filed past the cookies and politely accepted a cup of punch. Even the twelve-year-old boys only took two cookies.

Soon we were swamped as parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins surged into the room, taking cookies and waiting patiently while I dipped ladle after ladle of punch. I was beginning to get quite behind when a friend stepped next to me and handed me the cups to be filled.

Other women joined Cheryl in the kitchen to keep the platters of cookies filled and begin washing now empty cookie containers and eventually empty platters. I could catch a glimpse of Ethan from time to time racing from container to container to help Cheryl fill the platters as they emptied. Every so often he would dash over to my end of the counter, ask what I needed, then dash back to the refrig and stagger back with whatever I needed to refresh the punch.

I could only catch a glimpse of him, but I could hear his piping 6-year-old voice doing a running commentary which was smothered from time to time with bursts of laughter from the women who were bustling around the kitchen. I heard Ethan ask Jill where the garbage was and when she pointed to the large container at the edge of the room, he quickly gathered up empty store containers and no longer needed sheets of plastic wrap and stuffed them into the container.

He took time out to run to me and ask if we could take the punch containers home for recycling. I said yes and soon there was a growing collection at the end of one of the counters in the kitchen. I heard Ethan tell everyone NOT to throw those containers away because we were going to recycle them.

Almost as suddenly as it all began, the room was nearly empty again, the last platters were put away and the remaining cookies divided into zip bags for folks to take home.

We found an empty bag and stuffed the empty punch and soda bottles into it for recycling. Under the pile was a wrapped present. Ethan excitedly grabbed it and told me that a “nice lady” had given it to him because he was helping so much. I agreed that he could open it once we got home.

As usual, Bill was one of the very last to leave and we bundled a tired but excited Ethan into the back seat and then headed home.

“That was the best party I have ever been to.” Ethan exclaimed from the back seat. There was a pause. “And I thought the kids did a good job too.” He sighed contentedly and clutched his still wrapped book to his chest.

Ethan continued to talk about what a great party it was - because he had participated in both the preparation and the execution of the party. He had been allowed to exercise his gifts. AND those gifts had been valued.

We are fortunate to be a part of a church where kids are so valued. Bill and I have been a part of several other churches where kids are NEVER allowed in the kitchen. But Ethan was not only allowed to be in the kitchen, he was allowed to help. He was allowed to help put out the cookies, he was allowed to open the refrigerator and get me the additional supplies I needed. He was allowed to carry glass platters from the counter to the folks doing the dishes. He was even allowed to carry on a running commentary and conversation with the rest of the folks helping in the kitchen.

The ladies who were also helping, also exercising their gifts, were thoroughly enjoying this 6-year-old because he was only 6. Had he been the slightly challenged woman who often fills that same role, they would not have noticed. Nor did they comment on each other’s roles that evening. But there were many thank-yous at the end of the evening. Cheryl and I could not have managed nearly as smoothly without those extra willing hands.

As Ethan commented, it was a “great party” because we were having so much fun working together.

I think this is part of what Paul had in mind when he talks about our gifts. Whether we are six or sixty, whether it is “just” filling empty platters, or baking the cookies themselves, we serve together and it becomes a task of joy. We need to honor the “six-year-olds” right along with the others whose gifts appear more spectacular, but every gift is necessary to get the job of the Church done.

And when we get to the end of the day, the end of our lives, may we all be able to say, “that was the best party I have ever been to!”

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.