Destination Discipline

I drove over the bridge and heard my father’s voice from my childhood, “Margaret, don’t ever play in Coldwater creek. It’s got toxins in there that’ll make you sick.” It was years before the media made any noise about waste from “Project Manhattan”, but my dad worked at the airport, and he knew something about bad stuff in the ground water. We lived in the suburbs of St. Louis and did some hiking around Little Creek Wildlife area in Florissant. But we always stayed out of the water. My dad was always trying to keep us safe because that’s what dads do.

Often after hiking around Dunegant Park, we’d stop by Fritz’s for some frozen custard. We were usually sweaty and tired. And that sweet treat was a welcome delight. Those warm summer evenings are gone forever though they live on in my memory. Lightening bugs. Grass stains. Obnoxious little brothers and surprise rain showers couldn’t dampen our fun.

I remember watching my father play softball with the church men. I sat on the bleachers and read Garfield comic books and swatted mosquitoes. Those games seemed to last forever, long into the night. I remember being very bored watching them run around in gray polyester blend shorts, inning after inning. So how is it some 40 years have passed, and those long nights are distant memory? And now my dad is laying in a hospital bed recovering from quadruple bypass heart surgery.

We thank God for the reprieve. We thank God he didn’t have a heart attack or worse. We are so grateful for modern technology and good cardiologists and excellent nursing care. But its still surreal and an awful thing for a family to go through.

I read Psalm 33 and prayed steadily for a couple solid days. I found my steadfast anchor of soul in these words:

“The Lord looks down from heaven; he sees all the children of man; from where he sits enthroned he looks out on all the inhabitants of the earth, he who fashions the hearts of them all and observes all their deeds.” – Psalm 33: 13-15

I knew the God I love and serve fashioned my father’s heart. I knew he was able to make it beat again once it had been stopped by the doctors. But there were no guarantees. And I had to consider all the men and women who weren’t so fortunate–whose families prayed just as long and hard and were disappointed. My father likes to joke, “no one ever makes it out of this world alive.” This time I had to wonder if I would be reciting that at his funeral.

But back to driving. On the road between St. Charles and Florissant, MO, I experienced memories like water balloons bursting on my brain. Things I hadn’t thought about in years came back. Driving with my dad in his old brown Ford truck. Him telling me about Jesus. Him falling asleep driving. Him timing the stoplight so he could zoom left and cut in front of the drivers across the intersection. Him taking me for walks to find toads under the streetlights in the subdivision. Him telling me he loved me. And out of nowhere a song popped into my mind I hadn’t heard in many years. It was a Billy Joel tune:

“These are the times to remember for they will not last forever. These are the days to hold onto ’cause we won’t although we’ll want to. These are the times, but time is gonna change. You’ve given me the best of you, but now I need the rest of you.”

And after looking the song up on Youtube and listening to it a few times, I realize again just how fleeting and precious today is. I feel like I say it all the time–every day is a gift, and you never know which one will be your last. I’m very intentional about living that way but listening to that song made me want to stop time–just for a minute–so I could breathe in today and just stay in this beautiful, happy moment where my dad survived open heart surgery.

We have some long, hard days ahead. Recovery will take time. And my dad is pretty uncomfortable even though he’s got plenty of pain meds. It was hard seeing him in the hospital with drainage tubes. I told him he looked like a Borg–a reference he could appreciate since he basically trained me in Star Trek as a child. Every time I watch an old rerun of The Next Generation, I can see him standing over my shoulder gazing intently at the television. I was always waiting for his reaction–the flicker of a smile on his lips, his intense concentration over scary moment, my mom interrupting to tell me to go get her another bowl of popcorn. Star Trek was our Sunday evening ritual.

Sometimes I try to hold my breath as if by stopping my lungs I could somehow stop time. But the heart keeps beating. And the breaths fight for freedom. And another moment is gone.

Today, like Billy Joel sings, “I’m warm from the memory of days to come.” Those words never felt more appropriate. Tomorrow will be fleeting too, but I’m going to try to live it just as well as I lived today. But the best and brightest memories are yet to come. I told my father before the surgery that no matter what happened, Heaven was ahead of us. We have that promise from God and ratified by Jesus. And that is something so joyful and wonderful, that words don’t do it justice.

I stood in the driveway tonight and watched the storm clouds roll in. Big, billowing clouds took over the skies and I thought about the maker, the Savior, the Creator, my Friend. I thought about the finger that formed the clouds and created the human heart. And I felt very safe and loved.

Me and my Dad

The cold wind is roaring outside this morning near St. Charles, Missouri and I feel like an old fool. Just yesterday it was sunny and warm and today feels like a cruel joke. “Silly Margaret. You thought morels (mushrooms) would be popping up. Nope!” Nature has a way of confounding us–perplexing us. One moment there is peace and sunlight; the next, wind and trauma.

But nature often feels like a reflection of my own tainted heart. The storm inside of me has been raging. I’ve been working so hard to quell it with little success. I find little moments of peace and serenity only to see them shattered when the wind picks up.

My husband is yelling again because he can’t find the saltshaker. My boss is lecturing me because my work is too thorough and precise. A sudden hurricane of Lego’s has erupted in my living room because my son is in a fit of rage over a project that isn’t coming together the way he wants. My granddaughter is screaming because her television program stopped. I stand in the whirlwind and wonder how to keep my temper from flaring. I wonder where the sunshine is. And frankly, I’m angry it’s hiding behind a thick cluster of dark clouds.

I’ve been complaining a lot and I’m ashamed. I have so much to be thankful for. The truth is, I have an incurable wound. This dark side of me refuses comfort unless it is coated in chocolate. There are people praying and begging God for my life of abundance and I’m crying over minor abuses at work and too many toys on the floor of the house I own. I seem to like collecting troubles in a heap for display while the mountain of blessings behind me goes unnoticed. What is wrong with me?

Last night I received a text asking for prayer for a friend who is suffering serious, physical agonies. Unemployed and poverty-stricken, a young woman lies suffering with an incurable ailment that causes incessant pain. Her body rejects antibiotics and pain medication so she lies in bed and wets her pillow with tears because doctors don’t know how to fix her. I have other friends who suffer the torment of loneliness and rejection. And there are many who weep over a barren womb. Last week someone asked for prayer that her current pregnancy will endure because the last one didn’t. Jesus said we will have trouble in this world and indeed we do.

Am I a fool to flee to the words of a book written thousands of years ago looking for answers? Will it address the abuse or murder of children? Will it give voice to the mundane irritancies that plague my hours and days? Will it provide hope for a future I’ve given up on? Because the truth is, my worldly dreams are mostly dead. I don’t feel like I have much to look forward to in this life.

“Behold a king will reign in righteousness, and princes will rule in justice. Each will be like a hiding place from the wind, a shelter from the storm, like streams of water in a dry place, like the shade of a great rock in a weary land.” Isaiah 32:1-2

I read those words yesterday from my wind-tossed back patio. Tree limbs were blowing around in clusters and I was holding the pages of my bible as it too tried to blow away. I stopped to think about this man, Isaiah, who wrote the words God told him to but never saw them come to fruition. What must it have felt like to live on hope and prayer and never see the words come true? Many years later the one who wrote Hebrews described several other people.

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledge that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. but as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” Hebrews 11:13-16

I am reminded again why this world is so uncomfortable. This place is not my home.

The most beautiful things of this world are but a dim and tarnished reflection of that place. And it’s not because the streets are made of gold or because the gates are made of pearls (though the bible says they are). I find that place attractive because my Father is there. My perfect Father and His Son are there waiting for me. Heaven is heaven because once there I will know perfect safety, security and joy. There will be no more tears. No more suffering. No more dark and stormy nights. No more throbbing joints or wounds that don’t heal. I suppose someone will read this and think me simple or foolish. But I believe like the Apostle Paul who wrote to the Corinthian church, “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.”

I’ve been crying again because I didn’t meet someone’s expectations of me. I seem to attract men that criticize me and wish to see me apologize and “improve”. Even in the church I find men who spurn a simple conversation with a woman that’s not a sister or spouse and I’ll be honest, it hurts. How many other women long for Heaven because they know that once there, they have a perfect Father who won’t abuse or neglect them? He won’t reject them for dinner that isn’t seasoned properly or tell them they’ve put on a few pounds or tell them they are ‘too emotional’. He will simply smile, open His arms, and welcome us to rest forever in His love. This goes for men too. All of us, really. He is love and He loves us.

The thing is, I am a fool. I’m a fool for Christ. He is every hope and dream fulfilled in the fullness of time. He is all that matters. May the dear reader find hope and assurance in the knowledge of Him today.

“Double, double, toil and trouble.”

This incantation seems to haunt my days. In the morning I wake at odd hours. When it’s dark. When its silent. My thoughts are like ghosts whispering. I am tired but cannot rest.

Can you relate?

Everyone has trouble. Be it work or home, we all struggle with something. Arthritis. Insomnia. Unbridled anger. Chaos in the workplace. Hurt feelings. So, we try to rest and find it elusive.  Worse, we go searching for rest…and get lost.

We manage as best we can in a world filled with cruelty or worse–apathy and disregard for others. People are doing evil things to us and so we end up perpetuating evil in return. I have found it so in the past few weeks that my workplace has become a place of torment. I rise and put on my “good attitude with positive intent” hat but by the end of the day I am filled with disgust and rage. I drive home praying and trying to forgive but resentment has taken room. I am exhausted trying to be rid of it.

Saturdays have become a day of decompression. I clean. I listen to music. I cry. I grieve this world and its hardships. I grieve injustice and selfishness and greed. I long for simple things but sometimes they are hard to find.

This morning I woke earlier than I wanted and there was a thunderstorm of thoughts happening in my head. Sometimes I wish I had earmuffs for my brain. Is there something, anything that will calm the storm? Storms have a way of disorienting us to our place in this world. We grasp at branches trying to steady ourselves and get sucked deeper into the madness. When the storm settles, we find ourselves in a place we are unfamiliar with and have to find our way back.

I found a map this morning by way of Psalm 103.

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” 

It’s hard to remember “the benefits of God” while being pelted with hail. When the car is getting dinged and the shingles are blowing off the roof, I begin to question what He is doing. But so often when I am just disgusted with God and sick to death of being smacked in the face with another piece of ice, there is a moment of beauty and grace so sublime, I unintentionally catch my breath.

I’ve had several of those moments this week.

My son and I were on the way home from an appointment when a bald eagle swooped down in front of my car, circled around and flew over us again. It was uncanny. Simple. Stupendous. I slowed down to take in the moment (thanking God no one was driving behind me). It was as if all of the clouds parted, and a bright ray of sunshine broke through on our faces. We were in the heart of the city, but this moment transported us to another world.

The second moment was when I walked out of work and a solitary robin was singing its heart out from a little tree in the landscaping. I stopped to listen and even whistled back. I wondered how a little bird could bring so much cheer to my world-weary heart. But that song–that music from nature–was like an eraser to the evil of the day.

Another day I walked out of work and a flock of Canadian geese were honking at each other. Again, I stopped to watch and listen. The flock were together but in pairs. They were sort of walking around together in pairs with their necks stretched out in front of them. I wondered what they were saying to each other during that show of vocal athletics. The people from work were exiting the building while I stood there and I felt the pressure to move along, but I decided to stay. For a few minutes I just stayed in that moment of beauty of grace.

I’ve been thinking about these moments this morning as I watch the birds from my kitchen window. The mockingbird delights in the walnuts and peanut butter I put out. As does the wren. The titmouse, nuthatch and red-headed woodpecker come for peanuts. And the goldfinches are sorting out thistle seeds. And here I sit crying because they are so beautiful and yet their lives are so fleeting. They eat, and sing, and fly. They build a nest to raise their young. Their life is only a moment. And they are wholly dependent on finding food every day to sustain themselves. One would ask why they even exist if only to be born and to die. It seems a terrible injustice. But God created them, and they are wonderful. I am so grateful for all of them. They make my heart so happy!

And suddenly I am finding my way back. I see the path. It’s becoming more clear the troubles the world throws at me are just raindrops. I see the sun. I see the corner of a rainbow.

“As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children’s children.” Psalm 103:15-17

Jesus said, “in this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world.”

Because we don’t only have trouble in this world, you see. We have beauty. Kindness. Grace and mercy. We have doves cooing and woodpeckers banging their heads on dead wood. We have people with no earthly reason to show us love who embrace us while we weep. It’s time to stop staring into the darkness and to set our minds and hearts on the light. That is how we get unlost.

We are all dying. We are really no different than the birds. But while we live, we must keep trying to sing. When we sing, we give others hope to help find their way back to the path.

I hope you enjoyed this song. Now go! Fly and sing!