The Light of the World

Storm cloud-filtered moonlight makes the gray gravel almost distinguishable from snow and ice as it curves between white banks guarded on either side by dark pine-shaped shadows.  In the east, the sky lightens and the emerging sun lends its hues of red and orange to the landscape.  Then as the sun bursts into the sky, all the colors of the landscape rush to be seen.  In much the same way, Jesus the Light of the World, makes sense of all that is.  He lends his beauty to all of his creation and makes it shine with all the glory and purpose that it was made to reflect.  

 Nearly a week ago now, we attended my grandmother's funeral.  It was a cold day with snow flying at the cemetery.  Grandma was ready to go home.  She was ready to be done with her fight.  She had finished her course.  That isn't to say that there weren't tears.  There were many.  We will miss her.  I will miss her every time that I mix a batch of her sweet cream biscuits, watch someone play the piano in church, or smell lilacs.  But this year, when we raised the final cup in our Sedar meal and proclaimed, "Come, Lord Jesus!"  We smiled, because Grandma spent this Easter in the New Jerusalem.  

Last year, when Grandpa died, most of my immediate family was unable to attend the funeral.  That was a blow, and I was discouraged.  My musings on the subject directed me to Romans 8 and the comfort of God's Word.  Being able to be at Grandma's funeral was a blessing, but it also meant that I was asked to participate by giving a tribute to her.  It was probably one of the most difficult speeches that I've ever written.  How do you sum up a life in moments?  With mere words?  I attempted to picture her through my lens as that is the one that I see through most clearly.  Here is what I shared:  

Most of you don't need me to tell you how wonderful my Grandma Claire was.  You each have your own reasons for loving her and that is why you are here today.  But let's take a few moments and remember some of those reasons together.  

Grandma loved to play the piano.  I remember as a little girl, sitting at the piano and running my fingers over the keys hoping to make music come from it as she did.  Her playing was never about drawing attention to herself but about highlighting the abilities of those that she accompanied.  

If Grandpa was the dynamite, Grandma was the glue.  She held our family together with her wit, her humor, her kindness, her love for beauty, her work ethic, her faithfulness, her quiet strength, her neat, tidy house, and her yummy pies.  

Grandma was present.  In Mexico, in Alaska, in Bolivia, in Florida, in Arizona, in Colorado, at track meets, at soccer matches, at wrestling tournaments, in the hay field, in the sheep barn, at the branding corral, at the dinner table.  She was goofy; she was smart; she was wise.  She was a good listener; people felt like they could talk to her.  She smiled; she laughed; she rarely got angry, but when she did it was often about Grandpa's "selective hearing."  She was fierce:  fiercely loyal and a tiny bit stubborn.  

And Grandma loved God.  She walked faithfully with him, and her love for him and her faithful service to him showed in her complete love for each of us.  She is the reason direct, and indirect that many of us know and love Christ.  Countless times she told me of how she and Grandpa prayed for each of us everyday in their morning devotions.  Oh, how I have treasured those prayers!!

Grandma was a servant.  Many in our family learned to play pinochle making up a foursome with Grandpa and two others while having Grandma looking over our shoulders and coaching us.  She was always willing to do what would help or promote someone else.  She made us all, especially Grandpa, look good!  

In a world where success is often measured in accolades and awards, in job titles, or in degrees earned, Grandma's measure would seem to be small, but even without knowing it, when we look at Grandma's life, we recognize that there is a truer measuring stick.  We all know how valuable to us her life was, and we say, "Here is one whose life mattered more because it was poured out in love and service to others."

When I was younger and more foolish, I used to think that I would like to live a life that someone might want to write a book about.  I've since grown up a bit, and I realize now that I'd much rather live a life of faithful love and service to God like the one that my Grandma Claire lived.  

Grumpy

 

I grew up on the edge of my grandparent’s ranch.  When we were little, we spent time playing in the fields while mom hayed.  We played in the junk pile, while the adults branded, then as we got older, we helped sort and manage the calves.  We helped grandma and mom care for the new lambs each morning.  We got lambs ready for market, drove the truck while grandpa fed, watched as twin calves were born, moved pipe, and watched C-sections on cows.  We helped in the milk barn, the cow barn, the sheep shed, and the hay fields.  We played in mountains of grain and got wounded by aggers.  We climbed in the trees in grandma and grandpa’s yard, and sailed boats in the huge puddle that was always between the yard and the milk barn.  I learned to love hard work and the life of caring for animals and the land.  I learned to love the seasons and the order that God built into his world. 

                We ate at least one meal a day with Grandma and Grandpa, sometimes more.  We went on vacation with them to Alaska, Mexico, and on countless camping trips in the mountains around our home.  We spent time cutting wood, hiking to lakes, snowmobiling, and fishing with them.  I learned the names of wildflowers, and the lore of rocks.  I learned to love and enjoy the natural beauty of our world.

                They came to every race that I ever ran.  They came to visit me in college and took me clothes shopping.  They came back when I graduated and went to Disney World and Cape Canaveral with us to celebrate.  They were at my wedding.  I visited them in Arizona with my first son.  Grandpa took my eighteen-month-old son for walks and when they came back, he told me what I needed to do to cure the crying.  When they were eighty, they came to visit us in Colorado.  Grandpa helped dad fix my fence so that the deer wouldn’t be able to eat my garden.  I learned to be present, and to love and serve others.

                My grandpa died a week ago.  I don’t get to be at the funeral today.  In thinking about death and the death of my grandpa who my brother and I called Grumpy, I turned to Romans 8.  I think that I first thought of this passage today, because I want to be at Grumpy’s funeral.  I am having to remind myself that all things work together for good to those who love God.  God is good in his not letting me be at the funeral today, but as I was reading this chapter, I was also considering verses 18-25.  My Grumpy, was a follower of Christ, a believer.  He lived his life caring for the creation.  He was a true son of Adam and he spent his life caring for the garden that God put him into.  He knew first-hand the groaning of this creation.  He saw it in calves not born right, in lambs rejected by their mothers, in drought, in blight.  And yet, now, today, he has experienced first-hand the setting free of creation from the “bondage to corruption” and he has obtained “the freedom of the glory of the children of God.”  Today, my Grumpy is glorified.  He is perfected and is present with the good God who works all things for good.  I get to imperfectly join with my Grumpy as he perfectly praises our God.  To God be the glory; great things he has done!

Christmas: Joy and Sorrow

     "Joy to the World, the LORD is come!"  Christmas reminds us of many things that bring joy.  When we think about the birth of God on earth, the coming of Immanuel, we can't help but rejoice that God keeps his promises and that he will eventually redeem all of his creation and set it all free from sin and death.  Christmas is joy!  

    Maybe because, I am a visual learner, I can't help but close my eyes and imagine the place of Christ's birth.  Maybe because, I grew up helping care for newborn lambs, my picture of that event smells and sounds and feels an awfully lot like the sheep barn that I remember as a young child.  It is cold but warmed by the animals; it smells of dung and sheep but also of hay and earth; it sounds removed from the bustle of the street, and full of the noises of animals shifting, chewing, breathing.  What better stage on which the Lamb of God should make his entrance into the world for which he came to die?  He is right where he belongs with shepherds, whose job it is to watch the sheep, to gaze first upon his holy face.  

    In my mind's eye, after imagining the place of his birth, I can't help, but try to imagine a bit of what Mary must have been thinking.  As a mother, I think that Mary must have been marveling that this was the Seed of God.  Surely, she must have held other infants.  Maybe she looked him over to see if he was different in any way from other infants that she had seen.  She must have like other mothers, counted fingers and toes.  She must have gazed into his tiny face and thought, "So this is the face of God."  

    It is then that my own emotion takes over and tears blur my vision.  I have held my own children moments after their births and marveled at their perfection and their imperfections that make them unique.  I have counted fingers and toes.  I have held five of my children after birth and looked into their tiny faces and loved them as Mary must have loved Jesus, God born in the flesh.  And that is what causes my tears.  One of my own children held after birth was born too early.  He was born because he had passed away in my womb and needed to be born so that he could be buried. When I picture God the Son as a tiny child in the arms of his loving mother, and I meditate on the flesh that God the Son took on to be born, I remember that flesh is weak, that flesh dies, that we cannot overcome our flesh, but that God has conquered it for us by taking it on and dying too.  

    There is comfort in knowing that Jesus, Immanuel, God's Anointed One, didn't stay buried.  He rose, conquering sin and death, and flesh.  And there is comfort in hoping that one day, I will get to know the children that God chose to give for only a short time.  Christmas is joy and sorrow mingled with hope that is founded on the faithful promises of a God who is powerful enough to keep each and every one.  

sleep

I am tired. Probably because life here seems to be crazier from day to day. There always seems to be more to do than there is time and more to think about than I have brain waves to devote. So sometimes, I find it difficult go to bed at a reasonable time. Sometimes I find it difficult to go to sleep when I do get into bed. I think that if I just get one more thing done. . . or if I just can sort this out in my head before I go to sleep. . . But one recent night when I turned off the light and turned over on the pillow, I remembered the promises in the Psalms that say that God gives His Beloved sleep. Strange gift. Except that sleep isn't possible when one is afraid or working or thinking. Sleep supposes resting in safety and labor finished or set aside. In order to sleep, one must submit to the need to rest, the presence of safety, and a certain level of completeness or at least an admission that I can't get it all done. In contrast, God is described as the God who never slumbers or sleeps. He needs no rest. He is the provider of safety, and He is constantly working for my good. So frail human one, gratefully take your rest and let God be God. He is better at it than you are.

Jazz not Waltz

Life has been full, full to the top and overflowing. We have been busy with people, and traveling, and work, and sports, and school, and serving, and living. We have had days that have rhythm, and weeks that seem to be more jazz impromptu and less waltz. We have had much time together to experience new things and learn more about each other. These days are wonderful gifts with the people that I love and cherish. I am so very thankful to be right here in this place that God has wisely set me. He has been quietly teaching and shaping my heart, whispering lessons and unfolding new ways to see. In the middle of this insanely busy and intense time in our family life, I pray for wisdom to see and hear.

On Being Mommy

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Psalm 139:13-16

While there are a myriad of ways to apply these verses, they became especially dear to me when we were working through the loss of several children to miscarriage. It was a comfort to know that while I did not have any way to know if a child that I was carrying would be delivered and if that child would be healthy, God did. He had already written the number of days for each of my children delivered and undelivered. In the quiet of another night, God has added to that lesson. I am often tempted to despair that the days that I have to spend with my children are fast being spent and to wonder if I have invested well in the time that I have already had with them. This is especially true when something like looking at old photographs reminds me of how quickly the days have been speeding by. Last night, God again whispered those words from Psalm 139 to my heart. Instead of despairing at the lost time, I need to rejoice in the chances that I have had to be a part of the lives of my amazing children for even a heartbeat. Each one of the little ones that I carried for only weeks, had a deep impact on my life, my faith, my understanding of the goodness of my God. How much more have the lives of my living children taught even more meaningful and delightful lessons and brought much of God's goodness and joy to my life. I have been blessed to be their mother for a few moments of their lives and mine. It is a joy that I do not deserve and that I will always treasure and thank God for, beginning today.