Writers In The Storm

I’m tired today: tired of the news, the people making it, the people reporting it, the people ignoring it. Some days, I want only to skim the surface, to delve no deeper that my personal reach. Being light and salt in this world is hard work that requires constant vigilance. I’m not up for it today. Today I’m better off staying away from others, so my inadequacies won’t reflect on my Savior.

Humanity is a messy, cranky, ill-tempered, fickle lot that defies my understanding. I wonder why God bothered with the Ark to save eight. Ultimately, it served His good purpose. But if I were God, I probably would have gone to plan B.

Individually, it’s a different game. Plucking a person out of the crowd requires glimpsing life through their eyes, if even for a moment. Up close, one-on-one, personal, that is where God wants us. That’s one of my prayers. I ask God to let me see others as He sees them.

Through His eyes, in His strength, I can imagine the soul behind the short temper, snotty remarks, or blazing glare. Let me see that person, that human being, created in His image, let me see that person as God see him, then my only response can be love. Even when I’m tired.

for . . .

Rain - we needed it

The temperate weather - we’re enjoying it

Bird songs

Goofy friends

Fuzzy animals

A baby’s laugh

New buds on the trees

People who forgive me

I’m not an actress. I don’t even play one on, er-, never mind. Had I the choice, I would have starred in my first roll before the age of seven. By now, of course, I’d have my star on the sidewalk, my signature in cement, and a wing in my mansion to house my Oscars, and such.

But I didn’t, so I’m not, and I haven’t.

If we all had a choice, the world be overrun with famous actresses, rock stars, sporting giants, and — thanks to the current Princess Movement among the under eight crowd — excess female royalty. The whole system would make clean toilets passé. Who, alas, would deign to do the scrubbing?

It’s like starting a business, everyone wants to call the shots, be in charge, make the 30,000 ft decisions. But, first things first. Who’s going to pay for the business cards?

In God’s infinite wisdom, He calls us each to be a part of the body of Christ. I understand my role, more so, now than ever. This blog, my other writing, has helped me define my significance.

I’m not a head. I don’t now, have never, will never speak from a pulpit or position of authority.

I’m not feet. I don’t lead others. I’m not especially good at following. And often, I’m not entirely sure of where I’m going.

I could be a shoulder. Whatever ache someone has had, I’ve had one too.  Maybe not the same one. but I understand pain.

I could be a pinkie. Not leading the charge, like an index, or definitive in function like the thumb, but a pinkie that can work with the crew to get something done.

More likely, I’m something internal, soft-tissued, messy, and expendable.

As long as God loves me, I’m good with that.

“Let’s go Riders! D, D, D!” Bethany knows basketball. Over the years, she’s cheered through more games than I can count with Caleb and Grace both playing. She’s known by the THESA (Texas Home Educators Sports Association) families as the number-one-Rider-fan.

A few years ago at the national basketball tournament, the top-ranked girls’ team surprised Bethany with a specially decorated Rider t-shirt before the big game. They wanted to show appreciation for their most enthusiastic fan. She still wears the black and red treasure to most games.

Yesterday, we walked into another basketball gym. This day was different, though. The players struggled to dribble, pass, and shoot. A few times they seemed confused about which basket to dribble toward. But they smiled. Players celebrated plays with high fives. They cheered for each other and themselves.

Bethany was on the court playing in the state Special Olympics basketball game.

And sitting in the stands were Rider players and their families. They got up early on a Saturday morning to cheer for their number-one Special Olympics player.

I went to the doctor today. Pain twinges too near the heart, an achy arm, another deep sigh.

Serious? Indigestion? Hypochondria?

My doctor is great. She entered my exam room wearing a mantle of care and concern. A soothing balm on its own, when walking in for advice on a sensitive matter.

She listened, asked questions, empathized. Of course, she did all the doctor stuff: EKG, BP, and when all that looked good, scheduled me for a stress test. She suspects hunching over the computer and a summertime ski injury as the twin culprits.

Her simple attention to this particular need brought me comfort. Okay, a clean EKG was a blessing, but having someone listen is becoming a rarity.

When my mother passed on, I had to fly home. I don’t remember the details as to how it happened, but I ended up with three of the wrong sets of tickets-through no fault of my own-and a maxed out credit card. I called the airline to get it straight. The woman would not let me finish a sentence without interrupting. I became less than gentle with her.

I finally got my story out, my credit card charges reversed, and the proper tickets on order. But it took considerably more effort than I wanted to spend. I needed someone to listen.

It’s easy to blame technology, but I bet this has always been true. Listening well is a gift. A gift I can give, one I hope to receive, and it is free.

That exemplifies the beauty of prayer. I can bow my heart before the Lord of the universe anywhere, anytime, in any situation, and He receives me with a ready love. Even if I cannot commit my plea to words, but offer only a silent release, I am unburdened. And if I ask it, all is forgiven.

I can listen, but only God can forgive. I am thankful His promises cannot be broken. May my attention to others mirror the mercy, love, and grace which He bestows upon me.   Including the lady from the airline.

Every year when baseball season begins my son’s coaches focus on fundamentals-basic skills in fielding, batting, pitching, base-running, and other baseball essentials. Throughout the season, they continue to drill the fundamentals in regular practices. My kids’ piano teacher emphasizes scales, technique, and regular, disciplined practice. As a teacher, I encourage daily studying rather than waiting to the last minute to cram for a test. At least the kids listen to two out of three.

It’s the same in other areas of life. When we practice the fundamentals in daily living, we have a reserve to fall back on when we encounter the “big leagues,” the high-pressure moments that threaten to un-do us. Those moments when we don’t have the luxury to think, to ponder, to analyze, to work through a number of scenarios, to brainstorm… when we need an instant response, and we need it to be right. That’s when all the practice pays off.

Luke touched on this principle-He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much. When we learn to live with integrity when no one’s looking, we’ll make the right choices in different moments on a larger stage. Paying attention to the details that matter to God reaps a benefit beyond the scope of small things.

We learn to live in those “little” moments by sticking to the basics of our faith-trusting and obeying God, saying “no” to wrong choices, sitting quietly in His presence. Listening for His voice as we read His word. Believing in His goodness. Taking our questions to Him. Giving Him our messes with all the accompanying emotions, fears, and anxieties. Expressing gratitude for Who He is and thanking Him for all He does. The “little” everyday moments of Christian living.

Getting back to the basics of practicing Christian disciplines on a daily basis prepares us for the bigger moments of life. Figuring out how to struggle well in everyday issues makes it easier to battle in the hard times. If we’ve practiced the basics in low-pressure moments, those fundamentals will carry us in the heat of the game.