Question

When does a person stop growing up and start growing old?

Stormy Knots

I can't decide if I like storms. A part of me loves seeing lightning dance across the sky and hearing thunder roll in the distance. A part of me embraces the rhythm of the raindrops as I fall asleep. But there is another part of me: the pit of my stomach. And that part of me doesn't know what to think. My insides knot when I even hear warnings of storms. I don't think I'm afraid. I think I'm aware. Storms make me aware of God's power... and I'm not sure if I like it. I don't like being reminded that the weather man really has no say at all, or that I can't make the rain clouds go away by closing the blinds. Somewhere past my superficial calm and excitement, just for an instant, I wonder if He really knows what He is doing. "You're still in control, right?" I ask. He answers with a soft peace.
I'm reminded of the psalm I read just this morning, Psalm 19.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.

There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world."

In my quiet time, I wrote this psalm into my own words. Here's my version:

Look into the skies.

Can't you see it? Can't you hear it?

Their actions never cease and their voices never fade.

All people understand because it's a different language, one we all speak.

Their words echo in every corner of the world. All have heard them.

I don't think there's a single person on this earth that hasn't felt that twist in the pit of their stomach. The twist of the storms. The twist that says, "There's Someone more." Sunday night in a mission trip meeting, my dad asked the youth to define "awe". One boy said, "It's bigger than you." In storms, I feel awe. I think everyone does. I think that's exactly what He wants.

Beautiful Things

Yesterday, somewhere between the time my family left the house and the end of Cinderella, I decided I needed to write a new blog. This time, with pictures. So I grabbed my camera and set out through my house, determined to unearth some blog-worthy subject (pausing every now and then to dance and sing along with the television.)

In my kitchen, I found my two round chocolate cakes, sadly cooling on their respective racks, their bottoms tragically uneven-- both from sticking to the pan and my premature nibbling.

On the front porch, I found Mamma's flowers and soil, sitting, waiting for planting hands.

And in my room, I found my latest puzzle, (yes, I like to work puzzles, and yes, I know that is yet another thing I have in common with the elderly. But like a true old lady, I don't give a hoot.) parts finished, most still in fragments on the floor.

Now I knew what I would blog about! How God finishes every good work in us. How He ices our cakes and plants our flowers and fits together all our pieces.

But when I iced the cake, it still looked lumpy.

When I finished the puzzle, several pieces were missing (not uncommon when you use a thrift store as your supplier.)

I was a little miffed. My wonderful illustration had fallen flat on its face. 

It wasn't until this morning that I realized those imperfections fit. After all, we don't turn out perfect either. That's not our Maker's fault. Those bumps and bruises are our own pizazz. The chunks out of the cake are where we want to stick with our own plan instead of his, or where we get tired of waiting on His timing.

 

Those missing pieces are where we refuse to do his will, or we put ourselves in the hands of others before turning to Him.

But even with the mess-ups, the cake was still delicious, and the pieces still made a lovely image. He's not stopped by a few lumps or missing pieces. He doesn't give up on me.

By the way, the flowers turned out just fine, most likely because I had no part in their planting.

Oh, and the plain country bumpkin and the prince did join in marriage.

Chapters in My Book

Isn't it strange how everything that happens in our lives somehow connects, somehow relates? I suppose I never truly realized this before a couple of weeks ago, when my small group leader made a fleeting remark. She was expressing her amazement that something in the final chapter of our study book related to other chapters at the book's start. Then she laughingly chided herself, "Well of course it ties in. It's a chapter in the book." For some reason, this comment stood out to me. I suppose I never before saw my life in that light; that every circumstance is just another chapter in the same book I started with. And even though my eyes were opened that night, I still find it incredible that everything so fits together.

Yesterday morning, as I helped in children's church, I learned something about children. They don't understand the temporality of pain. When they fall, they cry. A bumped knee is a crisis and a scraped elbow is the end of the world. Then it's gone. The pain disappears and they forget anything happened. One little girl in particular, a little girl who struggles mentally, showed me this. I found her sobbing in the floor rubbing her arm, which had been scratched in play. I told her it would be alright, but she kept saying, "It hurts." I told her it wouldn't hurt for long, and she looked at me, tears covering her face and asked, "When will it heal?" I told her it would be better by tomorrow, that she wouldn't even remember she was hurt. She simply said, "Okay," and arose to continue in her play.
She wasn't sinning, you know. It wasn't wrong for her to cry for her pain. It wasn't wrong for her to ask when the healing would come. And it certainly wasn't wrong for her to stand up and move on.

On Saturday, my sister's softball team lost in the conference championship game. This means no National Tournament, and the end of their season together. Everyone mourned the loss. My heart ached for my sister as I watched her cry with her softball family. But as I walked away from the field, I saw a group of little girls playing in the mud, oblivious to the Great Tragedy. And suddenly, I saw life moving on.

Several years ago, I, with my highschool small group, went to visit our leader in the hospital. She had just had her baby girl. On our way home, we found out that a man in our community, a respected man, had commited suicide. A new life was born the same night an old one slipped away.

In my mind, all of these three circumstances fit together. They teach me of pain, of how to deal with it and how God is still gracious in its midst. I've wondered before, how much simpler it would be if the world would simply stop for our pain. If time would just stand still to let us ache and cry. But now I see the grandeur of it all. The world turning on. The immense hope of a new life ushering out the old. The grace of children to play while the old ones weep. 

I see these chapters, I read over them and my heart is stirred. Isn't my Author magnificent?

A few chapters of my life.