‘Tween Week Cleanse

The week between Christmas and New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorites. It’s a week ‘tween the festivities and the start of the new normal of a new year. A week between rich food and cleaner eating. A week between this year’s accomplishments and failures and next year’s set of fresh goals. A week between disappointments of the past year and hope tied around the gift of a new year. A week to plan and organize for the coming year. I was born a planner. I plan, organize, and make lists all year, but nothing compares with the cleansing sense of organization of ‘tween week.

In the early part of my career, when I didn’t have enough vacation time to take the week off, I got organized at work. I enjoyed working in a quieter office, tying up loose ends of the year, and getting a head start on the the coming year.

As my family grew, this week became a week to get organized at home. Christmas decorations were packed away. The kids’ toys and clothes were purged and given away to make room for new gifts. My husband and I reflected on what we wanted for our marriage, our family, and our home in the coming year. It was a good week to clean the garage or the hall closet. I returned to work with renewed energy and that wonderful sense of my world being in order.

When our nest emptied, ‘tween week morphed into a staycation. I began to leave the decorations up till the first week of January to savor them a little longer. We did a few things on the home to-do list, but also spent time relaxing. We reviewed our monthly budget with an annual lens and created new annual financial goals. We finalized plans for the next year’s vacations. We started a tradition of friends gathering in our home on New Year’s Day to share a potluck meal. I returned to work less organized but more relaxed than when I was younger. I recommitted to self-care goals for spiritual disciplines, sleep, exercise, and nutrition.

This week, still feeling fairly new in my retirement chapter, ‘tween week was a blend of normal routine with a little ‘fresh start’ anticipation. I’m less goal oriented now. My daily disciplines are well engrained. I’m more flexible. I set goals because I want them, not out of obligation or guilt. Because I have more time to be organized, I didn’t plan a big ‘tween week cleanse. But I did walk into the pantry one day this week and hit a messiness threshold I couldn’t cross. So I stopped and had a spontaneous pantry organization fest. Euphoria followed.

My prayer this week is that the Lord would walk into my heart the way I walked into my cluttered pantry. David, the man after God’s own heart, had this request of the Lord.

Or in modern day language: God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. Psalm 51:10 [MSG]

Like David, I pray that the Lord would clean up my heart. Give me a good scrub. Brush away any crumbs of unforgiveness or bitterness. Straighten out the crooked ways and organize my priorities. Restock my supply of joy. Make me new again. No better way to prepare for next year. No better way to start every day of this year.

Mind the Memories

Every year during the Christmas season, I have a good cry.  I love Christmas! It’s my favorite holiday! A joyful time of giving and celebrating! So why does that big ugly cry creep up on me with no warning?

It’s a happy sad cry triggered by some memory of a Christmas past. When I wasn’t the oldest generation. When Mom was still the creator of all things Christmasy.

There are the early memories of her homemade Christmas gifts. Once she made a bed for my new doll out of a shoebox. Another Christmas she sewed a red coat for my old gold teddy bear so it came back to life as Winnie the Pooh. Later for my children, she appliqued aprons and made teddy bears made out of family heirloom quilts.

There are memories of her Christmas decorations. A white flocked tree with light pink balls that we had when I was four or five. The slender fir with elegant gold and sparkling crystal ornaments I returned home to in my thirties.  Every room had a touch of Christmas inspired by Southern Living magazine. On our mantel still hangs four special stockings that she gussied up.

And there are the food memories.  She started baking weeks ahead, putting goodies away in the freezer.  We always arrived to a spread of fudge, cookies, candies and pies on the buffet atop an old treadle sewing machine base.

So now every Christmas I’m careful to “mind the memories,” paying close attention to them. Holding them close, even when they hurt. They connect the past with our present. They even connect the past with the future when we share the memories and traditions with the next generations.

But there are no Christmas memories greater than the ones Mary had after the shepherds visited her new little baby. Luke 2:18-19 [ESV] – And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.

Mary, how I treasure and ponder with you!  What a wonder! God Himself wiggled through the humanness of an embryo in a teenager’s womb. He experienced the full spectrum of being 100% human while being completely God. Not so He could show us how to be a perfect man. But rather to become the last lamb sacrificed to remove the sins of humanity.

Hebrews 7:26-27 [ESV] For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens.  He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself.

My sins. Your sins. Once and for all. Wow! That’s a Christmas memory to mind! I’m paying close attention. Treasuring and pondering. Having a good cry.

Waste Not

I have never liked to waste stuff.

My parents lived through the Great Depression and it showed in my upbringing. Mom never threw away fabric scraps. They often showed up years later as throw pillows, decorative hot pads or creative appliques on one of my little dresses. I still have a few pieces of avocado green drapery fabric she saved from new drapes she made in 1969. Someday I intend to make some awesome hot pads out of them. If Dad needed a piece of hardware to finish a job, he didn’t run down to the nearest DIY store.  He went to his well-organized shed with tiny drawers in search of “something that will do.”

They were into re-purposing before there was special vocabulary for it. They lived in an age where you repaired what broke and salvaged what others no longer wanted. It was a way to improve life when you couldn’t have everything you wanted.

I appreciate that today’s younger generation is into re-use again. Their reasons are often more for the good of the globe than for their own gain. They want to slow down landfill waste and be better stewards of our resources than their baby boomer parents. Kudos to them! I love to see my own adult kids being resourceful. Maybe it’s their peer culture or maybe it’s their frugal genes.

What I detest wasting most is food.  I’m not signing up for proving I can eat out of dumpsters for a week. But I do like to play a game of how long I can go without grocery shopping by eating what’s in our freezer and pantry. Our vegetable scraps go to the compost bin and banana peels and coffee grounds go directly to the appropriate flower beds without passing GO. In restaurants, more and more my husband and I share a meal or split off half to take home. My mom was a master of turning leftovers into a completely new meal and I often try to imitate her. Now with only two of us in our nest, I do menu planning with leftover intentions. 

Back in the height of my busy career and family life, I realized that the risk was too high that leftovers would become a bed to grow new cultures. So I began keeping a gallon bag in the freezer to toss meat or vegetable leftovers into. When it gets full, I sauté onions and celery in chicken stock and throw in the surprise bag of ingredients. It makes the best homemade soup and never the same twice.

“Waste not, want not.” It’s not an accurate saying, because plenty of people on this earth eat everything they get their hands on and are still in great need. Yet I think the attitude of “waste not” helps us keep a grateful stewardship mindset.

Recently I was re-visiting the miracle of Jesus feeding the multitude from the little boy’s lunch. I’ve always appreciated that the miracle was more than enough.  His disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of leftovers after everyone was full! All four gospels report on this miracle similarly, but John’s version of the story includes an additional instruction that jumped out at me fresh and new:

John 6:12-13 [NLT] After everyone was full, Jesus told his disciples, “Now gather the leftovers, so that nothing is wasted.” So they picked up the pieces and filled twelve baskets with scraps left by the people who had eaten from the five barley loaves.

Why did the disciples pick up leftovers? Because Jesus told them to. Why did Jesus want them picked up? So that nothing would be wasted. Was He simply worried about wasting food?  After all, when they got hungry again, He could just as easily perform another miracle – and He did, in fact, for a different crowd. Biblical commentaries weigh in on various theories on why Jesus didn’t want anything wasted. But I don’t know His intentions that day.

Here’s what I do know from my own experience walking with Him. Jesus often provides more than enough when He works His miracles in my life. Sometimes my miracle is for me alone and I relish in the careful attention He’s giving this princess daughter by doing more than I asked. Sometimes He stores up water in the well of my soul, knowing I will need to draw from those reserves in the future. Sometimes the miracle is clearly meant to be shared with others. Sometimes He nudges me to encourage someone who’s walking on the same rocky path I’ve also been down so that I don’t waste my experience. I don’t always know how I’m going to use the extra margin of blessing right away, but I believe He doesn’t intend it to be wasted.

My friend, what leftovers has He given you today and what will you do with them?

Simple Rules to Live By

When our children were small, we ran across a piece of parenting advice that we liked and implemented in our family. Instead of giving them a bunch of rules for appropriate behavior, we narrowed it down to only one rule.

Don't hurt anyone or anything.

We liked this rule because it made things simple. It covered everything from hitting your sibling to scratching your toy on the wooden furniture. It was an umbrella for people, animals, and things.  Name calling, insults and other emotional offenses qualified as hurting people. The "anyone" covered self, which helped cover overly risky tricks. The word 'hurt' left some room for interpretation. For example, does jumping on the bed really hurt the bed? Short jumps, no. Big hard jumps, yes. The rule taught the kids to think about their behavioral decisions. It also helped us be more relaxed parents, although it is unlikely our kids would ever use that adjective to describe me. 

Overall it was a great filter for encouraging reasonable behavior without having to nag all the time. It's not a bad filter to apply to our adult selves as well.  But I found a pair of rules that is even better than our parenting rule.

Jesus Christ provided these as the first and second commandments. He was being tested by a lawyer on which commandment of the Jewish law was the greatest.  He responded in Matthew 22:37-40 [ESV]:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: you shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and Prophets.

These two rules are impossible to live out in perfection. But His grace covers my imperfection while I aspire to live by them. I want to love God with my whole heart, soul, and mind. But sometimes my heart grows distant, my soul doubts, and my mind gets distracted. I recommit my love to Him and carry on. 

The second commandment to love my neighbor trips me up even more often. I prefer to love my neighbors when they are nice to me and keep their yards looking nice. It's harder when they are mean or do me wrong. I want to feel justified by simply not hating back. But loving others the way I love myself requires more. I must love when I'm not loved back. 

In fact, Luke's version of Jesus' response went further to define our neighbor in Luke 10:29-37. The lawyer asked the follow up question 'and who is my neighbor?' Jesus answered by telling the parable about the man who helped a stranger who had been robbed and beaten. He had so much compassion for the victim that he provided first aid, carried him to safety, and paid for a hotel room where the man could recover. Strangers from two conflicting cultures. But one was in need and the other showed mercy. And that made them neighbors.

So like a good parent, our Heavenly Father simplified things. He only gave us two rules to live by. He just wants us to love Him and others. I sure love Him, and I'm trying to learn how to love others like He does.

The Importance of Laundry

Today I’m doing the laundry. I only know one person who absolutely loves to do laundry (you know who you are, Christy.) It’s not my favorite chore, but I don’t hate it either. While waiting on the dark load to spin today, I took a walk through laundry lane.

It started the summer before third grade. The latchkey neighbor kids got to stay home alone while their parents worked. I helped them do their chores, which included folding laundry, so they could come out to play sooner. It was the coolest responsibility ever! And my first clue that someone had to do work to keep clean underwear in my drawer.

Fast forward to my young married life, where we did weekly laundry in a shared venue for the first several years. Sometimes at a public laundry mat and sometimes at community washers and dryers in our apartment complex. Why did they always have dirty black and white linoleum? My husband and I were in college and usually studied while waiting for the clanging machines to complete their cycles. We fed the dryer one quarter at a time until the towels were so hot you could hardly carry them to the folding counter we had just sanitized.

Then we got two laundry pairs of our own.  One pair was the washer and dryer out in the hot south Texas garage of our first home. The other pair was the darling boy and girl who more than doubled our weekly loads of laundry. Doing laundry was no longer a weekly event, but was crammed into the tiny crevices of our hectic schedule in bits and pieces.

In that era, we removed perfectionism from the laundry. My parents were perfectionist laundry people. When I was young, Mom designated Tuesday for wash day and clothesline drying, followed by Wednesday ironing day. On ironing day, she used a giant glass bottle of water with a sprinkler topper to re-dampen the clothes. She ironed the 100% cotton sheets until polyester cotton blend was invented. Even then she still ironed the pillowcases so they would be crisp that first night you laid your head on the pillow. So you can imagine the burden of laundry guilt I carried when one day I had a moment of enlightenment. I didn’t HAVE to fold the underwear, just because my mom did. I’ll never forget how liberating it felt to just fling a handful of undies into the drawer!

When our kids each turned 14, they were promoted from laundry helpers to “do your own laundry” scale of responsibility. It came with a few “cruel and unusual” and “none of my friends have to do their own laundry” critiques. But later when they went off to college, their laundry was not on our list of worries. The weekly laundry chore for my husband and me decreased back to the basic four loads: lights, darks, towels, and sheets. All in the comfort of a cheery room dedicated to laundry.

Now in the relaxed pace of retirement life, I’m experiencing the pleasure of doing laundry again like my eight-year-old self. The swish of the water. The fresh smell of the detergent. The time to do Pinterest while waiting to switch loads. The little ditty my dryer sings to me when it’s finished. The “all is well” sense of normalcy that comes from putting away clean clothes for another week and resting on fresh sheets tonight.

Nothing makes the clean sheets better than knowing my soul has been washed today as well. I John 1:9 [ESV] says If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

Jesus washes me up from the grime of my sinful humanity. He gives me robes of rightness because my own rags are filthy with wrongness. He never wearies of my coming to Him to ask forgiveness. I’m promised a full spiritual cleansing every time. Every day is laundry day for the soul. And nothing sleeps better than a clean soul on some clean sheets. 

What's in the Storehouse for You?

This week my husband and I drove through some backroads of central Illinois in search of fall foliage. We were a few days early so the leaves weren’t at their peak of color, but we soaked in some beautiful landscapes.

Small churches on short Main Streets

Amish gardens framed with autumn flowers

Golden leaves by still waters

Painted Sunsets

Little red barns

(ok I cheated – this is our own darling little red barn!)

As we drove through these scenic backroads in search of autumn, I was reminded of how much farmland there is in this part of the world. There is something about rural scenery that calls us back to simpler times. Actually they were pretty difficult times, but don’t mess with my nostalgia. Along one route we witnessed another sunset playing backdrop to a row of grain silos.

This collection of silos brought an Old Testament scripture to my mind.

But God made the earth by his power;

he founded the world by his wisdom

and stretched out the heavens by his understanding.

When he thunders, the waters in the heavens roar;

he makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth.

he sends lightning with the rain

and brings out the wind from his storehouses.

Jeremiah 10:12-14 [NIV]

Who knew that God stocked up on wind in his storehouses? Saving it up for gentle breezes and ravaging hurricanes. Job’s dialogue with God referred to treasures of snow and hail. God stores up the elements in His great abundance.

He also stores up good things for those who take their place walking beside Him. Psalm 31:19 [NIV] says: How abundant are the good things that you have stored up for those who fear you, that you bestow in the sight of all, on those who take refuge in you.

Friend, you might be in a place right now where you aren’t feeling like God has stored up good things for you.  You may have broken relationships. You may be struggling financially. You may be faced with an ugly diagnosis. You may feel overwhelmed with life’s daily cares. But I promise your Father has good things stored up for you. He’s waiting on the right time to bring them out of His storehouse. Take your refuge in Him.

Like grandma’s cellar shelves filled with jars of the summer’s overflow, He stores up good things for us. Then when we need something or sometimes when we least expect it, He goes to His storehouse and brings His bounty out just for you and me. Even more than a good father, He wants to give good gifts to His children. Blessings from His storehouse. A benefits package without measure.

I Want to be Buried Alive

I want to be buried alive. Ok, let me explain.

When I was twelve, I started growing things.  A popular decorating trend came along in the seventies that I implemented in the corner of my bedroom.  An aquarium garden. A variety of little green plants in a large clear glass fish bowl suspended from the ceiling in a hanging macramé holder. I felt part hippie and part green thumb as I watched my little plants grow.

Into adulthood, I continued to putter with things that grew in the dirt. But somewhere in mid-life I stopped.  I was away on business travel often and began to burden my family with keeping my flora watered. So I eliminated everything but the lowest maintenance plants.

Now with more time in retirement I’m growing things again. Last year I had a bumper crop of loofa to supply all my friends with the best facial scrub on the planet.  I’ve stumbled around with a flailing butterfly garden trying to attract monarchs to lay their eggs on my milkweed plants. My ferns and lantana and purple secretia have all gone wild. We began our fruit orchard with apple, lemon, and avocado trees for my husband’s birthday. Two out of three made it.

I love to think of the many rich spiritual analogies found in the Bible related to gardening. A favorite is the parable of the seed planted in different types of soil as the word of God is planted in different conditions of the heart. The Bible also compares our lives to seeds that must be let go and buried to reproduce.

This week another spiritual analogy came to mind as I planted a little celery plant in my garden. A few days earlier, I had placed the bottom of a bunch of celery in a bowl of water and it started regenerating itself just like Pinterest promised. A leafy celery top began to grow out of the stump, looking just like a miniature bunch of celery.

Like the new growth on the stump of celery, I have been regenerated in Christ’s likeness.

Ephesians 4:24 [NIV] says “and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”

After the little celery growth got started, it needed to be planted in dirt so it could grow deeper roots downward and taller stalks upward.

Colossians 2:6-7 [NIV] “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”

So that’s why I want to be buried alive. I want to plant my life in Him so he can continually regenerate me. So that my new growth looks more like Him and less like me. So I become so deeply rooted in Him that nothing can separate me from His love.  Growing tall and strong spiritually. And I hope to see you, my friends, growing in the row right beside me.  

From Sunrise to Sunset

This week my heart has been heavy for many.

First those in the path of another hurricane.  The rising death toll. The brutal loss of belongings and livelihood. Some who were just recovering from the damage of the last calamity. For some, losing everything means losing little. But everything is never small, is it?

Then closer to home, my heart was heavy for grieving friends. A childhood friend who recently lost her husband to cancer. Another friend whose child is fighting an illness with every breath. Another saying goodbye to a grandparent. It’s always too soon, isn’t it?

And then there were the strangers sitting near us in a support group. People that my husband and I had just met with whom we share a common problem. One new acquaintance felt as though life is being slowly taken away from him. Another was trying to find the silver lining in the new challenges. Everyone was getting used to a new normal they didn’t want. Change is hard, isn’t it?

In the midst of these lows this week, I saw a gorgeous sunset. And I remembered the praises of Psalm 113. Especially verse three that says:

                From the rising of the sun to its setting,

The name of the LORD is to be praised! [ESV]

Chapter 13 goes on to describe a God who is seated on high in all His glory above the heavens. And who else is like Him that He can also descend all the way to earth to be with us?

I want to praise that kind of God! I have known a few who have questioned why a good God allows such bad things to happen. We don’t know why. Jesus told us there would be suffering in the world. Nothing we can do will keep us from suffering. But we can praise Him through our suffering. A praise offered to God for just being God. No matter what. Every day. Through highs and lows. From sunrise to sunset. I will praise His name.

What Color is Your Ribbon?

We don’t always get to pick the color of our ribbon. Sometimes it’s dealt to us like a bad hand in a card game. Unlike award ribbons, awareness ribbons tell others that we are supporting a cause. Usually a cause that has gotten a little too up close and personal. Some of us got our ribbon as a child. Some of us lived a long time before getting our ribbon. But eventually most of us will get one. We may not have our own ribbon, but support a loved one by wearing their ribbon. My daughter attached 8 different colored ribbons to her graduation cap in support of relatives and friends who didn’t get to pick the color of their ribbons.

Last year I got the phone call announcing my ribbon color.  It was pink. I was standing on our patio where the phone reception is better and the view of our pond is peaceful.  It’s one of my favorite places in the whole world, but now there is a little spot by a plant stand that will always be the place I soaked in the news of my new ribbon. My husband stepped through the patio door and stood beside me, knowing the biopsy results from the one-sided conversation he heard.

It wasn’t the first time the pink ribbon had gotten personal. Nineteen years earlier my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember that spot too. I was away on a business trip, sitting on the bed in a hotel room, when she called me with her news. Our family took on the pink ribbon for her for the next four years. Her diagnosis planted a hint of dread in me that woke up at every checkup.  So when I received my diagnosis, it was almost a relief to get it over with, in a weird sort of way.

I was blessed. Mine was discovered early. I live near one of the best cancer treatment centers. The support of my husband, family and friends wrapped around me like a warm blanket. My faith supplied strength and hope. Even though I couldn’t pick my ribbon, I could choose my theme scriptures for my pink journey.

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.

He will drive out your enemies before you, saying, ‘Destroy them!’ (Deuteronomy 33:27)

The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.

My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. (Psalm 28:7)

I know I can go down any path if He goes with me. Some days I skipped beside Him, feeling victorious and seeing life in more vivid colors than before.  On a couple of dark days, I laid on the couch and cried in His arms, “I didn’t want this ribbon.” Every day, I trusted in Him with that famous kind of peace. The peace that passes understanding.

I don’t know what color ribbon you might be wearing today.  I don’t know if it is for yourself or a loved one. I don’t know if you are walking your journey alone or with a great support system or with the Almighty Himself. But I do know you didn’t want that ribbon. I pray that you will allow the peace of God to be with you. Pick your theme scripture or quote. Ask for help when you need it. Shift life into a lower gear so you can reserve energy for treatment or caregiving. And someday when you’d rather forget about that chapter altogether, get your ribbon out. It may encourage someone else who didn’t pick that color either.

Forgiving the Faceless

Forgiveness is a difficult part of the human experience. Alexander Pope, 18^th century poet, said: “To err is human, to forgive, divine.” 

The motivation to forgive is often related to the importance of the relationship. If I value a relationship, I’m more likely to forgive sooner and easier. My husband and I adhere to the rule “let not the sun go down upon your wrath” because our relationship is at stake. Forgiving family or friends is often motivated by our desire to sustain a relationship. Sometimes forgiveness is as much for us as the other person. If the offender cannot receive our forgiveness (e.g. after death) we may choose to forgive so that our own healing process can begin.

Our decision to forgive is always a choice. It may be difficult, whether motivated by love of the relationship or the need for self-healing or obedience to God. We may delay forgiveness because it feels better to be angry or because we first want to hear admission of guilt with a “really mean it” apology. Sometimes we postpone forgiveness to dole out punishment to the offender.

But what if the offender is a total stranger with whom we have no relationship? What if they are faceless? Maybe we don’t even have a way to contact them. Do we still need to forgive them?

I learned the lesson of forgiving strangers in my late twenties. I was running errands on a busy Saturday morning with my two little ones, when a drunk driver misjudged his turn and ran into the side of my compact car. He hit and ran and left me alone to pull my screaming bleeding three year old out of the car. Waiting on the ambulance, I felt too much fear to even detect the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

The seed of anger grew quietly in the background. In the foreground we managed through the crisis. There was a scary ride to the hospital, x-rays, lots of stitches, a concussion, and hospital stay. Then we received the police report. I stared at his name. The awful person who hurt us. He was arrested for driving intoxicated, unlicensed and uninsured. That no-good irresponsible drunk, who had hurt my innocent precious babies and fled like a spineless coward. My kernel of bitterness grew like a towering carnivorous plant. I disregarded it. I would never have the satisfaction of meeting him to give him a venomous piece of my mind.

Six months later, as I was praying, I felt an uncomfortable distance with God. Knowing that sin creates such separation, I asked forgiveness for any unbeknownst sin. Almost immediately, I pictured in my mind a drunk staggering into our church and kneeling at the altar to seek God. I was convicted of my own unforgiveness to this stranger. As much as I hated what he had done, I knew he was just another lost sheep that the Great Shepherd wanted to find and forgive. I was equally in need of God’s grace. So I forgave the faceless stranger so that I could also ask for forgiveness and restore relationship with God.

When walking with the Lord, the motivation to forgive becomes an imperative to obey Him. We must forgive to be forgiven. Matthew 6:14-15 [NLT] instructs us: If you forgive those who sin against you, your heavenly Father will forgive you. But if you refuse to forgive others, your Father will not forgive your sins. Matthew 18:21-22 and Luke 17:3-4 instruct us to forgive repeat offenders, not once or twice, but a ridiculous number of times. And who do we have to forgive? Our family, our friends, ourselves, strangers. Anyone who wrongs us. It’s a difficult part of the human experience, until we find the divine grace that we have received and offer it to others. Even strangers.

How to Swallow Bad News

One of the nasty parts of life is getting “the phone call.” You know the one with bad news. Sometimes the news is distant enough to wince and continue about our day. Other times it is close and personal and piercing. The kind that leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been jumped in a dark alley. When you receive this kind of bad news, put the kettle on.

Put the kettle on. A familiar British expression that quite literally means to put a kettle of water on to boil for a cup of tea. But the words hold caverns of deeper meaning, as do many other innocuous phrases.

In the late 90’s my company moved me to the UK. My family and I spent the next couple of years trying to unravel some of the greater mysteries of British culture. To those of us from more emotional cultures, it may first seem the stoic faces of the Brits are devoid of feeling. But then you learn that a terse “Sorry” is not really an apology and “interesting” is not a good kind of fascination. Behind the subtle facial expressions and disguised phrases, there are all kinds of feelings. And a lot of wisdom as well.

My husband and I first heard the deeper meaning in the phrase “Put the kettle on” when an acquaintance unexpectedly died. A mutual friend said “When we heard about it, we put the kettle on.” Our trusty cultural reference The Xenophobe’s guide to the English, says this about their devotion to tea. “They have imbued it with almost mystical curative and comforting qualities. In moments of crisis, as a remedy for shock or just at a social gathering someone will suggest tea.”

As the remedy for shock, the four little words “Put the kettle on” have come to mean so much more to me.

I will stop everything else right now.

I need a moment to think before deciding on action.

I don’t even know what to say yet.

I want a sense of normalcy and the comfort of warmth.

I will get through this somehow.

I offer this bit of English perspective as a healthy way to start digesting tough news. The diagnosis. The loss. The betrayal. The failure. The disappointment.

Even greater than this wonderful ritual, I offer an unrelenting dependence on a God that is beside me every time I receive a bad news phone call. I have found this Psalm to be true.

They do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them. [Psalm 112:7 NLT)

I believe there is no better way of living than with a confident trust in Him under all circumstances. To know He cares for you when you are hurting. To experience His peace when there is nothing peaceful. To feel His love in uncertainty. That, my friend, along with a good cup of tea, is how to get through the shock of some bad news. 

Satan is a Real Character

Last Sunday while attending my childhood home church, I had a flashback of the nine year old me attending Sunday School class there for the first time. My family had moved three times in five years with my dad’s job transfers.  Moves were unsettling, but our first bit of stability in every relocation was finding our local church. That priority kept our faith intact and gave us a place to belong, make new friends, and serve.

In my flashback, I was sitting on a cold metal folding chair learning a memory verse. The teachers were two dear women, Thelma and Wilma.  Thelma used a great memorization technique that made it easy to learn the verse.  She wrote it on the board and each time we read it, she erased one word so we would have to fill in the blank. Twenty iterations later, the verse etched into brain cells so deeply that I can still quote it.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeing whom he may devour: [I Peter 5:8]

I had already learned that Satan was real and sneaky and mean as a sly ole fox. But I was also taught not to fear him because I John 4:4 says “Greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world.” So when my nine year old self memorized I Peter 5:8, I didn’t worry that he might devour me, but I knew I had to be vigilant.

I’m no lion expert, but have read of a few interesting prowling habits. Lions usually hunt in the darkness, tending to stalk in dense cover vs. ambushing in the open. They prefer to go for single prey, and sometimes paw their prey from the back to get them off balance before pouncing. If they miss on the first try, they usually abandon that prey.

So part of my daily vigilance against the devil is to stay away from darkness - where I go, what I read, what I watch, and how I think. Another defense is to not do life alone.  Isolation and loneliness leave us vulnerable, but belonging and connecting with other believers helps keep our balance. And whenever I do sense a threat from Satan, I resist him and he flees. James 4:7 instructs: Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. One of the strongest forms of resistance is to quote scripture, just as Jesus did in Luke 4 when Satan tempted Him during His fast. Satan is a deceiver and an accuser (Revelations 12:9-11.) He comes accusing us like an prosecuting attorney, feeding us lies straight from the pit of hell because he is the father of lies (John 8:44.) So we combat him with the word of our heavenly Father, the Father of truth and light.

I don’t believe in giving Satan too much credit by talking about him all the time, so I don’t. But as my Sunday School verse flashed back last Sunday, I realized that we live in a culture today where many view the devil as a fictional character. I’m thankful for the reminder that I still believe he’s real and sneaky and mean.

When I was nine, I believed this because people I trusted told me he was. Now with a few decades of living under my belt, I have seen his ugly destruction firsthand in plenty of prey caught off guard.  And I’ve felt his grubby little paws on my back a few times, trying to push me off balance. He may prowl after me, but he will not devour me. Satan’s a real character, alright. But he’s a snotty-nosed little weakling up against my big Daddy.

If Suitcases Could Talk

Three old suitcases, stacked on each other, serve as a sweet little side table nestled between two chairs in my little cottage. They are family keepsakes and I am fond of finding practical uses for meaningful junk.

The top suitcase with the torn leather corners and the leopard duct taped handle belonged to my adopted grandma and oldest mentor. The inside is lined with a striking turquoise satin. When I was three years old, I traveled with her to fish on the Rio Grande. There she taught me my ABC's as she put worms on her fishing hook. Worms she had grown herself on the back of her toilet tank cover,

disguised in a pink talcum powder box. I don’t remember if she took this particular suitcase on that trip. My sentimental side wants to believe she did.  She often fed her great sense of adventure by taking off with her husband in their pickup truck and traveled the southern United States.

The middle one belonged to my maternal grandmother.  It is crafted from rich leather with heavy top stitching on each seam. A metal plate bears the brand name “Amelia Earhart.” 

How cool is that? The only trips Grandma took were occasional visits to relatives.  By the time I was old enough to remember her visits to our house, she had switched from this leather beauty to a 3 piece matching set of 1960’s gold vinyl suitcases. I shared my bedroom with her when she visited, so she would carefully open her suitcase on my bed and begin to unpack.  She usually had a treat of some kind packed among her prescription bottles. She was quick to get unpacked because “I hate living out of a suitcase.”

The suitcase on the bottom earned its place as the foundation of this three-tiered table.  It is the heaviest and sturdiest, a navy blue metal that sports a few dents and dings from its travels.  It belonged to my dad. He bought it in the early sixties when he began a job which took him “outtatown” as mom always called his work trips. He drove long distances to measure corrosion levels on hundreds of miles of natural gas pipelines. Sometimes he returned at the end of the week with a surprise in his metal suitcase.  He loved a good shoe sale and if he encountered one along his travels, someone in the family was going to get a shoe surprise on Friday afternoon.

I stared at these three suitcases today, wondering about the journeys taken by these two generations before me. Where did they go? What did they pack? With whom did they travel? How long did they stay? What did they do? What sights did they see? What spilled and stained the suitcase lining? What travel tales would be told if these suitcases could talk?

Will my grandchildren feel nostalgic someday about my black soft-side rolling TUMI overhead bag?  The one with a built-in hanging garment compartment that endured years of international travel abuse. It’s definitely not cut out to be an attractive side table. But if they run across it in a dusty attic someday, they might wonder about my untold traveling stories.

What I want them to know is not about the places I ventured. Or the interesting things I did. Or what a light packer I became.

What I want them to know is that I couldn’t go anywhere without God coming along. I tried a few times. But even then, I found that He was still with me. Most of the time, I desperately wanted His company on my journey. King David expressed it like this in Psalm 139:1-10 [NLT]:

O LORD, you have examined my heart

and know everything about me.

You know when I sit down or stand up.

You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.

You see me when I travel

and when I rest at home.

You know everything I do.

You know what I am going to say

even before I say it, LORD.

You go before me and follow me.

You place your hand of blessing on my head.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

too great for me to understand!

I can never escape from your Spirit!

I can never get away from your presence!

If I go up to heaven, you are there;

if I go down to the grave, you are there.

If I ride the wings of the morning,

if I dwell by the farthest oceans,

even there your hand will guide me,

and your strength will support me.

Nope, I haven’t gone one single place on this planet without Him. Not because I was such a brilliant traveling companion but because He is omnipresent. Not because I was so faithful in my devotion to Him, but because He cared so deeply for me. Not because I always asked for His guidance, but because His hand refused to back off from me.

Traveling this life with Jesus. It is, indeed, too much to comprehend. And that’s all I really need the next generations to know about my suitcase and me.