Runaway Ramps

Yesterday I was driving down a steep mountain slope when I smelled burning rubber.  Beside me were two semi-trucks riding their brakes. They were in the far right lane with a 35 speed limit posted for trucks. The incline fought against their efforts. “Runaway Truck Ramp” signs ushered truck drivers off to a dirt exit if they could not make the next curve. I had seen trucks take similar side roads until they hit a steep ramp that pushed them back to a stop.

There are times when our lives speed out of control until we find ourselves on a side road headed for a runaway ramp. I thought of three seasons in my life that sucked me off the proverbial highway.

In my twenties, I was on hospital bedrest for the final weeks of my second pregnancy. That ramp taught me the value of boredom and that my home and workplace could function without me. Years later my whole world went on hold while I returned home to help care for my mom in her last few weeks of life on earth. On that ramp, I learned that we can live well and then die well. Last year my own cancer journey steered me into the runaway ramp just a few months ahead of my retirement date. I learned the scenic route is too pretty to filter behind a blur.  Colors are more vivid at a slower pace.

Sometimes our creator slows us down because He can see the curve ahead.  I’m thankful for the runaway ramps provided whenever I live too fast. Blessed are the times I stop and breathe in Psalm 46:10 to be still and know that He is God.  After each curve of life, there is usually a stretch of new normal. Be still and prepare yourself for both.

Peace and the Last Piece of Pie

A few months before my mom finished her cancer battle, I was driving down the road and suddenly had to pull my car over to the side, with hot tears spilling down my face, unable to see to drive and needing time for a big ugly cry before I reached my destination.  The thought that triggered my grief that day was how sad it would be someday when my dad pulled out the last thing mom had put in the freezer in their garage.  She always kept it pretty full.  They bought a quarter or half beef at a time, always had rows of freezer bags of last summer’s garden overflow, fresh pecans, a stock of good sales from the grocery store, and a few baked goods that mom had made up ready to go in the oven.  She was a master of fruit cobblers and pies and liked to keep some on hand for the unexpected guests or church potluck or funeral dinner.  My dad loved his sweets, and the thought of him taking out her last dessert

from the freezer made me unbearably sad.

Later that year after mom’s death, Dad proposed to his second wife.  We were happy for him and we were also still in a deep place of grief missing our mother.  The day before our family would travel for his wedding, my brothers and I met up from three different states at our parents’ house to help Dad load up his belongings.  Remembering my freezer worry, I went out to the garage to check the freezer's contents.  I brought back a foil-covered pie plate with a label in her handwriting “Blackberry Pie” and carefully unwrapped it to unveil the most beautiful pie!  I asked Dad if he minded if we baked it and he gladly obliged.  But he didn’t want to stay to eat a piece of it.  He was loaded and ready to travel and he was also ready to move on to the next chapter of his life.  Perhaps he also knew we needed some space for our memories.

After Dad drove off, my siblings and our spouses and some of the grandchildren sat and shared stories while we waited on the pie to bake.  As the smells from the oven intensified, so did our recollections of Mom’s care for our bodies and souls.  It was the greatest of pie rituals.  We sat it out to cool in the same spot on the counter where she had cooled pies for over 30 years in that house.  We set the table with pretty placements as she always did to protect her wooden table.  We got out the dessert plates and forks that she had served with so many times.  We sliced exactly enough for everyone to have a piece but none to be left over.  Each of us savored our last slice of Mom’s and Grandma’s pie until the very last bite.  I thought it would be sad, but it wasn’t.  I savored the present moment, something I’m notoriously awful at doing, and felt such simple joy over this last nurturing gift left by my mom.

Mom’s last pie she left reminds me that the Lord left another nurturing gift for us when He left this earth.  Jesus prepared His disciples for His death and resurrection, promising them comfort that would come from the Holy Spirit, who would be with them just as He had been with them in body.  John 14:25-27 (NIV) says:

²⁵ “All this I have spoken while still with you. ²⁶ But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. ²⁷ Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

His peace was left with us.  He not only left peace for the early disciples but for you and me today.  Peace I leave with you.  That is a promise that won’t fail.  We will face challenges in this life – stress, sadness, loneliness, health problems, broken relationships, and all kinds of new normals.  Yet we can find a peace to accompany the challenges.  This peace doesn’t take the challenges away, but it walks alongside them.  It is a peace that comforts.  It is a peace that lasts.  It is a peace that is beyond our human understanding.  May you find a simple joy in savoring the gift of peace He has left for you.

His Eye Is On the Sparrow

Spring is here and my purple martin house welcomes this year's tenants.  It's funny how we watch the house for the intended bird, but fret when sparrows arrive to neighbor with the martins.  I guess sparrows have always been considered a lesser bird.  Lesser, lower value, unworthy, little, poor, ugly, no good.... adjectives we sometimes use to describe ourselves when our self-esteem is dipping low.  The scripture clarifies our worth by reminding us that the Lord knows and cares when a lowly sparrow falls, and that He values us even more.

Matthew 6:26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? [NIV]

Matthew 10:29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. [NIV]
Luke 12:6-7 Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.   Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.  [NIV]

When I was a little girl in the mid 1960's, I remember a visiting evangelist named Sister Willie Johnson who held a revival in a neighboring town.  She was the first female minister I had ever seen.  Every night before she preached she would sing a different song, accompanied by her travelling friend on the organ.  My parents purchased one of her albums and brought home to play on our large console stereo that filled a living room wall.  The album was translucent blue and about the coolest thing I'd ever seen! 

One night Sister Willie sang this song:

     I sing because I'm happy.
     I sing because I'm free.
     His eye is on the sparrow
     And I know he's watching me.

Even at six, I knew I wanted her happiness and freedom.  And I so longed for Him to watch over me too.  I didn't quite understand the part about the sparrow.  I later learned the song was penned in 1905 by Civilla D. Martin, inspired by a couple, Mr. & Mrs. Doolittle, full of happiness and hopefulness, despite that Mr. Doolittle had used a wheelchair for 20 years.  When asked about their secret to a happy life, Mrs. Doolittle replied “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.” As I grew up and began to feel that nagging notion of being small and insignificant and unworthy, I understood the lowliness of the sparrow in the song that Sister Willie sang.  And I learned even more of the holiness of the eyes who watched the sparrow and me.  I was made in His image.  I am good because He says I’m forgiven.  I am His child.  He cares about me.  Now I know for sure that He's watching me.  And watching you.