Time

Time.
There is a story. The Native Americans had a tradition. When someone was bit by a poison snake, they started applying medicine and treating it but they also called for someone who had survived the same kind of bite. The survivor would sit beside the person in pain and tell them “this will pass”.
Who else could tell you “this will pass” when you are writhing in pain? Who would you listen to? The survivor is sitting there beside you. You can see the scar on their leg where they were bit. If you can see outside of your own pain for a moment, you can see that the survivor is reliving his pain. You can also see that he is only reliving a memory. It is in the past. He is alive. He knows this will pass.
Time is a tricky beast. When you are the one writhing in pain, the minutes stretch into unbearable eternity. Seconds burn through your veins. Trying to see beyond the next minute requires more strength than moving a mountain. On the other side of the pain, time is easier. You don’t feel each second. You reach down and feel the smooth skin that formed the scar. The memory is close but in time, as measured by the calendar, the event is years in the past.
There is another story about Native Americans and snakes. I tell it to my girls often. There was a young girl walking through the forest on a cold winter day. A snake slid out in front of her and called “little girl help me. I’m about to die from the cold.” She looks skeptical and says “But you’re a snake”. He says “Trust me. I won’t bite you. Hold me”. She, being kind, picks him up. They walk a little way and he says “Little girl, put me next to your breast. The cold is killing me.” She says “But you’re a snake. You will bite me and I will die.” He says “I have not bitten you yet. You can trust me. I don’t want to die”. So she puts him against her chest under her dress. He rests there against her heart and warms up. They walk a little while further. Then, he bites her. She screams and falls to the ground. She says “You said you wouldn’t bite me. I took care of you.” He looks at her as he crawls away. He says “I’m a snake.”
So in time, she learns that snakes are snakes. It hurts to be bitten. If you survive, then it is your duty to walk with others. Some journeys are easier than others. All journeys though begin and end in time.

The Tower

I didn’t want to go down 3211. So many times I’ve driven down that road and encountered our God. Today I didn’t want to take a chance of encountering God. I’m mad at God. I’m mad and I don’t understand and part of me wants to run so far away that…oh wait, I can’t run away from God. So the next best thing would be to avoid His touch.
I have the defense built up. This ugly tower that is insulating me from that particular pain. It is thrown together pieces of scrap metal with nails jutting out of the corners and I’m huddled in the middle like a little girl with two skinned knees from the race she lost because she let the other girl push her down. I know all it would take to knock down the tower would be a hand outstretched in love. But I also know that if that tower comes down, the pain that has been seeping in through the cracks will come in a flood and there is a good chance it will wash me away. Oh wait, I can’t be swept away from God. His touch will hold me until the flood is over.
The first event, x, was supposed to lead to the next event, y, and together they would equal z. “Z” would be the best thing ever. X to Y =Z. I never was very good with Algebra though. Once letters got into the equations, I would always get confused. Apparently God wanted X to Y to W to M to whatever before we get to Z. I’m not even sure there is a Z now. Oh wait, I know there is a Z because there is a God and He loves us.
Now I’m back to the little girl with two skinned knees crying on the sidewalk. I don’t know how to get up because when I do the thin scabs that have barely formed will rip open and the nerves will scream. I’m crying and I’m mad and embarrassed and I don’t understand. I don’t know what to do next. If I call for help someone will know …Oh wait, God already knows and I’m not hiding from Him. I’m not hiding from Him or anyone else. I’m trying to hold together a tower that isn’t even really there. It’s just an imaginary defense.
So I turn down 3211 at the very last minute. God is not standing there resplendent. There are no angels. There aren’t even any birds. There is nothing but the road. New song starts to play “Every little that I believed would be just slips away like water…” I can feel His hand on my shoulder and the pieces of scrap metal start slipping down. X was supposed to lead to Y which should have led to Z but this is God’s equation. My job was X and I may never know what comes next. I do know that God is God and I can trust Him. That will be enough.

The Balance

She cannot resist the impulse. Walking on the edge of the curb is so easy, so innocuous. Just a quick little step and she is up. Feet bare for the summer carefully step heel to toe and instinctively the arms fly out to help hold the position. Of course, a song starts to well up and bubble out through her lips. The sky and trees and little bits of grass all reach out to hold the ballerina dancing on the curb.
Curbs are attached to streets though and this creates a problem. Streets are used by cars. Cars that are driven by people who are distracted. People too distracted perhaps to see the ballerina singing on the top of the curb carried away in the moment of sky and trees and little bits of grass.
Curbs are also attached to sidewalks. Sidewalks are innocent except for the things that are on them. Things like ant piles that house a million stinging insects. Things like the broken glass from the bottle chunked out the window. Things like the dog charged with guarding his territory. Things that cannot or will not hear the bubbling song sung to the trees.
What is at once delightful is at the same time fraught with danger. Freedom and risk mingle in the balance. The edge is the beginning and the end but mainly it is the middle. It is in the middle where balance must occur.
She does not know this. She is lost in a moment in time and space. She is balanced in a moment of joy. For this moment there is no more world around her. There is only the world of her imagination. There is only the freedom. She can feel the blue of sky on her cheek. A leap and she is the star dancer.
Danger comes now. The car driven by the woman as lost in her thoughts as the girl is lost in her music. Neither is aware of the other. The woman is speeding and the girl is swirling. The Father though is orchestrating the dance. He holds the balance. His hand grabs the girl and guides her spin to the grass. His hand gently turns the steering wheel. Neither of them are even aware that the balance has been maintained.
The girl throws her arms up and over her head. She sings one more brilliant line. A quick hop and she is on the sidewalk running home before dark falls. The woman sees the stop sign and awakes from her thoughts. She drives home.
The balance is maintained.

At the end

At the end is the beginning
At the end of our abilities, God’s abilities begin. At the end of a breath a new breath begins. I am at the end and because of the end, I can see the beginning.
The mysteries of our God wrap around the edges of understanding. They wrap around the edges and leak into comprehension. He uses the weak to confuse the strong. How does the Lord of Lords direct a million and more lives knowing just at the moment one of us recognize our deep need for guidance? Knowing the moment we cry out and knowing the answer even when we can’t find the question.
How did He conceive of such a plan as sending His own Son to be the perfect sacrifice? He despised the sacrificing of children and yet He did not even spare His own son. And then, right before there is hope of comprehending just a bit of this mystery, there is the whisper. The still voice that says, this sacrifice was not permanent. This sacrifice became the greatest victory. The victory that reaches down, grabs the dead by the hand and raises him to the place of highest honor. At then end, the beginning came.
Now, laying down to sleep in the quiet after many storms, in my bed, in my house filled with my things and my family, now laying down to sleep I feel the end of my “self”. This self that is being lifted off and away like the roof painfully separated by the wind. Yet at each layer lifted away something more wonderful is revealed. Not a piece of me that is more wonderful but a piece of Him. How is it that I should be so blessed? So blessed to lose pieces of myself that I might be clothed more and more in His righteousness.
This is my God who has overcome all evil. This is my God who loves each of us so much that at every end we find a brilliant new beginning. This is our God who every moment gives us new beginnings.

Here

I'm sitting here in the same place where days ago my pain was so intense. Just hours ago, hours and minutes and seconds ago, I couldn't breathe because every inhalation felt like betrayal. I'm sitting here and rejoicing.
Watching our Father work is better than watching the greatest chef prepare a meal. Watching the pieces come together where there was no earthly way for them to fit is more amazing than watching any chopper OCC has ever built come together in the midst of family drama. Our God is so much bigger than we can ever comprehend.
I'm sitting here in the same place where just hours ago I prayed the prayer I heard on the radio the day before things fell apart. The preacher said "When you talk to God, tell Him: you told me to do this, now tell me how to get through it." I'm not sure what else he said because all I could here was that line. Hours later I said "Lord, You told me to do this. Now tell me how to make it through." He said go.
Every step seemed more than I could possibly take. But, He said go. I took each step. I remember some of them. The ones where I told my foot "move" and He moved it because I couldn't. I prayed over and over "You said do it, help me through it". He didn't need the reminder but I did.
Today I wore mascara for the first time in a week. When I woke up this morning I knew the steps would be easier. I thought about walking on water. I thought about how some days, you step out of the boat and are swallowed by the waves. I thought about other days when you step out of the boat and stay dry for a moment. One day I will step out of the boat and fly.
I'm sitting in the place where my heart felt more pain than I thought was possible. I'm sitting here hours, minutes, and seconds away from that pain and I'm rejoicing. My Father said go and I went. He moved heaven and earth to comfort me.
And the greatest thing is, while He was comforting me He was orchestrating a million other rescues, blessings, healings,comfortings. I am only an example. He will do even more wonderful things for you. I hope I get to watch. I want to see the miracles He works in the lives of everyone.
I'm sitting here in expectation of wonder and awe praising the creator of the universe who loves us!

Holding Him

How much easier would it have been just to keep holding him? So many days I dreamed of his future, dreamed of his little crooked smile hopping off a dirt bike. I could see him throwing off the helmet in disgust and then grinning when he saw me watching him. The impish glint in his eyes giving away the pleasure he felt in being noticed. Then he would tell me all about the ride.
How much easier would it have been to just keep holding him? Late at night when it’s just the two of us and he reaches over with the big wide mouth kisses. The nights we argued for hours about his going to sleep so I would have a chance of functioning in the morning. How much easier would it be to just keep rocking him? The old recliner clicking with each push, the minutes falling over each other in sleep fog. How much easier would it be?
It’s not a question of love. It’s not easy to understand. The decision hurts as badly as any I could think of making, and yet. Yet, He says this is what we will do. In the moments when my heart is being torn through the layers of bone built to protect it, I feel His peace. When the tears fight for space in the corners of my eyes and there are no words to express how I feel, I can hear the still small voice.
In my doubt He sends a messenger. The messenger is compelled to tell me what I need to hear. The funny thing is, she has no idea what she is saying. I can see the places where she is trying to make sense of the message and I tell her it is ok. The message is heard. This is what He would have me do.
Then I think of Abraham. I see him climbing the mountain, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. I wear my sunglasses to hide the tears from my girls. Did he wear his prayer shawl pulled tight? Faith in God does not keep the tears from falling. Grief happens. It overwhelms us, wraps itself around us. When we think we’ve left it behind, it sneaks around the corners of our minds and whispers words of longing. Then the comfort comes. Sometimes the miracles are not grand rescues. Quite often the miracles come in the form of a friend’s comment that makes the next step possible.
And then there is the top of the mountain. The moment when the knife is drawn and you are waiting, begging to hear “stop”. And it doesn’t come. There is no word. No way to stop until it is done. Abraham heard it but God isn’t asking me to take a life. He’s asking me to save a life. He's telling me to step out in faith that His way is right. Sunglasses can’t hide the anguish and of course, God knows no matter how hard I try to hide.
In the middle of mourning, a glimpse of the joy peeks around the corner of my mind. I think of the mother who will get the phone call. I can almost see her face as the worker tells her “We have a baby for you”. Her mind starts racing. She calls her husband and tells him. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this is the son we have prayed for. Maybe he is the one we have waited for. Peace comes then.
We have done our job. It was such a hard job but it will soon be done. Now we start the walk down the mountain. We walk in the peace and joy of the Lord. We will miss him. We will miss his kisses, his patty cakes. We won’t ever forget that stubborn streak that drove us crazy but probably kept him alive in awful circumstances. Maybe his real parents will send us cards every once in awhile. Maybe we’ll run into him in the store. We will pray for him no matter what. One day, maybe, he’ll ask about his life and his parents will say ‘you were loved so much’. Maybe. I’ll remember holding him. Holding him in deep silent hours of the night when it’s just the two of us and he smiles that crooked smile.

She takes a pastry from the plate and sits against the wall. She tucks the stray hair back beneath her veil. The hair is slightly damp with sweat. She almost frowns and then the corners of her lips turn up and her eyes begin to water. This is the first wedding she has danced at in many, many years.
The last one was her daughter’s. Oh the girl was beautiful that day. She was so happy. It makes a mother happy to see her daughter happy. They had all danced and laughed. The marriage was good. The two of them still loved each other.
She thought longingly of her husband. He had been a good man too. It was rare though that a couple would live long together-so many diseases and accidents were visited on the people. Her people were better off than most. They at least washed on a regular basis. The Romans-they didn’t.
Ah anyway, she thinks and leans her back against the wall. It is still strange to feel the wall down the length of her back. It wasn’t so long ago that she was bent over, able only to look at her feet. The wall would have touched just her shoulder. The memory of the pain sent a shock through her. She sat up straight. Then, she smiled- a full smile this time.
Jesus! Thank God for Jesus. He saw her in the temple. He saw her bent over, miserable in pain, tired of looking at nasty toes. He saw her! He touched her and her back straightened and she looked HIM in the eyes. They said he said something to her but all she heard was the sound of heaven. Still, late at night she holds on to that little whisper of sound. Oh, to go there someday.
She can still feel where his hand touched her. Her heart jumps every time she thinks of it. Her heart jumps like a silly young girl in love but she knows it is so much more than silly young love.
She snorts a little under her breath and the smile fades. She bites into the pastry and lets the honey fill her mouth. She saw how they treated him. She saw them crucify him. They crucified her savior! She knows that he could have stopped it. She felt that rush of power and heard heaven. He could have stopped it. But he didn’t. She winces at the image in her mind.
As her back teeth grind into the pastry and the sweet honey flows from the layers she relaxes a little. They say he rose from the dead. His followers say they have seen him. They say they have eaten with him. This makes her happy. This makes sense. God could not be killed and she knows he was God. The wrinkles on her forehead spring up at that thought. He was man too. Another bite of the honey and she smiles again. It isn’t for her to understand.
All she has to understand is that because of him she can dance. The tambourines start up again. She rejoices in the strength of her legs and back. She licks the last bits of honey from her fingers and joins the dance.
In her heart, she knows he is alive. She knows that he saved her. She laughs with a heart as light as a child’s. She knows he will call her home when her time is done. Every footstep is a prayer of thanksgiving as she dances at her granddaughter’s wedding.