Tears of Joy
Posted by Margaret on Mar 9, 2010
Many friends have expressed an interest in our children, where they are, what they’re doing and how they’re coping with having lost their father. Today I opened 56 envelopes in a three week stack of mail accumulated while I was gone. I left the hand written envelopes till last, knowing they’d be best. Among them was one from our firstborn, Nelson.
It was a letter he’d written in February, just before leaving the country for six months. I knew the gist of it, but as I read it in my quiet cottage with twilight settling outside the sunroom windows, my heart nearly burst to realize anew what God had done in this son’s heart and life.
Nelson is a strong believer in Christ, spiritually mature, passionate about the Bible and full of wisdom, but he wasn’t always that way. As a teen he rebelled wildly, yanking Nate and I into police stations and court rooms with his antics and eventually running away from home. He made one bad choice after another over years of time, accumulating the related natural consequences. But somewhere along the way, Nelson heard God calling his name and made the decision to surrender his life and follow him, no matter what.
It hasn’t been easy, but he’s stuck like glue to that commitment, craving time with, and knowledge of God over everything else. As I wept with joy over this son in whose life God holds preeminence, I was encouraged to keep praying for those who are still resisting. Following Christ can be difficult for young men, because they are taught to lead. But as I’ve seen in Nelson, God rewards the surrendered. Please allow me to quote from Nelson’s letter, which will answer questions about how he’s doing:
* * * * * * * *
“On September 22, my Dad told me his back surgery would be delayed because the doctor found cancer in his pancreas. I raced to Michigan to be with him and Mom. For the next 42 days I watched my amazing family gather together and rally around my Dad as he clung to life on earth, and as he eventually let go to be with Jesus.
For November and December, I stayed in Michigan with Mom. We had dinner and a fire almost every night and spent lots of time talking about Papa while the rest of the ‘kids’ came and went on the weekends. During this time, I spent time praying about the next thing.
On my birthday I got an email from a Youth With A Mission (YWAM) friend who asked if I would consider working on staff with a Discipleship Training School (DTS) out of Oxford, New Zealand. Actually, she’d been asking for at least a year, but I always turned down the opportunity. This time she persisted. She told me they were short on male leaders and reminded me I had previous experience (1996-1998, leading teams to Japan, Korea, the Philippines and India). I had always hoped God would call me back at some point.
So I prayed and decided to get a second opinion from my ‘home’ church in Brentwood, TN. After gaining their support and that of my family, I agreed to go to New Zealand. My job on staff is a combination of being a facilitator, leading discussion groups, being the worship leader, planning outreach mission projects, supervising student work duties and accompanying the group as they travel across the world from New Zealand to Jerusalem where graduation will occur 8/20/10. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for these young people as they get to serve under several long-term missionaries and see the world in the process. Only God knows what vision and ministries might be birthed as we go.”
* * * * * * * *
When Nelson was praying into his decision in January and February, God regularly sent concrete nudges toward a “yes”. Nelson followed that leading and decided to go. Immediately afterwards, a most powerful confirmation message came from the grave, from his own father, in an unusual way.
Nate’s close friend Wayne visited four days before Nate died, flying up from Florida to do so. As they brought each other up to date on their children, Wayne took note of Nate’s words about each of ours. On February 11, just after Nelson had decided on missions, an email from Wayne popped into my inbox: ”The thing I remember most [in the details about the kids] was Nate’s prediction that Nelson would return to mission work, and how proud he was that he would do so.”
I forwarded this gratifying confirmation to Nelson (who was then helping a friend in Honolulu) and marveled at God’s amazing creativity. For Nelson to be cheered on by his father at this important life road-fork was a gift-wrapped package from the heavenly Father. (And thank you, Wayne!)
Who says life as a Christian is boring? Today it was so thrilling, I couldn’t even hold it in. It spilled out in tears of joy.
Gluttony
Posted by Margaret on Mar 8, 2010
I’ve always been a glutton… a photo glutton. I cam
e by it naturally, since Mom was one, too. But as is often the case, the next generation takes everything to an extreme.
Mom got her first camera as a teenager, unique in the 1920’s. Her albums show the homes and rooms in which she grew up, as well as her friends. She established a babysitting business at 16 and pictured her charges. She taught piano lessons and photographed her students. She also snapped photos of the beaus she dated.
As a kid, I remember Mom stepping into a dark closet to change her film. If I put my hand on the outside doorknob, she’d shriek, “Don’t open that door! You’ll ruin my pictures!”
By the time I was grown, I knew photographs were important. Mom let us use her camera on occasion and bought each of us our own, encouraging us to chronicle life through a lens. Today I have the excess to prove I took her advice to heart.
I’d say 196 albums and 32 separate photo scrapbooks definitely constitute gluttony. Storage has been a challenge, particularly after we moved to a smaller house. I tried to pawn the albums off on several of our grown children, who take pictures religiously but store them on line. “Scan ‘em, Mom, and put ‘em all on a few disks. You’ll get your shelf space back.”
After studying that process, I know I don’t have enough hours left in life to complete that job. Besides, at the end of it, I’d still have to deal with the hard copies. Renting a dumpster just doesn’t seem right.
It’s interesting no one wants to house the albums, but everyone wants to page through them. When I make my next move, whether to an old folks home or heaven, the albums will be in jeopardy. Maybe our seven kids will divide them seven ways, though that would amount to 32 apiece, still a dilemma.
We’ve used many of our pictures to make greeting cards, as enlargements at parties, to prove tale-telling true or false, to remember who attended this or that event, and in this blog. Their most valuable use, however, is to insure we’ll never forget details. Photos of loved ones who’ve passed away become precious beyond description, and I’ve enjoyed studying Nate’s face in many of the albums since he died. The pictures remind me of all he’s done and who he was.
God has picture albums, too. He didn’t click a camera but described in visual detail the “photos” he wanted his “children” to remember. I counted 12 times he verbally reminded the Israelites of his parting of the Red Sea, a dramatic picture of power and creativity. “Don’t forget!” he’d say, as he reminded them he was still the same God.
He “showed” them his work during creation, how he provided manna in the desert, the patriarchs and their deeds and Christ’s work on the cross. These and many others were snapshots of history God wanted them (and us) to remember. In a way, the Bible’s 66 books are the albums, and their words are the pictures. On those pages, we “see” God and his truth. And just like in the Nyman albums, we see where we’ve come from. God’s photo collection also shows us where we’re going, which no earthly snapshots can do.
So, if the house catches on fire, I’ll try to grab our 196 + 32 albums, although it would be smarter (and quicker) to reach for the one album-set that truly matters, and that’s God’s.
“Give thanks to him who parted the Red Sea. His faithful love endures forever.” (Psalm 136:13)
What did you do today?
Posted by Margaret on Mar 7, 2010
Back when I had a houseful of little children to tend to, Nate would often walk in the door after a 13 hour work day and say, “So, what did you do today?”
As an at-home mom, I didn’t have a good answer. Every day was jam-packed with activity and hard work, but I couldn’t give him a summary statement about what I’d done. My temptation was to spout a litany of minutiae in a minute-by-minute report, which of course was the last thing he wanted to hear. After giving a nebulous answer, I’d ask him the same thing. “What did you do today?”
If he’d had a day in which he couldn’t point to anything specific he’d finished, he’d still respond with confidence. He’d say, “It was a building-block day.”
I liked the upbeat sound of that and knew what he meant. So why didn’t I have anything good to say when he asked me what I’d done all day? I decided to give it some thought and come up with a succinct answer, especially for those frustrating days when I hadn’t been able to check anything off my to-do list.
Knowing Nate wasn’t interested in the long answer to any question at that point in his day, I crafted my statement to be short but relevant to my purposes as a mom. When he next asked the what-did-you-do question, I was ready. “I raised your children,” I summarized. That seemed to satisfy us both.
There’s only one problem. If too many building-block, raising-children days stockpile, discouragement can take over. Most of us are result-oriented. If we can’t see the effects of our efforts, we begin questioning our calling.
I well remember a day when I reached a discouragement low. The five kids we had at the time were ages 10, 8, 6, 2 and 1, four boys and one girl. I was on my hands and knees wiping up under two high chairs for the umpteenth time, questioning the choices that had put me there. Self-pity had arrived, priming my pump with tears, and I did the only thing I knew to do: whine.
Since the children didn’t care that their mom was having a crisis, I took it straight to the top and whined to God. But he stopped me immediately.
Bringing Scripture to my mind (below), in essence he said, “Don’t wipe the floor for your toddlers; wipe it for me.” In one concise statement, he had crashed my pity paty.
The Bible says Everything we do ought to be done for God, not other people, not even needy toddlers. If we elevate our motives that way, grunt work is lifted to a divine level, and our jobs become privileges, because they have God’s attention and our work matters to him. If we do it for others or ourselves, we quickly lose perspective, as I had.
I had wanted children and was thankful for each one. I’d hoped to be able to stay home full time and was glad I could. The Lord had given me the desires of my heart, and I’d responded by whining.
If we work directly for God without any middle-men, we’re entrusting the most difficult tasks of life to someone who notices, appreciates and understands. Pastor Erwin Lutzer put it this way: “Anything done in private with a desire to glorify God is remembered by him eternally and kept safe in his care.” That’s pretty exciting when applied to wiping a floor!
Pastor also said that what we do is not as important as the person for whom we do it. If I wiped the floor under the high chairs with a happy heart because I did it for God, it could actually change drudgery into worship. And there on my knees, holding a rag loaded with toddler spill-over, that’s exactly what happened.
“Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. (1 Corinthians 10:31)
Singin’ and Dancin’
Posted by Margaret on Mar 7, 2010
Some families are musical. A friend’s five children all learned stringed instruments and now have their own chamber orchestra. Growing up we knew a family of nine, all of whom sang and played. They traveled to churches and put on lively, impressive concerts. Then there’s the Osmonds, the Cashes, the Jacksons and countless others, all musically gifted.
Our family is musical, too, although not quite like those above. But Nate and I attended more kid-concerts than we could count, and tonight I got to attend one more. Birgitta, our number seven, has always loved to sing and dance. She and our next-door-neighbor, Stefanie, formed their first group when they were eight and six, calling themselves the Cool Cats. They wrote their own songs and choreographed their own dances. My personal favorite was the duet, “Mazagine, Magazine!” Their brothers put written programs together and corralled audiences from the neighborhood.
Once these two were in high school, they tried out for the show choirs at Hersey High, hoping to parlay their childhood experience into a more professional gig. Both made it and were able to begin singing while dancing, in earnest. Tonight, although Birgitta is no longer a high schooler, we attended a performance of the boy-girl show choir group, “On Stage.”
(Birgitta in center)
Each past performance has been impressive as the kids danced aerobically while singing with gusto, never losing their wind. They’ve won endless awards and outdone themselves every year with each program more spectacular than the last. Although nothing like this existed when I was in high school, I wish it had. Never mind that my parents thought dancing was “worldly” and ought not to be done. I knew in my heart if Mom had found an acceptable way to dance, she would have.
It’s important to encourage kids in the direction they’re already programmed to go. The famous Scripture verse that says we should train up our children “in the way they should go” means exactly that. Some people say it means we ought to train our kids in spiritual things and when they’re old, they won’t turn away from God, but it makes sense the other way, too.
God creates each individual with talent, tendencies and desires. Birgitta wanted to sing and dance, and it’s been obvious from the time she was very young. Nate and I have been thankful for the creativity within her and tried to encourage her to develop it. Having a healthy outlet in the school show choirs, managed with excellence by those in charge, was exactly what she needed, being both athletic and imaginative. As people used to say about Ginger Rogers, she did everything Fred Astair did, but in high heels and backwards. The show choir kids did all that, and added risers.
If we encourage our children toward their natural bents, when they’re old, they’ll be glad they didn’t waste them. To use the talents God gave is to lead a satisfying life.
“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6)
(2nd from left)
Are you sure?
Posted by Margaret on Mar 5, 2010
Jack and I are once again prowling the beach in a foot of snow. As I stepped over the top of the dune this morning, my boot sunk in deep enough to fill it, a chilly feeling. Nevertheless, the vista was gorgeous.
While we were in Florida, the monster snow mounds that had been so formidable have shrunk considerably. Although Mary and I confidently walked on the first two “ice-ranges”, we dared not venture out to three and four. Now the situation is more unstable than ever as Lake Michigan is again churning, eating away at the icy foundations under the snow.
Truth be told, the water beneath what appeared to be sturdy ice all winter was never stable. As we tentatively stepped onto what looked rock-solid, the ice could easily have turned into floating icebergs. Crevices and cracks in the surface that were visible clued us into what was happening underneath. As the local creek flowed from the woods toward the lake like it has for centuries, it ducked under the ice but never stopped flowing.
As Mary said at the time, “We see it moving in the woods, heading for the lake. It has to go somewhere, but where?” It was invisible.
Now, with the icy snow in mid-melt, we see. The water movement was no less real when it was invisible, but we doubted its reality. Massive chunks of glacier-like mini-cliffs are “calving” into the lake now, testifying to the state of flux that always existed. Mary was right. The water had been heading for the lake directly under our feet, gently, slowly, but steadily flowing. And moving water always carves away at what’s nearby.
Much of life is about the invisible. Emotions, thoughts, promises, the future. God, too, is invisible. After thinking about it, I’m inclined to believe the most critical part of life is what’s happening under the surface. Whatever’s going on beneath our outward exterior is the foundation of who we are. And interestingly, our unseen-ness eventually becomes seen.
If we cheat when no one is watching, eventually we get caught. If we overeat, even in secret, eventually we get fat. If we harbor hatred toward someone, eventually we explode. If we walk on ice with water flowing beneath it, eventually we fall in the lake. If we never spend time with God, eventually we’ll be far from him. Reality is about the “eventually”.
It’s so difficult for us to believe the invisibles. As my boot filled with snow and my foot got cold, I knew many people were walking around in flip-flops in climates that were sweltering. But when my feet were freezing, their warmth wasn’t real.
If we don’t believe in the invisibles, we’ll miss out on a great deal of what’s important. As for me, I still struggle with believing what I can’t see except for one thing. Long ago I decided to put my trust in the unseen God. Watching what he orchestrates on my local beach is enough to make me a believer. But there are other reasons I depend on him, like the many changed lives that are visible, people who make every move based on the personal lordship of that same God and then live victoriously.
As I paced through the weeks of Nate’s cancer last fall and now walk through the months of widowhood, my invisible God has sustained me and provided for me in a thousand visible ways. How could I ever doubt that he’s really there?
”Since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.” (Romans 1:20)