Seedy Business
Posted by Margaret on Sep 1, 2010
Walking Jack around the neighborhood in September can lead to goose eggs and noggin knocks. It’s acorn time.
Local squirrels are working high in the oak trees, chewing away the shells of acorns and collecting the nut-meats for wintertime. Chipmunks living under our front steps are doing the same. With oak trees everywhere, there’s plenty for all.
When we moved here full time last year, the sound of acorns banging on roofs, cars and wooden decks took us off guard, mimicking gun shots. If we looked up, which was risky, a squirrel would inevitably be busy chomping overhead, causing clusters of acorns to fall.
I’ve seen Little Red (“Taught by a Squirrel” April 13) taking advantage of this year’s abundance. But my next door neighbor tells me getting bonked in the head is enough to make you wear a football helmet outdoors. Walking the roads can be perilous, too, with marble-like acorns carpeting the way.
But acorn season cannot be stopped. God is busy sowing seeds. I love his well-established, logical laws of sowing… and reaping. They apply to oak trees, but they also apply to us.
Erwin Lutzer summarized them well in a memorable sermon years ago: Law #1, we’ll always reap what we sow; Law #2, we’ll always reap in a different season than we sow; Law #3, we’ll always reap more than we sow.
Oak trees produce acorns, which of course produce more oak trees, not maples or elms (Law #1). But acorns don’t exist in the spring. It takes nearly half a year before they’re ready (Law #2). The big oak trees behind our cottage reach above fifty feet, but each had its beginning in one humble acorn. Today thousands of acorns are falling to the ground from the oak trees in only one yard (Law #3).
It’s easy to apply these three laws to the simple acorn, and we nod with understanding. Applying them to ourselves, however, is another story. For example, Law #1 says if we tell a lie, eventually we’ll be deceived ourselves. Law #2 tells us lying probably won’t catch up with us until later, but Law #3 says that when it does, our lives will be permeated with deception, cheating and dishonesty.
Most of us are sure beyond doubt we’ll be the exception to every rule, believing if we take shortcuts around God’s laws, it won’t affect us. But whatever he says is going to happen, will happen.
Sometimes we plow ahead with our own ideas, unaware we’re diverting from God’s wisdom and laws. It isn’t that we’re rebelling. We just don’t recognize our error in the offing. Unfortunately, the biblical laws of sowing and reaping still apply. As lawyers are fond of saying, “Ignorance is no excuse,” and as moms say, “You’ll have to suffer the natural consequences.” I think those statements both must have originated with God.
Too bad we don’t usually learn just by reading what the Lord says. Sometimes he has to hit us over the head with it, just like an acorn knocks us in the noggin. But a few goose bumps are worth it to learn what we need to know.
“All your words are true; all your righteous laws are eternal.” (Psalm 119:160)
Attitudinal Aptitude
Posted by Margaret on Sep 1, 2010
Blog readers who attended Sunday school as children will remember the old chorus we used to sing (with vigorous hand motions) called “Rolled Away.”
Line two was, “Every burden of my heart rolled away.” Today I managed a roll-away that added to my burden instead. While walking Jack, I rolled my foot off a thick-soled sandal.
Several unlikely circumstances came together, the reason for most accidents. When I felt the zap of a bee sting on my toe, I leaped into the air (ok, lurched) and kicked off my flip-flop, rolling the other foot on my landing. Jack’s retractable leash also went flying and impressed him so much he froze with his eyes fixed on me. The whole picture would have made a laughable video for America’s Funniest.
Depositing Jack at home, I grabbed my list of eight errands and headed out. By the third store, my foot was throbbing, and by the fourth I was hanging onto the upholstery sample rods at Joann’s Fabric Store in an effort to stay upright. Hopping to the car on one foot, I drove home with my ankle propped against the AC vent and had a mental love affair with a bag of ice.
Tonight, after several hours in the deep freeze, the swelling is down, and the color is up. I’m arguing against Louisa’s label of “accident prone” and am fighting the inconvenience of a painful foot.
As I sat this afternoon with my propped pillow and ice bag, I was furious with myself. The high sandals were a cast-off from one of the girls, and I should have left them in the trash where I found them five years ago. Today I only wore them because they matched my skirt, so it was vanity that got me in trouble.
Now I have a chance to double my error by complaining or be a patient patient. I can either adjust my attitude and graciously accept this set-back or resist it and fill the cottage with discontent. As they say, attitude is everything.
Trying my best to think maturely but not getting too far, I was rescued by the Lord and Erika. He brought to mind this eight year old great-niece, who is great indeed, especially on attitude issues. For example, I’ve been self-conscious for years about a gold crown in my mouth, hoping some day to make it white like the other teeth. But when Erika saw it she said, “I see your princess tooth, Marni!” Attitude is everything.
Erika puts me to shame with her upbeat analysis of life. God is pleased with her in that, and he expects the same of me. The fact that my foot has served me well these many years and now is holding me back is no excuse for whining. Gratitude should always be my attitude, no matter what new burdens roll in.
And if I have trouble finding anything good about this, maybe I’ll call Erika.
“Just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him… overflowing with thankfulness.” (Colossians 2:6-7)
P.S. It wasn’t even a bee sting, just a broken bit of acorn.
Fuel for Racing
Posted by Margaret on Aug 30, 2010
It’s a miracle I haven’t run out of gas since Nate died. I didn’t fill my own tank for decades, because he did it for me, which meant he had to have my gas gauge on his mind every day. When it got low, he’d take it to Speedway and top it off.
Nate continued this practice even after we moved to Michigan, despite raw back pain and difficulty sitting. The loving act of filling a wife’s car with gas isn’t listed in the Bible’s love chapter (1 Corinthians 13), but its there, hiding between those verses.
Cars need gas, and I needed Nate to help me get places. In the ten months since he’s been gone, my Highlander’s gas gauge has had occasion to be dangerously close to resting on “E.” Because I’m having to relearn looking at the gauge and thinking about fuel stations, I’ve needed my heavenly Husband’s prompting. Without him, I would have sputtered to a stop on many a shoulder. Because of him, so far, so good.
Although getting used to widowhood means learning new skills and coping with the accompanying breakdowns, another way to look at it is that I’m beginning a new lap but am staying in the same race. Just like a driver who crosses the finish line without an accident, those of us who’ve lost a spouse can stay on the course if we don’t run out of fuel or crash along the way.
Scripture likens all of life to a race, and just because I’ve become a widow doesn’t mean I have to drop out. It simply requires a shift in racing strategy. My pit crew has changed, and I may have to pull over to the side now and then for additional fuel, but as a widow, I’m still in the race.
Several of my widow-friends have actually picked up the pace since their men died, tackling jobs or ministries they couldn’t have managed, had their husbands lived. They didn’t choose this race-strategy; God did. And because of that, he’s the one who fuels their efforts. Their willingness to keep going has resulted in new purpose to their days. They’ve started another lap, so to speak, around life’s race course without getting stuck on a widowhood-detour.
God’s intention for all of us is that we stay in the race all the way to the finish line. Maybe he moves us out of the fast lane, but he never relegates us to the shoulder. I picture him saying, “From your perspective you’ve hit a big speed bump, but don’t consider your life to be over.”
We widows ought never to feel purposeless because we’ve lost our husbands. Just like Nate dependably filled my car’s gas tank, the Lord will faithfully fuel our energy and give us the oomph to accept whatever new challenges he presents. We can take them or leave them; that’s up to us. But like a race car driver, I want to keep moving, stay in the race and cross the finish line… without running out of gas or having any crashes along the way.
“The Lord blessed Job in the second half of his life even more than in the beginning.” (Job 42:12)
Making the Most of It
Posted by Margaret on Aug 29, 2010
I think often about my marriage to Nate. Being distanced from it for nearly ten months now, my thoughts have become somewhat objective. When we’re still in a marriage, the analysis gets blurred by the importance of our own perspective. Now that it’s over for me, of course I have regrets. I’ve had to talk myself out of a host of would-of, could-of and should-of’s, which are part of the tyranny of hindsight.
Because my mate was taken earlier than expected, I’m nervous I didn’t appreciate Nate in full measure. So what can be done about it? For me, nothing. My opportunities to be a good wife to Nate have ended. For those who are still married, however, there is time.
Quite a few blog readers have commented that some of the posts have made them rush to hug their husbands or compliment them. This is thrilling to me! These folks won’t suffer regret. I believe God will honor their efforts with exponentially positive results, and they’ll never be sorry they made the effort.
Other readers have asked, “In your life without Nate, what have you learned so far?” The big answer is that God’s promise in Isaiah 54:5 is an anchor that holds. He’s told me he’ll be my husband and has followed through perfectly.
Secondly, I’ve learned a great deal about marriage since having had mine removed. Every husband and wife would do well to think about what life would be like if their spouse disappeared. It might make for interesting restaurant conversation. How would life change? If there were no more opportunities to say anything or do anything for their partner, how would each feel about what’s been said and done so far?
All of us are good at taking people for granted. We say, “Putting him on a pedestal isn’t necessary. He’s not worthy of that.” Instead, we wives are persistent about trying to modify our men. “Yes, they’re good guys, but they can always use a few more suggestions.” Sadly, that comes across as criticism, and none of us like that, especially at home.
A husband and wife ought to be each other’s #1 fan, surrendering nit-picking in favor of cheerleading. I didn’t always get this right, so I’m lumping myself in with everyone else. The only difference is that I can’t improve, while others still can.
Every marriage has restless periods when one or the other wishes they were single. We shouldn’t allow ourselves to “stay” in that place, wandering around in past memories of singlehood or wishing for future independence. While “living” in either place, we are setting aside the marriage at hand.
My Widow Warrior pals and I would give anything to have another crack at being good wives to the men we loved who are now gone. And because of that, I’ve taken a chance in this blog, hoping to challenge those of you who are still married to make the most of it. You are blessed!
“Wives are to be women worthy of respect, not malicious talkers but temperate and trustworthy in everything.” (1 Timothy 3:11)
Moving Day
Posted by Margaret on Aug 28, 2010
Our two youngest girls have spent a valuable year living together in a Chicago apartment, and today the year ended. It was moving day.
Louisa and Birgitta, fondly known as Weezi and Gitta, had set a goal of living “in a city” together one day, after they’d grown. Life changes rapidly for today’s young people with moving days sprinkled all over their twenty-something calendars, and last summer Nate and I were proud of them as they moved out of the cottage and moved in together. They made their check lists and narrowed their options. The winners were New York, Nashville or Chicago.
New York was too pricey. Nashville was the home of two brothers, a big draw, and since Weezi had been in school there, it was already familiar. But in the end, they chose Chicago. I’m sure God influenced their decision because he was already looking at what we couldn’t yet see. Had they chosen anyplace but Chicago, the minute they learned of Nate’s cancer they’d have uprooted, forsaking jobs and an apartment to be with him and the rest of us.
Because they were only 90 miles away, they spent four out of every seven days in Michigan during Nate’s illness and still held onto their jobs. (It also helped that their landlord was their uncle.) Apart from the misery of losing their father, which overshadowed everything, the year was an important one.
Weezi and Gitta learned the names and numbers of Chicago streets and how to navigate them. They used public transportation and figured out the complicated toll-card machines. They became skilled at parallel parking in tiny openings and discovered that walking was the best way to get where you wanted to go. They took advantage of what the city offered and learned how to carefully budget their paychecks.
When the girls moved into their place a year ago, the only negative had been the long “tunnel” between buildings that led to their door in the rear. After all, it was the city, where daytime safety became night time’s danger. Nate had heard of a new taser the size of a cell phone and was convinced the girls should have them. He’d read about wrestlers and football players volunteering to “take a hit” from the girlie-tasers, then “folding up like card tables” when shot from 15 feet. “Order two of them” he said, but we learned they weren’t legal.
Pepper spray was a poor second, but after testing it out in the apartment and coughing for hours afterwards, the girls walked their neighborhood (and the dark tunnel) with confidence. On this moving day, my gratitude to God is unbounded, because two keychain-sized cans of pepper spray are still full.
Since Gitta was at her Iowa school today and couldn’t participate in the move, Weezi took over organizing and did an excellent job, complete with regular ice water breaks for the six of us. Lars brought his truck, Jordan came from Indiana, Mike accompanied Klaus, and Klaus made the whole thing fun. In my book, each person was a reason to be thankful. Even the weather cooperated, a bonus when transporting mattresses in an open truck bed.
As children journey through their twenties, I’ve noticed God teaching them key life lessons through the many moves they make. My prayer is that as they move from place to place, role to role and challenge to challenge, they’ll also be steadily making moves closer and closer to him.
”Seek the Lord while he may be found; call on him while he is near.” (Isaiah 55:6)
