Perfection

Posted on July 24, 2010 by Margaret

It’s hard to be perfect at anything. No matter how we try, our efforts are flawed. But when I was a kid, I got to be perfect at one thing: Sunday school attendance.

In the ‘40s and ‘50s, our church involvement went well beyond sitting through one hour-long worship service. Sunday school came before church, followed by a “fellowship time,” followed by “real” church. Since my family lived in the Chicago suburbs and Moody Church was in the city, we left home early and returned mid-afternoon, often heading back later for an evening worship service.

Nevertheless, many of us chased after perfect attendance. If we ventured out of town, a diligent search was made for an acceptable local church to attend. And it wasn’t good enough just to sit through a church service. In order to get attendance credit with our home church, we had to be present at a Sunday school hour, too. Then we proved that by bringing home a note from the vacation Sunday school, preferably written on their church letter-head.

If we successfully attended Sunday school for 52 weeks in a row, we received a gold and enamel brass bar attached to an attendance pin. Each new year came with a fresh chance to win another bar.

Although some Sunday school attendees continued to pursue perfect attendance even after high school, most of us figured going off to college closed the door to any additional bars, which is not to say we didn’t remain at least sporadically faithful anyway.

What made us want to attend Sunday school every single week of the year? In the beginning we were obedient little children just following orders, but that evolved into the fun of coming together with pals, which then grew into forming long-term friendships (and quite a few marriages).

As small fry we also loved the flannelgraph Bible stories and the teachers who taught them. During our teens we were coaxed to ponder life’s hardest questions and watched closely as our leaders lived out their faith in front of us. Many of us still point to these Sunday school teachers and youth pastors as important mentors in our lives. They encouraged us to “walk the high road” rather than take the easy route with instant gratification.

But the #1 motivation toward perfect Sunday school attendance was all about a person… actually three people. As we showed up week to week, we grew to know and love (1) God our heavenly Father, (2) Jesus our personal Savior and the mysterious but powerful (3) Holy Spirit who, amazingly enough, was willing to live within us if we asked him. And because of these three, we learned that in God’s hands, even life’s negatives eventually yield blessings.

Whether or not we find perfection in any category on this earth, the Trinity has offered to provide eternal perfection to all who believe. And we don’t even have to attend Sunday school to get it.

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of [Christ’s] return is drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:24-25)

Playing Games

Posted on July 23, 2010 by Margaret

The death of a spouse prompts so many changes and so much confusion that life can resemble the old group game “Fruit Basket Upset.” The game proceeds in a gently rambunctious manner until someone calls out, “Fruit basket upset!” At that, every person in the circle of chairs has to leap out of their seat and try to find a different chair before there are none left unoccupied.

The death of a family member is much like that, especially in the case of a spouse/parent. During a marriage, life bops along with lots going on, husband, wife and family members running here and there, meeting commitments and following to-do lists. Then suddenly the husband/father dies and it’s like the crash of “fruits” in the middle of the circle, people feeling shoved and pushed in their attempts to scramble to a “new chair.” In “Fruit Basket Upset,” this kind of chaos is fun. In life, not so much.

This morning after waking up and staring at the ceiling for a while, I got up and turned around to make the bed. Then it occurred to me that it didn’t really matter whether I made it or not. Who would care? No one was going to see it but me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, fighting the temptation to lie back down. The first thing that popped into my head was a picture of Nate turning down his side of the bed at night time, just before climbing in. It was a good moment of every day, no matter what had happened between leaving the bed early in the morning and returning to it later that night. And he loved the idea of pulling back the covers. It was as if everything had been properly prepared for this appealing moment.

Now, of course, things are different. He won’t be turning back the covers, and I didn’t really care if the bed was made or not. Climbing into bed used to be an “ahhh” moment of relaxation and peace. Now it’s a time when the world has gone dark, the night stretches long and I miss Nate being where he always used to be. It feels like I’m in the middle of a “Fruit Basket” circle after all the places have been taken, wondering where to turn next and what steps to take.

Although we’re left without our usual, familiar places in life, none of us has really lost the game. We haven’t been eliminated as a chair-less game player would be from “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s just that Nate’s death has necessitated writing new rules of play, and we’re trying to walk away from the “upset” part. We’d rather play a different game anyway… like, say, “Candyland”.

“Candyland” has greater appeal than “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s a peaceful game that leaves strategy up to the game-makers rather than the game players. And the truth is, Nate has actually won it already. He’s by-passed the negatives of Molasses Swamp and Cherry Pitfall, not just to reach Candyland’s Home Sweet Home but to arrive at a whole new kingdom where the sweetest home imaginable awaited him. And there aren’t any beds to make either, because there is no night there.

As a matter of fact, this new home is “delicious” in every way, surpassing Gumdrop Mountain and Lollipop Woods by such a long shot that it’s not even on the game board.

“The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom.” (2 Timothy 4:18)

July 22, 2008

Posted on July 22, 2010 by Margaret

When our granddaughter Skylar first came to be as a tiny, almost invisible division of cells, she was God’s secret, just as every conception of life is, for a while. In this case, however, the Lord must have felt a certain eagerness to share his well-planned surprise with our daughter Linnea and her husband Adam.

This young couple’s sad history with infertility (www.KissYourMiracle.com“my story”), had left them pondering life without a family. They’d excitedly talked about having children from the time of their engagement, but after months of painful, expensive tests, doctors had told them natural conception was impossible. In the midst of their grief, they decided to pray for a miracle anyway and trust God with whatever happened, baby or no baby.

Eighteen months later, when Linnea began feeling poorly while teaching her high school English classes, she never suspected a pregnancy. But as symptoms increased and she found herself falling into bed earlier and earlier each night, a light switched on inside Adam’s head.

After a home pregnancy test produced a positive, they decided it was probably a faulty test and went back to the store for a second one, a different brand. But that one was positive, too! Reluctant to believe it, they decided to see their doctor, who did a third test in his office, another positive! But it wasn’t until they saw their peanut-sized baby on an ultrasound screen that they succumbed to hysterical happiness and believed they were actually going to have a baby. Because of physical problems and the medical impossibility of becoming pregnant, no one could explain how it had happened.

But God……

…..had plans.

While Linnea was pregnant, I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you walking on egg shells, Honey? Aren’t you afraid to breathe?”

Her answer revealed a mature faith in the Creator of their child. “Mom, this baby is totally God’s, not ours. If he decided to take him or her right now, how could I object?”

Then, on a hot July night in Florida, eight days overdue, Skylar finally arrived. She was given the middle name Grace, because of God. And what an explosion of life she was! I flew south on the afternoon they came home from the hospital, eager to meet God’s amazing surprise package. But within 24 hours we were contemplating a trip to the emergency room for all her non-stop, fenzied screaming. This child had stamina beyond our imagining!

At the time, my podunk theory was that she was an active toddler locked in the powerless body of a newborn, frustrated and unable to expend her boundless energy in any way other than crying. As silly that that sounds, it has proven true. When she began sitting, crawling, walking, running and talking, she got happier and happier.

Today she turned two, and our sparkly Skylar never ceases to delight us all. We can’t imagine life without all the laughter and joy she’s brought along with her, nor can we ever forget that God, in a show of lavish grace, sent our Skylar Grace.