The Desserts of Life

Posted on March 22, 2011 by Margaret

While having a sleepover with my Knoxville friend Marge (en route to Florida), we sat at her kitchen table late into the evening talking about our lives as widows. She believes, as I do, that God is looking out for us, steadily taking care of our needs. Once in a while the Lord adds to that basic care, just like a yummy dessert sometimes follows a gourmet meal.

Marge has a name for these moments and the reason why they happen. She calls them “the desserts of life,” a little something that’s unnecessary but sweet. And the reason? God.

As we talked, our conversation was punctuated with these desserts. For example, the two of us stood at her upstairs bedroom window facing west. She said, “Sometimes I come here to watch the sunset. One especially pretty sky made me run for my camera. Just when I was ready to click the shutter, a crowd of geese flew by in a perfect V, and I snapped it. The picture is a lovely reminder of God’s presence in my life, a sweet dessert.”

Marge detailed a second example. The day her father died she was managing a job, a home, four kids and both parents in the hospital. Not knowing her father was near death, she arrived during visiting hours, walking past long elevator lines to the freight elevators in the back. When the doors opened, there was her father on a gurney, headed for emergency surgery. In a few critical moments she learned of his fragile condition, ministered comfort to him, told him what a wonderful father he was and kissed him goodbye. A dessert of life.

One more little example. After my root canal I needed the crown repaired. Calling the dentist’s office I said, “I’ll be in the area tomorrow. By any chance is there an opening?” It was a dessert of life to hear the receptionist tell me I’d called “at exactly the right time” because someone had just cancelled and there was an opening for me.

These desserts of life are labeled “coincidences” by most people but not by Marge. She’s daily trusting God to take care of her and as a result is quick to feel his touch. Then, as she attributes the unusual happenstances to him and acknowledges them as his gifts, her trust grows, and her joy increases.

She’s getting better and better at recognizing him and is savoring one tasty dessert after another.

Dessert… trust… joy… dessert… trust… joy.

“The Lord will tear down the house of the proud, but he will establish the boundary of the widow.” (Proverbs 15:25)

A Rustling in the Reeds

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Margaret

Sanibel Island is a tropical paradise we northerners greatly appreciate after a cold, snowy winter. But even a tropical paradise has its down side. A Sanibel vacation sometimes includes encounters with alligators, terrifying to me.

I remember one night years ago when our group of a dozen adults met at a restaurant several miles up the coastline. Three of us had taken advantage of Sanibel’s network of smooth, asphalt-paved bicycle paths that link most everything on the island, and had roller-bladed to the dinner.

On our journey home afterwards, the sun had set and the path was dark. Much of our route ran parallel to a briney canal favored by alligators, and as we rolled along, we heard occasional rustling in the reeds just inches off our path. I couldn’t skate fast enough and was surprised when we reached home without an alligator incident.

Yesterday Skylar and I were walking Jack, and she was learning how to hold his leash. Jack’s sniffing led us into the underbrush near a mossy canal, so I told Skylar we needed to back away, since alligators lived in there. We’d seen them many times, and when she didn’t respond I said, “Sometimes alligators eat dogs.”

Loving Jack as she does, that did it for her, and she quickly yanked his leash to pull him in the opposite direction. There’s nothing wrong with healthy fear, and alligators are to be feared. Every so often we learn of an attack, and in recent years we did read of a gator eating a dog.

Tonight I’ve been pondering my fear of alligators, along with other dangers we might not be able to see but are lurking near our life-paths. Do we fear the things we ought to fear? When we hear a “rustling” nearby, such as a fluttering of desire for something we know to be wrong, do we fear its consequences and immediately yank ourselves away, moving in the opposite direction? Or do we say, “It’s just a noise, nothing to fear.” Lowering our defenses against something that may be potentially dangerous can quickly escalate and become life-threatening.

Scripture tells us sin of all kinds, initiated by Satan, is quietly waiting nearby in hidden places. It lurks close to us like a coiled snake in the weeds or an alligator in the reeds, ready to pounce in a blur of quick movement. Without paying attention to the quiet rustlings deep within and heading in the opposite direction, we’ll be in trouble for sure.

Yesterday Skylar got to see a real alligator sitting in a swampy area of the resort where we’re staying. Even though she’s just two years old, she wasn’t frightened. “He looks like a log,” she said, and of course no one is afraid of a log. But I’ve seen this kind of “log” defy appearances and move like lightning. It’s important to keep a distance, and if it “rustles”, head in the opposite direction.

Concerning sin, there are harsh consequences for not yanking ourselves away.

”If you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.” (Genesis 4:7)

Traveling Alone

Posted on March 20, 2011 by Margaret

Taking a road trip shakes up our routines, and every once in a while that’s good. I think part of the reason I’m happy staying home is that efficient packing demands organizational abilities I don’t have. This skill-set is one of many I miss in not having Nate as my traveling partner, but traveling alone is my new normal.

Years ago, I had all I could do to pack for the kids and myself, and Nate usually lightened my load by packing his own bag, a job he did in five minutes. He was a champion at remembering to take everything he needed, including work assignments, legal documents and phone numbers. I never heard him say, “Oh-oh. I forgot something.” I said it so many times he got used to saying, “We’ll just have to buy another one when we get there.”

Something else I loved about Nate as my travel partner was his willingness to chat. No subject was off limits, and as the miles accumulated, we solved problems and made plans. He was also good at map-reading, but if we did get lost, he wasn’t above stopping to ask for driving directions. (No GPS’s back then.)

Another perk of traveling with Nate was his willingness to do all the driving. I could enjoy the beauty of farms and small towns, always fascinating. Being in the passenger seat also let me catch up on reading, knitting, note-writing or putting photos into albums. It amounted to a chunk of sit-down time that was hard to come by at home.

On recent road trips including my current one, I’ve been the one behind the wheel. As an antidote to missing Nate’s companionship (and packing, conversation and driving), I’ve tried to count my trip-blessings and have discovered a few perks in having to travel alone. I can have prayer times “out loud” without interruptions or embarrassment. I can skip traditional meal stops and be munching every hour. I can listen to music, sermons or silence, my choice. I can stop only when I need a break rather than any more or any less.

And although Nate isn’t seated next to me, my buddy Jack rides in the back seat, a warm body to talk to now and then. I’ve also had a strong sense of God’s travel partnership, taking him at his word when he says “I’m never going to leave you.” Though invisible, he’s always on hand, surrounding me with reassurance and providing the confidence to keep moving forward.

Of course I wish Nate was with me, too, but that option isn’t available. So the best choice is to receive what I’ve been given and not ask for more: a week with family members in Florida, a loyal canine friend who’s tagging along, the Lord’s faithful companionship and… a unique chance to race against the numbers on a GPS.