Monthly Archives: April 2011

Staying Power

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When Jack and I were walking toward the beach today, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the ground. Springy-green shoots are poking up everywhere, a lovely sight after such a cold, snowy winter.

It’s a wonder how dead-looking patches of ground come alive right on schedule according to God’s dictate of the seasons. Some plants have to make their way through piles of soggy leaves that have blanketed them since last fall. Others actually wiggle their way out from under rocks or sidewalks.

But today we saw the ultimate in perseverance, two tender shoots making their way up through an unforgiving hunk of asphalt. Seeing such a display of wonder made me turn around and head home for the camera. I admired those little plants and hoped they would grow into lush day lilies with roots pulling nourishment from the soil beneath the asphalt.

We all know families who seem to be steamrolled by circumstances as rough as that asphalt over soft greenery. Some of these people give up in despair, but others never lose hope and make it through with determination and pluck.

But because determination and pluck are boot-strap resources that do have a limit, it’s best to garner our stick-to-it-tiveness from a source other than ourselves. God offers to supply whatever we need to wage war against negative circumstances.

A pertinent hymn we sang as kids went like this:

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving has only begun. (Annie Flint)

I love those words, because when we’re living in the first three lines (exhausted, failed, the end), suddenly the last line gives us a happy ending. Not only is God willing to pick up the slack for us, he’s just getting started. With him there’s always more. Such knowledge is enough to pull us back to our feet to go another round.

People who live like this, triumphing over struggles by taking advantage of God’s supply, are heartening to the rest of us, too. Although they aren’t usually aware we’re watching, we are. And we find ourselves saying, “If God did it for them, he’ll do it for me.”

This morning just before Jack and I left the asphalt-plants, I noticed something strange. The greenery appeared to have been given a haircut, the unmistakable calling card of a deer. These baby lilies lived through a harsh winter, made it up through hard asphalt, and now have endured being nibbled on.

It’ll be interesting to watch what happens next.

“In [the Lord’s] hand is the life of every living thing.” (Job 12:10a)

That cracks me up.

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Skylar, my two year old granddaughter, amazes us with her comments. In Florida recently, she and I were sitting on her bedroom floor, nose-to-nose:

“Grandma Midgee, your eyes are blue.”

“So are yours.”

“And your eyes have black in the middle.”

“So do yours.”

Suddenly she got quiet but kept staring into my eyes.

Finally she said, “Old ladies get cracks in their eyes.”

I guess my bloodshot was showing. Long life seems to “crack us up” that way.

In our study of the Book of Job this morning, our pastor used a great word picture to illustrate Job’s life. She described each of us as looking at life through a big, clear glass window. As children, our view is good, but eventually, without warning, a rock gets thrown and “Crack!” There’s a flaw.

A barrage of rocks hit Job’s window, so damaging he found himself sitting in a heap of broken glass wondering how he got there. But after he passed his faith-test, God miraculously mended his window, putting the shattered pieces together again.

That isn’t to say Job’s post-cracked-life was exactly as it had been before the rocks. His relationship with God had changed, and his additional 10 children were not duplicates of the first 10. I would guess his marriage changed, too. And surely all who watched his fall and subsequent rise were keenly interested to hear what he had to say.

But what about his repaired window? Was it permanently scarred?

A year ago, my Toyota Highlander and I were taking our first road trip when a rock smacked the windshield leaving a one-inch crack. By the time we got to Florida, it had ever-so-slowly grown a couple of inches, forking into two cracks. After we returned home, I called Geico to ask their advice. They were quite specific:

“If the crack fits under a dollar bill, we’ll fix it for free. If it’s bigger than that, you’re on your own.”

My neglect had done me in, because by that time the two cracks had grown to a couple of feet. The only way to fix them was to buy a new windshield.

God’s crack-repairs are free to us, and he does a spectacular job. Often, however, we find ourselves looking through quite a few cracks before he mends the window. Once in a while God will even break the glass himself, knowing that when he puts it back together, it’ll be better than the original.

He may even stain the glass.

Stained glass windows are made from intentionally broken glass, and as an artist assembles the pieces, a brand new image emerges. Just as old ladies get eye-cracks, life ”stains” us. Sometimes we long for that clean-and-clear window glass we had during childhood.

But God views our stain-experiences and our cracks as valuable. And in his hands, they become stunning works of art.

“Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her… to present her to himself… without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish [like a crack], but holy and blameless.” (Ephesians 5:25-27)

A Picture of Health

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Today I spent a frustrating hour seated on a stool in front of a Walgreen’s photo kiosk trying to order prints. I had two cameras, two different sized “cards” and only minimal understanding of how to work the machine. One of the cards needed an adaptor, plus I had two different coupons.

After interrupting the cashier for help six times, I got to the end of my order and muffed the coupon screen. This time she said, “I think I’ll get the manager, even though he’s on his dinner break.”

I’d probably be the laughable subject in the break room later on, but I didn’t care, as long as I walked out of there with my pictures.

The manager was a tall, 30-something “kid” with a winning way. While working on my “case” he punched enough computer buttons to write a letter, but eventually we got it sorted, and I got my 25 free prints. We were half way through the money transaction for the rest when he noticed my name on the order. “Nyman, eh? We might be related.”

“How so?” I said.

“I’m relatives with lots of Nymans from this area.”

We chatted for a few precious minutes of his dinner break when unexpectedly he said, “My dad died recently.”

I was surprised but put my purse and pictures on the counter and said, “When?”

“Three days before Christmas,” he said, looking down.

“Oh my. That’s really recent.”

“Yeah.”

“What did he die of?”

“Pancreatic cancer.”

Suddenly we were related. I learned his dad had had only eight weeks and that a cherished uncle had also died just a few days before his father. As he talked, his face was pinched with grief, and my heart grew heavy for him.

When the conversation finished, I said, “I’m so sorry about your dad and your uncle.”

He bowed his head and muttered, “Thanks.”

Driving home I felt queasy. While growing up, I hadn’t heard much about disease and dying. Now it’s everywhere, which must be part and parcel of being 60-something. Yet this young man was only in his 30’s. My kids were young, too, three in their 30’s, three in their 20’s, one still a teen. Although friends prayed for their dad to be healed, Nate died.

God has been called the great physician, the miraculous healer. I’ve learned, though, that he usually sidesteps physical ailments to focus on healing hearts. Dr. Luke describes a moment when the Jewish leaders were criticizing Jesus for associating with sinners and eating with “the riff-raff.”

Jesus gave them a sharp response: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.” (5:31-32) His desire was to heal sin-sickness, because when that gets healed, eternal good health becomes a sure thing.

Today at the Walgreens counter, I wish I’d asked the young manager if I could pray for him then and there. People usually receive that gladly, and maybe it would have led to something significant.

Maybe I’ll take a few more pictures and head back to the kiosk with coupons that I’m not quite sure how to use.
“By his wounds you have been healed.” (1 Peter 2:24)