Obstructed

Posted on February 10, 2013 by Margaret

Most of life’s crises begin so small they’re imperceptible. Whether it’s a cavity, a roof leak, or car trouble, in the beginning we know nothing.

Several months ago, I noticed our shower floor drain wasn’t draining as it should. Since this “beach shower” in the basement is the only shower we’ve got, I should have taken immediate action but ignored it for several more weeks. As it worsened, I thought pouring a gallon of bleach down the drain would help, but no.

More weeks passed, and the post-shower floor-puddle grew bigger and bigger. Eventually Nelson tried a plunger, followed by a toilet auger, then a liquid drain opener, and finally 25 feet of cable he purchased at Home Depot, hand-wound down the drain. But still it worsened with the water taking a full day to drain after each shower.

Eventually my neighbors came with a second cable, working in two linked floor drains, but the problem continued. We bought “the most powerful drain-unclogger in the world,” but the pipes responded by becoming 100% blocked.

* * * * * * * * *

When any of us first become aware a problem is brewing and have a chance to take quick action, we often don’t. Our reasons seem valid at the time:

My car’s been running great for 75,000 miles. That little noise is probably nothing.
I had a physical exam a month ago. If this new pain was significant, the doctor would have caught it then.
That spark in the wall outlet was just a one-time thing.

It’s easy to subscribe to the quasi-truth that “no news is good news,” at least until telltale signs of trouble pop up: a dripping noise under the kitchen sink, a thermostat unwilling to hit 70, a dog incessantly scratching himself. Instead of tackling the problem head-on, though, it’s simpler to hope it’ll correct itself.

But our hearts know better.

Spiritually we function in much the same way. Maybe we let a couple of white lies slip out, knowing they’re wrong but planning to correct them later. Then when we find ourselves in a lie-littered disaster zone, we regret indulging in that first little fib. Or maybe we fudge on a tax form, promising to catch up next time and end up with penalties and interest many times the size of our original bill.

God gave each of us an early warning system to help us stay out of trouble: a conscience. He’s moving us to take action the minute we think, “I shouldn’t be doing this.” If we ignore that and plunge ahead, we’ll be on our way to a mountain of misery.

Today my relatives arrived with a 50 foot rented, motorized cable, but after 4 hours of back-breaking effort, our sign still says, “No showers allowed.”

Stay tuned…

“Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.” (Proverbs 4:23)

Miss Octopus

Posted on February 7, 2013 by Margaret

Little Emerald is a happy baby, smiling even when she’s exhausted or hungry, sometimes when we’re not even looking at her. And if she’s crying, the slightest encouragement brings a smile while she’s still in tears. She even smiles at her rattles and toys, though she saves her best grins for one toy in particular: Miss Octopus.

This aqua-colored stuffed animal was designed to hang from a baby’s play gym, but Emerald liked it so much we hung it from a kitchen cabinet instead. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t have several communication sessions with Miss Octopus, gazing up at her from a blanket on the counter.

I don’t think Emerald loves Miss Octopus with the same adoration she feels for Birgitta, but there’s definitely a strong attraction. When she gets a glimpse of her blue friend she gets instantly happy, no matter what her mood.

Emerald’s world is limited compared to the rest of us. She’s never been far from home and is happiest when keeping to a calm, slightly dull routine. Because of that, it doesn’t take much to get her excited.

That’s not true for the rest of us. We’ve been around the block a few times, so to speak, and it takes quite a bit more than the wide smile of a stuffed octopus to get us going. That’s especially true of our spiritual lives. We might find that our Bible reading and prayer times don’t enthuse us anymore, though we’re not sure of the reason.

Maybe it’s because we haven’t experienced God doing anything for us lately, so we’ve become indifferent toward him. And the reason behind that might be we’ve forgotten what he looks like, so have missed what he’s done for us.

Scripture tells us how to “see” him. We’re to watch for unusual circumstances that first appear to be merely coincidental. Do they have something to do with what we’ve prayed about? If so, could it be God’s movement we’re seeing?

We’ve also learned that when life starts falling apart, we’re supposed to watch for him. In the midst of everything going bad, he’s usually right around the corner. Another place we might see him is just after we’ve received shocking news of any kind. When we cry out in anguish, he responds from nearby, showing himself to be very close.

There are other ways we can see God too, such as in the natural world, but none of the above “sightings” will happen without one prerequisite: we have to look for him. And just like little Emerald looks for Miss Octopus when she’s put on the kitchen counter, we ought to strain to see our Lord. Then, when we do, it’ll be even more exciting than Emerald getting a glimpse of her much-loved octo-friend.

“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:13)

Funny how that works…

Posted on February 6, 2013 by Margaret

I absolutely love winter. My heavy black coat thickens into a super-coat, and the panting heat of summer is long gone. Snow is like the frosting on my wintertime cake, and I like to burrow in it, roll in it, and wriggle upsidedown happy-dancing in it. Truth be told, I’d like to live outdoors through the entire winter except for one thing: the people I love are inside.

The newest person inside the house is the baby who arrived last October. I didn’t stress much at the time, figuring her position on center stage would be short-lived. After 3½ months, though, she’s still the main attraction, and I have definitely slipped in the rankings. Most of the sweet-talk is still going her way, and the general public races to greet her first now, instead of me.

But something odd has happened in the last week. Deep inside me I sense the beginning of a strange affection for this mini-human. Unlike me when I was 3 months old, she can’t walk, run, stand, or even sit up. She’s virtually helpless, and my heart goes out to her. She doesn’t even realize she could reach the dog treats if she tried.

So finally I decided to reconcile myself with the fact that she’s here to stay, and along with that, I might as well get in sync with the others in our house. Now when I hear Midge or anyone else cooing or sweet-talking the baby, I no longer push in for my share of the love. Instead I’ve begun a little cooing of my own. Though it sounds more like a squeaky hinge, in my head it’s cooing.

And it’s funny what began happening. Last week when I gently laid down next to the baby on her play mat, both Birgitta and Midge ran for their cameras. “Look how cute he is!” they said, actually referring to me this time. “He wants to be with the baby. What a sweet doggie!” And click-click went the cameras.

Later that day I gave the baby two gentle kisses on her tiny hand, which was a special gift to her, since I give out only about 5 kisses per month. (By the way, she tasted very good.)

You know, sometimes when we want something badly (like I wanted all the attention), it escapes us. No matter how we try, we can’t make it ours. Then when we give up and surrender the thing we wanted most, it somehow comes to us! It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what’s happened to me.