Figure it out.

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Nelson was about to arrive home after 8 months away, so I was outside Windex-ing the windows on The Bean in preparation for his reunion with this small, well-traveled vehicle. Window glass is the only Bean feature that could ever sparkle.

In the process, a tiny but sharp piece of acorn got wedged between the ball of my foot and my flip-flop. Every time I stepped, it was, “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

Finally I took off the sandal, shook it, rubbed the bottom of my foot, and put it back on. But the ouch was still there. I repeated it twice more, never taking time to study the problem, but the sharp something was always there. Finally I put down the Windex and looked. The flip-flop was clean and smooth. Same for my foot. So I put it back on.

But still!

And there was nothing there. Slowly I rocked forward onto the ball of my foot, mimicking a step, and it poked again, but there was nothing to see. So I pulled it off and pressed my finger on the smooth place that mysteriously got sharp, bending the sandal like it was walking.

Ouch again!

Finally I turned it over. And there was the problem: a stubby sharp screw embedded in the sole, pointing straight up,  just deep enough to jab me when my weight pressed on it. I unscrewed it and had a good chuckle.

While finishing my window washing, I thought about God’s faithful efforts to prod me into following his instructions. His jab might be a sentence in a devotional book: poke.

If I put that out of my mind, he might poke again, maybe a radio program or a friend’s comment on that same subject: jab.

On and on his little ouchies go until I stop what I’m doing and turn my attention to the subject at hand, much like I took off the flip-flop and shook it out, rubbing my foot. But noticing something still isn’t owning it: poke.

Hopefully I’ll be troubled enough by God’s prodding to eventually investigate, looking beneath the jab in an effort to find the source of irritation.

Sadly, our obedience sometimes starts with irritation. We’re frustrated with a new path to walk, a new skill to hone, a new person to meet, a new risk to take. If we’re happy with the status quo, all this newness can be distressing.

But God’s love for us is strong: poke. And he hopes eventually the annoyance of his jabbing will outweigh our reluctance to turn our attention toward him.

I want to develop a quick, inquisitive response to his prodding. In the mean time, I’m thankful the pushy little screw ended up in my flip-flop rather than in The Bean’s brand new tires!

“I am the Lord your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.”  (Isaiah 48:17b)

It ain’t over yet.

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When I was in high school, I analyzed my parents’ lives as being nearly over, at least the good parts. Their days seemed boring, devoid of fun or freshness.

Now that I’ve traveled into and nearly through those same years, I have an amended viewpoint. As long as we’re still alive, new experiences will present themselves, some welcome, some not. But each is a chance to stretch, learn or overcome. Yogi Berra had it right: “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

While walking Jack last night the sky was crystal clear, and a full moon was nearly too bright to look at. My LED flashlight was unnecessary, and moon-shadows on the road created stunning free form art. As we returned to the cottage, I had a hard time ending the walk. It seemed wasteful to opt out of such a dramatic night.

Once inside, Louisa and I decided we needed to see what the beach looked like drenched in such bright moonlight. Jack was delighted with a bonus creek cocktail at 1:15 AM, and we were awed by the sand, aglow in silver. The lake bounced with light, flashing glimpses of colorful stones beneath the water. We wished out loud we’d brought our pillows and blankets.

What other wonders go unnoticed every day because the easier choice is not to go searching for them? And does it have anything to do with middle-age?

We all know older people who routinely plant themselves in front of challenging experiences. They’re committed to trying new things and lead lives marked by adventure and enthusiasm. Fresh conversational topics make it rewarding to be with them, and they focus on what’s possible rather than on what’s not. Youthful energy surrounds these seniors like bees circle a hive.

I’d love to be just like them.

There have always been oldsters characterized by forward-thinking optimism. God introduced us to 3 of them, Caleb, Joshua and Moses, in the pages of Scripture. These geriatrics had a fire for life well into their 80’s, each one eager to take on new beginnings whenever they could. No La-A-Boys or TV for this crowd.

I think God often waits for us to initiate something new. He’s looking for a willingness to embrace change or risk. After we take step 1, he might respond with steps 2-6, then present us with step 7. But he accurately analyzes hearts and loves a willing spirit. Who knows what wonders may be in store if we press forward rather than stand still.

Last night when I finally put my head on the pillow, it was into a pool of moonlight that had followed us home from the beach, squeezed through the trees above our cottage, and slipped through my window to remind me, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

“Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when… challenges come at you from all sides. Don’t try to get out of anything prematurely.”  (James 1:2 The Message)

 

Finding the Lost

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When I was fresh out of college, teaching in the Chicago school system, my bank account was flush with paychecks and very few financial commitments. The dollars piled up, and a friend suggested I swap my Chevy Corvair for something classier.

I bought another Chevrolet but this time a Corvette convertible with both hard and soft tops. It was candy apple red and full of speed. With an apartment on Chicago’s near north side, 3 great roommates and a secure job, I was enjoying my new independence.

One busy Sunday afternoon I arrived back at the apartment planning to stay only a few minutes and parked my Corvette on the street without putting up the top. In less than 10 minutes, it had been stolen.

I called the police, filed a report, posted notices and drove a borrowed car through Chicago neighborhoods in search of my beloved Corvette, but it had vanished.

On this 10 year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, while listening to a recitation of casualty names, I thought about the nearly 3000 people who had vanished that day. Hospitals were staffed and waiting, but very few patients ever arrived. For weeks family members believed their loved ones might still be found alive, so they posted pictures and desciptions throughout the city.

Bus stop shelters and phone booths became makeshift bulletin boards covered with photos and names as hopeful people tried to connect with those they couldn’t find, but precious few succeeded. Yesterday I heard the gruesome statistic: only 39 bodies were actually found in the rubble.

None of those 3000 planned to finish their lives that day, but just like them, the rest of us don’t pick our last day either. It takes exceptional planning to be ready, and apart from God, none of us can be.

But there’s a big difference between New York’s picture Lost and Found and God’s. Every one of us start out lost because of our inherited bent toward sin, like pictures on a bulletin board waiting to be rescued. Thankfully, God’s finder fee was paid by Christ, and 100% of those who want to be found, are.

If it were up to God, his Lost and Found would be completely empty, nothing on the bulletin board, no pictures of the lost. But he’s left it up to each of us. And with unplanned last-days like September 11, 2001, a decision that says “yes” to being found by the Lord is better made now rather than later.

(As for the red Corvette, against all odds the police found it 24 hours later, in tact except for the screwdriver where the starter had been.)

“The Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost. Now is the time of God’s favor; now is the day of salvation.” (Luke 19:10, 2 Corinthians 6:2)