A Perfect Match

Posted on June 28, 2011 by Margaret

I love the beach 365 days a year but especially on a day like today: 75 degrees, a light breeze, whitecaps and blasting sunshine.

While working from an old but comfy beach chair, God brought a distant memory to mind. Mom and I were walking together on the same stretch of sand, looking up at the dunes topped with greenery. It was a day like today except that it was 1955. The sky was then (just like today) a perfect example of “sky-blue.”

Without realizing it, Mom and I were thinking the same thing. “People say blue and green don’t go together,” she said. “But look what happens when God does it.”

If I’d known how to properly use the word “Amen” as a 10 year old, I would have. As it was, Mom planted one of those valuable line-on-line nuggets of wisdom in my young heart, and God’s Spirit caused it to take root. In the years since then, those roots have nourished an important idea:

God can do what people can’t.

It’s easy to apply that logic when mother and child are enjoying the scenery, but does it pertain to the monster-size crises of adulthood?

Examples abound:

An addict surrenders to a “higher power” and learns his name is Jesus, committing to sobriety and spreading that good news.
An abandoned child comes to Christ and grows up to lead a ministry dedicated to rescuing children from abuse.
An imprisoned criminal becomes a Christian, and hatred morphs into love.

These are real-life examples of people I know. In each case God combined two “colors” that wouldn’t rationally “go together,” and the results were spectacular:

Addiction/sobriety
Abandonment/rescue
Criminal behavior/loving actions.

So, what about the challenge of widowhood? The trouble-list is long: loneliness, fear, separation, sadness, and unwelcome change. What unlikely “color combinations” might God make available?

As we look at our list, we already know:

Loneliness/companionship
Fear/safety
Separation/togetherness
Sadness/joy
Change/assistance

The trick is to open ourselves to these out-of-the-ordinary combos, to actively look for them. Before our husbands died, loneliness wasn’t a problem; we had their companionship. If we were afraid, they protected us. We were together, and it was joyful. But now our men are gone and can no longer be these things for us.

And so we look to God. And what we see is his gentle, steady bringing of the things we miss. He provides the positive counter-balance to every negative, meets our needs and brings a “green” to enhance every “blue”.

The alternative is to refuse his help, which leaves us stuck in the misery of loneliness, fear, separation and sadness. That would be like Mom and me walking home from the beach with our eyes on the asphalt.

“My God shall supply all your need…” (Philippians 4:19)

Just Heavenly!

Posted on June 27, 2011 by Margaret

When I was a little girl, Mom forced my sister, brother and I to take piano lessons, just like most young children. I remember quite a few skirmishes with me on the piano bench refusing to practice and Mom in the kitchen saying, “You’re not getting off that bench till I hear you play!”

By 5^th grade, I begged to go another musical route: the violin. If Mom would just let me take violin lessons, I’d practice without arguing. Really! Every day!

She didn’t give in until 7^th grade. The junior high school had an orchestra, so she negotiated with me. “If you’ll join the orchestra and practice like you say, then OK.”

Poor Mom. She sprung for a violin and hauled me to Evanston every week for a 30 minute lesson, but fairly quickly the practice problem resurfaced. In the end, after two years of lessons and more conflicts than Mom could stand, she sold my violin out from under me announcing, “You’re done.”

But not quite. When Birgitta turned 4, she began begging to learn the violin. I ducked her pleas for quite a while, but when her best friend Ellen began begging her mom, too, we compromised by letting the girls split lessons, 15 minutes each.

I wasn’t prepared when my childhood longing to play the violin engulfed me once again. I rented a violin and took lessons by auditing Birgitta’s lessons. I practiced faithfully for nearly a year, performing a duet with my daughter in the family Christmas program. But she quickly left me behind in her abilities, and once again it became difficult to practice. (Surprise, surprise.)

I didn’t re-rent the violin and haven’t played since. Birgitta, on the other hand, studied for 10 years, wowing us all with her beautiful music. Ellen is still playing.

Yesterday in church we were treated to a performance by a trio of sisters, a pianist, a cellist and a violinist. As they played “To God Be the Glory” with flourish and force, my love for the violin surfaced immediately. I closed my eyes, longing to climb right into the music. Oh, how I wished it wouldn’t end.

Later they played “How Great Thou Art” with the same incredible style, the violinist’s shoulders dipping in commitment to the music, her ponytail swinging. Something deep in my soul responded not just to the violin music but to the Lord, and I started to cry. Wanting to breathe in the notes, I ached to make them mine. The craving was intense, unexplainable in words.

But God understood perfectly and let me know. He whispered, “This is what heaven will be like for you.”

And it took my breath away.

Now I know why I never stuck with practicing. No matter how hard I tried, I knew it would never sound like that. But some day…

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.” (Psalm 42:1)

Party Surprises

Posted on June 26, 2011 by Margaret

Widowhood brings many firsts, some excruciating, some not-so-bad, and some very good. Today I experienced a good one.

I’ve been so glad the house refurbishing is finished and everything nearly back in place that I decided to throw a celebratory party – for one. And what better place than the beach?

Pulling on my 8 year old bathing suit, I made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Although I couldn’t do much about the ravages of time, I could do something about the winter-white skin. Digging under the bathroom sink, I found some “Sublime Bronze Tinted Self-Tanning Lotion,” a little tube of cream that promised exactly what I wanted:

“A soft, smooth, 100% natural-looking sunless tan in less than an hour.”

Squeezing a generous dollop into my palm, I got my first surprise when it came out as dark as a piece of Fanny May chocolate. Although I’ve never liked being pasty white, I didn’t think I could pull off “swarthy”.

Nevertheless, I smeared it all over, hoping for the best, then set to planning the party refreshments: a baggie of cantaloupe, a Nutri-grain bar, a bag of pretzels and a Coke Zero. Although Jack would’ve been a welcome guest, summertime beach rules discourage daytime doggie attendance. Besides, heavy black fur and hot sunshine aren’t a happy combination. Jack understood and found a cool napping spot on the new slate tile.

Climbing onto Birgitta’s 7^th grade bike, I headed for my party at the shore, backpack full of reading and writing material, and the refreshments.

God apparently knew about the celebration ahead of time, because when I got there, he was ready with a second surprise. After pulling off my beach cover-up, my 65 year old body began sparkling like a convention of lightning bugs. Apparently the self-tanner had been laced with glitter, and it was all over me.

Always hoping to go unnoticed when in a swimming suit, today my time-worn skin made a noisy announcement as the sun bounced off every inch of me: “Look at my body! Look at my body!”

Although I hadn’t planned on an immediate swim, the chilly June water didn’t discourage me, and in I went, rubbing at the glitter with gusto. After that, the party went as planned, a lovely festivity for one.

God and I enjoyed the entertainment together, a long, uninterrupted conversation. And I got to eat all the food myself, sit in the best beach chair, and nap on my favorite towel. Several hours flew by, and when I arrived home, Jack was excited to hear all about it. I made sure to tell him that not all widow-firsts are negative.