A “B Plan”

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Just outside the front windows of our Illinois house was a small tree covered with springtime blossoms. One April day we noticed a bird’s nest tucked in its branches, topped with a mama blue jay. So we began bird-watching from a nearby window, checking every day for babies.

Our cat Kennedy was also watching, and several times I saw her stretching tall from the back of the couch, peering out at the mother bird. She had no interest in eggs, though, only what was inside them.

Kennedy had been a rescued kitten given to Hans on his 12th birthday, picked up while wandering across Chicago’s Kennedy Expressway. She was puppylike-friendly but morphed into a hunter every night, insisting on being let out as the rest of us went to bed. In the morning she’d often arrive with a gift, a dead mouse, chipmunk or small bunny dangling from her mouth. None of us liked this part of Kennedy but knew it was nature’s way.

Through the window, we worried about the baby blue jays but hoped their protective mama would keep Kennedy at bay. I remember the day the eggs hatched. We kept the cat indoors while several of us perched at the window to watch, but suddenly there she was, at the tree.

Hans bolted out the front door to grab her, but it was too late. She was already in the branches fighting with the mother blue jay, who appeared to be winning. Hans raced to the garage and reappeared with a board, shouting and swinging at his beloved pet, desperate to force her down. But within seconds it was all over, and Kennedy had had her way.

All of us were devastated, and my heart went out to the mama bird. She’d been faithful to her task, then was robbed of her reward. Although we were mad at Kennedy, we couldn’t blame her for doing what God had taught her to do.

Sometimes people-lives parallel that of mama blue jay. We meet our responsibilities, work hard and do the right things, but disaster strikes anyway. Money is diligently saved, then lost in a recession. A parent pours heart and soul into raising a child, who then turns against her/him. Someone leads a healthy lifestyle but gets sick anyway. A business is built on moral principles but goes bankrupt.

We usually can’t explain these misfortunes and wonder why bad things happen to good people, especially if “God is good.” But that’s where faith comes in. Do we really believe he’s good, and good to us? If so, we have to trust that even “bad” stuff has “good” purposes.

After Kennedy destroyed the mama blue jay’s future, I stayed at the window watching her. What would she do now? She sat on the porch railing nearby, focused on the tree, squawking intensely for about 5 minutes. Then she flew off in search of Plan B and never returned.

It’s often excruciating to surrender our A Plans. But when we’re ready, God’s B Plan is ready, too.

“The righteous… do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them. They are confident and fearless and can face their foes triumphantly.” (Psalm 112:6-8)

Giver of Life

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When I was two (1947), Santa brought me my first baby doll. She had a cloth body, a hard plastic head, and was about the size of a real newborn. Something inside clicked when I first held her, and from then on, she was my constant companion. I named her Becky and lovingly cared for her.

By the time I was 7, I began wishing Becky would come to life. Some little girls beg their mommies to have another baby, but I didn’t want that. I wanted Becky to be my baby, not mom’s.

In Sunday school I’d been taught two important concepts: (1) God said we could ask him for anything, and (2) God could do anything he wanted. So every night before I went to bed, I tucked Becky into her doll crib and prayed over her. “Dear Jesus, please turn Becky into a real baby.”

That first morning when I found she was still a lifeless doll, I was baffled. God had made Adam real from clay, so I didn’t doubt he could “fix” Becky, too. With confidence and determination, I decided to pray every night until he granted my request.

If ever the expression “faithful in prayer” applied, it was then. I didn’t miss a night, asking God again and again to bring Becky to life. Wasn’t he hearing me? Didn’t he understand the request or my longing for it? Wasn’t I good enough to get one favor from God? Did he lie when he said he could do anything?

Most of us find ourselves asking those same questions even as adults. We pray for something worthwhile, and when it doesn’t happen, we question God’s wisdom and our faith in him. We wonder if the scriptural promises are true and if they are, why they don’t apply to us.

As a young girl in a faith crisis, I finally went to Mom. She explained that God had indeed heard all my prayers and had even answered them all… with a “no”. According to her, God knew a third grade girl couldn’t care for a real baby. She said, “Who would babysit when you were in school or out playing?” I didn’t have an answer.

For the most part I bought her reasoning, but inwardly I was frustrated with God. If he was going to say “no”, he could have at least given me the reason. But even now, 60 years later, he doesn’t usually give reasons for why he says “no” to prayers. Instead he wants me to trust that he does hear me and answers according to what’s best for me.

In my case, the “no” about Becky was permanent. I still have her, and she’s still a lifeless doll. But behind that childhood “no” God quietly whispered a “wait”. Actually it was more like, “But just you wait!” Twenty years later, when the time was right, he changed his “wait” to “yes”!

And along came Nelson, Lars, Linnea, Klaus, Hans, Louisa and Birgitta, 7 real live babies.

“Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” (Psalm 37:4)


A Secret Society

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Although some people designate the month of April for spring cleaning, at my house we’re making messes.

When Nate and I moved into this cottage full time in June of 2009, the house was ready for a face lift. Its colors were the same ones we registered at the Marshall Fields bridal registry in 1969: psychedelic oranges, yellows, and greens. After we got married, we stuck with that color scheme for about two years, but the Michigan house was stuck there still.

Our 2009 summer as new Michigan residents was a mixed blessing. We were glad to be here, but Nate’s back was bothering him intensely. Neither of us knew that very soon we would learn of his cancer, and our plans would be permanently altered.

But before all that, I remember an evening when the two of us sat amidst the boxes and talked of fixing up the house. I was all about paint and throw rugs, but he was thinking bigger. He saw new windows, air conditioning, fresh siding, even a larger kitchen.

About a year after Nate died, I was finally ready to begin on the plans we’d made together. We painted the rooms and laid down the throw rugs. At Christmas time we tackled the windows. This month our goal was to get rid of the last of the musty cottage smell by way of pulling up the wild orange, yellow and red carpeting in the sunroom. Because of former roof leaks and wobbly floors, everything beneath the carpet had to go, too, an interesting combination of several layers of wood.

After the floor had been rebuilt and prepped for tile, Drew started on the back stairs. As he pulled up the old, carpeted boards one by one, an odd-shaped space beneath the stairway and its two landings became exposed to light for the first time. Although we found storage bins that had been shoved into that small area, daylight illuminated what had been a secret.

A  cramped, dark place we thought had been useless has actually been of great use to quite a few others. Sweeping between the stair supports, I found a stash belonging to chipmunks, carefully stacked piles of dry dog food. Spider webs decorated every corner, many of them occupied, and mice had used the area as a bathroom.

When I came to a cluster of acorns, I wondered if Little Red and his squirrel-pals had somehow snuck in there, too.  And all this while we’d been upstairs, blissfully unaware of the secret society below us.

As I swept, I thought of my own secret places where tiny sins can move in and live without me noticing. That’s the way Satan wants it, quiet and ignored, until a secret society of sins has taken up residence. By the time I become aware of the neighborhood of nasties I’ve overlooked, it ends up to be a major eviction project.

While Drew continues to make a springtime “mess” toward home improvement, it might be good for me to do some internal spring cleaning… right after I call the exterminator.

“How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart? Cleanse me from these hidden faults.” (Psalm 19:12)