Divine Design

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This weekend, 4000 miles away from me, my British grandbaby-twins are celebrating their first birthdays. Missing out on all the fun, I’m chastising myself for not having arranged to be on hand for the party. It would have been a weekend of three hallelujahs: Evelyn, Thomas and Easter!

Today in honor of these one year olds, I went back and re-read my blog posts from the 12 days I spent in England with them when they were newborns, and viewed the 112 photos posted during my 10 day visit last fall (with Nelson and Klaus). Hans, Katy and all three children came to the States in September (Blog post: “Surprise!” Sept 8, 2010) and again for 5 weeks at Christmas.

Four trans-Atlantic together-times in one year is pretty good. Will we do as well in 2011?

Children change radically during that first year, tripling their birth weights and learning a thousand skills. Never again in their lives will they develop at such a pace, and missing the majority of it is difficult. But I’m thankful for modern technology that keeps us up-to-date.

Small children are potent reminders of the passing of time. Watching them change so extensively that first year finds parents and grandparents huffing and puffing just to keep up, and I don’t  mean with the speed of their crawling. Some of their growth occurs so quickly we hardly have a memory of it.

Looking back one year ago when Evelyn and Thomas were helpless newborns, we didn’t know them well and were just beginning to get acquainted. Today we see them as individuals with specific personality traits, opinions and bents, and we know them well.

They occupy two important places in the Nyman family, too. If they disappeared tomorrow, the void would be significant. It’s taken only one year for Evelyn and Thomas to make a major mark on our whole family, and that’s because God is involved.

He’s designed every person who ever lived to be a unique, one-of-a-kind individual, never tiring of the creative process, never running out of ideas. Evelyn and Thomas are not repeats, and for all eternity they’ll each have the God-given soul and distinctive personhood they have today. I find that intriguing and thrilling, a triumph of divine design.

Katy and Hans have worked thousands of hours to bring their twins to this first birthday celebration, and I’ve had the chance to watch some of that exhausting diligence up close. But I know they’d both nod with enthusiastic approval if asked whether or not it was worth it.

As Katy put it, we have “1 who is 2, and 2 who are 1,” three little people who present one big challenge!

Beloved [twins], I pray that in all respects you may prosper and be in good health, just as your soul prospers.” (3 John 1:2)

Happy birthday!

 

A Good Friday Surprise

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Spring is inching its way into our neighborhood. After a winter that’s lasted too long, the forsythia, daffodils and blue-bells are a treat. Ground covers are blooming, and once in a while we stay above the 30’s overnight.

This morning as Jack and I started our walk, the strangest thing happened. Half-a-block from home we saw a sad-looking daffodil lying on the road, dusted with dirt. The stem had been neatly cut at an angle, but there it lay without explanation.

I stepped over it, and we continued on. Fifty yards further we saw another one… and another… and finally several. The only possibility I could imagine was a woman setting her flower vase on the car roof for a minute, then forgetting it was there as she drove away.

Jack and I pursued our walk, but at the farthest point from home, it began to pour. We picked up the pace, and I thought of the mysterious daffodils now lying in the mud. Deciding to rescue them, we walked past the house, retracing our steps to retrieve the flowers.

Mentally creating an Easter bouquet, I also snapped a piece of evergreen growing near the road to frame the daffodils. After gently swishing everything in a bowl of water and putting them in a crystal vase, they were an eye-catching display.

Tonight as I studied my pretty bouquet, God brought an old memory to mind. Mary and I were little girls and Mom was teaching us to sew. “We’ll make sachets for your drawers,” she said. “Your underwear will smell fresh, just like the outdoors!”

She took us out and directed us to the same type of evergreen I’d put with my daffodils this morning. “Pick this kind,” she’d said. “It smells best.” She’d pinched a small sprig between her fingers, putting it under our noses to prove her point.

We stripped our branches until all we had were piles of green “needles”. The room filled with a woodsy aroma, and I still have the pine sachet I made that day, sewn with a nine-year-old’s crude stitching.

Tonight God revealed an important Good Friday lesson having to do with that evergreen. In order for us to be included in heaven’s promise, Jesus needed to be crushed, much like Mom squeezed that sprig years ago to release its good scent. As excruciating as it was for the Father to turn away from his suffering Son, it was the only way we could have experienced salvation. His death became a sweet-smelling sacrifice to the Father.

As I looked in amazement at my bouquet, the Lord whispered something else. “Although you stepped over the dirty daffodils and picked them up only as an afterthought, I’ve never stepped over a dirty sinner. None of them, including you, will ever be an afterthought to me. You are front-and-center.

And that’s why I died for you.

“He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities. Christ… has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.” (Isaiah 53:5, Ephesians 5:2)

Floored

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In January of 2008, I made a request of God, asking for a gift I hoped to receive from him during that year. I’d been bothered by my over-familiarity with the crucifixion story and asked him to increase my understanding of Jesus’ sacrifice.

I longed to get away from the Christian-ese vocabulary hindering an accurate perception of the cross but had no idea how the Lord could teach me what I longed to know.

Birgitta and I were part of a mother-daughter Bible study that year, and when our leader announced we’d be studying C.J. Mahaney’s book, LIVING THE CROSS CENTERED LIFE, I was disappointed. The title didn’t sound much like high school daughter material. Little did I know God planned to use this little book (no bigger than a 5 x 7 photo) to answer my January prayer request.

We were nearly half way through the book when God shocked me by revealing something that wasn’t about Jesus but about me: the depth of my own sin. The way he did it impacted me forever.

Mr. Mahaney wrote, “Knowing the hour of His death is fast approaching, Jesus has come here (Gethsemane) in need as never before of his Father’s comfort and strength. Instead, hell – utter separation from God – is thrust in His face. He confronts total abandonment and absolute wrath from His Father on the cross, a distress and an abandonment and a rejection we cannot begin to grasp.”*

As the truth of this terrifying picture settled in on me, I began to tremble with horror at what I’d done, how disastrous my sin was for Jesus, not just the big things I was sorry about but the teeny sins I’d brushed under the rug. All of it. Any of it! And I started to cry.

Unable to read through tears, I left my book and the chair and knelt on the floor, blubbering my grief to the Lord, brokenhearted over my guilt in front of him. He continued to show me the monumental cost of Christ’s sacrifice, and I took off my shoes.

Mahaney wrote, “(Jesus) has every right to turn His tearful eyes toward you and me and shout, ‘This is your cup. You’re responsible for this. It’s your sin! You drink it’.” **

And suddenly I couldn’t get low enough before the Lord. There was no other place to go but flat on the floor, face to the carpet, wailing in grief and shame. “I’m responsible!” I cried, tears and snot smearing on the rug. “I’m the sinner!” And for the first time my heart grasped the magnitude of what Jesus did to allow me the privilege of calling his Father my Father, too.

Because Jesus drank every poisonous drop of the cup of God’s wrath, I will never have to take even one small sip… because there’s nothing left in the cup.

“You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.” (Romans 5:8)

*p. 81   **p. 82