Remembrance

This candle was made with flowers from the memorial service after my sister died.  It pains me sometimes to observe how little I think about her now, how I need things like this candle to jog my memory and bring her back to me.  It doesn't seem right that she should pass away not only from this life, but also from my thoughts.  I remember you, my sister!

How quickly we forget.   If only we could remember every single person, every single event, every conversation, every book read, every movie seen, every disturbing image, every harsh word, every rancorous argument, every grief, every pain...sound good to you?  Me neither. Our limited memories are no doubt a blessing from God.  He knows that there are some things that are better forgotten and the sooner, the better.  

Yet, we are to be careful and disciplined about our memories: careful not to forget that which is important, and disciplined in our bringing those things to remembrance.  God had to tell His people over and over and over again not to forget what He did when He brought them out of Egypt.  He memorialized it with food and ritual in the Passover supper.  Memorials were built at his command to commemorate important events.  Jesus instituted the Lord's Supper to observe as a remembrance because we so easily forget those things that should not ever be forgotten.  We need reminders, substantive memorials.  We need the bread and the wine, the ritual food that nourishes our souls and jogs our memories.

I remember You, my Lord!

And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, 

he broke it and gave it to them, saying,

 “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

Luke 22:19

Detour

The cons: detours take you away from your planned route, usually represent a delay of some sort, and often reek of the unknown.  When I see a detour sign I usually have to stifle ( or not) a sense of impatience.  If I'm traveling unfamiliar roads, a layer of anxiety leaks in, for who knows how far out of they way I will be directed or even if the signs will be clear enough to follow?   I don't like detours.

The pros:  it is far better to contemplate the fact that detours exist for the very good reason that the original road was badly in need of repair or in need of improved design.  Detours and repairs don't last forever and when the sign goes down, the roads are smooth, new and much improved.  It turns out the engineer knew what he was doing and that the cause of irritation is really a reason to be thankful.

Why can I not remember this when God puts a detour sign up in my life?  Why do I always bemoan the changes, the delays and the uncertainty?   The Engineer knows what He is doing.  Thanks be to God.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord,

"Plans for welfare and not for calamity."

Jeremiah 29:11

Frost

Like the frost on my window,

Beautiful, yet brittle and cold,

Is the woman down the street

And I am afraid

To touch her life with mine,

To breathe the frigid air 

she inhabits.

But Jesus calls me

To be His warmth

Where the frost can melt

For He longs to set her free,

That she might breathe of His grace

And live

written in 1995, modified in 2014

A Matter of Perspective

I went on the most epic walk today.  I was definitely feeling on the heroic side as I prepared myself to go outside where the cold wind was howling a challenge.   By the time I left the house, only my eyes were uncovered and I headed directly into the wind.   It was a battle, me against the elements as I fought to walk while being pushed backward.  There was a moment or two when I considered turning around.  "Let's call the whole thing off!"   I'm not proud of my wimpiness, but there it is.  However, it wasn't long before I turned a corner and was in a place protected from the wind, a welcome respite.  By the time I got back to where I started, the wind was pushing me home.  It occurred to me that I was walking a metaphor for life.  At times I've been buffeted by trials and though I wished I could turn around, could only go forward, like it or not.  Then there are times of respite and encouragement, like stopping in at The Last Homely House and being cocooned.  And when I reach that last bend in the road, the fearsome winds will be pushing me Home and I will, I hope, be able to say, "Bring it on!"

Snared

Many, many years ago my brother went ice fishing with a friend.   I'm guessing they were around 14-15 years old at the time.  They chopped a little hole in the ice and proceeded with their sport.  About the time their extremities were starting to get numb, they decided to call it a day and at this point my brother's friend had an idea.  "Hey," he said, "I'm going to cover up the hole so you can't tell it's there.   That way somebody else will come along and step right in it!"  Yes, folks, that's just the kind of idea that boys find amusing, and this will remain true throughout the millennia.  At any rate, this friend enacted his devilish plan with skill and the snare was laid.  They picked up all of their equipment and as they were leaving, this guy stepped right into the trap dunking one leg calf deep into the icy water.  My brother enjoyed a good laugh over that and you should, too.  It's a story that often comes to mind when I read this passage in Psalm 9:

The Lord is known by the judgment He executes, whether He's dealing with nations or individuals, whether judgment comes right away or is delayed.  There's comfort in that (unless you are wicked, of course).   Meditation, indeed.

The Puzzle Lady

I used to deliver Meals on Wheels to someone whom I privately nicknamed The Puzzle Lady.  She lived in a little house all by herself and each time I stopped by, she was sitting at the kitchen table working on a puzzle.  I wondered sometimes if I was the only person she saw that day, the only human being to cross her path.  I admit that I began to weave a story for her that gave her a solitary existence in which the only source of interest was a puzzle.   I had her sad life all mapped out in my imagination based on a sixty-second interaction twice a month.  Who knows?  Maybe she was like the grandmother in Hoodwinked who participated in extreme sports on the sly.  Maybe that puzzle was just a front for an incredibly complex and fascinating life.  Maybe.  But her facial expression lacked vitality and spoke of tiredness, loneliness and resignation.  I am ashamed to say that I never tried to find out what her story was; I always had another meal to deliver and a schedule to follow.   How many stories do we miss because we're tied to the clock?  What would she have told me if I'd offered to stay and help her with her puzzle?