Thursday, January 13, 2011

“When you pray, rather let your heart be without words than your words without heart.” ~John Bunyan

I woke up a half dozen times last night, thoughts conceived, ideas forming, plans about to be delivered. Lying in bed, covers pulled up to my cold nose, I regurgitated data I’d subconsciously taken in back in our early days on Ebay, running mental calculations, forming a selling model, and weighing risks. I think I might know a small online business venture that will pay its own way. But it could have waited for its hatching until daylight and left me to slumber in peace.

My father has certainly raised an odd crop of children. Sometimes I look back on the day’s happenings and simply chuckle. Now devoid of sons, he packed his girls up in their coveralls and trekked out in the woods to cut wood. Not so surprising or odd. But when the lawn-tractor, to which we’d attached a trailer to haul logs, showed a tire puddled up into a flat mess, the really interesting began to happen. Lydia and I made a super team, as I jacked up the tractor and she retrieved the green slime and began to take careful measurements. Actually, the jack was too tall for the lawn tractor, and I had to pick up the rear end while she shoved it under. After chocking the wheels, of course. She showed me how to take out the valve needle and pump in the slime, then I hauled out our bubble of compressed air and pumped it back into a healthy donut shape. Viola. Back to business. After we finished, Lydia was dispatched to disconnect the battery cables, to save the battery over the winter months.

I’ve gotten used to doing odd kinds of jobs myself, but the humor is hitting home to me now that my thirteen-year-old sister is out-manning most of the men coming out of Americana college life. And teaching me a few techniques in the process.

"Where’s the salad spinner?” I asked aloud, a floury tortilla-to-be in hand, as I opened cabinet doors and peered into shelves. On the other side of the blanket that partitions the living room from the kitchen, I heard Lydia pause in her piano practicing. But that was the extent of an answer. A salad spinner doesn’t just disappear. Especially not our watermelon-sized contraption. Baffled, I went in search of Mom, the forever reorganizer, to discover if my missing tool had been relegated to the back shelves of some distant cabinet. No such luck. Returning to the kitchen, I opened the door to the cabinet where it should have been, just on a whim. And there it sat, calm and contented, and very obtrusive. Exactly where it had not been five minutes before. “Lydia!” I hollered, and the piano stopped again. “What?” came her innocent response, followed by a giggle. She’d misplaced it while stowing away clean dishes and decided it would be funnier to replace it than to ‘fess up.

I sat before the Lord today feeling entirely empty. Empty, but at rest. I read nothing. I prayed nothing. I thought nothing. But I knew again that I was before the Lord. That there is not a hiding place on earth I could be that He is not, not a word I could whisper that He would not hear, not a tear I could cry or a smile cross my face that He would not see. And I walked away, silent, but calm.

Why do I strain and weep and plead

When Thou art all I want and need?

And Thou art He who hast pursued

Me with Thy mercy, rich and good.

I cannot be more close to Thee

Than Thou hast worked through Calvary

And resting in Thy risen Son

Has made my soul, in Thine, as one.

I wrestle with Thee for Thy grace

And plead to see Thy precious face

When Thou hast lavished grace on me

And promised for eternity

To be my sun, my shield, my light.

‘Tis Thou hast vict’ry in this fight!

Thou won the battle before time.

Why should I need a surer sign?

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Over the year I collected together the things I feel I am failing...and here they are for me to, by God's grace, grow in this year.

Resolved to try:

To put my whole mind into whatever I am doing, as an act of worship to God. Therefore to be careful that whatever I am doing may be done whole-heartedly as worship to God.

To seek the Lord in quietness and solitude first thing every morning, that being with Him may color my outlook on life.

To refrain from speaking any ill of anyone not present and to confront only that person if there truly is an issue of character or obedience.

To keep a careful account of the Lord’s dealings with me and all that I learn of Him and to share His goodness with all who will listen.

To keep continually in mind God’s grace, truth and beauty in order to keep uglier things from dwelling there.

To learn as much as I can of God’s creation and praise Him for it.

To employ both time and money in seeking souls for the Lord.

To be bold to offer mercy, to speak of God, to speak truth, to love as Christ, but innocent of any evil or selfish ambition.

To be slow to promise, but swift to deliver, slow to speak, but swift to hear, slow to affirm or correct, but swift to love, slow to judge, but swift to forgive.

To consult the Lord and His wisdom constantly and to seek His answer fervently and without giving up.

To praise character, encourage holiness, focus on God’s grace as being the means of true beauty.

To rejoice always, pray unceasingly and always give thanks.

To never regard circumstances except in the light of God’s wisdom and Word.

To never be satisfied with anything less than perfection in myself, yet eager to regard attempt in others.

To never grow weary in doing what is right or compare myself to the world with envy or self-satisfaction.

To offer love and service without regard to “fair treatment,” “personal rights” or return of either.

To keep in mind the cross as my own just end and the picture of God’s wrath from which I am delivered and God’s love which paid the price. And to remember that, in the cross, I am delivered from God’s wrath and God’s justice is satisfied, therefore all that befalls me—even discipline which seems unpleasant for the moement--flows from His mercy, grace and love, lavished on a daughter.

To accept weakness as a tool of God’s strength and to be willing to be wholly dependent on Him.

To do what is right, regardless of results, rumors, rewards, remarks or revilings.

To keep perspective that God, the powerful Creator, Who alone is imperishable and dwells in unapproachable light, has granted me confident access to His throne of grace, that I might receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, and to make full use of this access.

To never suggest, by my words or actions or thoughts, that I might be more righteous than God. For He does what is right and this is what I must trust, when He does what is different than I expect or wish.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

I claim I am Yours,
Yet I act like my own.
I say that I know You
Yet if I were known
With the depth that I offer
(Of which I am proud)
My sensitive nature’d
Be shouting aloud
That we were still strangers—
Still heart-years apart.
Is that how You feel
In the depth of Your heart?

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I had a dream. In my dream, white and black walked side by side.

Not racial equality. A bride and groom.

Actually, the dream began with me asking Lin N if she’d mind a little matchmaking. I knew a guy I thought would be perfect for her. Could I give him her number? She assented. And I did. And they got married. And I sang at their wedding. Then I awoke and, behold, it was a dream.

A couple of days later, Emily sat patiently by, chatting with me as I labored on a jacket-dress. “How’s Lindsey?” I asked. Because I hadn’t talked to her in some time. In fact, the last time I’d talked to Lin N she’d been sharing how the Lord was working in her heart to desire to become a homemaking wife and mother and how she was loving cooking and how she had her school debt almost paid off and how she was content in the Lord. A very good time to keep track of a girl, if you ask me. “Fine,” Emily answered, which is what she always said.

And then the funniest thing happened. I never intended to tell anyone about that dream, but I opened my mouth to say something and it toppled right out. “I had the weirdest dream about Lindsey.” When I finished, Emily gave me a funny smile. “That is funny,” she said. “Did you know who the guy was?”

Ah. Yes. Who the guy was.

Indeed I did.

“It was Tim.”

Then her face became a study in comedy. “Was that just out of the blue?” A million thoughts raced through my mind before I answered, “Maybe not entirely. I might have thought of it before.” Because I had. Lin N and Tim were in the same general vicinity. But they didn’t really know each other. But they should. They really should get to know each other well.

“Can I tell Lindsey?” Emily asked me, and my mouth must have hit the floor. That seemed like a stupid thing to do. Tell Lin N? Like she needed any distractions. “If you think she’d find it funny.” Emily snickered, “Yeah. I think she’d find it really funny.”

That night my conscience hurt worse than a stomach with too much wedding cake. How indiscreet. I shouldn’t ever have told Emily. And I shouldn’t have let her tell Lindsey. Embarrassed, I called Emily to apologize. “It’s fine,” she assured me. “Really, it’s fine.”

Then my mind went clackety-clacking. So did several others. For real, it was fine?
Today a letter arrived in the mail. A letter signed by both Tim and Lin N. A letter informing their friends that they'd decided to share their lives. With each other. Emily and Bruce were the sole confidants. Everyone else was awash in amazement. Well, I wasn’t exactly awash in amazement. Surprised, yes, that it had happened so fast and so secretly. But delighted. I don’t think I’ve been this excited since…well, maybe since Tabby and Cliff became engaged. I called Lin N. only to discover that I didn’t have anything to say. Mostly we giggled.

Lin N. has always inspired me with her passion for truth, her hungry heart for obedience and her unflinching standards of modesty and purity. God demonstrates Himself strong in her life and testimony, turning her into a woman who fears Him and is worthy of praise. And Tim is a gentleman, a man of integrity and a sincere seeker of the Lord.

I suppose we could all say this is a dream come true?

December 1, 2008

Monday, December 1, 2008

Josiah and I walked through the entrance to Wal-mart laden with return items—a couple of crock-pots, a coffee grinder and a pair of jeans—from the family’s shopping spree on Black Friday. “We have half a million returns,” I smiled apologetically at the lady stickering returns. “I only count four,” Josiah commented dryly. The lady tossed us a sympathetic smile. “That’s all right,” she said, taking the first box from my arms. “When I got married…”

Of course, getting us to Wal-mart required effort. People are like the clocks of old—some run more quickly than others. I’d warned Josiah we were leaving at eight. Right after breakfast and chores. Eight o’clock rolled around and I walked out the door, purse slung over my arm, keys in hand. I opened the garage door myself. I loaded all the returns into the back of the pick-up. Then I backed the vehicle out of the garage and sat waiting. And waiting. And waiting. It’s a funny thing, this waiting business. Seems like my whole life has been spent waiting. Papa used to be the timely one. The first one in the car waiting on the rest of us. Soon I learned to be out the door as soon as he hollered “Let’s go!” Now I’m the one who waits in the car for everyone else. Even Papa gave up on being out early. I get supper on early, call everyone and wait. While the food grows cold. We make plans to start projects at a specified time and I emerge from my den and wait. While everyone else leisurely finishes up whatever they were doing when the deadline rolled around. I wait for others to finish their tasks so I can do mine. Sometimes I just do both because I get tired of waiting. This morning as I sat in the truck, waiting, I could feel the tendons in my neck growing tighter and tighter. I have a schedule, you know, Josiah. It’s planned out perfectly so we can get everything done perfectly. You know we have a lot to get done, Josiah. And we’ve got to get started on time, you know, Josiah. Josiah, I did tell you what time we needed to leave? How long ago did I holler “Let’s go”? How long have I been waiting? Why is my whole life filled with people who keep me waiting?!

Then, as if they sun had burst through the foggy clouds, came my moment of truth. Uh, duh, Abigail. You’re life is filled with waiting because you still haven’t become good at it. And Yahweh knows that practice makes perfect.

I managed to make it to the Doctor's on time. And then we appeared at the home of Miss Judy and Amber to finish much of the work which we had begun, making their apartment a home. The pictures hanging on the walls and the curtains in the windows add so much warmth and coziness to that little abode. Josiah and I were on a mission today to hang a couple of shelves in Amber’s room—and string up some curtains—lime green, tied back with purple ribbons and a sheer overlay of silver stars. Makes me think of pickle and jelly sandwiches smothered in fairy dust. It matched the rest of her room perfectly. But we didn’t finish on schedule. Quite. “Are you almost done?” I demanded as Emily called, wondering if we were going to make it for lunch. We finished our work in a flurry and made a mad dash for the pick-up and on to campus. And we made it. Barely.

Then, as predictably as the tide, we were back out and on the road home. I still had to clean the Ware’s. I try to make a racket coming in and holler “knock, knock” in case Travis is still home. As soon as I stepped in, I noticed the dark form of a head and shoulder slumped over the couch. Great. He was sleeping. I hate trying to figure out how to wake sleeping people without scaring them. For me, the slightest noise sends me bounding from bed, but I've developed a reputation for sneaking up on people--accidentally. Travis had slept through my vacuuming before. I cleaned the back bathroom and came back out into the living room. There he still reposed. But just then Josiah called. “Hey,” I whispered. “Come over here. Travis is asleep on the couch and I don’t want to scare him.” After all he was an Air Force courier in active combat. No telling what he’d do if threatened. Plus, he just had heart surgery. Josiah arrived post-haste and walked straight up to the snoozing form, scooped it up and displayed his find. “Here’s Travis,” he announced, holding up a black hooded sweatshirt.

It was late when I talked to Jacinda. But later still when we finally hung up as I drooped in a near-slumber posture. I’ve heard others accuse her of not talking. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t talk, but the world is full of people who don’t listen. They assume that those who won’t compete with them simply can’t talk. Jacinda is a wealth of interesting thought-patterns and lovely revelations. Some find her harsh, but she’s at least as harsh on herself as she is on anyone else. She always seeks to speak truth and she proclaims her own faults with more fervor than she ever would anyone else’s. She’s quick to challenge herself and her attitudes and even quicker to seek the Lord in all things. So I let her talk. I love to hear her vent. She says she hates journaling, but when she talks to me I hear her heartbeat as she works through issues, sorts out her feelings, digs for the truth and finally triumphs. “I don’t talk to anyone else like I do you,” she told me, and I grew warm all over. Even if I needed two-by-fours to prop my eyelids open, her words permeated my mind and sent a smile shivering all over my body. Maybe she is struggling with the shallowness of the girls at training. Maybe she is struggling with developing deeper relationships and feeling like others won't open up to her. But I love hearing it all, because that’s the thread of feeling running through Jacinda’s heart. And I feel privileged to reach out and touch it. People don’t realize what they are missing when they don’t listen. The first warbled notes of a fledgling sparrow, proclaiming the Creator’s genius. The veiled tears behind the standard, “fine, thank you, how are you?” The wonder and delight of a child touching an animal. The hesitation in a voice that wishes you would ask more. The heart throb of one of God’s precious children—that only He hears with perfect clarity. In this vast world, I am privileged to hear a tiny bit of what He hears. And all of it is important to Him.

I listen to His creation, but how often do I listen to Him? In those moments between perfect scheduling and frustration, while I wait for that person who is chronically late or wonder when this important event will finally come to pass, my own thoughts clamor for my attention, ranting and raging and railing on the one who keeps me waiting. Forgetting that it’s actually One who keeps me waiting. Because nothing gets off of His schedule. And I forget to tune my heart to hear the subtle truths He would teach me through my frustrations, through my circumstances, through my surroundings. That singing bird is a work of His genius—it trusts Him entirely for every breath it takes, for every moment it flies through the glorious air. He keeps me waiting because He would have me ready—not to do a host of all-important things, but to listen. To hear His voice in the quiet moments of meditation, when He gently reminds me of the truth of His word.

Lord, aren’t Thou, who made the ear
Worth the time it takes to hear?
Thou who spoke the final word,
Must forevermore be heard.

Teach me such an attitude
To listen, with my heart renewed
To hear whatever Thou might say
And hearing, hasten to obey.

Because I am Completely Single

(From 2 Peter 1:2-11)

And society insists I should be whining about it. Secular society proclaims that something must be terribly amiss if I have no boyfriend while Christian society simply insinuates my second-rateness by asking, “You’re still not married?”

Because a significant other is, after all, the measure of completeness.

Step back in time with me to a day when I was at enmity with God, excluded from His promises, cut off from His mercy by my sin. Having rebelled against Almighty God, choosing myself over Him, I found myself in a place of stark emptiness, alone, accursed, afraid. Single. Strip me back to the raw bones of helpless humanity and my needs become apparent—only one: to know God. Jesus stepped in, offering His life a ransom for my sins, redeeming me into a relationship with God, saving my soul from eminent death and destruction and betrothing me to Himself for eternity. Jesus took an empty, meaningless life and hid it in His making me complete.

In Christ, God granted to me everything pertaining to life and godliness. Do I lack?

Once upon a time you, too, were incomplete. Broken. Empty. Excluded from God’s mercy. But if you know Christ, you have everything. You are complete. Society doesn’t know God and tries to fill His place with everything imaginable: talent, money, beauty, fame, intelligence, experience, health, food, power, family, friends and romance. None of these complete you. Not even having all your appendages attached and in working order makes you a complete person. Completeness is apart from anything you can touch or see. Knowing Christ, you have escaped the corruption that is in the world by lust. Lust that is never satisfied, that always wants more. That we pursue until it controls us. You needn’t pursue anything but Yahweh.

Does this make “other” things evil? Not at all. Each of these things is a responsibility given by God to glorify Him. Every good thing and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights (James 1:17). He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, will He not also along with Him, graciously give us all things (Romans 8:32)? We know that God will supply all our needs according to the riches in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19). Take it back to the basics and we discover that we only have one primal need—to be saved, to belong to God. Everything else is a bonus. More. Above and beyond. An overflowing cup.

If your Heavenly Father met your primal need for a Savior, so miraculously bridging the gap between fallen man and perfect deity, does He have the power and wisdom to will and to work in your life for His good pleasure? Is there really anything “missing”? Are you incomplete? Lacking something?

Of course not. You have everything you need for life and godliness. Jesus. The lover of your soul. The bread from heaven. The pearl of great price. He beautifies the afflicted with salvation. He heals the soul. He makes wise the foolish and strengthens the weak. He is a father to the fatherless and a friend to all those who call on Him.

I realize that reflecting on these almost cliché truths sets your heart at ease and puts a smile on your face—for the duration of about two minutes. Just until the next wedding announcement arrives or you climb into bed alone. When sitting patiently, singing “Jesus is all the world to me” fails to stave off those second-rate blues, forget waiting to be pursued by a man and pursue!

Pursue Yahweh--Seek to know Him intimately, what pleases and displeases Him, His goals, His purposes, His promises. While you are unmarried, you have so much time energy and emotion you could be pouring into seeking Yahweh and building a foundation that will hold strong through the rest of your life. Are you wasting that time in pining for a husband when you already have a Perfect Lover?

Pursue your family--There is no shame, no indiscretion in a girl wooing her father or brothers. Certainly none in her reaching out to her mother or sisters. While you are unmarried you have so much time, energy and emotion that you could pour into the relationships that will best prepare you for marriage and uphold you through it—the relationships God has already blessed you with. He who is faithful in small things will be given great things (Mark 25:21). Are you wasting this precious training ground by day-dreaming of “escaping” it?

Pursue relationships with other girls—When Jesus healed the Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5:1-20), the man begged to go with Jesus. His request was a good one. Your desire for marriage is also. But Jesus told him “no.” That “no” was not a punishment. It was a redirection. The Lord had work for that man to do. The result of his cheerful obedience was that, even though Jesus had to leave the area, the entire region heard the good news of Jesus’ salvation. While you are unmarried, you have so much time, energy and emotion that you could be pouring into relationships with other girls. Are you wasting it feeling sorry for yourself when others could benefit from your encouragement?

Endure! Press on! Knowing that by the testing of your faith you will be perfect and complete, lacking nothing (James 1:2-4)! Be diligent to supplement your faith with moral excellence, consistently choosing to do the right thing. Your moral excellence comes from the knowledge of Christ! You come to know Christ through self-control and diligent study of Him and His word, which requires perseverance in your desire for God. Reach out to others, be kind to others. Forget about being “in love” and love! For real.

And guess what—you’ll find that you’ve been preparing for marriage in the best way possible. Or for whatever else the Lord might throw your way. You’re not depending on a husband to complete you. Or a father. Or a friend. Or anything else. Only Christ is perfect. Only Christ will never disappoint. In Christ you are complete. Lacking nothing. That is the secret of contentment in all circumstances (Philippians 4:11-13). Married? Single? Widowed? Your completeness comes from Christ. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

If these qualities are yours and are increasing, you’re neither useless nor unfruitful! You’re not incomplete. Second-rate. In Christ, you have everything you need for life and godliness. If you practice these things, you will never stumble. You’ll be so busy enjoying both that you’ll forget about the fact that you’re “still not married.” That you only turn down one side of your bed. You’ll forget to evaluate guys in light of your “husband-worthy” list. Time will fly by while the Lord is at work writing the life-stories that only He knows how to compose. Being completely single is an opportunity to be completely singled out to serve the Lord only. It’s an opportunity that, most likely, will not last forever.

Why would I whine about being free to serve Yahweh wholly? Why would I worry whether the God of eternity takes note of the ticking of a biological clock? Why would I feel as if I’m missing out on all the things God doesn’t have for me right now? I’ve got everything I need. In Christ I am complete.

Once I was a broken child,
Marked for death, by sin defiled,
But Thou hast brought me near by grace
To gaze upon Thy perfect face.

Complete in Jesus Christ I stand,
He holds me wholly in His hand,
I need no argument or plea—
He died to set my spirit free.

This is the love that Jesus brings,
Who left His throne as King of Kings,
And donned my sinful flesh to prove
The height and breadth and depth of love.

Complete in Jesus Christ I stand,
Receiving mercy from His hand
I trust that He will also give
Whatever I most need to live.

What else should I demand or plead?
I have no other pressing need
But to partake of Love Divine
And to be His as He is mine.

Complete in Jesus Christ I stand,
And dare to open wide my hands
To let go of my hopes and dreams,
Be emptied to be filled by Him.

Because He’s Not Sentimental

“Did you watch that Mark Twain movie with us?” Papa asked me as I sat on his bedroom floor. “No,” I answered. “Was it good?” He shrugged. “He had a daughter—his youngest I think. Susie was her name. I guess he was kind of enigmatic. Hard to understand. And she really just intuitively understood him. They were very close.” I looked up. “I think I remember hearing that,” I answered. “Didn’t he get really depressed when she died?” Papa nodded, but he didn’t say anything more. When I came to kiss him good night he said, “I love you, Baby.” “I love you, too,” I responded, thinking how far we’ve come since the days of my early teens, when we seemed to have drifted miles apart. Then he added, “Hearing about Mark Twain’s daughter made me think of you.” My heart swelled and pressed against the inside of my ribs so I could hardly breathe. I didn’t answer. What could I say? Papa’s not a sentimental person. He rarely says things that earn an “aw.” I quietly walked down the hall and into my room, my eyes filling with tears—happy tears. What amazing things Jesus can do! Just a few words, but I knew exactly what he meant. He couldn’t have said it better.

Lord, ‘tis Thou whose grace imparts
The turning of a father’s heart
To his daughter, hers to him
And sets love like a diadem

Upon the brow of each in Thee,
To mirror Thy paternity.
When I gaze on both my fathers
I am blessed among all daughters.

Because She Knows Not What She Doeth

I couldn’t help cringing. I’d just met them both—he, full of charisma and energy, her, like damp smoke, sucking the joy out of the atmosphere. He introduced her by her first name and offered me shotgun, next to her as she drove. “Oh,” she said, hearing my name, “I have a three-year-old named Abby.” Not “we have a three-year-old” even though he was sitting right there. She wore no “token of unending love”—no ring. Odd, I thought to myself, and tried to push it to the back of my mind with the rest of the garbage needing hauled out. She’s probably just been cleaning or working out or something, I tried to excuse her slovenly appearance and dirty hair. Everyone looks terrible sometimes. She’s only going out to lunch with her husband and a couple of ladies. Who cares? But I couldn’t help thinking that he might. Especially since the other ladies were dressed nicely—he was, too. She gave no apology for her outfit to tactfully hint that wasn’t how she normally appeared in public.

We headed into the restaurant and he hung back a little, talking to us, letting her go first. Well, okay, business is business. He can talk to her any time. When he finally stood next to her, there was no temptation to touch—as much personal space as I’d expect from any guy near me. He’d said he was twenty-eight. Married four years. Hardly long enough for a marriage to go stale. Why did it seem as if the fire between them had burned to cinders and only produced an irritating smoke in their eyes?

When she spoke, I wanted to hold her tongue--sharper than a needle filled with a lethal injection. Tearing down her husband, his authority, his character. It seemed to me she smiled only when she told the story of a triumph over him. Of the dog he didn’t like but she insisted on keeping. How the dog slept with her—she mentioned several times. Where did her husband sleep? How she needed to buy a hoof file for her horse. “You don’t need that,” he said because he’d already mentioned they don’t have enough acreage for the horse, “You could just take it out and exercise it,” but she made it very clear she would be buying one. “How much will it cost,” he asked then, visibly lowering his shield, about to give up. “Only about twenty,” she answered, and he shrugged. “I guess we can do that,” trying to keep one last shred of dignity, as if he’d relented. Then she told him she had an interview for a part-time job. Told him just like I’d tell a friend I hadn’t talked to in a week or two, as if he didn’t know. He didn’t really seem to. “I’d rather you didn’t drive very far for it,” he said, softly. Would he like his wife near home? “They’ll pay my gas so it doesn’t matter,” she retorted. “Be sure you ask them to pay IRS numbers,” he said. “I’d hate to see you getting ripped off.” “I’ll just write it off in my taxes either way,” she answered, brusquely. “Just be sure you’re actually making money,” he laughed a little. “That’s kind of the point of a job.” “Well, thank you for letting me know,” she smarted hotly. “It’s not like I have a degree in finance or anything. I sure never realized that was the point of a job.” I laughed nervously and shoveled in another bite of salad. The conversation shifted to issues at hand—pornography and addictions and the ways they can ruin marriages. “Some of those guys have issues,” another person commented. “Well,” interposed his wife, “My husband’s sure got some issues of his own.” Toss that out there with pornography and addictions. He’s got issues. Then she added for good measure, “He’s certainly not the man I married.”

I nearly choked on a tomato. He most certainly is the man she married. Perhaps not the man she thought she was marrying. I doubt she looked too much like his wedding day bride, either. Or behaved much like the breathless girlfriend to whom he knelt and proposed. Nobody made her say “yes.” Here she sat, hinting that “if only I’d known.” She pointed to the sharp logo on his crisp polo shirt. “I want one of those,” she demanded. “One that says ‘volunteer’.” He smiled slightly, “We don’t have any. Maybe I can get you one that says ‘staff wife’.” Her groan echoed across the restaurant. “I don’t want a ‘staff wife’ shirt. I’m sick and tired of everyone always knowing me as your wife.” She might as well have slapped him across the face. Or me, for that matter. I couldn’t tell if anyone else had mentally recoiled. He had that “please, not in front of people” conciliatory look on his face. “So, what are you going to do today?” he asked, trying to lighten the conversation. “Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe wash some dishes. I have some Avon deliveries.” “Washing dishes would be nice,” he nodded. “Oh, of course,” she turned to us. “That’s because it’s his job. I hate washing dishes so I decided to mow the lawn instead. He does the dishes.” She proceeded to tell us how the lawnmower was a worthless piece of junk.

He made some comment about someone he’d had to work with once being a bozo. “Well, isn’t that Christian of you,” she commented, “Calling people names.” I cringed again. I tried to remind myself that I was just a little mouse sitting in on one lunch. I don’t know what her frustrations or disappointments are. I don’t know what he’s like at home when no one is watching or listening. I don’t know how Christian he behaves. I don’t know what his issues are. Every marriage has it’s complications. It’s even possible the whole day was a joke or simply the day after a fight. Maybe they’re not really like that. I don’t know.

I do know what I heard and saw. And I know that, regardless of his true character or her true feelings, his wife is not improving either.

Restlessly I flipped open my cell phone to check the time. My meals didn’t usually drag by like this, sitting across from a woman who seemed bound and determined to trample across every inch of the word “respect”, strip her husband of the last vestiges of manliness and drag him by his hair through the dirt. All accomplished in an hour’s time. Was she even aware of the devastation she was causing? Did she intend to offer such a distinct first impression? Did she realize that in destroying her husband’s image she was destroying her own protection? Her own security? Her own image? I’d never met either of them before. Perhaps I only saw her on a bad day. Perhaps she was PMSing. Perhaps it was all a joke between them.

I don’t for a moment believe it.

In her smug satisfaction at having embarrassed her husband, having bested him, she seemed completely clueless, like she didn’t even realize she had completely destroyed his chances of ever being her knight in shining armor, in her mind or his—or mine.

And I’d only just met them.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Discussion around the supper table turned to matters of behavior. “You can dress a chimpanzee in a three piece suit,” Papa adamantly insisted, “But it won’t make a gentleman out of him.” I held my face straight for as long as possible—approximately two minutes before my breath wheezed out in a sort of giggle snort. Thankfully, Mom and Josiah had done the same. Mastering our giggles, we continued listening intently for another couple of minutes before the humorous mental images overtook us a second time, resulting in a second round of laughter. “Are you getting a picture of that?” Papa asked, a distant twinkle in his eye. “The worst part is,” I said, “That it keeps popping up—in different ways!” We all melted into laughter, each of us imagining a hairy chimp sporting a three piece suit and waltzing about pretending to be a gentleman. Perhaps it was one of those things you had to be their to appreciate.

I rode into RussVegas with Papa today for a very important occasion. The poor, beat-up Tempo is finally being replaced with a suave ’98 Toyota Camry. To copy the words of the oh-so-important voicemail I left Lauryn: It drives beautifully, but it sure stinks. Probably the previous owner was a smoker and somehow we managed to forget the smell-tests while test driving it.

Several interesting “nevers” to note: First, I’ve never been on campus a single day that I didn’t see Zach. This morning, walking from the parking lot behind the library to Summit and back again I managed to run into him. Second, I’ve never gone into the library without passing Taylor on his way out. He must spend his days going in an out of Ross Pendergraft’s special building. Third, I’ve never received a parking ticket, although I’ve never successfully located any visitor parking and simply park in one of the large parking lots regardless. Fourth, I’ve never called for an escort in Summit, always managing to tag a resident in and ride the elevator up to the fifth floor where I waltz into the Sweetest Suite. This morning I arrived early enough to catch the girls in their PJs and took a mental walk down memory lane, chatting with them as they got dressed and each headed out to class.

Amber begged to take me to lunch at Whattaburger. Just hearing that name sends my mind scurrying through an interesting host of memories. Amber’s not been very faithful to finish the Bible study notes I gave her, and I’ve not been very faithful to check up on her. She asked if we not continue them now that school’s started, “so that I won’t feel pressured to do it.” I’m really struggling. I know I really need to lay it out straight for her and talk to her about how vital it is that she be in the word daily. We’ve talked about it, and she knows it. I’m just so tired. So worn-out. So faithless when it comes to keeping her accountable. But I love her and I want to see her walking with the Lord. She’s just got so far to go—even the basics seem to elude her—and I simply don’t know how to get her from point A to point B. How do I make someone read God’s word? After lunch I took her to class and when I came back out of the library to leave campus several hours later I found a sweet note from her. I decided to drop by to see Dr. Roberts, the history professor whose class I so cheerfully disrupted a year ago with Lauren. He was gone to lunch, but I left a sticky note, signed “Girl”. “Do you think he’ll remember you?” Amber demanded. “By name?” I just grinned. “He’ll know.” She read my note over my shoulder. “Girl?! How in the world is he supposed to know who that is?” “He’ll know,” I said again.

Moving on to things of more eternal benefit. Along with behavior, we were discussing “a gentle and quiet spirit” and all the ins and outs of being gentle and quiet—whether it means lowering the decibals, making a habit of mumbling or simply rolling over and playing dead. What adorns a godly woman? Perhaps the secret is in the Holy Spirit and His fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. It is the characteristics that will make me beautiful before men and God long after my youth and health have faded. When I am old and weathered, the lines creasing my forehead, crinkling me eyes and hugging my mouth should not be lines of worry, wastefulness, anger or despondency.

Lord, teach me to be beautiful
In Thy Spirit, heart and soul
For Thou can set the plainest face
Aglow with Thy own saving grace.

May my face a mirror be
Of Thou, my glorious deity
That Thou might look on me, perfected
Because Thou sees Thyself reflected.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

You know you’re a good typist when you can type with perfect accuracy in a pitch black room at eleven o’clock at night. Successfully navigating through several passwords to this strange epistle, I find myself nearly at a loss for things to even write about.

Amber. I’ll start there. When I logged into Facebook this morning, a notification of a turkey being thrown at me by none other than Miss Amber Dobies caught my attention. When we’d decided not to head North for the holiday, we’d also decided to open our home to those who had no family to spend the day with. With my parent’s encouragement, I gave Amber and her mom a call to invite them for dinner tomorrow. Amber’s excitement was not to be contained. Instead it bubbled over, clogged the phone lines and enveloped me in a happy sort of cheer. I spent the rest of the day walking on air, thrilled that I’d been able to bring pleasure to someone, planning how to make it special for them.

And cooking. Pretty much all day. It was almost a relief, after cooking rich desserts and creamy vegetables to toss together a pizza for supper.

After clean-up and showers, Josiah and I started talking—about relationships, proper and improper. I wrestle over these things, so often, and I know my practices are exclusive and strict, but I honestly believe I couldn’t survive with them any less strict. It’s so deeply ingrained in me—even stronger than Mom or Papa would enforce. I can’t even explain it, but it’s like it’s a natural thing that I just intuitively know I shouldn’t do certain things. Not that others can’t do them, but that I have been called to a path of complete purity, complete set-apartness. One of my greatest fears is that I would be a distraction from the Lord. I honestly can’t bear the thought.

And yet, I know, so often I do seek my own glory. So often I do seek praise, adoration and attention.

How can two such conflicting desires dwell in the same mind, heart and body?

Lord, I know what’s right inside

And yet, two wishes coincide:

The one, Thy greater glory, Lord,

The other, that I’d be adored.

The former I express in verbiage.

Listen to the aged adage:

Actions speak more truth than words.

I wonder which the world has heard?