Gladly (finally) accepting the gray world of coronavirus

That we’ve had three days of gray skies just fits, doesn’t it? Oddly, yet aptly, yesterday’s fog never lifted. The earth was gray from its roof to its roots, pre-morning rush to post-evening rush hour. That annoying gray fog just surrounded and sat on us like the coronavirus situation shrouding everyone’s vision for the future.

Like many people, I have felt afraid for my health and that of my loved ones, worried about financial loss, undecided about what is worth risking a trip to the grocery store, and just plain disoriented. Oh, and I’m afraid of boredom. Oh yes, also disappointed to not have a vacation trip to look forward to at this time or perhaps ever again.

I may have to stay home, but I don’t have to live in those fears and disappointments. The game changes more quickly now, so I’ll have to get used to disorientation and decide it won’t derail me. People’s suffering as I hear of it will sadden me, and I can lament and show compassion. But as I settle in to self-isolation, I can let go of the illusion of control and instead, hope and trust in God for my fate. Along with fluttering black and gray streamers now necessarily decorating my nest, I can hang red, yellow, blue, and green streamers. The colorful ones are what I choose to gaze at most often.

My move from agitation to acquiescence came through people’s posting bible verses on Facebook. Too many to remember, they had a cumulative effect, but I especially loved being reminded of Mark 4:41, where Jesus’ disciples were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this man that even the wind and the waves obey him?” Regardless of bioterrorism theories and which leaders of which countries do better or worse controlling COVID-19’s spread, and which conflicting analyses of coronavirus pop up on Facebook, and who speculates what will happen, my good God sits sovereign on the throne. I can trust His will. What calming truth!

Then came a pivotal e-mail from Alliance biblique française with a COVID-19 prayer in French. The prayer for protection and provision is long, praying for persons of fragile health, for medical personnel making anguishing decisions, for business owners facing losses, for parents juggling jobs and children in tight spaces. The personal parts of the prayer, however, constituted a major attitude change for me. In surreal, inconceivable, emotionally charged times, I am forced to accept your presence surrounding me. I accept the silence you’re creating; it helps me hear you better. Isolation immerses me in loving dialogue with you. I welcome restrictions in my movements; they focus me on what is essential. This was the kicker: I accept my vulnerability to disease. It reminds me of your gift of health. It reminds me that suffering is part of life.

Oh, how I have taken for granted God’s gift of health. And freedom. Food. Family. And … Oh, the gift of time! Who am I to think I can control any of this? Resting in God’s control leads to my being able to rest in my nest. 

God and Organic Eggs

Like a kid on Christmas morning, I raced down the stairs as soon as I awoke this morning. The downstairs attraction was not shiny packages though, rather a simple brown ellipse—an organic egg. What’s the big deal about a brown egg? I haven’t tasted a delicious egg in a long time. This morning I truly savored breakfast.

We are blessed to live in a subdivision that includes an organic farm with chickens and neighborhood children (Henhouse Helpers) who collect, wash, and box eggs for sale. In the ten years we’ve lived here, I’ve often bought the organic eggs to support the farm, so I know they taste fresh and well, eggy. But for various reasons, I hadn’t bought them in more than a year. Instead, I’d bought the cheapest eggs at the grocery store. They have NO taste. My only satisfaction was that the eggs were protein. I couldn’t stand the breakfast blahs any longer, so yesterday I walked up to the farm and paid $5 for a dozen organic eggs laid by happy hens that morning. It was worth it.

Sunday at our church’s annual meeting, we learned our leadership team is hungry for more of the Holy Spirit in our church and community. I’m excited about this, because well, the Holy Spirit is exciting. Not just as the manifestation of God’s awesome power in miracles, but especially in whispered wisdom and comforting caresses in daily decisions and sorrows. When God wants to lead us into a faith adventure, He sends His Spirit. God’s Spirit has been more evident in some periods of my life than in others, so I’ve tasted of the Lord’s vivid presence and miss it when He chooses to be quiet or when I’m not paying the price.

The price? Just like organic eggs, cutting-edge Christianity costs more than the blah kind where you say at least you go to church and eat your protein. Just before the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus and a voice from heaven said, “You are my son, whom I love; with you I am well-pleased,” John the Baptist urged, “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” A practical example is how Dr. Gary Chapman begins in The Marriage You’ve Always Wanted. He urges us to take step number one: Confess how we’ve sinned in our marriage. If we’re going to let the Holy Spirit lift up the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in our marriage, workplace, family, neighborhood, or church, one cost we need to pay up-front is repentance. That may sting even more than paying $5 for organic eggs, but it will stimulate our taste buds for more of the Lord’s presence, will, loving laws, lessons, growth, and faith adventures. And it will be worth it.

… Prepare the way for the Lord ... Luke 3:4

… Taste and see that the Lord is good … Psalm 34:8

False Idols

The Israelites did as Moses instructed and asked the Egyptians for articles of silver and gold and for clothing. The Lord had made the Egyptians favorably disposed toward the people and they gave them what they asked for. Exodus 12:35, 36

When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered around Aaron and said, "Come, make us gods ..." Aaron answered them, "Take off the gold earrings that your wives, your sons and your daughters are wearing, and bring them to me." So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron. he took what they handed him and made it into an idol cast in the shape of a calf, fashioning it with a tool. Then they said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt." Exodus 32:1-4

Let's see ... I bet some of the gold jewelry that went into that calf was provided by God through the Egyptians. Provided by the real God who brought the Israelites up out of slavery in Egypt ~ with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and many miracles. How could they use His very gift, provided to bless them, to give credit to a golden calf for His mighty liberation?

Let's see ... How could I take the marriage God has given to bless me and bow to its imperfect promise instead of bowing to the Giver's perfect promise? How could I find my security in a house that could blow away in an instant instead of finding my security in the palm of God's hand? How could I stand proudly at the altar of people's approval instead of kneeling humbly before my holy God?

Lord, may I worship at Your feet, none other. Keep my feet from running back into slavery. May I walk in the freedom that Jesus paid so dearly for, for Your glory.

Humbug

Fiberoptic tinsel twinkles rainbows in our Christmas tree, bedecked with ornaments, each a special memory from Christmases past. I'm already making lists for this Christmas ~ the menu, gifts for each guest, centerpieces, the short devotional to honor Jesus, the reason for the season, and the carol we'll sing together.

Webster's defines a carol as a song of joy or mirth, a popular song or ballad of religious joy. "Oh come to us, abide with us, our Lord, Emmanuel." "He rules the world with truth and grace." These are just a few carol lyrics that make true peace dance in my soul.

Since I'm into Christmas, I went to see A Christmas Carol yesterday thinking I would not have much in common with grouchy old Ebenezer Scrooge. But an unexpected moment brought my handkerchief out to dry my cheeks. During the spectre of Christmas present, old Ebenezer lost himself for a moment and joined the children dancing in a circle. His white nightgown flapped and his long nightcap flopped as he skipped and pranced. Then he eagerly lined up with the other wildly chattering children to receive a small gift. He held the tiny, shiny red box close to his heart as though it were a treasure. Then when he returned to his viewing spot at the edge of the festive scene, he noticed a small girl sitting alone. She had not gotten up to get a present. Slowly, tentatively, Ebenezer gave her his shiny red box. His face registered sadness for his loss until he saw how happy it made the girl. As he returned to invisibility on the outskirts of subsequent scenes, he remembered this joy of giving, which contributed to his grand generosity of spirit at the end of the play.

Since I've had joy in giving for as long as I remember, I didn't expect to identify with Scrooge. But I have to admit, my heart is not all that childlike any more. I seem to be dragging a sack of sadness and responsibility as big and bulgy as Santa's bag of toys. Would I lose myself in undignified dance? Would I squeal in unintelligible delight? Would I line up eagerly to get a gift, or would I hang back pretending it didn't matter? Would a simple gift thrill me? Would I give away my only treasure?

My tears during this scene surprised me enough to ponder these questions of cynicism, hope, sophistication, simplicity, keeping, and giving. If I were musically inclined, I'd write a carol about a little girl shyly giving the humbuggy parts of her heart to Jesus and then closing her eyes and holding out her hands to receive whatever He might put there. Lo and behold, He puts His own hands in hers. The best gift of all.

Late Bloomers

A single scalloped yellow pansy amid a sea of spiky, spent, brown coneflower heads cheers me on this chilly autumn day. So does the lone cherry-red sweet pea that has somehow sprung from dry, tan vines to climb the trellis in summer's last hurrah. Feisty red geraniums raise victorious fists above the garden's browning greens. After weeks of winding down, one more rose has decided this is the year. Late bloomers are bright, wonder-filled surprises of life.

Yesterday I made perfect creme brulee quickly and easily. Ten years ago, at a sidewalk table on the Ile de Re when Robert and I tasted our first creme brulee, we couldn't even imagine how it was made. My path to yesterday's victory included passive times of anticipated failure and active times of real failure~rich, sweet scrambled eggs~a class, and just-okay results. Yesterday's triumph was a lovely surprise.

Fifteen years ago I wrote strictly nonfiction and could not imagine writing a story. Truly, I couldn't imagine myself imagining anything. To bring nonfiction concepts home to readers, I needed to learn how to tell true stories though, so I decided to practice by making up a story. One thing led to another, and last year I published my first women's fiction novel, with the sequel in progress. Never would I have predicted that blossom in October's breeze.

Last weekend I gave a workshop at our church's women's retreat. I don't do public speaking. It scares me. I'm most comfortable talking to my dog and have mixed success talking with my husband and everyone else. My topic was to be: If Only They Would Change. What do we do when another person's sinful at-worst, uncooperative at-best, behaviors hold us hostage? How do we step into the promise of Jesus to set us free? I didn't think I had answers or a delivery dynamic enough to impact anyone. But I sensed the Lord wanted me to say yes, even though I couldn't imagine talking for a whole hour. From the moment I agreed to speak, God changed my heart and sweetly brought me material and helped me put words together on paper. Paper I do. Podiums I don't. So I thought this would be a peace-to-panic process. I worship an amazing God.

Whipping up creme brulee? Playfully crafting fiction? Feeling peace at the podium? in my repertoire? Ephesians 3:20 gives glory to "... him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us ..." In these three examples, I love that God didn't wait for me to imagine the flowers; He grew seeds I didn't even know were there and now here they are, blooming in the autumn of my life.

I've often said I can't draw, and I can't paint. And I can't. But I just had my first drawing lesson a few weeks ago. Standing on the stepping-stone path through the garden ... tipping the watering can forward ...

Heaven on Earth

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries...
~an excerpt from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem "Aurora Leigh," published 1864

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footstep in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill;
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

~"Light Shining Out of Darkness" by William Cowper (1731-1800)

Thou art every where present...
~an excerpt from Three Prayers by Jane Austen (1775-1817)

...Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven...
~what Jesus taught us to pray, Matthew 6:10