Remembering Dad

A fun day when I was about two, and one of the few
photos I have of my dad from childhood.

Today would have been my Dad's 98th birthday. I write in honor of him.

I came to the living room that morning to find my dad already in his favorite recliner, an open book in his lap. “What are you reading?” I asked.  "I’m crying with Job,” he replied.  He didn’t need to say any more. I knew the book wrestled with why good people suffer. He hadn’t experienced the catastrophic losses of Job, but his heart was deeply wounded.  He’d been let go of his long-time job just short of retirement.  Then his bride of more than three decades lost a long, savings-depleting battle with cancer. Both his daughters had grown and left home. Then I, the still-single one, returned briefly when his grief of losing his wife was the freshest. I’m glad I had that memory to tuck away in my heart, because six months later he died of a heart attack, age 63.

That memory is one reason why I read Job with different eyes. Unlike the Old Testament's Job, my dad wasn't what our culture would call wealthy. He worked in a paper mill and scrimped to pay off a three-bedroom house. He helped his two daughters finish college debt-free. Later, he and my mother took some no-frills dream vacations overseas. But back home, he did his own yard work and home repair. They made sure church and missions giving were part of their budget. Quietly, they served others, particularly widows needing a helping hand.

But there were gaps in that hedge of protection of humble living. They included Mom’s severe asthma and a pile of other health problems, ending with cancer.  Dad’s heart attacks, starting in his fifties. My “down times” with rheumatic fever. Closer to his heart, his own siblings who wanted no part of his faith. Though he didn’t have the answers to hardship, he lived out Job’s perspective: “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10).

I’m sad that he died alone in a hospital. I was halfway across the nation at graduate school.  My sister was on the other side of the state. Yet, knowing his faith in Christ, I believe he met death with the hope that Job expressed: “I know that my Redeemer lives…After my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God…How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27).

Especially on his birthday and Father’s Day, I think of Dad. I have now lived longer than he did.  But on those “remembering” days, I am a little girl again, sitting in his lap as we rocked together in his favorite platform rocker.  He’d open the book I’d brought him and read to me. I’d lean into his chest, feeling secure and loved. Sometimes he’d complain, “Hey, those elbows are sharp.  You need some meat on your bones.”

Years later, as a young adult elbowing her way through job and roommate challenges, I wasn’t above complaining to Dad. But in the process, I learned something better: praying for those who I felt didn’t treat me right.  That’s exactly what Job did (42:8, 10).

 

Unlike Job, my dad didn’t live to see four generations, just two grandchildren through my sister. But I still live with the legacy of a man who sought after God’s heart.  When life was hard, he weathered it—as Job did--with trust in God’s inscrutable ways. Those are the memories worth treasuring, and learning from.

Be careful, little feet

 

When you’re a first-time grandma (or even a first-time parent) you look at the details of that newborn—like feet. You wonder not only when they will walk, but how they will walk. Already I am praying that my newborn grandson, Josiah, will walk in the ways of God.

“Walk” is a good word. It was a good analogy for Bible times, when people mostly walked or rode wagons or animals.  There were no hybrid cars with amazing MPG ratings. Life was hard, one footstep at a time.

Particularly during the forty years of the exodus, Bible-times people lived from step to step. Thus after explaining God’s basic commands for life, Moses exhorted them with a word they knew well: walk. “So be careful to do what the LORD your God has commanded you,” Moses said. “Do not turn aside to the right or to the left. Walk in all the ways that the LORD your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong all your days in the land that you will possess” (Deut. 5:32-33).

Thus a prayer for my grandson: Walk in the noble way of God’s commands. The Ten Commandments are not just “rules.” They are reminders of how we reflect our Creator, the holy One.

Another is in Deuteronomy 10:12-13. Most notable are its verbs of following God: fear the Lord your God, walk in all his ways, love Him, serve the Lord your God will all your heart and with all your soul, observe the Lord’s commands.

Thus for my grandson: Serving God is at the heart of following Him. It’s not all about you.  It’s about responding in love and awe to the Lord your God through participation in His work on earth.

When my life was at turbulent crossroads, I found hope and comfort in another “walk” passage in Isaiah 30:20-21: “Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”

Again, for my grandson: You’ll encounter people who haven’t a clue about the Lord. They’ll want you to follow their way. Early on, I hope you are encouraged to memorize Psalm 1: “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked.” It’s all around us—in the news that elevates the views of  godlessness, in the pressure of peers, and in our natural inclination to think only of ourselves. Listen to that quiet voice of God’s spirit.

In recent years, another “walk” command has become a comfort and a challenge. When the apostle John aged, his personality mellowed as the love of Christ gripped his heart. Thus it is no surprise that “love” pervades his last letters. In the opening section of 1 John, he wrote about those who claim to be Christians but have dark sides to their spirits, lying and failing to follow God’s truth. In contrast, “if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).

Dear Grandson, walk in love. Stay in God’s light. Never stop being amazed by God’s love in sending Christ to die for your sins.

           

Burden-bearers

When a large department store closed in our town, and everything went up for sale, my husband bought some used furniture dollies from its warehouse. He thought they’d help with a ministry he’s a part of: picking up and then distributing donated furniture to people in crisis and great need. As the freshly-painted dollies sat on our lawn to dry, I thought of the Bible’s references to “burden bearers,” such as Galatians 6:2: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” This verse is often misapplied to compassion for hurting people in general. It’s actually about restoring, with gentleness and wisdom, someone who gets caught sinning, The verse infers sin so serious that those who help this person are to “watch yourself, or you also may be tempted.”

Yet coming alongside a sinning fellow believer, knocked down by negative choices,  involves the same spiritual enabling as reaching out to those buffeted by living in a fallen world. Just before that section, in Galatians 5:22-23, Paul listed the “fruits of the spirit” that are evidence of a growing life in Christ. In serving one another, we all need love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

 Perhaps a better spiritual “furniture dolly” analogy comes from Jesus’ healing of paralytics. In ancient Palestine, those unable to work because of disability would beg, depending on others’ muscle power to move them about. In Matthew 9 the Lord healed a paralytic whose friends simply him brought to Jesus.  In Mark 2, Jesus healed a paralytic whose friends were a bit more aggressive: they crawled to the top of the crowded house where Jesus was preaching, removed part of the roof, and lowered him down. The pronouns in both accounts tell us much: “When Jesus saw their faith” (Matthew 9:2 and Mark 2:3, emphasis added). To work with this with a bit of sanctified imagination, it could have begun like this:

Friend to paralyzed man: “Hey, Jesus, the great miracle worker and teacher is in town. You’ve got to go see Him. I think He could heal even you.”

Paralytic: “That would be my wildest dream come true. But how could I ever get there?”

Friend: “I’ve got some buddies coming.  The four of us will carry your mat.  We just have to do this.”

In contrast is the healing told in John 5. This man, an invalid for 38 years, had begged at the pool of Bethesda, where people believed healings could take place. Then Jesus came along and asked, “Do you want to get well?” You’d think the guy would blurt out “yes!” Instead, he pined this little song about how somebody else kept beating him into the pool for a “stirred-up-waters-cure.”

Jesus’ reply is a picture of His great love for us, even when we have zero to little faith. He simply said, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”  At once, the man was healed. I’m struck by its fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic sketch of a suffering Messiah: “Sure he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows” (Isaiah 53:4). 

We cannot, in our own power, carry the weight of the world’s sins and sorrows.  That’s God’s job.  But when He calls us to be “burden-bearers”—whether that means wise counsel, a listening ear, prayerful support, or practical help —He is right behind us as we face the “load” of need. In moving that hurting person closer to Him, faith turns the wheels of that spiritual “dolly.”

A cup of cold water

"You people are too good to me,” our paper carrier tells me as she takes the plastic cup of ice water I’ve left in our paper box. By the time she delivers, late in the afternoon, it is hot, very hot--recently, in the nineties. I never bothered doing that before for a carrier.  But she’s more than 80 years old, and delivering four routes. She lives about a block away in a mobile home community, and assures me that between routes she goes home to get something to drink while restocking her delivery bag. She’s older than me by more than a decade, but I can imagine how thirsty I’d get.  In my fifties, helping my teens substitute a hundred-plus customer delivery route, there wasn’t enough water in a water bottle to keep us cool.  As the weather cools down, I’ll back off from the “water breaks.” But it’s one way that I’ve tried to express caring to our faithful newspaper delivery person. Eighty-plus!

 My “cup of cold water” is probably making you think of Matthew 10:42, where Jesus said, “And if anyone gives a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.”  This statement came in the context of how people would receive the disciples as they shared Jesus’ message about the kingdom of God. Those who welcomed these men would be welcoming Jesus. Even offering these wandering disciples a cup of water (hauled from the local well) was commendable.

Over in Matthew 25, offering some drinking water had a different spiritual consequence. Here Jesus was exhorting believers to look after the needs of the hungry, thirsty (there’s the water), alienated, poorly clothed, sick, and imprisoned. Doing so for them would be doing so for Him.

Maybe it just comes down to this simple premise of the bestselling 19^th century novel, What Would Jesus Do? In everyday life, to Christians and non-Christians, Jesus would show kindness and concern. We are to go and do likewise.

As I discussed this with my husband, he told of a certain teller at the bank we use. She has personal and family challenges, but when he goes in the lobby he tries to affirm her. In cherry season, he took her a bag of cherries he had gleaned. Cold from the refrigerator, the cherries served as that “cup of cold water” to her soul.

In turn, I recalled how God recently prompted me to speak words of kindness in the Wal-Mart parking lot. As I came out of the store, I noticed an older woman struggling to put an older man in the passenger seat.  I suspected they were husband and wife. From my experiences in care-giving my mother-in-law in her last years with Alzheimer’s, I concluded this woman was having similar challenges. As she put his walker in the trunk, I went over and greeted her by saying something like this: “I’m guessing you are his caregiver.  I know it’s tough. I’m been there. But I appreciated seeing how patient you were with him.”  She paused and replied, “Some days it’s really hard. Thank you for saying that.”

Kind words, small gifts, a smile, a helping hand, a positive attitude, even an offer to pray for someone—that’s what fills someone’s empty cup with cool, refreshing water. I’m still learning how to do this, but Jesus is a great teacher.

Dotting the "Eyes"

They’re a natural land feature locally called “The Eyes of the Palouse,” and they always fascinate and encourage me.  Nestled amidst Eastern Washington’s rolling farmlands are two adjacent knolls that were too steep for tractors to plow. The twin rocky slashes look like two giant eyes peering upward.

We made many trips past them in the years that our son and daughter attended a college two hundred miles east from our home. Now, we are again traveling that road to visit our daughter and her husband, who resettled there after teaching for two years in China. For about half of the four-hour trip, we follow a two-lane, weather-ribbed road that threads through sagebrush-encrusted hills and undulating brown, green and golden farmlands. The “eyes” show up within about fifty miles of our destination.

My family teases me about my anticipating the “eyes.” I remind them how watching for landmarks helps break up a long drive. But the “eyes” are particularly special in reminding me of the Lord’s watch-care over my family. I think of 2 Chronicles 16:9: “For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.”

I understand that Biblical references to “the eyes of the Lord” are symbolic of God’s omniscience and omnipresence. He’s certainly not the old man depicted by Michelangelo on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He is not some huge human-like figure somewhere “out there.” God simply “is.” He defies any description. But we understand His constant awareness and watch-care through human terms of “eyes” and “seeing.”

A concordance search on “eye(s) of the LORD” or “God’s eye” reveals that term threaded throughout scripture. Some of my favorites:

            “The eyes of the LORD are on the righteous” (Psalm 34:15, also quoted in 1 Peter 3:12).
            “My eyes will be on the faithful in the land, that they may dwell with me” (Psalm 101:6).
            Regarding a baby in the womb: “Your eyes saw my unformed body” (Psalm 139:16).
            “The eyes of the LORD are everywhere, keeping watch on the wicked and the good” (Proverbs 15:3).
            Regarding faithful exiles: “My eyes will watch over them for their good, and I will bring them back to this land” (Jeremiah 24:6).

The assurance that God knows and sees everything—a concept, I admit, that is huge and mind-boggling—brings me great confidence and hope. When life serves up situations and crises that seem unsolvable, I’m taken back to the truth that nothing surprises God.  He saw it before, when it happens, and where it’s leading. Trusting His vision and perspective helps me grow in faith.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that those eyes of “dirt” in Eastern Washington first came to my attention in those very significant years of launching young adult children. We’d done our best to prepare them at home, but college would challenge them personally, academically, and spiritually. Launching them into adult life meant I had to commit them to God for counsel, comfort, and correction.

I still pray for them with the “eyes of the Lord” perspective. Wherever they are, God is watching over them with tender, wise love. And that greatly encourages me.

Some personal news:  We welcomed Josiah Matthew, our first grandchild, to our hearts on August 8.  He was five days old when I sat with him and was handed a book to "read to him" while his exhausted parents (my son and his wife) ate dinner. People tell me I'm going to love this role! Josiah means "God heals" or "God supports."  Matthew is "gift of God."

Dismantling tent city

I count four blankets in this playroom chaos from the '80s

Destructive beings called preschoolers used to sabotage my living room, turning it into tent city. I admit: I permitted the mess, thinking it supported budding creativity. Sheets, blankets, pillows, the card table, chairs, mop handles and other handy materials became the secret castle. On occasion, I indulged them with lunch under the “canopy,” with a plastic tablecloth underneath it all in case the milk runneth over.

But we had a rule: tent city all came down by 3:30, when Dad came home from his job. After a day of alligator-wrestling, er, teaching elementary students, the man of the house deserved peace, not pillars of pillows. A clean floor, not one littered with tiny plastic snap-blocks and tinier dolly high heels. Quiet, not quaos (hey, it rhymes).  With apologies to Isaiah 40:3-4, the crooked got straightened out and the rough places made plain. Okay, I’m switching metaphors. Isaiah’s came from times when roads would have been test tracks for four-wheel-drive vehicles--which, of course, they didn’t have. Emperor coming through? Call the beefed-up road crew (aka slaves)!  Fill the potholes! Dump the hill dirt into the valleys! Prepare a smooth way for His Highness’s chariot!

But maybe there’s a connection. Growing in Christ means becoming aware of the rocks and holes in our spiritual lives. It’s deciding the “sin-mess” isn’t what we want when He comes back to earth again. And it may happen sooner than we think.  My preschoolers would have said “amen” to that when I poked a ticking timer under the “tent.” In fifteen minutes “Tent City” had to be past tense.  There were always great wails and gnashing of teeth. But at least their Dad wouldn’t break his neck.

Roy G. Biv's Lessons

When a large, moist weather system rumbled into my parched hometown a few weeks ago, the aftermath included a brilliant double rainbow as sun beamed through the waning showers. When I spot these colorful arches in the sky, I’m reminded of Genesis 9 and God’s promise to never again destroy the earth by flood. I also recall images of Ezekiel 1:28 and Revelation 4:3, which tell of a full circle rainbow in portraying God’s glory. I can’t begin to imagine it.

For now, that transitory arch is wondrous enough. Oh, I’ve read the encyclopedia's explanations of how a rainbow is formed.  From childhood, I’ve known the “Roy G. Biv” acrostic for remembering the order of colors as sunlight is bent through water. Something I didn’t know until recently: the second, fainter rainbow has its colors in opposite order from the first.

Perhaps somebody else already thought of this, but I began thinking how the color order is also a guide to teaching about the Gospel.  The bottom part of the rainbow is always violet, then indigo, colors reminding me of royal standing and of the heavenly dwelling place of our creator God. “Blue” reminds me of how I tend to look up, to the skies, when yearning for the presence of God. Green is this earth that He created, and that we haven’t taken the best care of.  Yellow and orange remind me of drought, neglect and pollution. Also, yellow is a cliche for "fearful." Finally, there is red, which takes me to a harsh hill in Jerusalem where my Savior spilled His blood for my salvation, to enable me to live with God forever.

Rainbows also remind me of God’s special love for His people. When “floods” of sorrow or trouble wash over the lives of believers, they’re not left to themselves.  God said (through the prophet Isaiah): “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you” (Isaiah 43:2).

Hours before His arrest and botched “trials,” Jesus gave His disciples this warning and hope: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me.  In my Father’s house are many rooms...I am going there to prepare a place for you” (John 14:1-2). Just before returning to Heaven, the scars of the crucifixion on His resurrected body, Jesus said: “Surely I will be with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

The same reminder of God’s trustworthiness (and which blends Deuteronomy 31:6 and Psalm 118:6-7) came in this early church letter: “’Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’  So we say with confidence,’ The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid; what can man do to me?’” (Hebrews 13:5b-6).



These rocks, painted with rainbows by children, sit in my office
window. The lettering says, "Jesus is the Rock." They're a good
 visual reminder of the Lord's rock-solid help in life's hard places.

Best of all, the vision of Heaven accorded the old disciple John gave us this awesome look beyond Heaven’s royal curtains: “The throne of God and of the Lamb [Jesus] will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads” (Revelation 22:3-4).

The beauty of Christ is revealed in a Christian’s life when a believer looks beyond earthly troubles, seeing that these are momentary events. Suffering is not wasted when it comes with evidence of Christ’s resurrection power.

So, go ahead and think of “Roy G. Biv” in marveling over the consistent blend of millions of hues in the rainbow’s arc.  But think, too, of the “ark,” as in “Noah’s ark.”  When life is stormy and seems out of control, God is still at work. His promises are even brighter than the rainbow that He traces across our earthly skies.