Seeking God - The Path

 

“Those who seek me find me.” 

Proverbs 8:17

         

            What does it mean to seek God?  The Hebrew language, in which the Old Testament was written, often painted “word pictures” that are more descriptive than our English words.  A meaning of the word “seek” paints a picture of “treading frequently so as to make a path.”

 

I used to wonder what people meant when they talked about “seeking God”. It was something I could not understand. It sounded complicated; certainly not something I knew how to do.

 

When I learned the meaning of the word “seek”, I remembered the path behind my grandfather’s house. In the back of his yard there was a small wooded area. A clear path was visible from the yard – the grass had been worn down to dirt and brush stopped its growth on either side of the path. The path led to my grandfather’s brother’s house. It was made by my grandfather and his brother and their families walking from one house to the other day after day, year after year. Because they tread or walked on the path regularly, grass and brush did not grow—the worn path was evidence of decades of two families sharing their lives with each other.

 

            As the two families walked the path, their relationships were strengthened. The path was proof that they were comfortable knocking on each other’s door to borrow a cup of sugar or to share coffee together. In good times and bad, the more they were a part of each other’s everyday lives, the more worn and clear the path became.

 

            I wonder if the neighbors Jesus described in Luke 11:5-9 had worn a path between their homes. Jesus describes one pounding on the other’s door at midnight asking for bread to feed visitors. At first the neighbor refuses, saying he is in bed, his family with him. Finally, Jesus says the man will give in and give the bread, because of his neighbor’s importunity – his shameless persistence.

 

Seeking God is something we give our lives to. We don’t seek His blessings or information about Him, but we seek Him—as a person, because we desire His company, His companionship. God desires an everyday relationship with us. A comfortable relationship where we feel free to talk to Him whenever we please. A relationship where God feels welcome to speak to us and knows that we will listen when He does. A relationship closer and more intimate than that of my grandfather and his brother. Certainly closer than the two neighbors of Luke 11.

 

            When I thought about the path behind my grandfather’s house, I realized that I do indeed seek Him – every time I pray, meditate on His word, come before Him in worship.  Seeking doesn’t require a special formula, just persistence. Some days I feel closer to Him than others, but as I keep coming to Him, in whatever way I know, in good times and in bad, I am treading that path—I am seeking Him! It is simple! Every prayer I pray and every grateful thought I have of Him presses the brush down a little more. The way seems clearer, the path easier to find. As my grandfather walked the path, he could see a welcoming light in his brother’s window. As I tread the path of seeking Him, I know that God will receive and welcome me. I know that if I seek Him I will find Him!

 

“Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Luke 11:9

For His Glory

 

Why write?

Why write when no one reads?

Why tell my story when it’s nothing special?

I’ve asked myself many times.

The answer: for His glory!

To give God glory is to give an accurate representation of who he is! To give the correct opinion or estimate. To reflect his beauty and magnificence. To convey a sense of brilliance or radiance.

As immeasurable as the vastness of the galaxy, is the minutia of the microscopic world.  Somewhere in between, a huge God stepped down into the business of one shy little girl and revealed himself.  Psalm 139 tells us that the sum of God’s thoughts toward me is vast! Toward ME!

In order to be a writer, we are told we must “build an online presence” because publishers won’t even read your work without it. Maybe not, but God will. Of that I am sure.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”

Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge.” Ps 19:1-2

Maybe I’ll take the heavens as my example and say “right back atcha.” 

John wrote in his gospel “And there are also many other things which Jesus did, which if they were written in detail, I suppose that even the world itself would not contain the books that would be written.”  To all that has been written, I can add my words about all he has done in my life.  To accurately represent who he is.  For his glory!

Turning Point

 

“Most Likely to Succeed” the high school yearbook read.  I thought back to my experiences as an honor student, always well-liked by teachers. I had always loved school – well, actually.…that wasn’t always true.

            I don’t remember much about the events of elementary school, but I could take you on a virtual tour of the large red brick North Central Elementary school and its      grounds.  Huge live oaks graced the large front and side lawns.  In the back of the school, a wide horseshoe-shaped sidewalk circled a grove of five or six more stately oaks.  Before school and at recess students walked around and around it in groups of two or three.  At my 20^th high school reunion, a classmate told me she had envied the red Mary Jane shoes I wore in first grade because they made the neatest shuffling noise as we strolled around the horseshoe! 

            I held tightly to my mother’s hand as we walked up the long sidewalk, into the open space of the large foyer and down the wood-floored hall to the right past the lower elementary classrooms.   I wore a red, yellow and blue plaid dress with puffed sleeves and a gathered skirt and sash.  My mother always made neat little school dresses for me.   My long blonde hair bounced with curls formed by sleeping with rag curlers – strips of material around which sections of hair were wrapped and tied.  My bangs were freshly trimmed, a little crooked and more than a little too short.. 

            As we passed the first room on the right – Mrs. Moody’s first grade classroom, I saw new first graders waiting eagerly with their moms.

            “Surely, third grade will be better than first.” I thought, but my stomach turned.

            Mrs. Moody was barely taller than her first graders, much shorter than five feet.  She wore pointy dark-rimmed glasses and dressed in tailored suits and dresses with chunky healed shoes.  There were few disciplinary problems in elementary school.  Teachers kept order in their classrooms, especially Mrs. Moody.  Intimidation was her M.O.  No wonder I missed almost half of the school year with acute tonsillitis.  During a long hot September afternoon, terrified to ask to go to the bathroom, I sat for the half-hour before dismissal with a warm puddle at my feet. When the bell rang, I got up and left quickly, The poor janitor. To my enormous relief, Mrs. Moody hadn’t noticed.

            In the days before special education, a boy who had been held back a grade or two was in our class.  Roger Dale was kind and gentle, but slow in learning.  I learned a lot about compassion one day when Ms. Moody angrily threw a glass of water in Roger Dale’s face.  I remember him sobbing outside the classroom window as he took off his plaid cotton shirt and hung it on the shrub to dry. The memory still hurts.

            “Surely 3^rd grade will be better!” I told myself.

            The next classroom we passed on the right was Mrs. Alexander’s second grade classroom.  I remembered that second grade hadn’t been much better than first – maybe worse.  Mrs. Alexander was tall, thin, and stern.  She wore her hair wavy and close to her head. I wonder now just how old she and Mrs. Moody were.  They certainly seemed old to me then, and they even look old to me in the picture I have, but I suppose they could have been only in their forties.  Every day after lunch, Mrs. Alexander paddled children who had “milk mustaches”.  I had started second grade there, moved, attended two other schools and then transferred back into Mrs. Alexander’s classroom. When she began to teach cursive writing in the spring, she was not happy that I had already started learning cursive at another school. She snarled out words I will never forget “You just think you’re smart, but you’re no smarter than an old billy goat!”  As we walked by, I drew a little closer to Mama and shivered a little as I saw the new 2^nd grade class sitting there happy and optimistic about their school year. Poor kids.

 “Oh, surely 3^rd grade will be better!” I agonized again.

            As we continued down the hall to the last classroom on the left, next to the cafeteria, I felt a little queasy.

“I’ve never known anyone who’s done third grade before!” I fretted.

As we turned into the room a tall black-haired woman stood in the middle of desks, students and parents.  She was young-fresh out of college!  And she smiled a big toothy smile–

“Hello, Linda, I’m Miss Kenneth, your new teacher.”  Then she did something so unexpected that I almost gasped – she hugged me.  Saying goodbye to Mama suddenly became a little easier. 

            That first morning Miss Kenneth had each of us read to her and do a writing assignment.

 “Oh you read so well Linda!”  “Great writing,  Linda.”   Throughout the morning, again and again, she smiled.  I fell in love with Miss Kenneth!

 By recess, as I skipped around the horseshoe, I decided that school just might be my thing after all. 

Childhood Prayers

 

On a crisp September morning in 1980 I prayed for a grateful spirit. Later, after I had taken the children to school, I decided to take a quick walk in our Park Forest neighborhood before ladies Bible study. The autumn day was clear and crisp, reminding me of the excitement I always felt as a child at the start of each school year. After a summer of togetherness with my three little ones, I felt free and happy to be walking alone.

            As I walked, I felt so much gratitude for the life God had given me. I had so much more I had than I ever expected. Three healthy children. A husband who was a wonderful Christian and father. A nice home. More than I ever expected or dreamed of.

            As I thanked God, I was suddenly struck with surprise and wonder as I realized that every one of these things I enjoyed in life was a direct answer to the prayers I had prayed as a little girl. What were my prayers? I had prayed for a husband who went to church, two healthy children and enough money to provide for them. They were simple prayers, based on a child’s limited understanding. God had not only heard those prayers but had cared enough to remember them even after I had forgotten about them.

            Why would a little child pray fervently about things most children take for granted? I was a very serious child, a student of the lives of others. The drinking, fighting and worry over getting the bills paid in my own family had caused me to watch other families, evaluate them and take mental notes of what I believed to be the secrets to happiness. Why did I pray for a family to go to church together?  In my observation, those families who went to church together seemed to have more peaceful homes. I knew my grandparents and the other relatives in Enon and Bogalusa went to church, and their lives seemed to be stable and calm. No relatives, friends of my parents, neighbors or parents of my friends were exempt from my “evaluations.” I knew that I had received salvation in Jesus, but I also looked for keys to a better life for the family I would have!

            I had a really close look into the life of one family. The Blackledge’s lived in our neighborhood and Rothell worked with Daddy at the telephone company.  He was a deacon in the small Baptist church I attended. Daddy spoke about Rothell with respect.  I sat with their family when I went to church alone. Mary babysat Mike and I one summer when Mama was working, so I saw their household operate from the inside. I envied their daughters. The Blackledge household was peaceful.  I know they had no idea that a little person was watching. I associated peaceful households with church-going, so I prayed for a husband who would go to church with me. God gave me more.

            Why did I pray for two children? Mama had said that most people could only afford two children. I definitely wanted a family where money matters were not the source of so much worry and strife. I prayed for two healthy children and enough money to take care of them. God gave me more.

            I realized that fall morning that God had answered the prayers of a little girl who felt so alone in her faith, but He had not limited Himself to her actual requests. He answered the real desires of her heart – those she didn’t have enough understanding to ask for.

           As I grew up, I remembered my childhood prayers and continued to pray but, when the time came to choose a husband, I was not searching in the right places or with the right criteria. With the pressure to fit in at college, I didn’t think so much about God.  When I met Ralph, he was a real “party guy”. I saw that he came from a good Catholic family and went to church and I wondered how that fit in with my prayers, but I am sure being in love was the real reason I married him. I did consider the difference in religion but remembered how MawMaw Foil had approved of her Catholic brother-in-law, saying “those Frenchmen make good husbands.” Ha! She had even said that it probably would have been better if her sister had converted to Catholicism so they could have gone to church as a family – again, the value of “going to church as a family”. I didn’t think to ask Ralph if he had committed his life to the Lord, if he was a Christian. 

           Even though I was not wisely seeking for a husband who would be an answer to my prayers, God saw in Ralph a man who would become the strong Christian man my heart had longed for. I didn’t know that church-going alone would not assure the peaceful home I wanted, but even though I did not know what to pray, God didn’t limit His blessings to the specifics I asked for.

          I had prayed for two healthy children. I read every book and tried to do everything perfectly in pregnancy and child care. That didn’t stop me from having a miscarriage when Jennifer was about two years old. When Darren was born prematurely, the doctors were worried about his breathing during his first night. I was terrified and began to realize that I could not control and protect my family by just doing everything “right”. I guess I hadn’t even learned yet that it is impossible to do everything perfectly. I also saw that I wasn’t in touch with God enough to really pray for my baby. Still, God was faithful and answered my prayer. Darren got over his breathing problems and thrived, but I suffered from depression and emptiness. I began to try to find God again. 

           I had the two healthy children I had prayed for. Still, God gave me more. When Darren was a baby, the Lord guided us into a real relationship with Him.  We began to want another baby and we knew God would provide. So, God gave us Joel! I prayed for a baby of average weight because I feared having another premature birth.  God showed me the scripture “Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us.”  Eph. 3:20. Again, when Joel weighed in at a whopping 8 lbs. 1 oz., I knew that God had given me so much more than I could even think or know to ask for. What a blessing Joel has been – as we say in Louisiana – “lagniappe” – abundantly beyond what I prayed for.

           If God had taken my prayers at face value and answered them literally – giving me exactly what I asked for – I probably would have a husband who takes our family to church, two healthy children, enough money, yet possibly without the peace and joy of a life where Christ is known and honored. God sees the heart. He knew that my little heart was inclined toward Him, that I wanted Him, even though I thought I just wanted a family that went to church.

           God cared so deeply about the prayers of a little child that He remembered even when I had forgotten Him. He didn’t just eke out an answer that barely met my expectations, He gave me more. He gave me the desires of my heart, desires I didn’t have the maturity or wisdom to even recognize or express.

 “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4

            

People Who Influenced Me - My Mother and Father, Ken and Faye Mizell

 

My mother was the most kind, loving and patient mother a young child could have. She treated me with trust and respect and taught me to be compassionate to others. We were very close when I was growing up, talking over everything. She was a person who loved babies, and babies loved her. She worked hard as a legal secretary. She adored her grandchildren, but issues and illness prevented her from having a close relationship with them.

 No dad ever worked harder than mine in to support his family. Telephone lineman, installer and cable repairman…he did hard work out in the weather. Daddy was tough but a real softie inside.  He taught me sincerity and integrity. He never hid who he was—what you saw was what you got. I always knew they loved me—they told me so and showed me in so many ways.

 The marriage and money issues, anger and alcohol abuse in their lives caused me heartache and complicated the quality of our lives and relationships, but I loved them dearly and was loved by them.

People Who Influenced Me - Rodney Foil

 One of the greatest influences in my life was my uncle, Rodney Foil. He and wife, Patti Sue Thomas Foil, took me in during college at a time of marital unrest in my own home. They offered me a peaceful home and a way to attend LSU. I doubt they knew how closely I watched and learned from all they said and did. I watched how they disciplined and loved their children with patience and wisdom, how they decided matters between themselves, and the respect they showed to every person. Long talks around their kitchen table covered topics of education, career, marriage, family, racism, religion. No one had ever talked to me like that before. It was adult talk! They accepted and understood me.

 I drank in the calm. Patti Sue was a role model to me in many ways – a perfect mom and homemaker, but intelligent and free thinking. Their encouragement and a place to live made it possible for me to finish college. An imprint of what a family might be was made.  Rodney’s patient, kind and calm manner became my model for an ideal husband. He continued to be a rock to me until his death on February 4, 2018. He continues to be a father figure, although he was only 13 years older than I.  

Each of my children has said that he seemed to fill a grandfather-void in their lives. He liked to say he takes a little credit for how each of them turned out. He deserved so much more than “a little” credit!

Ralph shot this candid photo in July 2017 as Rodney and I scrounged through the last of his files for things he wanted to pass on to me.. He gave me much of the family photos and “stuff” because he said I was the only one in the family interested. We loaded up my great-grandfather’s blacksmith shop and moved in to my back yard. I guess I suspected this might be my last visit with him, but I couldn’t bear to think it.  

People Who Influenced Me - Winnie Chapman Mizell

 

My grandmother Winnie Chapman Mizell was a big influence in my life. She had only sons and adored me as the little girl she always wanted. She bought me perfect little outfits and baby dolls. She took me shopping and to lunch on Columbia Road in downtown Bogalusa, stopping to show me off to each friend we met along the way. Some of my best memories are lying in her four-poster bed next to the long row of jalousie windows. The attic fan cooled the hot, humid air, but also blasted us with the signature Bogalusa paper mill smell. We would talk and talk like two girlfriends!

 Although I loved her dearly, her influence instilled great fear into me, not only by her story of losing her five-year-old son in a hit-and-run accident, but by the worry and negativism that this great loss left her with. She warned me of how God would punish my parents and even cause something to happen to me because of the way they lived their lives. Partly because of this I struggled with trusting that God is good and loving. She taught me to worry, but God has worked on that in my life. He is still working on me in that area. If, before I die, you can see a change in me—more of the peace of God rather than worry--then let that be my testimony.

 

People Who Influenced Me - Earl Odell Foil

 

My grandfather, Earl Odell Foil, had a calm, quiet and patient manner. I adored PawPaw’s calmness. His quietness seemed a strength to me. My mother influenced my respect for him because she portrayed him as a perfect father in her childhood.  He never showed anger. I will admit we didn’t have much to talk about, but he showed me his garden, took me riding on the back of his tractor and told me about armadillos he had seen in the year. Just sitting on the porch side by side felt like security. I admired that he was a deacon in the Baptist church. Because I went to church alone as a child, I longed to go where my grandfather was “the deacon.” I wished I could live in a small town like Bogalusa where MY grandfather was the Postmaster!

People Who Influenced Me - Rosa Green Foil

 

My grandmother, Rosa Green Foil, was a great influence in my life. In many ways, she inspired me to become a Christian. She and my grandfather raised their children in First Baptist Church in Bogalusa, Louisiana. She had been raised herself in Enon Baptist Church. The Green family was large and full of heritage! Heritage I longed for. I saw in their lives what people call “salt of the earth” and “good people.” Their lives seemed connected, clean and peaceful in comparison to my lonely life. As they say “there’s more to the story.”

Although she was sometimes judgmental and religious, it was because of her insistence and the strong Baptist background in her family, that I was sent to a Sunday School as a child even though my parents did not go. I really did fall in love with Jesus there.  I may not have understood much, but I believed and I longed for him.

I loved my grandmother’s intelligence, her smile and her giggles. She was a story teller, and I got my love of family and heritage from her. I save little clippings and keepsakes like she did. Her handwritten family history was the inspiration to do my own. Like the face on the creamy pink cameo that had been her engagement gift, she was the face of heritage to me – and that heritage was Christian. I am very grateful.

 

The Warm-Up

I’ve watched a lot of baseball the past few years. Who knew I'd actually begin to understand the game! We spent all day Saturday at LSU for a double-header. It was windy, wet and cold. The team suffered a disappointing turn-around in the first game and lost it.

 

Disheartened and tired, they began warm-ups for the second game. Before each game, the players get into their positions and practiced throws to each other - high balls and grounders - maintaining the flexibility they already gained from the more intense pre-game warmups. I had sat through them hundreds of times, but hardly noticed. This day, sat in my seat bored and cold. My morning devotional had been about gratitude in small things, I began to be grateful to be able to be there to support - uncomfortable as it was. To be with family….and even to be there FOR THE WARMUP!

 

I noticed the skill and athleticism each player had, built from years of training and years of hard work, hours of sweat and sacrifice.  What WENT WITHOUT SAYING was the warmup. Once the game started, the real feats would begin. The warm-up always seemed like busy work. The players could do it in their sleep. But today I SAW it. I appreciated it!

 

The team had pulled themselves out of disappointment …AGAIN. Did the warm-up help in that process? Here they were, warming up…AGAIN. I looked at my grandsons and wondered, how many "again's" they would face in their lifetimes. I wish I’d paid attention at all the other “warm-ups”. I could have learned from their faithfulness, patience, hard work.

 

Disappointed and tired…they got in position, and did it again. Even the routine throws...grounders, hard-balls and high-balls…. reflected flexibility and skill far above most of the spectators. Far above all the arm-chair quarterbacks. (is that what they call them in baseball?) It showed their readiness to do it all again, to put it all out there.

 

The warm-up "went without saying." Of course, they warmed up! Of course, each one had the skill to catch every ball. That went without saying! They were part of the team.

 

What things go without saying in your life? In this senior season, what things go without saying? Without having to decide or plan? Without recognition? Without being noticed?

 

·        marriages, families and careers built

·        friendships formed and nurtured

·        years of grounding in the God's Word

·        prayers prayed in secret

·        faith, courage and patience formed in our characters

·        Just "showing up" year after year

The seemingly boring things…things that GO WITHOUT SAYING

…thankless activities you don’t even remember accomplishing.

 

Things like morning devotionals, prayer, expressions of thanksgiving, meals prepared, journaling to the Lord, acts of service no one noticed…

 

What "bits" of faith did you muster this week that went without saying? For me, I attended a funeral and offered hugs and prayers. I prayed day and night for a grandson in Marine boot camp. I gave counsel to a friend. Filled in for a parent. Offered gratitude for it all to God. I practiced patience in the mundane - sometimes I succeeded.

 

In it all, the heart, skill, wisdom and strength to do these basics look like a mere warm-up, but, in truth,  are possible because of  years of drills, training, routine, practice. Even as we age, here we are – in position – again – warmed up by life’s routines, training, exercises…ready. Of what does your warm-up consist?

 

A great game, a win, a championship would never happen without the warmup. It may have taken a while to find the right team, right game, right sport, the right routine - perhaps the warm up is "for such a time as this." Are there purposes for which you are being prepared? Your "team" is depending on you. The body of Christ needs you conditioned, warmed up and ready for the game. Your family needs you.

 

Have you been warming up a long time? What do you bring to the game? Have you thought the warm-up equaled the game? Stayed there! Afraid to get in the game. You may not experience defeat that way, but you will never know the thrill of a win. In 2 Timothy 4:3, we are told to "Be ready in season and out." Be ready for what the Lord calls you to. Don't skip the warm up! Be ready to get in the game!

  

Helen Keller said "I long to accomplish a great and noble task. But it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble."

 

 James 1:4 "And let endurance (patience, steadfastness) have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete (mature), lacking in nothing."

 

 

The Gap - The Christmas Stockings

There Rylan stood! Tall and a bit gawky –fourteen and in that in-between stage. Kind of like my life. Kind of like my Christmas Stockings.

The Christmas stockings have hung for more than twenty years. As Christmas approached, if I could add a new stocking that year, I was downright giddy! As soon as I was sure of the name, I ordered a personalized needlepoint stocking. I couldn’t wait to add it to the mantle! Each year the stockings primed my gratitude pump – I was so very grateful! But in 2020, the stockings carried with them bittersweet reminder.

I never dreamed that I would hang eleven stockings on my mantle! I usually hung the stockings all in a row. They fit snugly across my mantle, a memorial to the blessings of God on my life. They make me happy. I took a photo of the stockings hung on my mantle every year.

This year Jennifer gave me an arrangement of Christmas greenery. It was so tall that it forced a divide of the stockings. I chose to divide with the first five older children on the left and the younger six – the ones I call “the second wave”- on the right. I thought of that divide every day the stockings hung. It illustrated the shifting of seasons I had noticed all year. Honestly it made me sad. We had a four year lull between Hayden’s birth and Rylan’s. Infertility made us wonder if five would be the final number. What a blessing to have a second wave of little ones! No one can accuse me of not being grateful or of not knowing how blessed I am!

When Rylan visited, I was stunned at how tall he had grown. I could see my days as a hands-on and “useful” grandmother are numbered. I have loved being useful! Parents have needed babysitters and children need love and attention. Being involved has made my years happy!

The gap reminded me that the first five grandchildren are out of the nest. The last launched in January. It seems Hayden’s “flight” looms larger than the others, or maybe it’s just because he’s the one in the spotlight now or because the year has been lonely. And I have to say, he’s the one who gives the tightest hugs! Covid derailed attending his high school graduation. I love the ceremonies.  They are markers that help me process, adjust. He’s only eighteen, and he joined the Marines. I know Marines go far away. He won’t always be in Colorado when we visit. Covid may prevent us from attending his boot camp graduation – a milestone that is important to him and to us.

Empty nest was more than just a cliche for me. I felt it deeply when my children left the nest. I prepared for it for years. I read and reread a book about letting go.  I questioned moms who had already gone through empty nest. I tried to “practice” by gradually giving each of my children more freedom as they handled each new privilege. I had watched mothers hold on too hard and mother-in-laws cause resentment by refusing to let go of their child. I was bound and determined not to lose my kids by refusing to let go! Each graduation and wedding were rites of passage – not just for them but for me! We treasured the joy with pride and then moved on. I have written a book of scripture and prayers for each grandchild’s graduation. All year as I gathered and wrote, I prayed especially hard for that child. This was Hayden’s year! He’s been in the forefront of my mind and my prayers.

Hayden leaving heralds things to come. Grandchildren will grow up and not need us as much. It’s their due season to become independent. They will not have as much time for us.

So there Rylan stood! But as he stands in the divide – (I must say that he gives some great hugs too!) as a young teen, he foreshadows the time when the second wave will leave us behind.

The “gap” was a reminder, as if 2020 needed a reminder, that our day is waning. We will see our children say goodbye and experience empty nest. They are healthier and stronger and will handle it better than I did. I hope I can attribute that in part to the security and love we gave them. I loved being a mother! The last one leaving signaled an end of a role and a purpose I adored. I love being a grandmother! I am more blessed than any grandmother I know! How grateful I am! But, it’s still hard to let go!

At my age, yes, I am honored to still be useful. To get to spend time with them and care for them. I’ve wondered which graduations I will live to attend. Yet, I am still stunned when I see the oldest of the second group towering between the stockings!

I am not as “elderly” as 2020 said I was! My life is not as diminished as the isolation and pandemic guidelines made me feel.

Rylan towering between the divide reminded me that my influence in his life will wane. Though Hayden is a man and will be a Marine, I believe my prayers for him matter. The good news is, though hugs may come less often, I can be sure they will be the best! And they will be coming from a young man of whom I can be so proud. My heart overflows. The older five and the younger six together fill my heart! There’s no gap there!

 

 

 

A Time To Prune

 When Solomon wrote “for everything there is a season”, I wonder if he thought about pruning. He doesn’t say how one season ends and another begins, but you can be sure that some kind of transition occurs.

The colorful canopy of a crepe myrtle tree is gorgeous. It is strong and hardy, enduring heat and humidity. The delicate blossoms line boulevards and driveways all over Southern neighborhoods.  

Last week the newspaper published an article titled “Don’t Commit Crepe Murder.” I think they print it every year. Apparently winter is pruning season, at least for some plants. Many a husband is sharpening the blades of his chain saw! The writer called the crepe myrtle one of the most controversial and often-discussed plants among gardeners.  With all the controversy in the world, some find theirs in how to prune a tree!

When crepe myrtle trees are in a season of transition, usually in summer, their bark gets spotty and peels. If you don’t know much about crepe myrtles, the peeling bark looks like the tree is not doing well. It looks as if it’s dying, much like a snake shedding its skin. There is a way to prevent the peeling, but it involves lopping off the top of the tree.

But hold your clippers! There is still life inside! Pruning may fix the bark problem, but you lose the colorful canopy of the tree. This is why they it call “crepe murder”!

Are over-zealous loppers eyeing your life? Your fruit? Your lovely blossoms? Have you grown weary of the peeling? A lot has been said this year about cancel culture. Many things look dormant, peeling, over and done.  Lies of the enemy and the culture tell us it’s over. There is no hope, no new life.

Parents joyfully launched their children, but began the transition to an empty nest, missing a role they loved. Others lost career, ministry or financial security. Some lost their role as a wife, a husband.  Many buried their dead this year without the closure and honor of a proper funeral. Older people listened to guidelines of each “Phase” and heard “…but…if you are 65 and older”……as if they suddenly transitioned into “the elderly.”  Diminished…peeled back…in transition….feeling loss.

Transitions in our own life are often messy, sometimes painful. In the end something is being born. Transitions signal the death of one season as life brings forth another. Even if a new season is a good one, the transition is usually hard. Especially hard if you loved the previous one.  

Have you lost something this year? Are you grieving? Re-building strength and relationships? Has division struck too close to home? Have some judged you as dying? Ugly? Given up on you?

I tried to schedule 2020. As always, I prayed, planned and hoped….to draw closer to the Lord, build relationships, to minister, to support my grandchildren, to be a light to the world. I prioritized my activities. By every outward appearance, one could say I lost ground. Signs of life were scarce, at least to a casual passer-by. But inwardly, sap flowed and roots and relationships grew deeper.

From season to season, peeling to peeling, Paul must have felt the grief of transition.

    “Therefore, we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen, for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.” 2 Cor 4:16-18

The towering canopy of an older tree that has escaped the lopping off is glorious!  You may have to strain your neck to see it. Accept that your peeling is producing that eternal weight of glory! Look up to see the life being displayed!

Someone may be driving through your neighborhood cringing at your peeling bark. Or laughing at your lopped off canopy. Others decide to be helpful and take a chain saw to your tree.

Don’t go judging another’s bark! Look instead for buds of new life. And when we see our own bare bark, be merciful and patient with ourselves as well. Have faith you will again have the smooth fresh bark of a new season and the blossoms that follow. Know that the inner man will overtake the outward and that works of the Spirit replace the dead works of the flesh.

There are legitimate reasons and seasons to prune a crepe myrtle. I don’t pretend to know or be a pruner. Aren’t you glad that the Lord is our master gardener? When he holds the shears, we don’t have to worry that he will misjudge whether there is life or not. He will not censor or cancel us. May we not lose patience and begin lopping off our own fruit or that of another.

How many times has a door seemed closed, a season over? Then suddenly new life springs forth. Fortunately, these even “crepe-murdered” trees usually take this abuse and spring back. How much more will we bloom in the hands of the master gardener.

“Do not rejoice over me, mine enemy. When I fall, I will arise. When I sit in darkness, The Lord will be a light to me.” Micah 7:8