Finding Peace in My Unchanging God

When we pull into the drive, it’s almost dark. Isaiah and I root around for our belongings, but before we open the car doors my son stops still.

“Mom! Look! Lightning bugs. The first ones! By the bushes! See?”

I turn the key and there’s silence. Isaiah presses his hands against glass and we wait. We wait for a few seconds, maybe more, and then we see them. Golden twinkles. Sweet blips of light that break through gray.

We leave the car and I sit on the steps while my son chases fireflies. He darts around our old maple and bolts to the lilac bushes along the fence. I know that if he catches one in his gentle hand, he’ll release it. And it doesn’t take long before one rests on his outstretched palm.

“Look, Mom. It’s beautiful.” Up close the light glows green. Isaiah smiles and the firefly takes off. For a moment it’s one with the night.

And in that instant, I’m taken back to childhood.

Suddenly I could be in the center of the 70’s.  It’s the way the air settles on my skin and the way the quiet has a sound of its own. The night sky is seamless and it covers all that I know. We would’ve been in the backyard of my childhood home, my three sisters and me, and my best friend Tracy. Our hair would be long and straight down our backs and our legs would be lean and brown. We’d chase fireflies, too, bare feet swift on the early-summer grass.  My mom would be with us, her inner-child strong. We’d laugh and fall lost in the wonder of this simple, precious thing.

Time moves too fast.

It’s striking to me, the way years flow and the pages of life turn. Sometimes I handle it with gratitude and grace, but most often it hits me like cold pelting rain. On the days that I struggle with children growing up, the changes that come with growing older, and fear of one day living without ones I love, on the days that life does truly feel like a mist, I’m learning to be thankful.

When time passes swiftly and changes come strong, I’m grateful for the grace of an unchanging God.

Time moves. People grow. Change happens with each breath.

But the Lord is steadfast.

The counsel of the Lord stands forever, the plans of his heart to all generations. Psalm 33:11 ESV

His timeless compassion, strength, and grace are my resting place. His character is unchanging and He is home to my restless heart.  In His Presence is where I find peace.

“Hey, Mom? Catch fireflies with me?” my son asks.

His hand is on my shoulder, and joy shines in his smile. For just a moment I think of his grown brothers, long-ago invitations, and the same hazel-green eyes. But I’m not going to fret.  I’m going to run and play and live in this moment with my child. And when the night moves along, if I begin to worry over the things I’ll need to release and the new things that will come, I’ll be okay.

I’ll take the changes to my unchanging God.

 

 

Rain Rescue - The Power of a Loving Thing

The boys and I are driving home after an afternoon of errands. As we cross the bridge that spans the Mississippi, I notice the clouds. They're broody and dark and the sky in between is a deep blue gash.

By the time we're home, they've knit to a ominous mass and then there is a wild torrent of rain.

We pull in the drive and sit. The back door is down the steps and across the patio.

"I'm going to run in," Gabe says. I turn around and see he's watching the digital clock. It's three. Time for the boys' half-hour of PBS. It's a powerful thing.

"Just wait," I say. "It will slow. If you make a run for it, you'll still be soaked."

"Please?" he asks.

I pop the locks and he's out, down the steps, and  fumbling at the door for the right key.

And he's in.

And the rain hits the windshield in hard, angry pelts.

A bit like my mood lately, I recognize. A long-time struggle has left me newly stripped. The raw, inside of me can be as dark as the day.

I sit for a moment and listen to the chatter from the back seat. I watch the rain flow like a river down the the drive.

And then I see the umbrella.

It's a Fighting Illini umbrella, and it's huge. Wide slices of blue and orange move across the patio. I see small legs and feet underneath.

Gabe.

The umbrella bobs up the stairs, stops for a moment as the gate, and pauses outside my van door.

It tips and there is Gabe's smile.                             

I throw the door open.

"I came to rescue you, Mom," he says.

There he is, this small sprig of a boy, holding this canopy of nylon. He's holding it out to me, wanting to walk me in.

I've been rescued from the rain.

I hold the umbrella and it covers us both. We move fast and Gabe delivers me to the porch. I step inside and he runs back for his brothers.

The struggle, the sadness, hasn't gone away. But the edges have been soothed with a sweet salve. The sweet salve of a loving thing.

Loving others well makes a difference. Simple kindness can shine rays of hope.

Before long the boys are all in and the house is full. There's a thunder of boyness moving toward the family room upstairs. But as Gabe rushes past I reach out and snag him. I pull him close. I whisper in his small, warm ear.

"Thanks," I say. "For rescuing me."

"You're welcome," he says. And he smiles.

But he really has no idea.


Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds...  Hebrews 10:23-24

Closet Cleaning

It's time to think about getting my homeschool classroom in order. It's a surly mess. Last spring we were lured by the sun on our shoulders, the blue skies, the early greens that brushed like tempera paint over the winter-long browns.

We jumped ship.

Now we're wading through the whispers of last year. Math papers stacked in the cabinet. Flashcards in unbundled piles. Journals holding heart words and binders bulging with science.

And then there's the closet.

My deep, dark mess.

I open the door and step back fast. Hard telling what will come lunging out. A stray bottle of glue. A spelling book. Or worse yet. A wayward compass with a sharp, pointy end.

I sigh.

This cavern of a closet is full.

I have no choice but to dig in. I want this closet in order. This closet needs to be in order. It's my resource place. When I need a book, a text, an answer key...a stick of glue, a ruler, a pair of scissors with ripply edges, I'll need a crisp, clean closet to produce the goods.

I'll want the good stuff to flow - unencumbered by this bulging, dreary mess.

So I pull a wild stack of books from the floor and begin to sort.

A tug a basket of dumped-together art supplies and begin to sift.

Halfway through the adventure, I understand that this closet is like my heart. There are good things. Fruit of the Spirit things. Treasure chest things that hold value like gold. But there's a knot of not-so-good, too. Darker things. Messy things. Things that may clutter the goodness.

And while I'm sitting pretzel-legged in the closet, contents building around me in small mountain heaps, the cleaning becomes a prayer.

Lord, there's a green mass of jealousy in the corner of my heart. Please pull it out.

Father, there's selfish ambition lurking in the deep. Remove it with Your tender hand.

Fear, God. It moves like a shadow. Covering and consuming and making light places gray. Pluck it?

It feels good to ask the Lord to sift through the contents of my heart. To ask him to help me remove the mess. I can't just stack the junk and haul it to the trash.

But the closet door, my heart door,  is open, and His light can shine in. It may take time. But the invitation is there. And He is faithful.

I poke through the markers. Some are good. Some have crushed, dry tips.

 Sorting.

 It's a good thing.

 And as the piles around me grow, as I pray, I feel lighter and more free on the inside.

Like my in-good-order closet, my heart will produce good things.

I'm grateful for the cleaning.

I'm grateful for the grace.

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. Psalm 51:1-2

Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Psalm 51:10