Blackout or Light-In?

Measuring Time

I just finished Mitch Albom's novel, The Time Keeper. I had loved Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet in Heaven. This latest novel was no disappointment.

The irony is that I read the book because I had time on my hands. A week ago I sprained my back, and I've spent seven days lying down, reclining, and occasionally sitting. I've iced my back more than a polar bear in winter. Albom's book provided some necessary comfort for my boredom. And plenty of food for thought.

According to the author, this is a story about the meaning of time. The main character, Nor, is the father of time. Yet he regrets his discovery. He observes that people fill every waking minute with action, but they are empty. There's always more to do and never enough time to do it in! Once we have a sense of passing time, the simple joy of living between sunrises is gone.

I've been there. Haven't you? I've measured my days by what I accomplished in 12 hours, as though efficiency were the standard of well-used time. Albom puts these words in Dor's mouth: "When you are measuring life, you are not living it."

So why did God limit our days? Albom concludes: "To make each one precious." With endless time, nothing is special. The psalmist asked God, "Teach us to number our days." In other words, hold each day as sacred and a gift. My last seven days have been unproductive but nonetheless a treasure. God's good gift of healing takes time.

Solomon said there is a time for everything under heaven. Albom restates the proverb: "It is never too late or too soon. It is when it is supposed to be."

That's so true. Haven't you wished for something forever, then when it came, you knew the timing was perfect?

St. John described a place where time shall be no more. Until then, I'll live between the ditches of measuring my time, yet knowing it's never too late or too soon.

"You Have to Be Carefully Taught"

The title of this song from the musical, "South Pacific," came to mind as I sat watching the Nashville Christmas parade last Friday. Children have to be carefully taught prejudice, because they don't inherit the hate gene through the birth process.

On both sides of my front-row chair at the parade were two boys ages 3 and 1. Each sat in the lap of a parent from an Arabian country. The father is studying at Vanderbilt. We had gotten to know them through an international student program at Vanderbilt.

I played with the 3-year-old and held the baby. Neither was at all concerned that I am Caucasian. In fact, the baby "made eyes at me" and gave me so many smiles I wanted to take him home with me.

Then an unexpected thing happened. Standing behind me was another little boy of African-American heritage. Probably around 4-years-old, he could barely see the parade between the chairs. Impulsively, I asked his parents if he could come sit in my lap so he could see better. They agreed and lifted him overhead, where he sat on my lap for probably an hour!

Again, the little boy didn't ask why a white woman was holding him. In fact, he was completely absorbed in the parade. We tapped our hands and feet as the bands marched by, and he only occasionally looked back to see if Mom and Dad were still there.

The scene reminded me of a time 40+ years ago when my husband pastored an inner-city mission church as a seminary student. One day I was sitting on the porch steps holding an African-American baby. A little girl came up to me and asked, "Is that your baby?"

Her question was a perfect reflection of a heart not yet hardened by a color-conscious society, where ethnicity decides for us who we like and with whom we socialize. What a travesty to judge people by the color of their skin or their native tongue!

This Christmas sing along with me, "Jesus Loves the Little Children of the World." I know it's not a Christmas song, but it should be! After all, Christmas would have no meaning if Jesus had not come to save us ALL from our sins.

On Ants and Grasshoppers

As I walked Lily this morning (Coco is getting a new "do" at the groomer), I noticed that the multiple ant hills on our regular route are dormant: no little red dots scurrying across the sidewalk carrying their tiny burdens. Lily, who has a habit of sticking her nose into other creatures' business, paid the hills no mind.

A Bible verse came to me, probably because I'm reading Proverbs at present in my quiet time. Proverbs 6:6, "Go to the ant ... consider its ways and be wise," reminds us to be diligent in providing for our families, and like the ant, to store up for a rainy day.

Then I remembered one of my childhood favorite stories, "The Grasshopper and the Ants." I played the record (yes, one of those platters that went round and round!) endlessly. I loved hearing how the poor grasshopper, who hadn't planned for the winter, was taken in by the industrious ants. Out of the cold and into the warmth of the ants' little home, the grasshopper was spared from starvation. Of course, the grasshopper learned his lesson: like a good Boy Scout, be prepared!

Our nation is presently in a quandary as to what to do with the nation's poor. What is a Christian response to the fact that the poverty rate has risen, and more people are on food stamps? Should we cross examine every person who comes to a food pantry to determine his or her worthiness? Or do we care for everyone, no questions asked?

I like to think of these matters as paradoxes. On the one hand, "If a man will not work, he shall not eat," said the apostle Paul in 2 Thessalonians 3:10. On the other hand, we read dozens of verses from both the Old and New Testaments about God's concern for the poor. Jesus described His sheep as those who feed and clothe the hungry (Matt. 25:35-36). In fact, the least little kindness is considered "as unto Christ." Note that no mention is made of whether these are the "worthy" poor.

At the same time, do we truly "help" if we are enabling persons to spend food money on drugs, alcohol, or gambling? Or even on junk food, gum, or soft drinks!

This is not an abstract question for me. For several years I directed a church-based ministry that sought to ferret out the truly needy from hucksters and slackers. Twenty years later, when I returned to visit the ministry, I found my case file #1 was still open! Some family dynamics seem never to change.

I would rather err on the side of helping than withholding. (I often did "err.") But I also refused help to those who lived off the hard work of others. I wish society would spend more dollars on social workers than sports stadiums!

My advice? As our nation gets ready to celebrate "Make a Difference Day," find one specific step you can take to help a family in need. Ask your pastor or staff person for a recommendation. After all, we live in the "Volunteer State."

Everything I Needed to Know, I've Learned from My Dogs

My two malti-poos squabble like typical siblings. It occurred to me at breakfast this morning that they are much like Christ's disciples. Coco started the fuss by trying to eat Lily's food. She always prefers what Lily eats because Lily is older and thus Mama's favorite. Whatever Lily gets surely must be the best!

In reality, Lily is on a low-fat canned dog food for, shall we say, plump dogs. Lily's food comes from the vet's office, but personally speaking, it's pretty lame. On the other hand, Coco's food is full of protein. Since she's still considered a puppy, she needs a calorie-laden diet. Coco should love her food; after all, Lily does.

Yes, I mean Lily. Lily sneaks around and eats Coco's food behind my back. Her increasing girth gives her away, even if I hadn't caught her "in the act." Now, I understand why Lily eats Coco's food. It's tasty and fattening! What I don't understand is why Coco tries to eat Lily's.

I've thought about this paradigm a lot since Coco took up residence eight months ago, right from the breeder's arms into ours. "She loves her food," the breeder assured me. Yeah, right! Right until she saw that she had a choice.

I'm reminded of Adam and Eve in the garden: wanting what they can't have, assuming the divine Parent has deprived them for no good reason, and taking matters into their own hands. My doggie-girls, like modern-day disciples, want what others have, even if it's not good for them. And, we too can't believe a loving God would keep us from having our desires!

I've tried to explain to Lily that Coco's food isn't appropriate for her. She cocks her head as if to say, "But I like it. You are withholding blessings from me." And my sweet baby Coco is determined to eat "what the big kids get."

Mama knows best, I've told them, recounting the many ways I take care of them. Why don't they trust me? Why don't I trust God? Maybe if I'm a better disciple, living by faith in God's goodness and provision, my girls will get the hint.

Unfortunately, Lily and Coco don't have a new nature in Christ. They still live in a dog-eat-dog world (sorry, I couldn't resist). Father, help me with my envy of others. May I accept what you have for me, your kid, unconditionally loved.

The Real Deal: Being Authentic in an Inauthentic World

I was in graduate school and slightly in love. Well, maybe a lot in love. But I kept to the high school maxim: "Never let him see you in curlers with no makeup." Supposedly, if you revealed your true self (or face), your true love would high-tail it to the woods and never be seen again.

So with hair perfectly coiffed and a carefully chosen outfit, I met my date in the front lobby of the dorm (yes, a dorm), and we headed out to his church van full of teenagers from his part-time pastorate. The plan was to take them to eat at a fast-food place and then head downtown to a statewide youth evangelist event.

At the burger place, I bit down on something hot, followed by a cold drink from my soda. The combination was unfortunate for the crown on one of my front teeth. It cracked along the back side and was hanging by a thread.

How do you bring up the fact that you have two capped teeth to someone you are dating? "Oh, by the way, do you see these two fake teeth? Ha, ha." I didn't know how to handle my embarrassment, much less in front of the teenagers (who are as a sub-set of the population notoriously cruel).

So, I did the only thing I knew to do. I rushed toward the van and told him to take me back to the dorm--no explanation, no details. Just take me back. He left the kids to finish their meal, and when we got back to the dorm, I fled up the steps without so much as a goodbye kiss. I called my dentist, who agreed to meet me the next day at his office.

I didn't have to worry about never seeing my date again. We had already made plans to go to his parents' house for the weekend for my very first visit! Now his mother would see my temporary cap and my other front tooth and ask her son, "What were you thinking?"

I worried about "my first impression" (no pun intended) all weekend. No one asked about my smile. I left the house feeling relieved that I hadn't left one or the other tooth in a piece of steak. Nobody seemed the wiser.

Shortly thereafter my true love and I announced our engagement, and the "tooth fairy" shined down on us until years later when I broke another crown!

Why couldn't I have just made a joke of my situation on that awful night at the fast food restaurant? Why was I afraid I'd be judged by my appearance, or lose my boyfriend over a slight imperfection? More importantly, why do I still hide out when it comes to letting my imperfections be known?

I even play that game with God. Somehow the Creator of the Universe isn't going to figure out I'm faking it in worship, or acting more pious than I am, or being nice to someone I really can't stand. Somehow the Almighty will be impressed with my "Sunday self." Oh, God, help me be real, especially with You."

Precious Moments

The document verifies the date: 42 years. How could Sim and I have been married that long? Why, it seems like only yesterday we were battling over important life issues such as "When is bedtime?" and "How much stuff is one allowed to stack in one's closet?" In fact, it was yesterday. And the year before that and the year before that—well, you get the picture.

"They say" opposites attract, and I suppose we prove the adage. I'm structured; he's spontaneous. I like neat; he likes everything out where it can be seen. I'm an introvert; he never met a stranger. I am by nature contemplative; Sim thinks on his feet.

We always said, mostly in jest, that we stayed together because of the kids—whoever left had to take them with him or her! So, on our anniversary night, it seemed appropriate to invite our youngest, Mark, to join us for the festivities. He brought us a card that reminded, "A life together is made up of loving, silly, important moments, but mostly, moments with each other."

Three friends have recently lost their mates. Today, Sim and I have precious moments together. I hope we don't waste any of them.