Makin' Grandpa Proud

When I was a young girl I lived in southern Oklahoma with my grandparents. After I moved away to live my dad, I often returned for lengthy visits. My memories of those days are filled with noisy relatives, explorations into the wilds behind the barn, and trips across the street to Harvey's for comic books and soda pop. We also played croquet with my grandpa, Oscar. I'm not sure if it was his idea, but the croquet set was his and he always played. And he always won. Even when he was old and mostly blind, he loved to play and he still won. He would walk with a slight totter to his ball and peer ahead to the next wicket. He'd stand there with a wad of chewing tobacco tucked in his cheek, a slight brown dribble at the corner of this mouth, and study the situation. After a minute, he would call out to one of the grandkids to hold their mallet on top of the wicket so he could see where to aim. Then with a gleam in his eye and a slight smirk on his face, he would grip his mallet, bend low over his ball, take aim, and thwack. Right through the wicket every time. We watched in awe.

This past weekend I was with two of my cousins. One of them now has two girls who are teenagers. I had recently played croquet (for the first time in years) with some friends and still had the set in my trunk. I suggested that we play. My cousin set it up in the backyard and we proceeded to play dozens of rounds of croquet in the blistering heat. As we played we laughed and reminisced, the reoccuring thwack of the croquet ball reminding us of our common heritage. Much to my surprise the teenage girls also eagerly joined in. The 15 year old turned into a serious croquet competitor. While we retreated inside from the heat she stayed in the backyard practicing. As she put the ball confidently through the wicket time after time we decided she definitely has the Lindsey genes. At the end of the day, she asked her mom, "Do you think I could start a croquet club at school?" She might want to use caution there. I'm not sure but I doubt croquet playing is considered "cool". But Oscar sure would be proud!

Inevitably - A Post on Singleness

Yesterday our staff took time to lay hands on and pray for one of my young coworkers who is getting married this weekend. It was a very sweet time of asking on behalf of our friend for peace in the midst of last details, an ability to give his heart and best attention to his bride and not to the myriad of friends and family descending from all over the world, for a memorable celebration and a strong marriage. As we were drawing to a close, my friend (and boss) prayed, "Lord I ask that one day we will sit and pray these very things for M. K. and Melinda" (another single coworker.) It made me smile. Perhaps there are those who (still) pray things like this for me, but I never hear it. It might surprise some to know I still pray it for myself!

At age 48 what was once an agonizing longing has been replaced by a simple lingering hope. Hope that God might yet bring a husband to journey alongside me. (Although the journey is getter shorter all the time!) When I was younger, I used to think that being content meant that I had to get to the place where I no longer wanted to get married. Maybe that it even meant I had to prefer singleness over marriage. Over time I think I have learned that being content means that my hope is firmly set on God Himself, not a man or the idea of a man. I believe contentment even allows me to grieve from time to time that I have no human companion who knows the stories of my life. No one who carries the funny moments or special memories with me from one life season to the next, from one geographical location to the next. Some of my loneliest moments are when I am reminded of a place or person and there's no one I can turn to and say, "Remember when. . ." Because no one does. In those moments I have to remind myself that, "My Maker is my husband. He delights in me. He is strong and loving and gives me everything I need. My future is safe with him." (Isaiah 54:5, 62:4, Psalm 62:11, 16:5)

The Mexican Dentist

My Dad will do anything to save a buck. Always wise with his money. Not stingy but frugal. This week, though, he took consumer savvy to a whole new level. He had a number of teeth that have been chipping and breaking (he's 81) and the dentist told him he needed crowns - to the tune of $700 per tooth. Well, my Dad wasn't about to have 10 teeth crowned at $700 a pop. (You can do the math.) No, he asked around and heard about a guy who does this kind of thing for only $145 per tooth. The only hitch - the guy works in Mexico. No problem. My parents only live 5 hours from the border. Apparently the guy does quite a booming business. You drive to the border, get a hotel on the US side, call the designated number, he sends a taxi to pick you up, he spends a few hours in your mouth, and then returns you to your hotel, presumably as good as new. (Does this sound scary to you?)

I admit I had plenty of apprehension about it. This is the city where we ventured as college students to buy woven rugs and cool pottery. Tourist trinkets fine, but long needles, novocaine, and power drills in your mouth? You pretty much have to medicate me just to get me to make an appointment in the good ole US of A. But my father has no fear. And apparently everything went just as planned. Dad is now the proud owner of 10 pretty new crowns, has his smile back, and has several thousand dollars still in his pocket instead of his dentist's. I did ask if the dentist spoke any English. My Dad said, "Not a word." (Hmmm. It is about time for my 6 month check up. I wonder how far it is from here to the border?)

Freudian Typo

I have a friend who mows lawns in the summer. He and his son, Chris, do this for a little extra cash and a little father-son bonding. So, last week I emailed to ask if they could take on my yard again this year. I wrote, "Hey, I was wondering if you and Christ are mowing lawns again this summer?" We had a great laugh about the imagery that brought to mind and the hypothetical conversations that might ensue: "Jesus, I think you mowed last time. How about I mow and you weed-eat?"

The email got me to thinking. That's actually how I want to live my life: Living in the presence of Jesus, allowing him access to all the mundane moments, all the random thoughts, and never allowing my heart to retreat to any secret place where He is not welcome. Biblically, I guess you could call that abiding in Christ. I am reminded this week that He is Immanuel - God with us. And I am convicted that all too often I prefer him to be, "God-close-by-for-when-I-need-him-but-I-want-my-space-and-
I-really-don't-want-to-talk-about-this-right-now." Hmm.

Is God Round or Flat?

Yesterday I read an online devotional from Ravi Zacharias Ministries. The author, Betsy Childs, said that literary characters are differentiated into two categories: round or flat. Round characters are multidimensional in that "he or she is believably lifelike, able to surprise the reader, and his or her character is fully fleshed out by the author." As you might guess, a flat character is . . . . well . . . flat. Childs helped me put words to something I have been feeling for a while. I think we are prone to perceive God as flat so we bring flat, dutiful devotion where passion is absent and no real mental, emotional, or spiritual energy is required to relate to him. Just do the right thing, choose to obey, think truth and all will be well.

I have felt myself desperate for more than that lately. I need to be reminded that God is mysterious and multi-dimensional and surprising and passionate and amazing. Otherwise God begins to seem small and my faith shrivels accordingly. After a lengthy description of God's creator/sustainer power Job 26:14 says, "And these are but the outer fringe of his works; how faint the whisper we hear of him! Who then can understand the thunder of his power?" Yes! This is the God I love and worship and live for. And He is not flat.

By the way, I would recommend the Ravi Zacharias daily devotions to you. They are called Slice of Infinity and you can receive them daiy via email or you can just go to the website on occasion and read the archives. I especially connect with the ones written by Jill Carratini.
http://www.rzim.org/publications/slice.php

Lesson #2 On Being Grounded

I had visions of doing a whole series of posts on lessons learned while grounded. Believe me, I could have kept you reading (or at least kept myself occupied.) But alas, grace has prevailed and I can drive again! They told me it would take 5 to 10 days for paperwork to wind its way through proper channels. So, mentally I was prepared to be without my driver's license until at least next Friday. What a surprise to discover Tuesday afternoon that my license had been reinstated. I was cheering and dancing around the office.

This whole thing was my fault. No excuses. And I was trying to take my medicine bravely. It could easily have been a good long while before I sat behind the wheel of my car again. Instead, a mere 3 work days later, it was over. This is grace. I felt it. It brought a spontaneous outburst of joy. I felt free. And I was filled with gratitude. I wanted to call everyone and tell them. This was my genuine, unmanufactured response to grace. I've been wondering, "When was the last time I felt like that in light of the grace of God?"

So, you won't get to read about the other things I learned: how much I resist depending on others, how being "without wheels" forced me stay and give in a situation where I was filled with self pity and wanted to flee (and normally would have), how the ability to laugh at myself made the whole experience less painful, how my need created new opportunities for community. All in all, I got a pretty good education (and a great story!) for just $65 and a 59cent light bulb.

Lesson #1 On Being Grounded

It's now Monday morning and I just went the entire weekend without being able to drive. I don't know how many times during the weekend I thought, "I think I'll run to the grocery store . . . Diane's house . . . to the mall . . . to get a coke." Of course this was always followed by the reality, "Oh yeah, I'm not allowed to drive."

If I had to sum up what I felt this weekend, I can do it in one word: restless. I did not want to be home or be still. Perhaps because I knew I couldn't just hop in the car and go, I felt it even more acutely. Psalm 46:10 comes to mind this morning as I am reflecting on the past two days. "Be still and know that I am God." How much of my life is filled with rushing and going and doing and movement? And how much of that is unnecessary? And if it's unnecessary why do I do it? Is it simply my attempt to escape being still before God? Strange that I should want to escape that. But I do. I am like a small child who is over tired and wound up running away from her daddy who is trying to get her to take a nap. When he catches her (which he inevitably does), he holds her close in spite of her struggling and tears. Soon she is fast asleep. I both long to be caught and resist being caught. Because when I am caught and still, He changes me. Changes my perspective. Reorients my heart. And someetimes I simply don't want to be changed. Lord, catch me. Help me to be still. Change me.