Tuesday With Teri

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      As I looked out the window of the plane I saw the familiar clouds dotting the sky beneath me.  I’ve seen clouds before…I’ve even seen them from the window of a plane on more than one occasion…but for some reason this day they looked different.  The white puffs were protruding toward me like an image on a 3-D screen.  The bright blue sky looked as if it hung miles below the suspended stacks of billowing clouds.  They hovered like the giant helium balloon figures in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.  I felt compelled to look for the numerous ropes leading to hundreds of people on the ground tasked with keeping the clouds from floating out into space.  These were just clouds…but I saw them this day in a different way.  I’m not sure why I never saw them like this before…was it just perspective?  I thought back to a sermon I heard recently.

          “How many of us see the world, but not the work of the Lord?”  The question floated out over the congregation like a rain filled cloud.  We had just read the accout of Saul’s encounter with God.  Saul’s sight was lost for a while, but this would lead him to become a follower and servant of  the Lord.  In the midst of these verses was a short powerful note… “Saul got up from the ground, but when he opened his eyes he could see nothing..” Acts 9:8.    I could not stop thinking about those words.  I’ve always thought I was spiritually aware…but this question, and those words, hung around my heart as if an early morning fog was settling in.   My eyes are open, but am I seeing what God wants me to see?  Do I see His workmanship?  Am I missing a better view?  Is there more to what I am looking at?   It is possible to “look” and not “see”.    It is like when we hear something, but do not listen.  As a former high school teacher I can attest to the possibility of someone “hearing” your words and still missing your message.  I have given numerous “brilliant” lectures, unlocking powerful educational truths, only to later realize none of them had any idea what I was trying to teach them.

            The more I watched the volumous piles of white outside the plane window, the more I realized how much I may be missing.  God surrounds us with so much of Himself, I don’t want to miss any of it. 

 Lord, help us draw closer to You, so that we  may not miss

 one moment, movement or message which You set before our eyes.

           On this date 25 years ago my husband and I said “I do”.   We stood before family and friends at East Brent Baptist Church on August 4, 1984 and launched ourselves into the journey of marriage.  We were young, in love, and had only a smidgeon of a clue about life.  There was so much to learn, so much I did not know.

          Before I said,”I Do”….

          I did not know how to cook much more than multiple variations of macaroni and cheese.  I did not know that my first grocery purchase, totaling $50, was not a month’s worth of groceries.   I did not know the first furniture we purchased would last for nearly 15 years before we finally took the last remaining chair to the dump.(I would have picked prettier colors had I known)  I did not know how important a pilot light was to a gas heated home.(linoleum floors get very cold). I did not know using Bisquick is not considered baking “from scratch.”   

         I did not know how hard it was to pay bills or keep a car running.  I did not know how exhausting being a wife and mother would be.  I did not know how infuriating my husband could be, or how much his sense of logic would frustrate my emotional arguments.  I did not know how often I would cause him to hurt.  I did not know how often I would cry.  I did not know how much we would laugh. I did not know how many mistakes we would make.   I did not know how much I would depend on my husband for encouragement and strength.  I did not know how full my heart could become.   I did not know how patient he would need to be with me.  I did not know the partnership we would need to form.   I did not know I could love him more than on that day.  I did not know I could love him differently.  I did not know my love for him would grow in admiration, respect, honor, delight, passion and dependence.   I did not know how much I would enjoy each new stage of our lives. 

    After I said “I Do”….

      Understood more clearly the love of my Heavenly Father.  I understood the gift of  grace…I have needed to both grant and receive it.  I understood God’s unconditional love…my love for my husband is not determined by circumstances which may change or challenge us. 

Happy Anniversary!

           We were attending a business meeting at the church.  There was a short lull in the proceedings and folks were casually socializing.   I looked down the pew just in time to see my friend Sherry quietly completing a few “knits & purls”.  I quickly began to tease her about her knitting in church.  It was too hard to pass up.  There she was knitting needles twitching away while I, on the other hand, had nothing to occupy this brief moment of inactivity.  She is a good friend and kindly tolerated my references to old age and being “knit in the womb”.  My need to tease her was a natural result of my own idle mind and hands I suppose.  I know she has been a “knitter” for a long time, but knitting has become a “hip” hobby these days.  I recall when I tried to launch myself into this fad.

          My knitting goal was not lofty.  I chose a simple neck scarf for my first endeavor.  I  taught myself the knit and purl stitches.    I had an image in my head of how it would all play out.  I would carry my project and knitting needles in a tote bag with me everywhere I went.  Doctor’s waiting rooms, teacher meetings, kid’s sporting events, would all be good times to pull out my project and “cast a few on” (that’s knitter’s speak for knit a few more rows onto the scarf).  I saw myself as a “cool” mom who multi tasked and made good use of all her time.  I soon learned my image of being a knitting mom was a tad bit unrealistic.

          My first and last attempt at knitting in public took place at one of our high school basketball games.  I settled onto the bleachers along with several other moms as we watched the pregame warm ups.  I casually pulled my knitting project from my tote bag and began to “knit/purl/knit/purl”.  Slowly adding stitches to my scarf, which at this point was only a few inches long.  I acted as if I did not notice the interested onlookers.  I tried to relax as I varied my attention from the game to my handiwork, hoping to appear a seasoned pro at knitting. 

           I noticed a handful of ladies hunched over my shoulder.  Moms from either side of me on the bleachers scooted closer and closer.  I swear I could feel the warmth of their breath as they hovered around me like pigeons at a popcorn spill.  They were not looking at me or my project with the admiring eyes I had hoped for; instead they anxiously scanned my flaw filled effort.  No kidding, one lady actually gasped after one of my “knit/purls”.  Apparently to the trained knitter’s eye, uneven loops and varied tightness and “dropped” stitches are obvious and unbearable flaws. 

          Overwhelmed by the need to “help” me they soon began to offer assistance…“Would you mind if I cast on a few rows for you? I miss knitting.”  “Would you like me to fix that for you?”  “May I knit a few rows for you when she’s done?”.  Eventually I handed my project over to the eager moms around me.  They took turns adding their touches to my hapless knitting project while simultaneously squashing my vision of being a “cool knitting mom”.   The game came to a close and my narrow start of a scarf was shoved back into the tote, never to be seen in public again. ( I did continue to work on my knitting in private, but discovered I lacked the patience and precision this hobby required).

          I don’t blame the ladies for itching to correct my work.  They were kind and good intentioned.  I assume it is like when I see a crooked picture on the wall and can’t stand to not set it straight.  I’ve thought about my foray into knitting and that fateful day in the bleachers.  I wonder if I do that to God.  Do I look at what He is making of my life, or the life of anyone I know, and see the imperfections?  Am I distracted by His handiwork because it does not look the way I want it to?  Do I try to take His work into my own hands and “add my special touch”?   It is easy to say I trust in the Lord, but difficult to feel at ease when He starts to knit the threads of life in a way that is not my way.  When I see knitting needles I am reminded of the importance of allowing God to finish the “project” He started in me, and in others.  Letting Him “knit/pearl” the patterns in our life will result in a finished project we will praise Him for one day.

For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus…Phil 1:6

Lord, help me to be as confident in how You work as I am in who you are.

           I have got to quit talking to strangers.   Once again my need to engage others in random conversation landed me in an awkward social situation. (Perhaps this is why my husband cringes when he sees me make eye contact with folks in an elevator.)   It started out simple and to be honest it was not just me, the UPS truck driver is to blame as well….let me explain. 

           Last month I went to the UPS store to mail my Mother’s Day gifts.  I was actually there early enough in the week to avoid the overnight charges my procrastination habit usually dictates I pay.  (Sometimes I even impress myself).   When I scampered into the store I noticed the UPS truck parked out front.   Its driver, seated on a folding chair, was engaged in a conversation with the UPS clerk behind the counter.  As I filled the required forms I jokingly asked if the driver was waiting on me, to which he replied, “of course”.    Those of you who know me, know this two word response is my “go ahead” to further interact with strangers.  With my forms filled and my packages in order I proceeded to the counter.  As the gentleman processed my offerings I inquired about the date of delivery…I think I just wanted to hear confirmation out loud that I had indeed managed to get these gifts out on time.    At this point the UPS clerk asked, “So, when is Mother’s Day?  Saturday?”   Yep, he said “Saturday.”   To which the UPS truck driver and I both gasped.  “Dude, you’d better get on it!” said the driver…”yeah, you don’t want to be late” I added, to which the clerk replied, “oh, my mother has passed…(awkward pause)…so, well…(shorter awkward pause).  “”uh, man, sorry dude” said the truck driver….I stutter out my attempt at recovery, “Oh, I am so sorry.”   Then for some reason, maybe to deflect from our error, I say something to the effect of, “well maybe there are others in your life who you send stuff to?”.  “yeah, dude, what about your sisters” the UPS driver added, joining me in my effort to undo damage.   Quickly moving  to polite niceties, the UPS truck driver and I both scurried out the door.    

           The loss of a loved one  is a difficult season in our lives.  My own father passed away in may of 1999.   This father’s day, I was reminded that it is not always these special days that are the hardest when we have lost a loved one.  As we celebrated my husband for being a great dad, I realized I did not miss my own father.  I thought of him this day and recalled so many things about him that made him a wonderful dad.  But this day and all it represents is not one which brings a tear to my eye or fills my heart with sadness.  Those moments come at much odder times.

          I miss my dad dearly and often.  I miss him when I sit on my porch in the middle of a summer rain storm, listening to the thunder and smelling the rain falling fresh on the hot pavement of our driveway.   My dad liked to watch storms too, he would have enjoyed sitting with me on my porch.  I miss him when I drink a good glass of ice cold sweet tea, the kind where the sugar was added to the fresh hot brew before ice was added.   My dad loved sweet tea.  Sometimes I miss my dad the most when my husband holds my hand.  When we ride in the car, or are sitting in church, he will place his hand on mine.   Strong, tan, a little wrinkled, veins visibly pulsing just below the surface, his fingers wrap around my hand effortlessly.   I see my father’s hands.  

          My careless words to the UPS clerk  renewed my awareness of  the seasons in life that bring personal loss or pain.  God may fill my life and heart with many blessings, yet when He calls one of those blessings away I cry out like a kid sitting in a room full of toys who protests when one is taken away.  It is difficult to focus on all that remains in the room.   God is sovereign, He loves us, and our “rooms” are full!