HOLD ME TIGHT

“Grandma, hold me a little longer, rock me a little more, tell me another story (you’ve only told me four!). Let me sleep on your shoulder, I love your happy smile. I’ll always love you, Grandma, so stay with me a while.” – Karen Tribett

You don’t have to ask me twice, sweet one. You need a little nap? You need a little rock-a-bye time? You got it—Nana’s all yours.

Ruth Hulbert Hamilton was the best advocate for sloth and procrastination (or perhaps more truthfully, for putting first things first) when she penned, “Cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow. For babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow. So quiet down, cobwebs, dust, go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.”

And that’s the truth. It seems my three babies were just babies. Now my baby has three babies and I can hardly call two of them that word anymore. Eleven years ago I was gleefully anticipating grandmotherhood for the first time and now that boy is anticipating middle school. His seven year old brother’s darling little boy looks are almost a thing of the past as he races along to keep up with his older sibling. I do fondly remember rocking both of them to sleep, eons ago, but memory fades and it’s hard to grasp a good hold of it.

That’s why, with this third doll-baby blessing, I’m trying to make a permanent indentation into my brain cells every time she falls asleep in my arms. I want to hold her with my skin, hold her with my feelings, hold her with my eyes. I want to memorize her soft breaths, the smell of her baby head. I want to hold her forever, even if it’s only in my heart. To her, her brothers and each of my own doll babies, I would have to say: you are pretty much my favorite of all time in the history of ever!

There’s another thing I try to remember whenever I get a chance to hold onto my grandgirl: God’s got a hold on me, too. He’s got me in a daddy embrace that’s tighter than my Nana-hold could ever be. He holds me in sad times, uncertain times, times of discomfort, times of pain. In joyful times, thrilling times, times of possibility, times of hope—He’s got me in a forever hold. Christ declared in John 10:28: “I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.”  When I asked Him to forgive my sins and He became my Savior, I became, so to speak, His favorite of all time in the history of ever.

Who’s got hold of you? 

  

DIRT...BE GONE

“Our house is clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy.” ~Author Unknown

My theory is the same as Unknown’s there. As long as it’s my family’s dirt. Because as everyone knows, your own dirt isn’t that dirty. It’s not that germy. You might be able to write a letter in your dusty tabletops, but hey—it’s your dust.

But that philosophy goes out the (it better be clean!) window when you rent a hotel room. We always stay with a pretty nice chain, but other people’s dirt? Rooms aren’t sandblasted, fumigated and sterilized after each customer, I know, but still. Ewww. Other people’s dirt is so...so...so dirty! I don’t want to see it. I want it vacuumed up, wiped off and—gone!

I always wear slippers, sandals or socks when walking on hotel room carpets ‘cause, well, you know. Recently I forgot, got out of bed and landed a bare foot into a spot of some sticky something on the floor. And it wasn’t my sticky. It creeped me out as I took some gummy, tacky little hopping adhesive steps all the way to the bathroom.

In the shower I was happily soaping off the remnants of the day when I noticed the water level creeping up my legs. The drain was not completely, but kind of, plugged. And included with the soapy water came a bit of black stuff. I don’t know what the drain dirt was, but this creeped me out, too. It wasn’t my black stuff! (Truth to tell, I wouldn’t have liked this in my own tub!, but still…)

I am so very thankful that Jesus doesn’t feel that way about dirt. After all, He never had any of His own. Of Christ Peter said, “Who committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in His mouth.” (I Peter 2:22)

And my dirt? My sin? The Lamb of God didn’t strive to avoid it. Because of His holiness He had to be repulsed by it, but He willingly embraced it—and took it upon Himself! On purpose! That day He died on the cross, He died and rose again for me and all my petty jealousy, my laziness, my meanness—every sticky, yucky, icky thing in me. “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” (2 Corinthians 5:21) Imagine that—righteousness in exchange for dirt! I could have done nothing less than accept what He did for me in cleaning me up, in His forever way. Because of Easter, I get to live in His happy, heavenly house for eternity! With no dirt anywhere!

TWO DOLLARS WORTHOF RIGHT

“What is right is often forgotten by what is convenient.”   ~Bodie Thoene, Warsaw Requiem

It would have been a lot more convenient to just forget about it. But that would not have been right.

I knew it was only two dollars worth of right, but right nonetheless. I had to turn around and go back in.

The case of water was heavy. I had hoisted it up from the store’s display and released it into the shopping cart with a thud. The checker can just zap it with her price gun, I thought to myself. I won’t take it out of the cart. And that’s the last thought I had about it until I was loading it and my other groceries into my car on that frigid cold day.

As soon as I touched the water I realized I had not paid for it. The checkout clerk, I was pretty sure, had not noticed it. And I had not noticed her not noticing it. I was standing there shivering, but just to be sure, I dug out my receipt and scanned it. And scanned it again. Nope. No $1.99 case of water bottles on the bill. No water at all.

Now, as I said, this was a “we’re all freezing here” kind of day. I was cold. I wanted to go home. I did not want to trudge back into the store, stand in line at the service desk and tell my story about how I’d walked out of the store without paying for my water. But I did. Because it was the honest thing to do. Because it’s what God would want me to do. And because I’d probably choke on that water if I didn’t (just kidding, but you never know…).

Speaking of being honest, I fully expected the service desk employee to say something like, “Wow. You came back in to pay for this water. How nice of you!”

She did not. She was annoyed. She was suspicious. Kind of like I had “snuck” out of the store with this large, bulky item in plain view, and then inexplicably had an attack of conscience once I hit the parking lot. She literally had her hand out, waiting for me to pay up.

Huh. Not what I expected. Not at all. Truth to tell, I was expecting to be thanked for being honest.

But, really? Thanked for what I knew in my heart was only right? Aristotle once said that “the least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold.” And though, in the scheme of things, two measly little dollars wasn’t much, not paying would be a definite “deviation from the truth.”

And God is all about truth. Psalm 15:1,2 says, “O LORD, who shall sojourn in your tent? Who shall dwell on your holy hill? He who walks blamelessly and does what is right and speaks truth in his heart.” “One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much,” said Jesus (Luke 16:10), “and one who is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much.”

Not paying the $1.99 would have been dishonest. It would not have been right. Though I owed very little, not paying would have made me dishonest in much. And I didn’t need to be thanked for being obedient. I just needed to obey.

 TEARS IN A BOTTLE

“Those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart don't know how to laugh either.”  ~Golda Meir

If you’ve never heard someone weep with their whole heart you’ve never been the one on duty when a precious little one year old falls and bonks her face into your table. And on your watch.

I allow my granddaughter to mess around in my recliner-side magazine bucket. (It’s a grandmotherly prerogative to allow one’s daughter’s child to do the messing around one didn’t allow the daughter to do!) Anyway, the bucket contained an especially enticing little red plastic notebook and Spencer crawled away with it – over toward the living room coffee table. She stood up on teetering little legs and proceeded to topple over. The resulting “thump” of the topple sounded worse than I guess it was as no mountainous lump erupted on her baby head. She did, however, have marks on her baby face where the now offensive notebook apparently smacked her soundly.

At first there was no sound. Then…and then…and then...wailing! Sobbing! And that was just Nana! Well, kinda. We were both crying, if the truth be known. Her tears were of the “oh, I bonked my face and I am surprised and it hurts” kind and mine were of the “oh, my baby girl bonked her face and now my heart hurts” kind. This drama was followed by the hiccupping, sucking air thing babies do after a face-plant or similar result of gravity, followed by the back patting, cooing and rock-a-by-ing that Nanas do to remedy the situation.

Spencer was left with a bit of a swollen lip and a couple red spots on her cheek, but I don’t think her beauty will be marred forever. I suspect that the incident is over and done with in her mind. But not in mine. I will remember her first real “owie” and the pain of those dripping tears. For a long time. They fell deep into my heart and imbedded themselves there. This baby girl is that important to me.

Which made me remember a Scripture about God remembering my tears. In Psalm 56:8 (NLT) the writer says to God, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Wow. Imagine that! I am—and you are - so important to Him, among the billions and billions of people alive now and the billions and billions and billions of those who have ever lived, that He collects our tears in bottles! He writes them down in a book! (The heavenly bottle factory and book binding businesses must be quite the booming industries up there!).

It’s so comforting to realize that God is aware of our sorrow and that it matters to Him. In Isaiah 38:5, God told the prophet to go to King Hezekiah and say, “I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears.” And one day, God tells us, He Himself will just eliminate them: “For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 7:17, ESV).

How we long for that day! (And until then, you should know that, as a precaution, my coffee  table was moved to the bedroom!)

NO MISTAKING IT!

"Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” wrote Lucy Maude Montgomery,     author of the Ann of Green Gables books.

The same goes for beginning a brand new year. On New Year’s Eve many of us reflect on the past 365 days, perhaps lamenting the mistakes we made, planning to do better as the calendar flips over, and beginning again with fresh, blank pages.

The first thing I do each year with a new calendar’s blank pages is to fill in the birthdays and anniversaries of family members and special friends. I still love receiving good wishes, so I still send them out as well. I’m much less likely to make the mistake of forgetting to address them, stamp them and send them on their merry way if I’ve first made sure to mark down          everyone’s special dates.

Appointments go down next, those twice yearly medical and dental visits.  I admit that I’d sometimes like to “accidentally” make the mistake of forgetting those, but that would be a mistake with one’s health.

As the year progresses, volunteer  obligations are put on the calendar. If you make a promise to do something, taught my parents, you’d better follow through for sure. Disappointing someone who is counting on you is a big mistake.

It’s great fun to take a bright red marker and fill in some of those empty squares with much-anticipated opportunities like lunch dates with friends and maybe even vacations in warm places on those pages of “burrrr” months! Can’t mistake those!

While attempting to organize myself and my new year with a new calendar is a great help in keeping my mistake level down, it’s clear I am unable to completely mistake-proof myself. Sometimes mistakes just seem to find me, sometimes it appears I just seek them out and then there are the times my “mistakes” aren’t mistakes at all, but just plain sin.

As a fundamentally directionally impaired person, I will admit to having made the mistake of turning into a “don’t turn in here” traffic lane. As a sinful human being (albeit a forgiven one) I will also admit to losing my temper and using unkind words, something that is not just a mistake but   sinful behavior. There is a difference. Mistakes are unintentional errors in judgment. Sin is more than that—it’s a deliberate choice to do something I know isn’t right.

God’s Word declares that we all sin (Romans 3:23). We choose to do it. For that, I deserve death, but He gives me eternal life through Jesus (Romans 6:23). I like the way Ezekiel said it: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. Then you will live in the land I gave your ancestors; you will be my people, and I will be your God” (36:26-28). In 2015, I long to be a better decree-follower and more careful law-keeper of His. There’s no mistaking it—a  happy 2015 it will be with God in me!

It's CHRISTMAS!

Christmas. Even the Merriam Webster dictionary knows what it is: “a Christian holiday that is celebrated on December 25 in honor of the birth of Jesus Christ (the holiday, as some say, instituted to offer the people an alternative to the very pagan holiday of Saturnalia). The English word “Christmas” is derived from the medieval “Christes Masse,” or the mass or celebration of Christ. In Spanish the word “Navidad” comes from “natividad” and the Latin “nativitas,” or birth—the birth of Jesus. In French the word “Noel” also comes from the Latin verb “nasci,” or “to be born.” “Joyeux Noel” is happy or joyful Christmas, or Christ’s birthday.

All this to say, everyone knows that Christmas is the celebration of Christ’s birth. Whether a person celebrates Christmas as such is perfectly up to him or her, but even the name clearly tells us what it is.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I purchased a lovely Christmas decoration at a local craft fair: a small wooden Christmas tree depicting a few of the 200-some names of Christ: Comforter, Wonderful, Savior, Son of God, King of Kings, Prince of Peace and others. I told the woman who made it that I had never seen anything like it and that I was happy to buy it. “You’d be surprised to know how many people are offended by these trees,” she replied with a sad shake of her head.

Offended? By a decoration defining the reason for the season?

Ronald Reagan once said, “Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeer, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called  Christmas.” Indeed, Mr. Reagan.

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile.” (Romans 1:16, NIV) Jesus came. We celebrate his coming. And we are not ashamed.

THINKTHANKS

If you’re on Facebook, you may have noticed the November tradition of daily thanksgiving postings. Thanks for home and thanks for food and thanks for family—that sort of “regular” thing, and even thanks for washing machines and thanks for reliable automobiles and thanks for good water—the sort of things that might not be so “regular.”

I’ve heard that some people view this public thanking as “showing off” or “making things up,” just so they have something to write about. I’ve heard some people say that, yes, of course they are thankful for their loved ones, for their daily food, for their house and for their job—but after that “they just can’t think of much else.”

And therein lies our problem. We don’t think much about this and so we don’t thank much, either.

Scholars say that the word “thank” most likely comes from “the Proto-Germanic ‘thankojan’ which is a derivation of ‘tong’- ‘to think, feel.’"

Many years ago I was challenged to fill a typed page with as many reasons to be thankful as I could. I sadly admit  that it took me much longer to complete this task than it should have, though once I got going I did manage to do it. And for me, this November “Facebook thanking” is an annual tune-up, lift-up for my spirit. I agree with Alfred Painter: “Saying thank you is more than good manners. It is good spirituality.”

So, if you’re my Facebook friend, what follows is a preview of some of what I’ve been thinking—and thanking— about lately:

**The color turquoise, or teal or aqua—my favorite, as it always reminds me of the sea (my favorite place!)

**Smiles—pure, fresh joy on my baby granddaughter, twinkly and sweet on the boys.

**Purple (and grey and blue and snow-capped) mountain majesty.

**Airplanes (they can turn 20+ hours into about 6).

**Being 62. Yes, really.

**My lightweight laptop. Makes lugging around this overpacker’s stuff much easier on the muscles.

**Being one hour from YNP part of the time. Getting to visit my bison friends pretty much whenever I feel like it.

***The camera that records so many images of my bison friends. And their friends. As all my FB friends well know! Not sorry, either!

**Music. Songs. Michael W. Smith’s new Christmas album. And I don’t care that it’s not Christmas yet—I play it unashamedly!

Goodness, I seem to be out of room and I’m not nearly through thinking, or thanking. And, by the way, thanks for reading, for as G.B. Stern once said, “Silent gratitude isn’t much use to anyone.” (By the way, you might try listing your own thinking thanks! Your spirit will thank you!)