Stalking Sovereignty

    I have blogged previously about my addiction to the method of Bible passage analysis called homiletics. I could be president of the Homiletics Fan Club, if I could find any other fans. Since last year's BSF study was John and next year is Romans, starting my summer doing homiletics on a chapter a day of Acts was a no-brainer. But there was still a lot of summer left. I wanted to study something to do with God's sovereignty, but a word study wouldn't work. Sovereignty isn't even in my Strong's KJV concordance, and much of God's sovereign control of events appears in chapters and books where God isn't even mentioned--like Esther. I have an excellent study book on sovereignty written by Jerry Bridges, but it hasn't been long since I finished that and, even I, cannot forget that quickly. Without my precious homiletics, I was adrift.
     So I decided to begin at the beginning, Genesis, where God's activity is far from behind the scenes. I still read a chapter a day, and if I'm not paying attention, I lapse into homiletics without noticing it. My method, like myself, is simple. I stalk sovereignty throughout the passage, write down the instances, add thoughts about the passage I find interesting--like Lot's irresistible rescue from Sodom. Clearly, God does not take no for an answer. Then I look for an application. Most of mine start with:  How does knowing God is sovereign over __________ help me with __________ I am experiencing today? Then I spend a few minutes praying and meditating on that truth. Not profound. And, sadly, not homiletics, but it is good to know I am capable of a topical study and the applications have been extremely helpful lately. My needs matching God's truth seem to be a recurring side effect of Bible study. Oh wait, that's called sovereignty.
    

Small Talk

     I love visiting with other Christians but the truth is, most of the time, we make the same small talk with them that we could with a virtual stranger at the grocery store--kids, health, weather, what we are doing.  In smaller settings, we may share more intimately--struggles, prayer needs, what we are feeling. But there are very few places a Christian can share openly what Christ is doing in their life. At church we are all "fine". At prayer meeting we share only about health needs, safe travel, maybe a decision about a job or buying a house. No one shares their besetting sins, financial struggles, prodigals.
     So it is very nice to be able to let my spiritual hair down at BSF, in small group, with my prayer partner, and with my mother-in-law. I can take off the mask most of us wear in public and share a truth the Spirit has illuminated through my Bible study or whispered in my heart. With those few I am comfortable sharing my struggles with being a submissive wife, critical thoughts about others, trying to control my portion of the universe.  Christians need times and places for "Show and Tell". To show what we are really like, to tell the truth when we are not fine. I am glad to have those people and places in my life, and one of them is this blog. Humor pops in and out as a welcome visitor, humility is still a far off goal, but honesty is I can do here and now. There are plenty of other places for small talk.

I Would Like to Think

     Recently I had two major events going on at the same time. One was wonderful. One was hard. Both the occasions and the timing of them were part of God's sovereign plan. While I was in Missoula celebrating my Dad's 90th birthday, my husband was at home dealing with our son's relapse. Though his binge was well funded and serious, I was not feeling stressed, though it seemed I should be.

    I would like to think it was because:

•  through decades of experiencing God's faithfulness, I have learned to trust Him.
•  I increasingly rest in the safety of God's sovereignty.
•  I trusted God's timing in having me in Missoula and Reed at home.
•  I see even the setbacks as part of a larger plan.
•  I knew my husband could grow through handling it without me.
•  God provided the distraction of the birthday celebration and intended for me to enjoy it. 
•  The Bible repeatedly demonstrates that God uses sin just as easily as obedience to accomplish His purpose.
•  our recent study of "Trusting God, Even When Life Hurts", strengthened my faith.
•  I am growing up spiritually.                                

     I was not too upset about the obnoxious drunk who kept getting into our house because he is a stranger to me. I don't even know him. I certainly did not want him at our family party, either drunk or hung over. But when my sober son asked his dad when they were leaving for Missoula, that broke my heart, because that was my son talking, and I really wanted my son to be there. Blackout had stolen an entire day from his life. And God used that to break his heart and help him on the path to sobriety.  We are all responsible for our own actions, but we are fools to think we are revising God's plans because of them. With guidance from his addiction counselor, we are following a plan for relapse. I am not stressed, but I find myself reluctant to share that with other Christians. Almost as if I need to apologize for not carrying my share of the stress load.  I would like to think a Christian at peace is the norm, not the exception.

Holy Spirit Junior

     At our small group the other night, I said something about wanting to be Holy Spirit Junior in my husband's life and one of the other wives started laughing. She told me later that she had literally considered that her job until a recent mentoring Bible study. I still struggle with that desire, even though I know it doesn't work, because my desire to say something is stronger than my desire to be helpful. To remind myself when to shut up, I have come up with the following jingle:

  Tune is the chorus of "Battle Hymn of the Republic.

I'm my husband's Holy Spirit

just in case he will not hear it.

He might miss God's will or fear it.

I'm sure God needs my help.

     The "it" in line two does not refer to the Spirit, but His message. I'm not a heretic. But I am making progress because I want to be a good wife to Reed and he already has a Holy Spirit who, unlike me, know how to change men's hearts. The best I could do with my encouragement/nagging is temporarily alter an outward behavior. What I often pray for my husband is that another man will help him grow spiritually, because through decades as a Christian, I have learned the best way to reach a man, is with a man. 

     So the other night, when I was bothered about a spiritual practice that I do religiously, but rarely see him do, I asked him if I could say something "preachy". He was okay with that, so I stated how much I rely on ________, and that I don't know how he is making it through the hard times we have been having as a family without doing ________. By asking his permission first, it caused him to really listen, and by making a statement about me first, I did not come across as someone who has spiritually "arrived" trying to help out a lesser being. That "Why can't you be perfect like me?" attitude. As far as I know, nothing has changed about _______, but it was good to know something has changed in me. For those who still like to give the Holy Spirit a run for his money, the jingle can be adapted to other relationships:

                                                          

I'm the Junior Holy Spirit

to the ones who will not hear it.

They might miss God's will or fear it.

 God really needs my help.

Life Sentence

    Today is our 40th wedding anniversary. At this point, we have officially been married two thirds of our lives. Makes sense. I have lost two thirds of my strength and energy. I would like to think I've gained a third more wisdom, but my memory is going, so I don't really know. I know I've grown a third bigger in the non-brain areas, but Reed has been thoughtful enough to grow with me to make it less obvious. Through the years we accumulated many things--3 houses, 10 motorcycles, 17 vehicles, an undisclosed (by Reed) amount of guns and tools, two dogs, four cats, three children and one grandchild. Of course we have not had all those things at the same time, like houses, or kept all of them. We plan to keep the children but, since they are no longer children, we keep them in other houses. If we live long enough, they will have to figure out where to keep us. The circle of life.
     When you are young and in love, you do not think your love could ever grow stronger. But, through the years, the freshness of love transforms as it sinks deeper inside you until it becomes as familiar as your own heartbeat. Which makes sense because, eventually, a couple shares the same heart. Marriage is not losing yourself to another person, it is finding your best self through them. At least, if you are married to the right person, it is. So what do I want after 40 years of marriage?  A life sentence.

A New Old Lady

     In the past 10 months I have lost both my old ladies. I do not mean old lady as in mother. My mother has been dead four years now and I would never have referred to her as old lady. I know some men refer to their wives as their old lady, but I'd better not hear it from my husband--about me or his mom. By old ladies I mean just that, old ladies. I have always had a special place in my heart for older people and usually have at least one as a special friend. Jean, who passed away in August, was my home health client for five years. When I stopped working for her because of her smoking, I stayed around as a friend. I was privileged to be with her, holding her hand as she breathed her last. I wanted to be friends to the end and I was.
     DJ, who died last Saturday, had been my friend for 20 years. She was neighbor to our friends the Scharas, and when Dorothy needed someone to mow her lawn, she hired my son. Since Will was 12, I was the driver. The lawnmower rode in my trunk. The first time, I sat in the car while he mowed and I gave him some cake to give her when he finished. But Dorothy was hungrier for a visit than for cake, so I began going in to visit while Will mowed. When Will moved on to bigger and better jobs, my youngest son took over. Then DJ needed hip replacements, and I started officially working for her as a personal care attendant. She kept me on for years after I was needed, paying an agency for the privilege of my friendship. When the money ran out, another friend helped her with her bath and cleaning and I started doing her grocery shopping. Every Tuesday after Bible study, I would pick up DJ's list. I would buy her groceries and something for our lunch.
     I did that for many years until compression fractures necessitated she move into assisted living. Though her hearing was spotty and her memory began to fail, our time together every other week was still comfortable and enjoyable. Friendship does not require conversation. By her 93rd birthday in April, she was failing noticeably. I brought her favorite candy, Sees chocolates, before we left for Gig Harbor. By then she had moved from a walker to a wheelchair. Despite being a child-sized chair, she looked tiny in it. So when her niece texted me in Seattle that "Aunt Honey" was in hospice care, I was not surprised. Reed's work in Washington ended a day early and I was unhappy that our delayed start caused us to arrive at home at 1:30 a.m. Saturday. But because we did that, I was able to sit with DJ Saturday afternoon, hold her hand, and say goodbye. She was asleep, but again, friendship does not require conversation. Though her vital signs were good when I left, she died three hours later. Friends to the end, again.
     So I am in the market for a new old lady. Though perhaps, now, that friendship will be with our own elderly parents, the greatest privilege of all. And, who knows, maybe some other geriatric lover has their sights set on me. 

Shakes on a Plane

     It has taken me months to be able to write of the traumatic event that happened to me in January. It took place on the jet that took us to Dallas for Reed's aircraft school. Flying wasn't the problem, I love to fly. The problem is the bathroom, airplane bathrooms. They're small. They're scary. And they're much in demand. It takes a certain amount of skill to calculate the ratio of passengers to potential bathroom users, total flight time versus "seatbelt" time, when you're not allowed to get up, and the length of time the beverage cart will block the aisle versus the post beverage service bathroom rush. Humility not being my strong suit, I consider myself quite good at pre-planning peeing. I could give seminars. I also refuse a caffeinated beverage on a plane, even when I am sleepy and would kill for a Diet Coke, because I might as well pour it directly into my bladder. That would throw off my whole schedule.
     So I chose my moment. I sidled out of my window seat, walked down the narrow aisle, checked which tiny toilet said vacant, and went inside. But as I did what I came in for, I noticed the seat felt unusually cold and damp. That is because I was not sitting on the seat. The seat was up. I SAT ON AN AIRLINE TOILET WITH THE SEAT UP! I wanted to sterilize my legs or, at least, shower. But I was in an airplane bathroom. There was nothing I could do but go back to my seat as if nothing had happened and contemplate all the toxic things that could be crawling on my skin. It was too traumatic to talk about, and there are no support groups for survivors of toilet terror. I just had to shake it off. Next time I will add to my careful calculations--MAKE SURE THE SEAT IS DOWN!