My listening skills need practice

Did you ever think teens are a lot like toddlers? My 13-year-old grandson was at my home recently. I asked him to get dressed, put all his things in his bag and roll up his sleeping bag. He did the first one. Then his focus shifted, and the other two were not finished. Toddlers are like that. Their focus is easily diverted. My grandson is exceptionally bright (bragging rights here), but multi-tasking is not his forte. He’s too easily distracted. Fortunately, for both young teens and toddlers, they usually outgrow that lack of focus. 

While I can usually keep all the balls in the air as I juggle life’s circumstances, there are times when my focus gets diverted, too. I really want to focus on God’s grace, my calling and the path he puts before me. I go to church and pray, “Hear my prayer, oh Lord,” or “Lord have mercy.” I ask for guidance and strength, healing and understanding. But do I listen to how God is speaking to me, or is my focus soon diverted to other things?

Perhaps I am a bit like a toddler or a young teen with lots of distractions as well as lots of growing room. It takes practice to listen. Especially since God does not usually speak directly to me as another human being would. I have to focus to hear God. I hear him when I am deliberate. I can feel his presence when I take a walk or when I am near the ocean. It’s his world and he speaks through nature.

I also hear him when I read his Word, the Bible. Whatever you believe about the truth of the Bible, there is no denying it is great literature and there are lessons to be learned from reading it. God’s voice can be heard in what I believe is inspired writing.

Another way I hear God is in the voices of others who know him. Preachers, writers, speakers, musicians and good friends can be the voice of God to me. It’s true, scripture says we need to compare what someone teaches with the Bible, but often the people God placed in my life speak his truth to me.

And in silence, I hear God speaking to me. But that means I have to be quiet. Not lose my focus on God, but listen to him. Thoughts shoot through my head – I’m wired that way and so are you – but I gently put them aside and revert to silence. It is in silence that I hear him most often.

I am a noticer. Almost anything can distract me. But silence is a spiritual discipline I actually practice. Like playing an instrument well needs practice, so does listening for God’s voice. So I practice silence. I’m not always good at it, just as if I were learning a new piece of music. But practice leads to improvement. And I want to hear God speaking to me.

Be still before the Lord, all mankind ... 

-- Zechariah 2:13

The long drive home

I grew up studying a map for directions. Now I trust my phone. But sometimes my GPS does odd things.

Coming home to Iowa from Racine, Wisconsin, I turned on GPS directions, trusting it to show the same route I took going. It started predictably, cruising Interstates, making great time.  Then the demanding voice told me to exit. I obeyed. She, I call her Lucy, knows the way to anywhere.

At the top of the ramp, Lucy told me to re-enter the Interstate. What? That’s backtracking. Why would I do that? But I complied. I figure Lucy knows, and getting out my road atlas now is not an option.

Lucy guides me to a two-lane road. Not good. I just want to be home. This is not the fast route. But I don’t have much choice unless I take time to pull over and plot a route back to the Interstate. Does Lucy know something I don’t, like maybe there is a crash on the Interstate and traffic is standing still?

I follow her commands. Soon she has me driving a curvy road beside a mostly frozen river. Stark, leafless trees line the other side. The trees, white snow and icy river are a beautiful study in black-and-white. The sky is cloudy, so there is virtually no color. The beauty is astounding. There’s no shoulder, so I cannot stop for this “Kodak moment,” but sometimes the best photos are actually in my head. I’m not sure where Lucy is taking me, but she knows a scenic route.

As I turn onto a state highway, I drive through picturesque small towns. Older houses sit beside the highway. Oh, the stories they could tell. They’ve been there a long time and seen many passersby.

Finally Lucy directs me to an Interstate. I am happy to see the four-lane highway, but despite the time lost by my circuitous drive, I would not trade that experience – the stark beauty and the more leisurely pace – for the faster, but monotonous Interstate.

I know Lucy has no brain. She is a robot. So why did she change my route? I think it was a gift from God. He knew I needed that beautiful drive, even though I felt lost. I was going the right direction, but it was not the route I planned.

That’s the way life is. We don’t always get the road we want. But along the way there are fulfilling experiences. Getting there fast is not always best. Enjoying the journey is more important than speed.

Dirt under my nails and a wandering mind

This time of year it is impossible for me to have nice, manicured nails. Warmer days, the passing of the threat of frost and sunshine all beckon me to dig in the dirt. Even when I wear my gardening gloves, my hands get dirty and develop some calluses, too.

I am a city girl, through and through, have never lived on a farm, but even since moving to a townhome where a service mows my yard, I cannot resist planting a few things in the ground, and of course, some containers, too.

Last summer I planted some perennial grasses in large containers on my deck. I hoped they would return, as perennials are supposed to. I knew planting them in containers might mean the winter cold would kill the delicate roots. Roots that if planted in the ground would reach deep down and keep the life in the plant so it would grow again the next season. Alas, my container perennials did not survive the winter. They sat as lifeless as the dirt, brown and unsightly.

Dead perennial roots. They actually
went deeper, but I cut them off with
a trowel so I could extract them
from the container.

I knew I had to dig out those clumps of prairie grass before I could put new soil and plants in the containers. I started digging and was shocked at the strength of those dead roots. They were bunched together, intertwined, forming a compact center, and they reached very deep into the container. It took a lot of time and energy to finally pull out the dead roots.

This exercise – and it really was a bit of a workout as I tugged and dug – got my mind to wandering, thinking about roots.

My wandering mind went to my own roots – family and spiritual. Roots that can’t be seen, but they certainly anchor me, just as plant roots anchor. I have deep family roots, and am attempting to grow deep roots with my children and grandchildren.

Spiritual roots are essential for me. I have a deep-rooted, long-time faith in Jesus as my savior, but in recent years, my spiritual roots have gone deeper and broader. For me, just embracing beliefs is not enough. I need to grow in my faith – experience God’s presence in my life.

My faith could have wavered when my worst fear came true: my husband was diagnosed and within four months, died of ALS. I have never been afraid of dying, but losing my husband was a very real fear. And it happened.

Red yarrow

If my roots had not been firmly planted, I may have become “stuck” at the prospect of being a widow and alone. I might have been like that clump of dead perennial roots that was supposed to grow again but didn’t. Those roots were still present, taking up space, but they sure were not growing.

This life is a journey. I still have times when I wonder where my life is going and what I am here for. And I admit being alone is sometimes hard. But, for the most part, my roots have grown deeper. When a plant grows good strong roots, it usually blooms and flourishes. And it can withstand wind and other environmental “hazards.” In the same way, God has helped me to flourish and grow in this life I now have. And I am grateful for that.

It is reassuring to me to know that, though I am a widow, God is with me. He is opening the path for my life journey ahead of me. I do not know what is ahead – no one really does – but I know I can trust because God is with me, and he loves me even more than my husband did.

 

I was reading the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Ephesians today, and was struck by these verses that talk about our roots.

“Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully.”

 -- Ephesians 3:17-19 (NLT)

Did you catch the phrase “all God’s people” in that passage? His love is all-inclusive – it’s for you, too. You can trust God with your life path, even when it’s rocky because of losses, hurts and illness, because he loves you more than anyone can. Take Paul’s advise: put your roots in God’s love and it will keep you strong.

“Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.”

-- Psalm 25:4-5 (NIV)

Ministering to One Another

Having just celebrated Easter, the resurrection of Jesus, the greatest celebration in the Christian year, I am thinking about the women.

“When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, ‘Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?’” (Mark 16:1-3)

They were headed to the tomb. The borrowed tomb where Jesus was buried. But think about this: It was three days since his crucifixion, and in that climate, even in the cool of a cave, the body would have begun to deteriorate. Now, we know the end of the story. No body. No worries. But they didn’t.

His body, especially given the number of open sores and bleeding before he died, would have been really smelly. A disgusting odor. But they loved Jesus, and they were honoring their centuries-old traditions and practices of anointing a dead body. They were not thinking about the smell they would encounter.

Sister Chris Kean of the Benedictine Monastery at Mount St. Scholastica in Atchison, Kansas, says, “‘They were going to the tomb to preserve his body, but they were doing something else too,’ she says. ‘They were ministering to one another in their grief.’” (Atchison Blue, Judith Valente, page 53.)

Ministering to one another in their grief? I like that thought. I can see myself in that passage – especially the part about, “oh, duh, we’ve got this stuff we need, but, hey, that’s a huge stone, and besides it’s sealed with a Roman seal. And there are probably still Roman guards there, who are not going to be helpful at all. How are we going to get in there?” (The paraphrased gospel, according to Polly.)

Have you ever started out to do something and realized that you were missing an essential piece? Maybe making a certain dish or baking something, only to realize you do not have one critical ingredient? I have … many times. These women were not so much different than we are.

But in fairness to these dear women, they were grieving. When someone is grieving he or she may not be thinking clearly. A psychologist once told me, when I was in a muddled state, that phase is called retardation. It’s when you cannot think what to do when what you need to do is very plain and simple. Things as simple as what to put in your grocery cart or what to do next when clearly you need to shower and dress before you can do anything else.

It’s real. I have experienced it, and likely, so have you when you were grieving or coping with an emotionally troubling situation. If it hangs on it might become Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it is a normal phase of dealing with a loss or difficult situation.

These two Marys and Salome ended up rejoicing when they discovered Jesus was alive. For most of us, when hard things happen the ending is not so happy. The person we love is not going to come back to this Earth. I believe I will see my husband, as well as grandparents and beloved aunts and uncles, again someday when I join them in Heaven, but for now, they are gone from me.

So what can we say to someone who has a loss of a loved one or some emotional upheaval?

I learned from things people said to me when my husband died that many well-meant comments actually hurt when the loss is fresh. Since then I have just been simply saying, “I am so sorry.”

Sister Thomasita Homan, also of Mount St. Scholastica, said, “I’m with you in your sadness.”  (Atchison Blue, page 43.)

I like that, and that is what I will say in the future.

It acknowledges that there is deep sadness. Those words also speak of being present with the person. It’s not about doing, although, of course, sometimes it really helps to “do” things, like bring food and paper products, provide transportation or other needs.

But more than doing, it’s about being. Walking along side someone, even if you are not physically present. And those words tell the person that you are sad, too.

Easter is about the end of death because Jesus is alive. I believe that with all my heart.

In times of loss, having someone walk with you is the way God intended it to be. None of those women mentioned in Mark’s Gospel went alone to the tomb. They supported each other. And that is what we need, too: someone who is with us in our sadness.

More Valuable than Birds

A few days ago I refilled my birdfeeder. I was tardy. It had been empty for a few days, and I had not gotten around to refilling it. And though the snow is gone from the ground, and the birds can forage for seeds, I enjoy watching them accumulate at the feeder, so I continue to refill it, even when it takes me a few days to get to it.

As I was watching the birds gather to feast, listening to them chatter, I again marveled at the different colors, shapes and sizes of the various kinds of birds – plenty of sparrows, a few house finches, cedar waxwings, cardinals, and occasionally a chickadee. The robins that came north very early this year prefer the tiny, probably fermented, crabapples on the tree in my front yard. But they were present at this gathering, too.

The birds are so beautiful. The bright red of the cardinals, the subtle colorings in the little sparrows – some with a white neck resembling a clerical collar, robins with their red-orange breasts, and the chickadee with his little black cap. What creativity God displayed by his color selections for birds – and these are just a few of the many he made.

Watching the birds, my mind wandered to thinking about how we tend to compare ourselves to others. I am aware that birds do not have the same cognitive abilities that humans do, but just imagine with me for a minute. What if the female cardinal, who is mostly a light gray with just a bit of red in her wings, was looking at the male, who is a beautiful red, and she began comparing and feeling inferior because she is not as brightly colored? Or what if the little chickadee with his black cap was jealous of the finch with the red on his head?

The sparrows have different markings, even within that species. What if one little sparrow was unhappy because she didn’t have that little white collar that her friends have? Or what if the cedar waxwing wished to have a red-orange breast like the robin?

Crazy? Maybe a bit. I don’t even know if birds perceive colors, but I’m pretty sure they can’t think well enough to compare their feathers to another bird’s. (There’s a reason why some people have been labeled “bird brain.” Not nice, but true. Birds’ brains are tiny.)

So, with our superb cognitive abilities, we DO compare. We compare looks, body image, and clothes. And then we go further and compare homes, cars, perceived incomes, educations and even kids’ behavior, intelligence, and achievements.

What are we accomplishing by comparing ourselves to others? Sometimes we look up to another person and try to model our behavior after that person. That’s not all bad. It’s good for us to have people we admire and want to emulate. But we are the people God made us to be. We are not someone else. We do not have the hair, body type, taste, clothing, home, car or kids that someone else has. We are ourselves. And that’s a good thing.

Of course we can try to improve who we are by study, working out, eating healthfully, dressing in a way that is flattering to our body type, getting a good hair cut and style, or whatever else we can do for self improvement. That’s all maintenance work on these earthly bodies. But the fact is you are the you God made you to be.

God made us with the personalities, coloring, body types that we are. So rather than compare yourself to another, remember that you are a unique creation of God’s, and you are beautiful whatever color, shape or personality you are.

“There will never be another you, and God meant it that way. He is the ultimate Creator, with more unique combinations of DNA at his disposal that there are grains of sand on all the beaches in the whole world…God loves you, exactly the way you are. Period.” (“Every Little Thing,” Deidra Riggs, page 164.)

The birds are all beautiful. Even the lowly sparrow. I don’t think it’s any accident that Jesus told the crowd, “…how much more valuable you are than birds! … Why do you worry about the rest?” (Luke 12:24-25) He was telling them that they have eternal value.

Jesus wanted the crowd to understand that God would take care of them, and he ended that parable with the statement, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (John 12:34)

That’s a lesson for us to stop comparing ourselves to others, believe that God will care for us, and for us to focus on what is important – our relationship with God and with our fellow human beings – and not what we look like or what we own. This life is not a competition, no matter what social media and publications tell us.

God loves you. And God’s love for you cannot be changed or reversed, no matter what you do or if you believe him or not.  

Where is your treasure? That’s where your heart is also.