wait and hope

This morning, Monday, I got up and prepared for work. Scrubs on and ready to walk out the door, I received a text that my first patient had cancelled. Now I am waiting. Swim practice is cancelled for Joshua and Samuel. Our family has a tinge of cabin-fever. We have exhausted our inside activities. Boys are loud and boisterous. The picture above shows our favorite indoor activity. We are stuck inside. Again.

Wait is a four-letter word. Waiting more than any other activity shatters my illusion of control. Perhaps that is why fast-food, drive-throughs, mail-order and many other hyphenated nouns developed. We hate to wait. I hate to wait. We are parked in a holding pattern as Matt is considering a career change.

At church we are going through a series on wisdom. Yesterday we listened to Psalm 119 being read aloud by 22 different recorded voices for each of the stanzas. When Bill Wellons first mentioned his plan to have this psalm (the longest chapter in the Bible) read aloud and that it would take 15 minutes, I admit to wiggling in my chair and planning a bathroom break. But once the voices started reading, I felt riveted to my chair. They began in the soft speak of children and ended with the wisdom of older voices. I had to resist the distraction of figuring out whose voice it was on the audible. In the end, I am reminded of the water of God’s word slaking the thirst of those panting for Him.

"Wait" is used 6 times in Psalm 119. One phrase captured my curiosity: Though I have become like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget Your statutes (verse 83). What? 

With just  a little googling, I came to understand that phrase better. A wineskin was the skin of an animal, maybe the actual stomach, used to store wine. Gross, right? But they didn’t have the glass or Tupperware we have today and the skins worked dandily. 

If a skin was left in smoke too long, it became covered in soot, dried and shriveled. It lost its elasticity. The tents they lived in and cooked in often were filled up with smoke. To a Hebrew this made instant sense. 

David, the alleged author of this Psalm, is describing the struggle with waiting on God. The verb “to wait” is the same as “to hope” in Hebrew and in other languages like Spanish. This psalm uses both to wait and to hope in English. But in Hebrew it is the same word. Hope and wait are used almost interchangeably.

Waiting makes me feel useless, dried up, shriveled. I lose my flexability the longer I wait. Yeah. Kind of like a wineskin in smoke. 

Today I realize that waiting is more terrifying than anything. I am more afraid of waiting than I am of preparing to live in a third world country or of actually living in a third world country. I had a mission. I had instructions. I was buoyed by the illusion of feeling important. 

In waiting, I come face to face with my creaturehood. And in waiting, I am forced to decide my source of hope. 

hold fast

In the glorious 80s, I had an XXL white t-shirt with the words “CHOOSE LIFE” in bold pink covering the entire front. This phrase impacted me then as a wee Christian and now in my forties, it comes home to roost. 

Moses uttered these words to the Israelites in Moab at the end of 40 years of wandering in the wilderness as they are poised on the threshold of the Promised Land. It is called the Deuteronomic covenant or so Google tells me. And so for thousands of years, these words have been a sign post even to valley girls in the 1980s.

The passage says, “This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now CHOOSE LIFE so that you and your children may live, and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to His Voice and hold fast to Him.” Deuteronomy 30:19-20

I wonder how many times a day God sets before me life and death, blessings and curses. I cannot think of anything I want more than to love Him and listen to His Voice and to hold fast to Him. I want to live. I want my children to live. 

The word for hold fast is one Hebrew word - qbd or dabaq. It means to cleave. It’s the “cleave” of the old leave and cleave verse in Genesis 2:24. “Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife; and they shall be one flesh.” It means to cling to, stick to, stick with , follow closely, catch, keep close to, join to. 

The joining up in this case refers to the way our body parts are joined. It’s not just two things stuck together like I had thought. It is more like the way my arm is joined to my shoulder. 

Today I needed to be reminded to cling, to cleave, to hold on.

Hold. Fast. To Him. 

interrupt me

Lately I have been struck by the way God enters our world and interrupts life.

Going about our daily tasks especially when routines are not in play like summertime, it's easy to forget God orchestrates our steps.

Some areas of my life are perplexing. I examine them and think this is not the way I thought things would turn out. I'm learning to let go of what I had planned even sometimes what I had hoped in order to grasp what God wants.

So much is packed into those words. Easy to write, hard to live.

The truth is that I am promised nothing on this earth save this moment and God's availability to me in it. And that is everything that I need. My flesh pulls me different directions and says I "need" this or that. But all I really need is God's Spirit in the here and now.

A million times a day I look anxiously about to either the past or future. When I do that, I lose my peace. My access to that peace is in this moment and I trust that He is enough.

Today, like almost every day, as soon as Sam woke up, he joined me on the patio. He asked me, "Do I have swim practice today? Do I have tutoring? Do we have church?" I picked up my phone and showed him the iCal. Two very important words were at the bottom of the screen. "NO EVENTS."

We both took a deep breath and laughed. How will we see God in a day like today? Chip Dodd says that mystery is walking in faith that God is big enough to be in control, and that God doesn't require our help to get the job done.

I can't wait to find out how mystery and "no events" play out in today.

unseen

I’m writing this post with a precious 7-year-old head resting on my shoulder. We are lounging on the couch. Sam’s body is covered by a UT snuggie. (Side Note: two things I would never have dreamed could be in my life: UT orange and a snuggie.) Cartoon Network blares in the background. A softer sound emits from my iPhone: the sound of hold music from Apple. My iPhone 5 is smarter than I am. I need help conquering it. 

Every now and then Sam fires a toy gun with an annoying electrical bullet sound. He could be a Storm Trooper. It also has a sound for cocking as well as firing.

Occasionally my phone gets a text. Mama had surgery yesterday. I am staying connected to her by some thin phone wires and cyber stuff that I cannot understand.

So much stimuli. 

Sam has a stomach virus, hopefully the 24-hour variety. Yesterday he swam his first ever IM in the swim meet. The IM is the Iron Man but it actually stands for Individual Medley and consists of all four strokes. It is a rite of passage and I’ve seen many young swimmers exit the pool in tears from exertion and exhaustion. He won’t let me out of his sight.

Here I sit tethered by a computer cord and an invisible but just as real umbilical cord. Mothers sit by their sick children with bowls and cold wet rags. We mop foreheads and kiss fearlessly praying that we won’t get the bug.

This morning as I sat on my patio and watched the sun rise along with the temperature, I read familiar words. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. II Corinthians 4:18

My reading this morning shifted my focus from the seen to the unseen. The seen, it says, is temporary. The unseen is eternal. Why do we do this? Verse 16 says it: so that we do not lose heart. 

I read that and in about 10 seconds my focus is right back on the now and the things jangling for my attention. I need to come back to it again and again throughout a day. What is unseen?

Our souls, our spirits. Relationships. The forces in spiritual realms. As we live like this, grace reaches more and more people. Thanksgiving overflows. And we start all over agin. Unseen. Grace. I’m not losing heart. I see it. Unseen. Thanksgiving. Grace.

way back

There’s nothing like a blow to the head to cure a case of writer’s block. Sunday a simple bike ride along the path of the Harpeth River turned into a near death experience. 

As I napped in and out on the couch, Joshua interrupted me and asked if I would like to go on a bike ride with he and his daddy. Ok, I sleepily agreed. 

Forty minutes later (the bikes needed some repair), we zipped in and out of trees and roots along the river near our neighborhood. I fell once as I underestimated a steep incline. My feet touched down just in time to be overpowered by the bike in backward motion. My confidence dipped just a notch. 

Later I heard Joshua holler, “Look out for this curve!” 

I saw the curve. I prepared for the curve. I underestimated the curve. In a nanosecond I went over the handle bars as my front wheel left the path for a steep riverbank covered in weeds. Joshua called out: “Are you ok?”

“No, I think I’ve broken my neck.” I assessed the damages mentally. I may have broken my wrist. I think I heard my neck pop. I hit the fool out of my head. 

Then behind me I heard a loud rustling of weeds. A snake! With lightening speed, I climbed the vertical river bank. Matt and Joshua helped me over the edge gasping with laughter. 

I sat down on the dirt path only to realize my skin was on fire. The weeds had peppered me with toxins and my arms and legs bubbled up with red splotches. 

“I’m going for the river!” I shouted. 

Matt yelled, “Are you crazy?” 

“I’m on fire!” I answered. I waded out like I expected to be baptized. The waters of salvation quieted my burning skin a little. All along my arms and legs rivers of bubbles continued to form by the second. 

Matt left in a blur headed to get the car. Finally, I waded out delivered from the deadly weeds. At home I took two Benedryl and through a haze I lead our youngest boys in a celebration of Father’s Day.

Believe it or not, my body shows hardly any repercussions of the accident. I do, however, have something to write about. For six weeks, I have been quiet. Frankly, May ate my lunch. Anybody? I have been wanting to dive back in the blog but haven’t had words. I’m thankful that this little forray on Sunday provided me a way back.

I haven’t felt like myself. I have been struggling. I have felt unmoored. Friends, prayer, help from others, a blow to the head: these things have helped me find my way back. As I have floundered around, I have found it difficult to trust. This morning this verse reminds me why I trust.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11.

I am held. I am wanted. I am loved. I am a child of the King.