It's Not Me; It's Him

Last week my husband and I were making plans to spend Saturday meandering around the streets of Chesapeake City, looking at cars and antiques, having dinner with friends, and acting like two adults without a care in the world. We attended church and I took copious notes; I sat with my friends at Bible study on Thursday, wishing I didn't have to rush right home to Mom. Scott stayed up too late a couple of nights catching up on his favorite television shows, and I stressed over all I had to do throughout my days, wondering if I could manage to squeeze in a decent night's sleep for the sake of my health. On occasion we gave thought to the things we'd lost in the last few months and the extreme weather that had brought with it aching joints and lackluster summer crops. We wondered where the next few years would take us and when we could rest from our responsibilities long enough to enjoy one another.

In the space of two hours on Friday morning, our lives changed dramatically. Saturday was cancelled -- no meandering; dinner would be served by this house chef to a party of six, right at our ordinary kitchen table with the cracked laminate and worn wooden chairs. On Sunday, I quickly  dotted the back of my church bulletin with hieroglyphics as I balanced a Bible and a squirming two-year old; Thursday's Bible study this week has me plotting strategy like MacArthur. In the last six days, Scott and I have collectively logged less sleep than a Folgers taste-tester, and my list of things to do went straight into the garbage just below the dirty diapers. My health became a mere blip on the radar, and had to be -- still is -- turned over completely to the One who made me and knows better than I or any physician what my body requires. Lamented losses and perished produce faded into the past. The condescending laughter of last week's aches and pains could no longer be heard over the roar of this week's sore muscles and stiff joints. Sibling squabbles, evening tubbies, night terrors, car seats, toys underfoot and mounds of laundry replaced quiet moments... And then, there's Mom.

But I am learning something. I am merely a spectator, a disciple standing by and watching miracle after miracle unfold before me. What would, years ago, have been over-achievement wrought in fires of arrogance and bitterness is now total reliance on Jesus and a humble gratitude for what He will do. What would, years ago, have been perfectionism through gritted teeth and angry intolerance for those who weren't crazy enough to jump on my self-serving, overambitious bandwagon is now love and grace, and the knowledge that NOTHING actually accomplished in the midst of this "culture of chaos" is of my doing. The homemade tomato gravy, the "thank you" notes, and the bathroom that gets cleaned? Jesus. The dentist so willing to slash her prices to help a little girl? Jesus. The sacks -- yes, I said sacks! -- of toys that arrived in our home as early as Monday? Jesus. The vacant eyes that begin to show life and understanding? Jesus. The prayers of many that are felt at all hours of the day? Jesus. The smiles of strangers and the love and devotion of a faithful church family? Jesus. The little boy terrified of dogs that steals strokes of soft fur when no one is looking? Jesus. Healing and health and grace and mercy and joy and peace? Jesus. It's not me; it's not us. It's Him.

Ripples of Redemption

Whatever words I have at my disposal, whatever thoughts I am able to process or formulate into some sort of complete story, they will never be enough. There is nothing in this world and certainly, nothing within me that could ever be enough to tell this story, but God is enough. And as I sit before this temperamental old laptop writing this story, I feel God's words pouring into me.

A friend has told me God spoke a word to her in reference to our current situation. That word was "redemption." And that is what this is, a redemption story. In fact, I believe whatever we allow God to do in our lives is a redemption story. God is a redeemer, and He just can't stop being who He is -- He won't stop being who He is. Years ago, I would have said redemption is what Jesus did on the cross; I would have said it is God's way of saving us from hell. And I wouldn't have been wrong, but I would have only been scratching the surface. Redemption is a process. With every day that passes, God shows me more and more what redemption is all about.

Redemption happens each time I don't freak out because my mother is sitting at the kitchen table in only her skivvies, eating half a bag of chocolate chips. Not because that is who I have always been, but because God has whispered to me time and time again, "I've got this; you have other things to handle right now;" and He has shown me I can trust Him in that. He has redeemed me from the alarmist I used to be, to the person who gets her strength and peace and confidence only from Him. And that allows my mother to know redemption. She experiences love and kindness, rather than frustration and impatience. Redemption happens when the Holy Spirit works above, beyond and in spite of cognitive impairments to bring my mother to the altar for prayer after Sunday service. Redemption happens when I sit sobbing as I watch my mother move forward, alone and on weakened legs, and I am assured I will see her made whole in heaven one day. Redemption happens when I tell this story and it moves others to know who God is and what He can do.

Redemption has always been God's plan for His creation, and He is always moving toward that end. Redemption happens when dark nights come and He takes us through them. And though we have no idea why He would ask us to do such a thing, He whispers, "Wait and see what I will do." Redemption happens when a season of sadness comes into our life, and we are not sure when or how the pain will go away, and why it all had to be; but God says, "I keep track of your sorrows; I know each tear that falls." Redemption happens when those dark nights and seasons of sadness make way for two children to move into your home and into your hearts, and your small, small world of self has been cast aside, darkness and grief become nothing compared to the joy and chaos and hope that now permeate your life. Redemption was His plan even as the nights were long and our hearts were heavy. Redemption happens when I tell this story and it moves others to know who God is and what he can do.