Observing Good Friday

How was your Good Friday? In quarantine, I believe, we have to be more intentional about things. Easy to remember what day it is when you have a specific schedule, or are counting the days to the weekend. But, when it's all a series of "same-days" it's difficult to feel any one of them is special above the others.

A church I attended years ago had a three-hour long service on Good Friday. Sounds a little "extra," doesn't it? As a child, I thought so. As I grew older, however, I looked forward to it. Seven laypersons in the church would each be assigned one of the phrases Jesus spoke as He hung on the cross; they would then do a fifteen minute devotional for their given phrase. In between each devotional would be a moment of silent meditation and a song or two. You were free to come and go as you pleased, providing you moved about quietly. The reverent attitude and peaceful contemplation of the day helped me stay on track with regard to the purpose in all of this: Christ's death, His great love for us, and the reason two-thousand year old history carries so much weight, even into the future.

Given current restrictions, I thought this year, most of all, I need to be intentional about how I spent Good Friday. Rising early, spending the dawn in prayer. fasting, taking some time in the middle of the day to meditate, sitting down to dinner with my family and sharing with them all the wonderful things God and I shared. Not. Even. A little bit.

I stayed up a bit later than usual on Thursday night. No early rising for me. By 6:30, light was streaming through our bedroom window and the pitter-patter of little feet was already beginning. As I made my way to the main floor, one of the basement-dwellers was on her way up. My goal is always to get those needing food immediately upon opening their eyes, some sort of snack to hold them over while I quietly sit close by studying and praying. It hasn't worked more than once in two years. Insanity? Could be. Before I could peel Number Two's banana, Number One had hers gone already. By the time I got back to Number One with her coffee, Number Three was entering the room looking pale and close to starvation. Number One and Two are ready for vitamins! Like juggling monkeys.

Then there was the load of laundry still sitting on the ottoman and waiting to be folded, the desserts that need to be started for Easter brunch; Mom's room had to be cleaned and it was time to get her dressed for the day. There was the small matter of some online banking and an email that had to be sent. Scott had an errand to run and, taking advantage of the other responsible hands we have helping out these days, asked me to spend the time with him. Something of a date to him; a two-hour appeasement, as far as I was concerned. It was more than three hours later, when we walked in the door. And -- oh, look at that! -- about time for dinner. The masses were famished. Make dinner, more prep for Sunday, "Gramma, will you play with me?" It occurred to me sometime between the pasta and the lemon bars, I'd never washed my face that morning.

In addition to all this, I hadn't fasted. I hadn't eaten, but I definitely hadn't fasted. The fasting I desired was more than simply skipping a few meals, I wanted to heighten my awareness of God's provision and presence in my life. I wanted to, each time I felt emptiness within my belly, seek the fullness of the Lord. By the time we sat down to dinner, I was just plain hangry. There was not a "right spirit" in it.

This sacred day was nearing its end, and I stepped into the shower. I was finally alone, finally getting the quiet for which I so desperately longed. And I began to whine to my King. "I just wanted to spend the time in prayer. I just wanted to take the day to remember how You love me, what You did for me. Instead, my entire day was spent catering to everyone but You. Today's focus should have been on You. All I did was serve, serve, serve." And His words came to me, not to my ears, but to my very soul:

"Isn't that what I was doing?"

We Will Serve the Lord Loudly, If He Requires

It was almost three years ago when Scott asked, "Remember how quiet it was before we were doing God's work?" I can't even recall the circumstances, but the naivete of that question has become so obvious to me. I want to travel back to that moment, lay my hand across his lips and say, "Don't. Trust me. Just, don't."

All joking aside, Mom is turning ninety this year. For her eighty-fifth, I packed her bags, took her to breakfast and home to our house. That was five years ago, and she's been with us ever since. It was evident she could no longer live alone. For days she asked when she could go home. We did all we could to reassure her, to try to protect her dignity, to make things "homey" for her, and to help her adjust. But the adjustment was not only on her.

Scott and I had worked around our opposing work schedules for years. I had my days to clean and write and study my Bible, and dote on him by cooking his favorites. He had his evenings to watch whatever he chose with no running commentary from me. 😏 Now, I had Mom trailing me from one end of the house to the other, staring at me as I read or ate or checked the mail or fed the dogs... Sometimes I'd give her something to do; within minutes she'd forget what she was doing, or give up in discouragement. Scott, who was accustomed to coming home to a happy, Type-A, introvert wife, now walked in the door from work each day, and was greeted by a woman bleary-eyed from watching multiple episodes of "The Rifleman" and thoroughly exhausted from having someone in her bubble all day. After an entire thirty minutes or so of quality time together, I'd head up to bed, he'd grab a quick shower and begin "Mom"sitting for the remainder of his evening, a time of day when she is at her uneasiest. Our home was no longer our own, and neither was our time. Nevertheless, we adapted. When Mom's condition would take something else from her, we'd try a new thing and another new thing until we were able to manage again. And then...

Just over a year ago we got word of a situation. Some children -- two to be exact -- were in need of housing. There was no question about stepping up; the looming question was "How?!" They were young, preschool; we were old, pre-retirement. I was to begin seeing a rheumatologist for what my family doctor believed was scleroderma. We had just been through a rough season financially and emotionally, but had saved enough for a restorative getaway or two, and had a few kind souls willing to help with Mom. All of that was about to become inconsequential very quickly. God was calling us to work, and trust, and pray in a way we'd never dreamed.

In fact, Scott and I dreamed of going to Africa. We dreamed of a non-profit which provided home repairs to those in need. We dreamed of rescuing more pit bulls. We dreamed of serving God in our neighborhood, in our church. We dreamed of Bible studies and gatherings in our home. All of which, we believed, were some really good dreams. All of which left us relaxing in quiet on our deck, breathing in crisp evening breezes, counting stars and patting ourselves on the backs. Obviously, not what we would admit was our initial motivation, but could I see that happening? Absolutely. God's dream, at least for now, is that no one goes home. The service we do for Him is 24-7. No time for accolades except to Him. For the ways He continually provides. For the ways He already had things mapped out for us months and years before all this began. For the ways He has protected us and guarded us over and over. For His great love for us and those within our home, that He would make a way and give us the privilege of being a part of it. For the softening of our hearts -- previously, currently and in the future -- that allows us to be of use to a God who desires good for His creation.

Barely a day passes that is not a story in and of itself. The ways in which God has supplied all we've needed and then some has filled journal after journal. The things I have learned, no university education could match. A time is coming soon when I will have the opportunity to share more about this current adventure, but for now, be willing and be encouraged. Know that whatever dream He calls you to will be for His glory and your good. Know that whatever task He asks of you, He will equip you exactly as the need requires. And know that while things might get a little noisy, I'd keep that to myself if I were you.

Keeping an Eye on the Eternal

"But why do we have to paint it again?" One of our independent thinkers was balking at the idea of giving her pencil jar project another coat of decoupage -- a step that, while protecting her colorful work for years of use, would in the end, require her to wait the equivalent of a lifetime (to this poor child) before she could fill it with her bright new pencils and proudly display it on her desk. She'd done a beautiful job and my goal was to preserve that. She'd done a beautiful job and she wanted to implement it, as quickly as possible. I decided to forego the second coat. Hey, if it works, great; if it doesn't, maybe she'll learn a little lesson about things worth doing being worth doing well. It's just a simple pencil holder, right? That's what I told myself anyway.

The truth is, there was a part of me that wanted to be right. I wanted this child to look at me and me and say, "Ya know what, Gramma, I trust your judgment. You seem to know what you're doing here; you came up with this idea, so I have to do things your way. Besides, I just love you. I think you're wonderful. I'm gonna always listen to you." Imagine all our children and grandchildren saying something like that -- and meaning it! (Maybe even our spouses, too!) Life would flow along so much more smoothly if those we care for would just trust us. Or, if the people who are poised to learn from us would follow our instruction, believing we know what we're doing. But, it doesn't always happen that way, and the feelings we have when we meet with resistance from those under our mentorship and supervision, can be as damaging -- even moreso -- as the resistance itself.

That's what God, and failure, and life has taught me. If I'd been teaching one of my children how to slather clearcoat all over the outside of a pencil jar twenty-five years ago, I would have insisted, "You have to do it this way." And when met with resistance, I would have become frustrated and annoyed, probably even telling him or her to "just throw it out" if they weren't going to follow instructions. (Yeah, I was that person.) And the project, completed or not, would have come to be nothing more than an awful reminder of my anger and inflexibility, my need to be important and idolized by my children. But those who are placed in our lives -- whether to learn or teach or be our peers -- are not placed there to validate us. Years ago, I lacked validation. That lack of knowing who I was and what made me valuable, caused me to seek and, sometimes even, demand validation from those around me. I know now, my identity is in Christ; He is my validation.

The current quarantine situation has got me teaching at home again. I am enjoying most of those moments. However, there have been periods of frustration -- days when she is just not feeling it, days when I am just not feeling it, concepts which her brain is simply not ready to connect the dots. I could get upset. I could butt heads with this child all day long. Or, I can back up, regroup, and try again. I could let my husband or one of the older children take a shot at it; or, maybe, try a different approach, or no approach at all -- just leave it for another day. I have options available. But first, I pray. I don't want to tackle this responsibility with impure motives. I don't want the success or failure of the day to rest on me. I want this to be about the fulfillment of God's purpose and plan; I want God to receive the glory in all of this.

It's almost as if God was telling me years ago, how to coat my pencil jar -- slowly, gently, with love and patience, grace and mercy, beauty and an eye on the eternal; but I insisted on getting right to it. Get it done fast, put a check in the box, no hiccoughs; get it done so I could proudly display it as my own work. My Father, in His infinite wisdom and holiness, kept at it. Not with the urgency and self-centeredness I was wielding, but with the very tools He was trying to teach me to use: gentleness, patience, grace, mercy, beauty. He modeled them for me. And, by His grace, I can model them for others.