A Bundle of Joy

As Erika continues to make progress on her Personal Portfolio, she asked me to write a chapter on the day she was born. Since I finished the final draft, I shared what I had written with Mike to make sure my facts were correct. Two years ago, I did the same thing for Nick.

Since I like to write, both accounts were fairly detailed. It’s funny how clearly I remember events that were 18 and 20 years ago. For example, I remember that Nick took 24 hours to make his grand entrance. I paced the maternity ward in trying to speed progress along. Erika, however, didn’t mess around. From start to finish, the process took five hours; it happened so quickly that I didn’t even get to have the benefit of pain meds.

Even though any guys who read the previous paragraph are probably yawning and thinking, “Here we go again. . .another childbirth story,” the women are probably squirming in their seats, jockeying for position to tell their own delivery room tales. Inevitably that happens when we mommy-types get together. When one woman starts describing her experience in the “combat zone” of labor and delivery, another will soon piggy-back on that tale with her own. While each birth is different and unique, there is one thing we all agree on: it hurts.

At church today, Pastor Kevin continued his sermon series called “Following Jesus. . .Discovering God.” For nine weeks, Pastor Kev has been “unpacking” (his word) the scenario in which Jesus was preparing the disciples for his departure. In today’s lesson, the disciples were confused and despondent at Christ’s announcement: “’In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while, you will see me.’ They kept asking, ‘What does he mean? We don’t understand what he is saying.’” John 16: 16, 18

Ever empathetic and compassionate, Jesus responded by saying, “I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” John 16: 20-22.

Using the concept of childbirth, Christ begins by explaining that yep, childbirth hurts. It’s the worst pain a woman will ever experience. But to try to give that pain words is nearly impossible because once the child is born, the memory of the pain is forgotten. As soon as that baby is placed in a mother’s arms, her joy in seeing and holding her child supersedes and basically eradicates the pain from memory.  It’s a good thing too, or there would be a whole lot of one-child families in the world.

So it is with the troubles, disappointments, and pain of this world. At times, it royally sucks to be in this world. At times, the pain is so deep and unbearable that tears aren’t even sufficient to release it. At times, disappointments are so bewildering that we question God’s prudence in creating us and/or creating us for this time and place.

Even so, God assured His disciples (and assures us) that first, this pain is temporary.  “As the Scriptures say, ‘People are like grass; their beauty is like a flower in the field. The grass withers and the flower fades. But the word of the Lord remains forever.’ And that word is the Good News that was preached to you” (I Peter 1: 24-5). Secondly, He promises that there is an inexplicable joy that will follow the pain. Just as a woman forgets childbirth pain after she meets her child, so, too, will we forget the pain of this life when this life is over.

Likewise, the pain that we are encountering is indicative of the fact that we are moving closer and closer to that promised joy. “You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things much happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains.” Matthew 24: 6-8.

Fine. So basically we have to just suck it up and wait? We can trust that a greater joy is on the way because God always keeps His promises, but in the meantime, we just have to grit our teeth and endure?

Not so much. Of course, it’s an option if you choose it, but it’s not the way He intends for us to live.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete” John 15:11. Because we live in an imperfect world, there will always be pain, and yes, life will suck at times. However, knowing what we do about what’s to come, we can “be joyful always” (I Thessalonians 5:16) even when life feels as though it’s bottoming out. That doesn’t mean we stifle tears, walk around with a stupid grin on our face, and act as though pain is weakness. It means that even as we grieve, we remember the hope and promise of the joy that is to come. 

Teaching 101: 15 Truths About Teachers

Spring Break is over; I am leaning into the “big push” (Term 4) to the end of the school year. With that in mind, here are some things that I think you should know about teaching and teachers. Naturally, they are generalizations, but I think I am fairly accurate. If I am not, I have no doubt that my teacher pals will set me straight.

When you are a teacher,

1.    There are no "quick trips" to Walmart, Target, the grocery store, etc. Usually, most of our students work at these stores, so it can easily take us an hour to pick up a bottle of shampoo. For that reason, a) our spouses and children rarely want to go with us, and b) we buy "special" toiletries and other "delicate items" in a different city. . .100 miles away.

2.     It is an unwritten truth that exiting the house without taking a shower, wearing glasses, having no make-up on, and/or wearing grubby clothes will definitely result in us seeing most of our former and current students as well as their parents.

3.     While there are many supplies that teachers need for the classroom, here is an unofficial, unwritten list: tissues (and lots of them), cough drops, Band-aids, safety pins, and lotion. Years ago, schools quit providing tissues, so teachers have had to come up with creative ways to make sure that noses gets wiped. Personally, I buy a jumble pack of toilet paper, and that serves the purpose. There is nothing worse than listening to someone sniff and snort during reading time or a test. I keep cough drops for the same reason. 

4.       We generally love office supplies and gadgets. Brand-new, in-the-package notebooks, pens, mechanical pencils, and Post-its are such a rush. Communications teachers feel the same way about brand-new books. There is nothing more fun than hearing a binding crack for the first time. Some people like a new car scent; English teachers like the smell of a new book.

5.       Clothing purchases are strictly utilitarian. It's all about use and comfort. For that reason, seasoned teachers wear flats ONLY. Only the newbs wear the cute shoes or heels, and after a year, they get smart. Likewise, due to fluctuating temperatures, most teachers wear long sleeves and layer. Potentially-purchased pants and shirts have to pass the squat and bend test; if there are no "cracks," you're good to go. If we find pants we like, we buy one in every color.  Although we are no fashionistas, any modulation in our appearance - new hair style or color, jewelry, and/or make-up, is always noticed and critiqued by our students.

6.       When a teacher is a parent and uses the phrase,"one of my kids," in conversation, there is often an awkward moment when it's unclear to the listener whether the teacher is talking about one of his/her biological kids or his/her students. For someone who has been teaching for a long time, the line of distinction often gets blurred; since we spend so much time with them, our students often feel as though they are our biological kids, which, when you really think about it, isn't a bad thing.

7.       For teachers, choosing names for our biological children is a very complicated process. If we like a name, we go through the catalog of students we have had with the same name; that determines whether the name stays in the "maybe" or "no" category.

8.       We get a secret rush from early-outs and two hour late starts, and within reason, snow days (not six a winter). Before you assume the role of public service penny pincher, no, it's not because teachers hate their jobs or don't want to work. (FYI: As per our contract requirements, we have to make up every snow day hour even if kids don't.) An early-out in the teacher world is no different than treat days, business lunches, or days out of the office for those who work in the private sector. A little variation in the daily schedule is an unexpected breather once in a while.

9.       We really don't like inservices. It kind of depends on what kind of inservice day it is. We love work days, but generally, dislike like presentations. It's not that we don't like to learn something new. Quite the contrary, most teachers are the life-long nerds who read for fun, watch documentaries to learn something new, and flood the museums to see something we haven't seen before. Truly, we much prefer to spend our time with our students.

10.   We have ninja skills. We eavesdrop conversations even when it seems we are deaf or looks as though we are not paying attention. We can identify a speaker even with our backs turned. We train our bladders to hold liquid for 86 minutes at a time, and longer if needed. We can make students feel guilty just by looking at them, even if they haven't done anything. On the flip side, we can tell something is wrong with a student even if s/he has not said a single word. We can, and do, inhale food in less than fifteen minutes. When my husband and I go out to eat, I will have my entire meal gone before he has finished half of his.

11.   We have no inside voice. You can go anywhere in public and easily differentiate who the teachers are. That's because a teacher's voice is easily recognizable by volume level and tone. We usually sound bossy, and for that reason, people will assume we are mad. Usually, we aren't. (If we are, it's best to just stand down. We are louder than you and can out-debate you. Trust me; for those of us who work with teenagers, we have heard every argument ever created). It's just tough to shut the teacher "off."

12.   We do not like standardized tests. at. all. First, the tests question our professionalism. We are paid to teach and assess our students to determine growth and development. Why do we need a test as a double-check? Secondly, the tests are a waste of time money. They suck up valuable instruction time - time that could be used in for better, more creative, and more useful educational purposes.

13.   WARNING: I get cranky here

. These are three things you should avoid saying to a teacher (plus, a bonus for English teachers):

"When I was in school, I never . . .or I always. . ." Yes, when I was in school, things were done differently too. In some cases, those differences were good (recess), and in some cases, those difference were not so good (public shaming). Suggestions are great; we all want and need to work together to provide the best environment for our kids. However, just because you went to school, does not mean that you know the best or easiest ways to teach. Trust the educational professionals to do what they have been trained to do. And when you are upset about something, talk to the teacher; don’t bad-mouth him/her all over town.

When you find out that I am a Communications teacher, please don't say "I hate to read" or "I better watch what I say, or you will correct my grammar." Seriously, how am I supposed to respond to that? Yes, how did you guess that it is my life's desire to interrupt our conversation to tell you the proper use of who and whom? Sorry, my inner-grammar Nazi is only reserved for billboards on First Street and the West Central Tribune, not personal conversations.

"It must be nice to have your summers off." Nothing will cause a teacher to want to karate-chop you in the throat more than this sentence. The next time you consider repeating this witty phrase, consider this: 1) If you perceive that we teachers have it so good, why not join us? Get your teaching license, so you, too, can experience this incredible "perk." When faced with this proposition, most people clam up because quite frankly, they would rather have their toenails plucked off one by one than do what teachers do, 2) Spend a year with a teacher, strapped to his/her side, and see how many hours s/he works when s/he is not in school. For me personally, almost every night, I am either prepping or correcting. I work a full year in nine months. If you think I am exaggerating, see number one, 3) Summers involve planning and prepping as well. Some teachers work summer school. Since the world in which we live is dynamic, not static, education is too. We are preparing students for careers that don’t even exist yet. Therefore, good teachers don't teach the same thing the same way over and over. They continually have to adapt and change to meet the demands in society. Those months when we are "off" is when we are doing just that.

Naturally, number two on my list often elicits this response: "If you wouldn't assign so much homework, then you wouldn't have to correct it." Oh my goodness, what a revolutionary idea. Why didn't I think of that? Oh yeah, because it's completely unethical. Case in point: I do not like research papers. I do not hide the fact that I dislike research papers. However, the name of the class that I teach is College-Prep, and in considering the fact that most of the papers that those students will write in college will be research papers, I have an ethical and professional responsibility to prepare them to use that skill. While it would be cool for the students to just tell me how they would write a research paper, the fact is that they have to demonstrate that they can do it.  Ergo, they must write them, and I must grade them. The end. 

14.   We have secret stashes. We hoard notes and cards from students. Even just one line can be the fuel that keeps our passion for teaching alive for many months. When something we have done or said has left a positive impact on even just one student, we are energized, and our teacher tanks are refilled.

15.   Bottom line: We love kids. Seriously. We often prefer their company to adults. It's not that we don't like adults; we just feel more comfortable around kids because they are the people with whom we spend most of our days. When we talk like them or use phrases they use, we know we sound like dorks. That's the point. Humor is one of the easiest ways to diffuse a situation and put people at ease. There is no relay without relationship. We honestly feel blessed because we GET to spend time with kids every day. 

Pull Up a Chair

                For two days in a row, one of my Facebook friends has posted two separate rants. The first one was criticizing educators, and yesterday’s was about her anger in being criticized and judged concerning a moral decision she had made.

                Not surprisingly, the first rant made me prickly because it was a generalized attack on my career. Yesterday’s rant was just more or less annoying. Personally, I think Facebook should be fun; rants and debates should be relegated to venues such as this – the blogosphere. However, the fact that I even had a reaction to her rants is curious. Why do we spend so much time thinking about, worrying about, and getting angry about what someone else thinks?

                Of course, if I were to ask most people, especially teenagers, that question, I am 99% sure I know what the answer would be: “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” In an age of self-help saturation, ego inflation, and false bravado, this is the mantra that we have basically brainwashed everyone to repeat. 

And as vehement as some people might be in defending that response as the truth, the fact is they know, just as well as you and I do. . .that’s a bunch of baloney. It’s a lie of self-defense.   In today’s society, no one wants to be perceived as weak, pathetic, or needy. To counteract the façade of dependence, we roll ourselves in the precarious protection of self-aggrandizing bubble wrap, and like a parrot, we repeat, “I don’t care what you think.” Like all bubble wrap, this process serves a select purpose (time and place), but ultimately, it gets popped.

So what’s really going on here?

After peeling away the layers of bubble wrap and stripping the situation to its barest form, it seems as though all people really want is to fit in somewhere. We want acceptance. The very worst thing that could and does happen to us is rejection – getting shoved outside the circle. And if you really think about it, all sin originates from selfishness and rejection.   All sin is a rejection of God, and rejection is one tie that binds the sins we commit.

Consider life as a matrix of circles. At the center of a circle is God, and all believers form a circle around Him. He is the center of our existence, and everything we do and are is all for Him. All of us were made to feel an inclination to be inside that circle.

When people are not believers, they are outside that circle. In fact, they form all sorts of circles as a substitute: work, hobbies, etc. Believers operate within these sub-circles too; however, for true believers, these are not substitutes or replacements for God.

Sin occurs whenever someone is, chooses to be, or perceives himself to be outside a circle, or when s/he creates a circle that excludes or rejects.  High school is notorious for this. It does not matter what size high school one attends; there are always cliques of all kinds: Jocks, preps, nerds, etc. Everyone gets thrown into a group, and while s/he may not like his/her classification, s/he is at least in a group. The people who struggle the most are those who are rejected from all groups. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Every class always has a least one kid who is unilaterally excluded from all circles. S/he is often bullied, and across the board, his/her high school experience is traumatizing, leaving scars for life.

Sadly, this mentality is not unique to high school. Adults, too, create and maintain exclusionary circles in families, careers, and yes, churches. Like high school, the wounds leave scars, and as we all know, scar tissue is tough to cut through.

With regard to my Facebook friend, she perceived a moral lapse – both as an observer and recipient. She both rejected and felt rejected, which caused her to be upset in both circumstances. The critique of my profession was a form of rejection that I took personally. The bottom line is that no one likes getting pushed out of a circle. Our comfort comes from acceptance.

But God does no

t care about our comfort levels. In fact, he likes us to be uncomfortable. When we are, we look for ways to feel better. When we experience the cold and darkness of rejection and exclusion, He waits for us to choose His light and warmth – to rejoin His circle again and again. As always it’s our choice to reject (sin) or accept Him. . .

And help others join the circle too. Our words and actions should focus on the edification, inclusion, and acceptance of the person.  While sin (theirs and ours) is always unacceptable, the sinner is. Being in God’s circle is like standing around a campfire.  Facing a fire allows a person to see clearly and warm up. So it is with God’s presence. We see clearly who God is and are rejuvenated in His presence. Eventually, one side is warmed thoroughly, and it’s time to turn around. At that time, we can see others who are cold and miserable – who need the warmth of the fire. At that moment, we have a choice. We can pretend we don’t see him/her and keep the warmth for ourselves, or we can extend an arm and invite him/her to join us and experience the life-giving warmth of the fire. For anyone who has ever camped, s/he knows that there is ALWAYS room for another person at the fire.

 “May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.” Romans 15:6-7.

What If History Was Not Only His Story, But Hers Too?

One of my Facebook friends recently posted the photo below on her wall. After I thought about it for a while, I decided that a wise choice might be by Grandpa B. He died when I was ten years old, so I don’t remember him well. My parents, especially my dad, always tell me that he was quite exceptional. Grandpa B. is probably the only man for whom my dad, still to this day, has admiration and respect.

The interesting thing is that my immediate reaction to this question was one word: Grandma.

Both of my grandmas are now gone. One passed in 1989, and the other a little over a year ago. In fact, today would have been my Grandma B’s 89^th birthday.

My grandmas were as different as night and day; one was all sharp edges – outspoken and opinionated – while the other was soft and comforting – like a really good pillow. One modeled spiritual habits while the other modeled the fruits of those habits. Each has left her thumbprint on my life.

That’s not to say, however, that they are the only ones who have done so.

In my college-prep class, we complete an assignment called Walking Journals. I say, “we,” because I am included in these journals as well. A student picks a topic, and everyone in the writing group responds to it, including me. Each year, a student will inevitably ask, “Who is your role model?”

My response to this question is no one. There is not one single person who has influenced my life. Since no one is perfect, that would be a tall order. There are, however, qualities and characteristics that I have admired and tried to replicate in my own life. Therefore, my list of role models is endless. . .and wouldn’t you know the list is almost all women.

Historically, women have been given the shaft. Of course, that’s mostly because history has been recorded by men. No, this isn’t a feminist battle cry. It’s just the truth. Since women have been regarded historically as second-class citizens, it’s not surprising that the great authors, philosophers, and theologians have all been men. Their words, thoughts, and ideas have shaped generations and countries. No one cared, or at least bothered to record, any wise woman’s viewpoints or opinions on the same matters.

And in my opinion, that’s a travesty.

At the risk of sounding sexist, men generally can only focus on one task at a time. Therefore, I don’t think it’s a supreme stretch to assume that they typically focus on one issue, problem, or topic at a time. Women, however, are generally multi-taskers by nature.

Likewise, a woman’s priority generally is making connections. Years ago, in order to complete a Speech minor, I read a book by Deborah Tannen called You Just Don’t Understand in which male and female communication was discussed. According to Tannen’s research, when two women meet, they generally look for ways in which their lives intersect (Ex. Oh, you went to WHS? I have a cousin named ___ who graduated from there. Do you know her?). The priority is to establish a connection. Men, on the other hand, have a different priority. According to Tannen, when two men meet, they try to establish dominance (Ex. Oh, you’re from WHS? Our basketball team beat yours when I was in high school). Rather than connection, it’s about competition.

Because of her priority tends toward finding common ground versus competing, a woman (in my opinion) tends to be better about attending to detail, considering the “back story,” and assessing motivation. If she is a mother, the previous sentence describes her daily life! To be fair, I know some men who are very good at doing this too.

With these skills and abilities in mind, just think of what women could have brought to the decision-making table with Julius Caesar, George Washington, and Winston Churchill in history. Imagine the books of wisdom and philosophy that could have been written and recorded alongside Socrates, Thomas Aquinas, and C. S. Lewis. For good or for ill, it would have been nice to be able to hear the female perspective.

For example, at the risk of sounding blasphemous, I would love to hear/read Rahab’s explanation of her decision to help Caleb and Joshua. The hooker-turned-hero who later was in the lineage of Christ risked it all for these two – why? I want to hear her perspective. Or, how about Ruth? After her husband died, she had the option to go home, but she stayed with her mother-in-law. Why and how did that seem like a good idea? I want to hear her story in her own words.

Then, there are all the nameless and faceless women in history whose influence was felt but whose voice was never heard. These women include the first Pilgrim women to hop the Mayflower, the pioneer women raising crops and a family on the prairie, and the mothers who stepped into the gas chamber with their children during WWII. Their words, thoughts, and ideas could have shaped generations and countries.

All that said, a woman’s place in history is still evident even though it is not as public or historically conspicuous.  She has been a confidante, an advisor, and at times, an enforcer.  Historically, we know of Eleanor Roosevelt and Queen Esther in these capacities. Think of how many whose stories we haven’t heard. Likewise, a woman’s choices and demeanor have influenced generations. I read somewhere that in a soldier’s final moments, he typically asks about or for his mother. Thus, it cannot be denied that a woman’s influence is everywhere.

That’s why I am more intent on focusing on positive qualities and characteristics than people when it comes to role models. Those characteristics influence what comes out of my mouth and what I do, which inevitably and ultimately influences a generation. I guess, after all, that living, breathing testimony trumps any written word on a page every day of the week. 

Interruptions to a Schedule or Scheduled Interruptions?

I don't like to be interrupted. I am one of those people who, when I get in the "zone," likes to finish a task to completion. It may a by-product of being Type A, but it is what it is. One thing I'm learning, though, is that when it comes to schedules and interruptions, the latter is what matters in life.

Yesterday, we had an early-out due to the fact that it was the end of the term. The extra time in the afternoon was a much-appreciated "gift" from the District to get some grading done. Fortunately, no meetings had been scheduled, so it was intended to be uninterrupted work time, which it was for me. . .until Molly walked in.

Molly is not my student, and I don't even know her last name. A couple of months ago, I met Molly for the first time when she wandered in to get some grammar help. Yesterday, she wandered in because she was considering a class change and wanted to pick my brain. For the next half hour or better, we talked it through, walked around school so that she could meet with a couple other teachers, and parted ways. That was that.

As I walked back to my classroom, I wondered, "What was that about, God?" I would like to report that He whispered a response into my ear, but alas, no. I still have no idea.

This morning's devotional was from Mark 5: 21-34. In this passage, Jesus was interrupted twice.  First, Jairus came running up and asked Jesus to head home with him because his daughter was sick. On the way, a woman reached out and touched his cloak. This, in itself, wasn't a big deal, but the interruption occurred when He stopped to find out who had done it and why.

"She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak because she thought, 'If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.' Immediately, her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering" (v 26-8).

People were pressing Jesus on all sides as He walked to Jairus's house; clearly, his personal space was being invaded by everybody in the crowd, so why stop and pick on this chick? Even the disciples were perplexed. And it's not like anything bad had happened; she had been healed. Still, Jesus stopped and called her out, "Who touched my clothes?" (30)

It's not like Jesus to be a bully; that's just not true to His character. What He wanted was for the woman to share her testimony. Her confession was better than any "lesson" He could have taught the crowd that day. He affirms this idea when He says, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering" (34).

That interruption was a divine appointment. The same is true of the interruptions in our lives.

In my devotional today, the author says, "We may feel we have no room for interruptions. But suspending our ordinary duties to reach out to other people could be the defining moment in their lives and possibly in ours. By considering the way Jesus responded to interruptions, we can begin to view interruptions as opportunities to be Jesus for other people."

Even though schedules and checklists make me feel better, God likes to keep me on my toes by throwing all sorts of wrenches into my plans. I admit that I could easily make my schedules and checklists a god, so He sends frequent reminders, aka interruptions, that HE is God. All that said, I still don't know why Molly showed up yesterday. I may never know, but what I do know is that it was not an accident.

"If you give God your right to yourself, He will make a holy experiment out of you. God's experiments always succeed." Oswald Chambers from My Utmost for His Highest.

Are you Smarter Than a Tomato Plant?

            I’m a sucker for anything that grows. . .plant life, babies, banking accounts.  I find it all fascinating and inexplicably satisfying.

                I’ll admit that I probably jumped the gun a bit in planting my garden seeds. I just couldn’t help it. As soon as the calendar flipped to March, I found myself scanning the seed packets at Menards.  All those pretty colors and tantalizing vegetables proved to be just too much for this summer-starved Midwesterner.  Apparently, my husband had the bug too because he debated the merits of one tomato over the other and helped me pick out the potential produce packets.

                For most of the winter, I have been collecting empty egg cartons. My fitness-spastic children have suddenly developed an affinity for eggs, so we have been flying through the 18-packs. At first, I started collecting them because I saw a sign at Cashwise that there was a shortage of them. I’m not sure if I thought I was going to haul a load into Cashwise later or what, but two stacks of the empty cartons have been accumulating and had become perilously close to the kitchen ceiling.

                “What are you going to do with them all, Mom?” Nick asked one day. Good question, so in a moment of Pinterest brilliance, I told him that I was going to plant my seeds in them. He bought it, and I felt like a genius.

About two weeks or so ago, I planted them all. My long-suffering husband spent part of a Saturday installing a fluorescent “grow” light downstairs, and my “babies” have been tanning ever since.  A week ago, my tomatoes sprouted; the onions have followed suit, and I see signs of life with the pumpkins, cukes, and jalapenos.

Tonight, as I was watering them, I started thinking about my tomatoes. Those little guys are currently leaning hard toward the light. As soon as they pushed through the soil, they knew exactly what they wanted. They just can’t get enough of it, and they won’t take their eyes (Ok, I consider their leaves to be “eyes”) off it. Even when the light goes off, they keep their “eyes” trained in that direction and continue to lean in.

Gosh, those little tomato plants are so smart. . .and simple. We humans are supposed to be the smart ones – the caretakers of the Earth, plants, and animals. But the fact of the matter is we sure are stupid.

Rather than seek the light like the tomatoes plants do, we stumble around in the darkness, thinking we can take care of things on our own. Need to make a decision? Consult your horoscope of the advice of ten people. Having trouble in your marriage or with your kids? Read a book. Have a bad day? Eat a cookie or a dozen. Have a drink or four. Why is it that we often choose the inky darkness of dead-end or flawed solutions as opposed to turning our faces to the light of truth?

 “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them” Isaiah 42:16.  

 The older I get, the more I am convinced that the answers to life’s problems are all around us. First and foremost, God’s Word is the definitive “Dummy” guide. All of the answers to life’s questions are there. God has provided numerous story problems with the answers provided (Noah’s Ark, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, The Great Samaritan, The Woman at the Well). It’s all there; we just have to take time to read it.

Secondly, God is aware of the human condition – the fact that we are stubborn, lazy, and yes, thick-headed, so he has provided a back-up lesson plan in nature. My fledgling tomatoes are just one example.

Another is corn. This theory originated when I was a kid. While driving past a field of corn, the tassels at the tops of the stalks reminded me of long fingers pointing straight to the sky. It may sound dumb, but it reminded me of a church congregation offering praise. To this day, the idea has stuck with me, and I think of it every time I drive by a field of corn. The lessons are there; we just have to pay attention and look for them.

The fact is that we humans are good at taking something simple and making it complicated. “You are my lamp, O LORD; the LORD turns my darkness into light” 2 Samuel 22:29. If tomato plants can figure it out, there is no reason why we can’t.  

What's in Store?

          As she shuffled through the pile of bills, separating them according to amount and due date, the woman sighed heavily. In the distance, the monotonous drone of a listless vacuum in the corridor seemed to mock the monotony of her life.

          For the last fifteen years, the woman had stood behind the scratched glass counter, sorting the same bills into the same piles. Beneath the counter, the carpet on which she stood was worn smooth; a valley of foot traffic attested to the fact that the pathway had been well-used, not just by her, but she had used it plenty since she was the only one here most days.

          As she glanced up from the counter, the woman scanned her surroundings; the display cases were hazy and packed with time pieces, fobs, watches, and clocks, several of which had not been handled other than during an annual dusting. Repair items, both recent and forgotten, lined the tops of the cases, their tags drooping and yellowed. Like her, they awaited someone to pick them up and carry them away from this place.

            “Really, Lord?” she began. “Is this really where you want me?” Again, she sighed and continued to rearrange the mail and bills into piles.

          Each day, all day long, she and God conversed. Ok, it was mostly her doing the talking but still. Since there were few customers and many hours on her own, talking to God helped to provide conversation, even if it largely took place in her head.

          Just as she was about to ask God, for the seemingly fiftieth time, why she was still at this store, a familiar face darkened the doorway. It was Henry.

          Henry was an old bachelor who lived in an apartment above the store. Once upon a time, Henry had owned a fairly prosperous retail business nearby, but as the big box stores had moved in, the hometown specialty shops had closed. Likewise, since Henry had never married, he had no progeny to continue his life's work. Thus, his store had closed. Each day, the woman had to pass the empty and unused space in the corridor on her way to the store. The mere sight of it brought an inexplicable sadness to the woman; she didn't want to imagine what it was like for Henry to walk by it each day.

          As he shuffled past the glass cases, the woman noticed that he hadn't even changed out of his slippers. More than likely, this wasn't on purpose; he just hadn't thought about it. Henry's descent to the store was a regular routine, much like a mid-morning coffee break. A moth-eaten sweater and a dirty seed corn cap underscored the fact that he lived alone. Appearance, style, and smell were the concerns of a woman. Henry's clothing choices were utilitarian; if it felt good and was broken in, he wore it.

          The woman could see that he hadn't shaved in a while; patches of white whiskers in varying lengths sprouted across his face. Silently, she wondered when his last decent meal was.

          A worn cloth chair, long ago installed for lingering customers, was Henry's destination. Cracking joints protested as he lowered himself into the chair. The woman waited to see if this was a "talking" day.

          Henry, a man of few words, was often content to sit companionably in silence while the woman worked. At first, the woman was unnerved by the awkwardness of it all, and then, as she was later ashamed to admit, she became annoyed by his constant presence.

          Over time she mulled the situation over and shared her concerns with God. Eventually, it became evident that Henry's loneliness was due to the fact that he was quite shy, which probably explained why he had never married. While he seemed to be comfortable around her, most of the women who came into the store made him uneasy. In fact, in the time that she had known him, she had never seen or heard him talk to another woman other than her.

          Once she had a new perspective, the woman found herself looking for Henry on a daily basis. Although it would be hard to explain to anyone, she always felt a little relief when she heard the familiar creak of the floorboards in the apartment above. While their conversations were often brief and even monosyllabic, there was a companionship that satisfied both of them. 

          On this particular day, no words passed between them. The woman rounded the corner to the back of the store where the coffee maker was. Grabbing a mug from the haphazard collection on the shelf, she filled it and placed the steaming cup in front of Henry. The woman turned to her bills as Henry busied himself with the coffee.  After a few minutes, Henry’s snores filled room.

          The woman shook her head and lowered herself into the chair behind the counter. “Lord, I just don’t understand. I have been here for fifteen years, and it feels like I’m not getting anywhere. Over and over, I have asked you to show me what you want me to do. Please show me the purpose for my life, Lord.”

            “Well, did you see what your man did in St. Paul today?!” The voice startled the woman, but she knew the voice well. As she glanced into the mirror over her desk, she watched as Maggie strode purposefully toward the counter. “Well, did you?”

            “No, but I’ll bet you will tell me,” said the woman as she pushed herself from the chair.

            “He voted down the omnibus bill that we had been working on,” Maggie stormed. “That bill would have provided funding for additional family planning services.”

            “And did those ‘additional family planning services’ include abortion counseling?” the woman quietly asked.

          Henry, who had been forcefully roused from his mid-morning nap by Maggie’s voice, eyed her warily. Then, he pushed himself out of the chair and shuffled toward the door.

          Maggie rolled her eyes and said none-too-quietly, “I see I riled your ‘boyfriend,’ but yes, abortion services could have been one of many services offered to teenagers and lower-income women. However, your candidate decided to take that opportunity away.”

            “He’s not my candidate. . .” the woman began, but before she could finish, Maggie interrupted her.

            “I don’t get you,” Maggie said as she leveled her gaze to the woman’s. “You claim you’re a Christian, and so does your candidate, but you guys sure have a funny way of showing your religion. “

          The woman paused. She wasn’t taking the bait, so Maggie continued. “You say Christianity is all about ‘showing God’s love,’ but when a something, like this bill, comes along – that would actually help people – you say, ‘no,’ all because abortion is one small part of it. Sorry, but I don’t see the logic in that.”

          While Maggie waited for a response, the woman took a deep breath and prayed to herself. "Lord, Maggie is looking for a fight today. Show me what want me to do and say next. If this is something you want me to respond to, give me the words. I cannot do this on my own."

          For the next half hour, Maggie volleyed question after question while the woman calmly provided the Biblical viewpoint. Although she was apprehensive at first, the woman relaxed as the words flowed easily and sensibly. Never a fan of conflict, the woman often avoided any conversations or situations that might become heated or uncomfortable. Meeting Maggie had necessitated a new game plan.

Maggie worked in a political office down the hall from the store. While on a lunch break one day, Maggie had wandered into the store and had struck up a conversation with the woman. Partially out of necessity (since they were the only two females in proximity) and partially by choice, a burgeoning friendship formed. Now, Maggie regularly shared her breaks with the woman.

The only point of contention between the two was their differing religious views. For the woman, her faith was the core of her being. For Maggie, faith was the same as religion, so she, therefore, had no time for either.  As a child, Maggie’s religious experience had involved lots of do’s and don’ts with the ever-present threat of “hell” for disobedience. Adultery and an acrimonious divorce had been the nail in the coffin of religion for her. Once married to a politician, she now worked for one, so Maggie was quite knowledgeable and passionate about current events and issues. Quite naturally, many of these issues infiltrated the women’s conversations, and Maggie enjoyed sparring with the woman, whose views were often far more conservative than hers. While the woman enjoyed Maggie’s company and considered her a friend, she did not enjoy debating with her.

Shortly after meeting Maggie, however, the woman had promised God that she wouldn’t run whenever she became uncomfortable. Although Maggie and their conversations would assuredly push the woman out of her comfort zone, she confidently believed that God would be her co-pilot in conversation, and thus far, He had been faithful.

For the remaining minutes of Maggie’s break, the two discussed their kids. Maggie showed pictures of her daughter’s new apartment and dog while the woman provided updates regarding her son’s new job. As Maggie rounded the corner and waved, the woman sank into the chair. The conversation had left her exhausted but content.  The woman closed her eyes for a few minutes, dissecting and analyzing the conversation. “Lord, I hope I did ok. I hope I said exactly what you wanted me to say and represented you in a positive light. You know how much I hate conflict. I am just not a good speaker, so I am the worst choice when it comes to debating with her. I don’t know why you brought Maggie into my life. . .” The woman smiled to herself, “but I am thankful for her and her friendship. I hope that we will be hanging out together in heaven one day.”

“Excuse me,” came a tiny voice behind the woman. “I am sorry to interrupt you. If this is a bad time, I can leave.”

The woman rose quickly, embarrassed. She was the lone clerk in the store, and here she had been remiss in her one duty, which was to help customers.  “No, no. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you come in. What can I do for you?”

“I may need a new clock, but I am wondering if you do repairs?” the young woman whispered.

“Yes, we do repairs, and we sell clocks,” the woman answered. “Is there something you would like to me look at?” As the woman asked, she noticed that the young woman, a girl, really, immediately looked away.

The young woman carefully lowered a battered brown grocery bag onto the counter. The contents rattled as the bag settled. Slowly and carefully, the young woman laid the various, broken components of an antique mantel clock on the counter. 

As the woman surveyed the damage before her, her heart sank. The clock appeared beyond repair. It would take nothing short of a miracle to re-construct the clock, much less get it to run. Either way, it would never look or function the way it once had.

“Can you tell me what happened?” the woman asked as she started picking up and examining the clock pieces.

“No,” the young woman’s response was barely audible.

The woman paused and stared at the young woman, trying to read her face. Had she offended this young girl?  It was a routine question for all repairs. In order to try to fix the problem, the woman would need to know what she was dealing with. “Lord, I’m not sure what’s going on here, “the woman prayed silently. “I get the sense that there is more than meets the eye with this young woman. If there is something I need to know, please reveal it to me. Likewise, if there is something I need to say or do, please give me some clear direction.”

Apparently, the pause was the encouragement that the young woman needed. “You see,” the young woman began then paused. She sighed heavily and then tears began coursing down her cheeks. “Um, this clock was my grandma’s, and I broke it.”

The woman didn’t say a word. She looked down and picked up another broken piece off the counter, gingerly turning it over in her hands. She sensed a dam was about to burst and braced for it.

“We – me and Justin; I’m Alicia, by the way. We have been married for a little over a year. My mom and dad threw me out when I got pregnant. They didn’t like Justin, and they were mad because I got pregnant and embarrassed them. So Justin and me got married, but then, I lost the baby. Anyway, my grandma was the only one who talked called me after I lost the baby. She gave me this clock because she remembered how much I used to love to help her wind it every night when I stayed at her house.”

The young woman – Alicia – paused to collect herself, wiping the tears from her cheek with the back of her left hand. The woman noticed that there was no wedding ring on her left hand, only a faint indentation where one used to be.

“Anyway,” Alicia continued, “Grandma died about six months ago.” Fresh tears fell and hit a piece of clock face on the counter. “I couldn’t go to the funeral because I had to work and couldn’t get it off. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways because my mom and dad had told my brother to tell me to stay away, or they would call the cops.”

The woman handed Alicia a tissue, which Alicia readily accepted.

“About a month ago,” Alicia went on, “I came home after work to find Justin packing up his stuff. Another girl was there with him. He said he wanted a divorce – that he wanted to marry Jenna or Jenny, whatever her name was.”

Alicia paused; her voice was barely a whisper now. “I threw my ring at him because I was mad. . .but I missed. It hit the clock, and it fell to the floor.” Alicia ran her finger over a piece of curved molding. “He could have caught it, but he let it fall. Then, he looked right at me and stomped on it. He knew what it meant to me, but he smashed it anyway. Now, I have nothing.” As she finished, Alicia’s chest heaved, and gulps and sobs filled silence in the store.

As the woman raised her eyes to meet Alicia’s before her, she was surprised to feel tears running down her cheeks as well. Although she did not know Alicia and had never met her before, she was overwhelmed with Alicia’s grief, emptiness, and sadness. Without hesitation, she reached across the counter, pulled Alicia into her arms, and held her until Alicia’s composure had returned.

For the next half hour, Alicia talked while the woman listened. Alicia apologized for falling apart and thanked the woman for her kindness and listening ear. Embarrassed, the woman lowered her eyes and noticed the clock detritus on her counter. The woman began, "I'm not sure if this clock can be fixed, but we will see what we can do."

"I appreciate it," Alicia said, a half smile tugging at her cheek. "The world won't end if it can't be repaired. A new clock for my new place might be just what I need anyway."

The woman took Alicia's number and said she would call when she had news about the clock. As Alicia stopped, smiled, and gave a shy wave, the woman decided that she might just call Alicia in a week, just to see how things were going.

Slowly, the woman moved from behind the counter and began locking doors and cases; the day was finally done. As the sun began to set, so did the woman's spirit. As she moved from case to case, she discussed her heart with God. "Lord, day after day, I come to this store, and I wait patiently for you. I have told you the desires of my heart - that more than anything, I want to do your Will. I'm not sure what gifts and talents I have that you can use, but whatever they are, Lord, I have told them they are yours. When will you bring me to a place - a career - that will allow me to do that?"

The woman paused, waited. The only sound she heard was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. She sighed as she flicked them off and turned the "Open" sign to "Closed."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Matthew 7:7 "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.

"We look for visions from heaven, for earthquakes and thunders of God's power, and we never dream that all the time God is in the commonplace things and people around us. If we will only do the duty that lies nearest, we shall see Him. One of the most amazing revelations of God comes when we learn that it is in the commonplace things that the Deity of Jesus Christ is realized." Oswald Chambers - from My Utmost for His Highest.