Me and Oscar the Grouch

At my work place each day, my boss greets each person he sees with a cheerful smile and a hearty “Good morning!” At first, I confess I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. See, I grew up in a home where the grouchies were a known and easily identified entity until all adults had swallowed their first AM cup of coffee. I honestly believed that was normal: grouchy until caffeinated. But its not. Further, it’s a waste of a perfectly great morning to be a “pouty-poo” as my friend Debbie says.

And guess what I am learning from Dave's daily cheeriness of disposition? Joy is a habit. Yup. A habit! A choice to be! And it's not as difficult as I once assumed. In fact, I rather like choosing not to be Oscar the grouch. God is still in the business of teaching old dogs new tricks—even me.

I used to read in my Bible that "the Joy of the Lord is my strength." For the longest time I thought that meant that God was going to make me happy. But if that were so, why was Paul the Apostle challenged with so many difficulties? And why did he choose to be happy in prison, or when faced with persecution? Because he understood that joy was a choice and that he could make that choice and nobody could take it away from him. Wow! Who needs to go around the world to find a new land? This is enough discovery to last a very long time. How silly to waste even a moment of the days I am granted. I choose to greet the sunrise with a smile, and to breathe a prayer of thanks for another day.

Each and every one.

LIstening for the Wa-Wa

I have listened for years to the sound of tuning guitar strings at my house. There are at least seven guitars at our house, not to mention the plethora of drums, brass horns other instruments that have ebbed and flowed through our door. The guitars are the constant, and I enjoy the giftedness of those who play this instrument. My husband, sons and others always tune their guitars before playing. The pluck-plucking of strings, the twisting of the little keys on the neck resulting in sharpening or flattening of notes. I confess to having been plenty annoyed at the noise made by tuning sometimes even in the middle of a song as the player’s ear became aware of a slight off- key sound that I just didn’t catch. Sometimes in my impatience, I would think, how picky can you be to stop a perfectly good song to tune yet again? Gee whiz, just finish the song!

One day recently Adam was tuning his instrument “harmonically” (hey, you can't live with guitar players for 30 years without picking a few things up) as I read the newspaper across the kitchen table from him, only half listening to his music. He was repetitively pluck-plucking at the strings, two at a time, and listening. Feeling annoyed that that my reading had been disturbed I asked, “What are you listening for? It all sounds the same to me!”

Adam patiently plucked one string, and then pressing a finger on the string just below it at a particular fret, plucked it too, and told me to listen to the vibration which he referred to, for my ignorant benefit, as the “wa-wa” that could be heard when one string was not in tune with the other. I listened, and, oh my goodness, I could hear it! There was a vibration between the two strings, a sort of “wa-wa” sound that was fast at first, then slowed and finally stopped as he brought the strings into perfect pitch with each other. He looked up and grinned at me. I smiled back. A light bulb moment! For the first time in 30 years of hearing guitars played, tuned, stroked and plucked, I had listened for something new, and it had been revealed to my ear.

Of course God took that teachable moment to speak to me. He said, in that voice of His, “This is what I want you to do with Me, with My Word. Listen for something new. Listen for the deeper meaning when I speak to you. Listen to the tuning of my instruments, and gain deeper understanding. Now you hear the surface sound and interpret it as clatter in your day. But listen, ever so carefully, so you can hear something new."

Are you hearing just the clatter, or are you tuned in? Are you willing to listen to old things in a new way so the Lord can reveal something wonderful? Are you hearing the ever so smooth hum when the “wa-wa” disappears and your heart is tuned to what God has for you? Today, open your heart and mind to the possibilities. Hear the perfect notes that the Lord plays. Listen for the “wa-wa”. It is extraordinary!

Lance's Birthday

“The heart of grief, its most difficult challenge, is not ‘letting go’ of those who have died, but instead making the transition from loving in presence to loving in separation.”
~ Thomas Attig

On January 6th we celebrated our grandson’s 3rd birthday by meeting at the Greenlawn Southwest cemetery at 7 PM. we set candles around his gravestone, and at 7:14PM, the time he was born, we sang a lovely song for him that my son wrote. Then we lit candles on little cupcakes my daughter and I made with little Curious George rings on top of each one. We sang “Happy Birthday” and a pastor from our son’s church shared a brief devotional about grief and God’s deep love for us. It was a precious time. We left the candles (in votive containers) burning at the site as we released balloons for Lance and shared in the solace of the evening with each other.

Afterward we went to In ‘n Out Burgers across the street, and my daughter, Rachel, took the leftover cupcakes and shared them with some customers including a large family of kids who were having dinner there. The little kids loved it, and it was a most satisfying way to use up the cupcakes while reveling in the joy on those smiling children’s faces. She even gave one to a tough looking young man with strange piercings on his head who was sitting in a booth in a corner, and he asked why she was passing out the goodies. My daughter explained that they were from her nephew’s 3rd birthday celebration across the street at the cemetery, because he had died last summer. This big though looking guy got all teary and was clearly moved as he accepted a cupcake to remember Lance by. It was most touching, heartwarming, and comforting.

People really do care, but they often do not know how to express it or grapple with their own feelings about death and loss.  For me, I have come to trust God more fully today, understanding that if I could see where Lance is now, I would not wish him back to this world no matter how much I miss him. Even so, my heart hasn’t quite grasped how to love my grandson in separation.

Lesson Learned

Someone told me once that contemporary worship songs don’t teach Biblical truths like the old, traditional hymns do. But I know otherwise.

So I’m lazing in bed one Saturday morning listening to this bluesy country music on the radio, when my husband suggests I get up and go for a ride with him. You know, A Ride. On the bike. A motorcycle ride on the Harley. the HD. Umm... wait, don't I have a dentist appointment to go to? No? Sigh...

Why do I find this so frightening? Is it that I haven’t got my last will and testament in order? No, it's my active imagination that can graphically picture my body smeared across blacktop like strawberry jam on burnt toast. I confess to that fear. After hedging a bit, I agreed to go and suggested a short run to Tehachapi. That seemed relatively safe. Except that I forgot one small detail: the freeway.

Freeways are a piece of cake in a car, and everybody drives them like they own the road in California. On a bike, however, even with my ever so cautious husband driving, vulnerable does not begin to describe the feeling that gripped me that morning as we rode, screaming along at 65 M.P.H. next to 18-wheelers and cars with cavalier drivers (not as in the Chevy, but as in lacking concern for my bodily safety).

I felt exposed; completely at their mercy should any one of the drivers make a wrong move. What some people consider the thrill of speed is terror to me. I clung to the bike. Wiping wind-crusted tears and sweat from the corners of my eyes, I peered out at the brownish horizon in town. As we ascended into the golden, oak tree-dotted foothills, the brown haze cleared. Above the layer of smog on the valley floor, intense blue sky suddenly surrounded us, and directly above was the bluest of all. I looked upward… and kept looking up. Things looked clearer up in the sky, safer; no traffic to distract my thoughts.

I clung to the rumbling machine and was suddenly intensely aware of God's presence. He was right beside me, holding my hand and my heart. I imagined His massive, gentle hands manipulating the puppeteer’s strings attached to us as he raced along holding us aloft, orchestrating the show. I smiled at the mental picture of God in great white flowing robes, snowy beard aflutter, effortlessly zipping through the azure sky. And then I heard Him. No, not a voice. God speaks in lots of ways. When God brought to mind the lyrics to a contemporary worship song, “You Never Let Go”, I knew he was giving me an Instant Message. The song’s lyrics are, “Oh no, you never let go, through the calm and through the storm. Oh no, you never let go, every high and every low. Oh no, you never let go, Lord, you never let go of me!” Because of that song, I knew to cry out to God in my fear, and when I cried out in my heart, God heard and reassured me.
Sometimes I see the silliest images of God in my mind. But then again, maybe this was the perfect mental picture. God knew my need, and in His generous grace, peppered with a sense of humor, He gave me an imagined scenario that provided the way to soothe my fear. He was my peace.

Hubby set a much slower tempo for the ride home on the well worn and twisting road, meandering through the low desert. The slower pace allowed for viewing tiny, shell pink wildflowers waving by the roadside; slithering, russet color snakes; lizards whose color blended into the ash gray stones. God was there to be seen in all His creative glory, His artistry on display in the color palette of the land.

That day, on the back of a motorcycle, God soothed my fear and reassure me that He never lets me go. That’s a lesson learned, and applied.