Wendy

No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I know better, something deep within me still believes that bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. She was the kind of person I can only dream of being. She never judged anyone. She not only greeted everyone she met with kindness, but also genuine interest. I’m sure, like us all, she had her flaws, but I knew none of them. She was one of those people who made the world a better place, and the fact that cancer came and caused her to suffer before finally taking her seems cruel and utterly unfair.

I went to church today seeking solace, but the words sounded like empty platitudes, the music random chords. I tried to imagine what the early followers thought and felt when they looked at the tomb. Like me, they must have thought Christ’s death was cruel and utterly unfair. Of all the people, EVER, you would think God would have protected Jesus from all he went through, and yet there he was, behind the stone, with scars on his back and holes in his arms and legs. I just don’t get it. Neither did they.

I am wise enough to know the story did not end at the tomb, but sometimes that’s not enough. I want to stand up and scream, “Make the world fair, will you????” I believe God hears such cries, but doesn’t listen to them. A fair world is the last thing a person like me should desire. Instead, I should give thanks that God makes people like Wendy, that I was blessed to cross her path for an all-too-short period of time. I should use the example of her life as an inspiration for my own.

But, most of all, I need to close my eyes and see beyond the tomb and watch as Wendy is welcomed by the great cloud of witnesses, the saints beside whom she if fully qualified to stand. Such is the “deeper magic” of which C. S. Lewis wrote, and in which I so desperately believe.

Troubled Waters

From the road, it looked like a scene suitable for a postcard, a pond surrounded by hills and trees. I’m sure the psalmist had such a place in mind when writing about being led to still waters, but when I got out of the car and looked closer, I saw something important. Floating on the top of the pond were lily pads. In other places, algae were mixed with the water. Such things were possible because the water was still. As inviting as the placid water is sometimes, it needs to move if it is to remain healthy.

I thought about the pond and the vegetation growing in it as I drove away. It reminded me how often I have longed for my life to be a still, serene, placid pond, the kind worthy of a postcard. If I pay off all my debt, make these calls, resolve this matter, everything will be perfect, and I can sit back and enjoy life, enjoy peace a quiet. In other words, I long for still waters, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s just dangerous.

Like the pond, I need to keep the water moving. I need to keep bringing new water in and allowing old to flow elsewhere. To do so demands effort and a willingness to live with churned up water, but it’s better than allowing algae to grow.

There’s a wonderful spiritual that speaks of God troubling the waters. I used to think that was a bad thing. How can the God who leads us to still waters be the same who troubles the water? Now I know that troubling the waters is how God keeps the waters fresh, and me healthy. Remembering the pond and the importance of keeping the water flowing, I find it easier to accept challenges and uncomfortable tasks or conversations as the price for healthy water.

I don’t necessarily like it, but I know I need it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_euSS86dvE

Yet

It’s a small word, but one with enormous power. Like so many, this small word can go unnoticed or ignored. That is, until someone uses it, and you think about things in a new way. That happened to me, recently, and now I want to make sure it becomes a regular part of my vocabulary. More important, I want it to become a regular part of my thinking.

Like many, I have fallen short of what I hoped to do and who I hoped to be. I’ve always bemoaned such shortcomings. Now, as life’s horizon draws closer, my regrets have increased. Fortunately, a friend showed me how to add a word of grace to my thoughts. Look how it changes the thoughts below:

I haven’t made much of a difference in the world, yet.

I haven’t found my purpose, yet.

I’m not a good (Fill in the blank), yet.

I don’t do enough for the poor or struggling, yet.

I don’t read, pray, or sit still regularly, yet.

I don’t give generously, yet.

I don’t exercise enough, yet.

I haven’t achieved what I hoped at work, yet.

I am not the kind of (mother/father/son/daughter/friend) I want to be, yet.

I’m not a very good follower of God’s will, yet.

One word transforms these sentences into declarations of faith. Now, each contains a deep-seeded hope, a reminder that our journey is not over. Our story is not written, it’s being written, and it’s all because of one little word.

I think I’ll try to use it more often.