"On Time and the Giving of It"

time:  n.  the inevitable progression into the future with the passing of present events into the past.

Time is one of those universal commodities given to every man, woman, and child living on the face of this earth.  Each of us is given 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, 60 seconds in a minute.  No more; no less.  We are treated equally.

Time has a different "feel" at different stages of life.  A child has all the time in the world, whereas his/her parents can’t find enough time to get everything done and meet the demands of the family’s rigorous schedule.  Those of us who are 70-somethings find ourselves dealing with the reality of it passing quickly.  Many of the elderly live a paradox where they have nothing but time on their hands as they live their days in solitude and loneliness, and yet they have very little of it left on this earth.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, we as humans categorize and prioritize our time.  There is work and family time; time for leisure, events and activities; vacation time, and--God forbid if it is interrupted—sleep.  But often the most important of all is never factored in, and that is people time. 

When I give my time to another, I am giving of myself, sharing me. No one else is able to do that but me.  Gifts can be purchased and delivered, but the gift of time has no price tag.  While there is a time and place for volunteer work, that is not what I am speaking of here.

“I’m busy now.  I don’t have time.”  How often is that said to family members?  Consider the message in those words and how it feels to be told that, to hear it.  That same message, though unspoken, is delivered as we plow through our daily lives, making certain no interaction takes place with people we don’t know.  After all, we have things to do, people to see, places to go. Strangers are people we’ll never see again, so it doesn’t really matter.  Or does it?

We have known each other for decades and have had a friendship for the past several years.  Neither of us has a sister, and sister/friend describes our relationship well. 

I had gone to visit her, and we stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things.  While waiting in the line to check out she quietly commented, “Just a minute.  This lady needs some help.”  She had seen what I hadn’t.  An elderly lady, no larger than a minute, was struggling with bagging her groceries.  She had an over-sized container of detergent, and it was far too heavy and bulky for her to handle.  My friend stepped in and placed the items in sacks, telling her that she would help get them into her car.  “This is the last time I’m going to do this,” the older woman commented, telling of being in the process of moving into a facility where meals would be provided. 

We checked out and headed out to her car, loading the items in the back.  She talked the whole time, telling of moving from Rhode Island and the move currently taking place.  Grateful and thrilled, she was the recipient of the gift of time.

This is how my friend lives.  She gives of herself, giving time where and when it is needed. Second nature to her, it is done quietly, in a way that never draws attention.  

Her elderly father had been ill for several years and was in the final stages of life.  Without being asked, she went to her childhood home and stayed until he passed, helping out, assisting as needs arose.  That is just the kind of person she is. 

My friend and I spoke recently of being available when called upon.  Her comment is one which has stuck with me—“You just have to make time. Loving the broken is loving Him.”

The gift of time is a gift indeed.  It is often not noticed, therefore not acknowledged, as there are no bells and whistles or balloons connected to it.  Instead, it is simply being present, lending an ear, companionship, and action if needed.

Each one of us is given time.  We’ve all heard the charge to use our time wisely or make the most of it, but that charge is usually connected to an activity or a goal.  That would be my charge as well, but consider giving time as a gift, giving and sharing oneself.  The world would be a better place.

The King will reply, "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

  

"On Being Open to God......or Not"

“You know,” she announced assertively, “it’s all about being open.”  Standing in her kitchen, preparing dinner, she went on. “If you want to live your life with God, you just have to be open to Him.” 

This is the mother of the little pit bull, and she has always been one who “tells it like it is.”  And, like her daughter, she has a heart the size of the universe.  When you look at my grandgirl you see her Momma.

While cleaning a house yesterday, my thoughts were on her statement.  And this is where I landed.

Given the tenor of the times all over the world, it is my suspicion there are many who are sick and tired of having God forced down their throats, who feel His very name is offensive, and want nothing to do with Him and vice versa.

It is my hope that some clarity and light might be brought to those on both sides of the aisle—to those who are doing the forcing and to those who are on the receiving end.

There is a tendency for those to whom their religion is important to want to share, to evangelize, to try to “save the world.”  And thus there is a flood of words blanketing the land, much of it rude, obnoxious, and overbearing—in the name of God and much of it one man's version of God.  This is the antithesis of God; this is not God.  He asks that people live their lives in a manner which draws others, not dissimilar to a moth being drawn to a flame, and to be ready to answer if questioned.  Force-feeding is not His style.

For those who do not want Him and want nothing to do with Him, I can categorically and emphatically state that God will never force Himself upon you.  He does desire a relationship with you, a friendship, but this is where your free will enters in.  He approaches you in that quiet place within, but if you say “No, thank you,” He will never push in.  He has far too much class and is too much of a gentleman to go where He isn’t wanted or invited.

The caveat, however, is that we do live with the choice made.  When the mountains begin to fall, when, at the end of this mortal life, things aren’t as you expected, planned, or hoped they would be—you will be left with that “free will” choice.  There is no re-do. 

Stand.  He asks that each of us stand, simply stand in the decision we have made.  Stand and live in it--and eventually, die in it. 

For those who want nothing to do with God, take comfort in the fact that He gives that freedom and that right.  He'll have nothing to do with you then.  For those who do want Him, all you have to do is be open, and He will share Himself with you as you live your life.

And for those who insist upon forcing your version of God upon others--stop.  He is very capable on His own.

God is love, and He loves me enough to let me choose.

      

 

"On Being Schooled By A Child"

A general, common consensus is held that children are in need of being taught, that the adults are the ones with the knowledge, experience, and understanding, and the poor helpless little things know nothing.  There is no question our children need examples and role models, guidance and support.  However, as adults, we can learn a great deal from them.

Picking up the grandgirls from school, we had headed straight to a dental appointment, and I was catching up on the lives of a 4th- and a 6th-grader as we drove.  The conversations always have a lot of giggles interspersed, and the radio wasn't allowed to be turned on, as I wanted to visit with them. 

They took their homework into the office to work on while waiting.  "Do you know how to do exponents, Gram Gram?"  asked the older one.  I gulped, feigning bravado.

 “Well, let's look," I said.  Fortunately, enough math from long ago had remained, and we were able to work on it together.  Assignment completed.

"I'm going to need some help, Gram Gram.  Will you help me?" questioned the little one. 

"Of course."  She began working, and it was quickly apparent she really needed no help at all.  Legs propped up on an ottoman, notebook in her lap, she tackled the assignment, that of renaming numbers in a variety of ways. 

As she got to the bottom of the page, she peered up at me.  Very quietly, as though she was telling me a secret, she said, "We had a test, and we had to do this same kind of work.  When I finished, I wrote a little note to my teacher--'Thank you for teaching me these strategies.'  There was some space left on the page so I just wrote it."

To say I was dumbfounded, speechless would be an understatement.  What 9-year-old child even thinks that way?  This one does, and the beauty of it is that she has no idea how atypical her approach to people and to life is.  She's simply being herself.  This is who and what she is.   

The little pit bull took me to school yesterday. This time it was on the value of expressing appreciation and thanks.  But then she schools me often on other aspects of living a virtuous life as well.  

Some of life's greatest lessons are learned at the hands of, or from the mouths of, children.  Listen, pay attention, give them time and respect, and we are all enriched. 


"...and a little child shall lead them."  Isaiah 11:6
"I tell you the truth.  Unless you turn around and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."  Matthew 18:3









       

  

  

"On Grievances and Healing"

The thorn finally came to the surface, so it could readily be removed.  It was minute, not even the size of an eyelash, but it had been plaguing me for several weeks, and I had been unable to remove it.  I had probably got it when I was either cutting back roses or transferring the branches to my truck to haul away.  It was, however, firmly planted in a part of my thumb where I was aware of it daily, whenever pressure was applied.  The thing of it, though—the recovery mechanism of my body had healed over it, and it wasn’t even visible.  Felt, but unseen.

grievance:  something which causes grief; a wrong or hardship suffered, which is the ground of a complaint

Unresolved grievances are like thorns, slivers, stickers hidden within our beings.  They can’t be seen by looking at a person, as they are covered up, buried, invisible to the eye; however,  slight contact, a bit of pressure, and a reaction comes forth.  “Where did that come from?” an observer may wonder.

There are two categories of grievances:  those wrongs which are perceived and those which are valid. 

Perceived wrongs are exactly that—personal injury or hurt based on my perception, how I saw a situation or experience, not necessarily reality.  For example, the "rude" clerk or waitress who was abrupt, but had just received news of a terminal illness in her family; the vehicle which just cut traffic off, the driver going at breakneck speed, on his way to the emergency room.  None of these are personal. 

Those which are valid are exactly that—personal injury, damage, or hurt, physical or otherwise, at the hand of another.

But it does not matter a whit which of those we carry within.  Valid or perceived, if they are not dealt with, they fester and grow.

I daresay we have all had personal grievances we have carried, some for a lifetime.  They begin early in infancy, a baby expressing protest over the fact of being placed in bed against its will.  “It’s not fair,” is an often-heard outcry in a family, whether it’s due to a sibling being given favored treatment or being told “No.” 

Fast forward to adulthood, and things really don’t change.  Labor unions and employers have a detailed, intricate system to deal with issues of wrongdoing.  Business relationships, marriages, friendships--someone is always being hurt, or so it seems. 

In comparing one’s life with another, inequality in treatment, one's lot in life, is often an unspoken assessment. 

Have you heard the comment, “I may forgive, but I don’t forget?”  This is what I’m talking about--grievances which are held against another, be it a family member, a friend, employer, the government, a spouse, minister—the list is endless.  They stack up within, tainting one’s life.

There is another point to this discussion, though, and it is that of holding a grievance against God.  I maintain the crux of what we deem as personal is, in truth, directed toward Him.  It is not always an easy truth to see, and it means digging deep, but mankind is very angry with Him over the state of the world and everything in it.  "Why????" is the outcry. "Why is there so much hardship, tragedy, loss, poverty, war?"  There is a lack of understanding, and it becomes personal and  blame is cast on Him, not to be forgiven nor forgotten. 

How does one deal with grievance and experience healing, living free of the venom it produces and creates within a person?  How is one even aware?  Seek truth, seek light, seek life.  In that and that alone can healing take place and freedom be found. 

My thumb is healed.  I’m always pleasantly surprised at the difference removal of a finite object makes.  The same goes for the inner.     

     

 

"On Science vs. God"

In typical fashion, mankind has pitted God against science, science against God.  Man has a way of doing that, turning things into a competition, a war fought between two opposing sides.  It has to be "I'm right, you're wrong," with the church as guilty as those who are repulsed by all things religious.  Any quest for truth is put to the side as skirmishes take place, the "winner" reveling in a perceived victory.  

In a virtual standoff, the two contradicting sides stand with their weapons drawn--ready, willing and able to go to verbal battle for their cause--those espousing data and studies, education, and science with their sheepskin diplomas facing those with their faith and Bibles in hand.  The cacophony is deafening.

As creator of life and all that exists God is, indeed, the father of science; likewise, He is more than just written words to be lobbed through the air like cannonballs with no real direction or force. It would be wise, and only makes sense, for those in both positions to become acquainted with the author of all things before taking up arms and going to war.  Knowing Him vs. knowing about Him; what is vs. what I think. There is a difference.  

It's that truth thing.



     

"An Oxymoron"

oxymoron:  a contradiction in terms.

It is the nature of man to want to fix things, including himself.  Self-help, how-to books abound.   

“Always, ever—growing, changing.”  This was the thought as I headed out to begin my workday. 

Not all aspire to--or desire--change within themselves.  I’m not quite sure why that is.  Perhaps it is the “old shoe” or “old sweater” syndrome.  Living in the status quo can become very, very comfortable.  It is also very stagnant, dull, and boring.  Where there is life within, there is change; change is the evidence of life. 

How can it be that I have changed so, but I am the same?  That was the question under consideration as I plodded through weeds.  And then, I saw the truth of that.

Three years ago, I purchased a lovely birch tree with maroon-colored leaves.  It complements several other shrubs in my front yard, and I am able to see it from where I sit at my computer.  It was quite small when I got it, but it has grown to at least triple its original size.  That tree has changed dramatically, but it hasn’t changed at all.  The essence of it, the fact that it is a birch tree, is still there.  Its growth bears out that it is alive and thriving, visible for all to see. 

And so it is with me. In reality, my life has been a journey, one in which I have only begun to discover who I am.  I am not the same person I used to be; and yet I am.

I am still the little girl who loves Dairy Queen ice cream, who laughs too loudly and finds the volume of my voice increases when I am excited; one who loves creating things with my hands, who loves sunsets and the smell of babies.  I am that person who is competitive; one who delights in helping grandchildren learn.

As I live my life, the change is dramatic.  I am far removed from the person I used to be. Patience, where once I was impatient; flexibility replacing rigidity; being slow to anger where once there was a "short fuse."  I have learned to listen, to talk less,  to laugh at myself rather than at others, and to restrain from judging others. 

True change happens only at the Hand of our Creator.  I am grateful.    

"Forgive"

You took my broken heart, made it whole; took my shattered life, touched my soul.

You gave me hope, You gave me strength so I could carry on.

You wrapped me up into your arms, held me close, free from harm.

You filled a void in me, gave me eyes to see and peace within.

I was so all alone, no place to call my home.

I placed my life into Your hands, not knowing what You had planned.

You spoke into my ear, so soft I could barely hear:

“Forgive, my child; forgive and be healed.”

My heart sings out to thee eternally, the pain, the hurt a fading memory.

You spoke into my ear, so soft I could barely hear:

“Forgive, my child; forgive and be healed.”




"Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us."