One believer. One God. One hope.
Glad for the Roots and Divots
I was lucky enough when we built our house to build an office specifically geared towards my job. It is an unusual job after all, and needs a different set up than most: A pin up board that covers an entire wall. Track lighting that is focused on the board for the hours of color work that take place. A huge four foot high table used solely for rolling out and cutting massive rolls of fabric. A secluded area for my CAD system that is specifically angled away from light sources in order to avoid glares. And, of course, lots and LOTS of space to store swatches, idea scraps, artwork and the menagerie of items that have surrounded me since my twenties.
It is a great space. But, because it was specifically designed with one thing in mind for its use, I felt stuck somehow. I couldn't move on and didn't feel comfortable in it doing other things. Like, I wasn't allowed to be anything other than a designer in that space.
As I listened to someone talk on identities this week, I realized that I had become too tangled up in who I thought I was before I lost my job. In many ways, I felt as if I should be able to be a designer until I decided otherwise. That it should be on my terms. And, since I wasn't ready to give it up yet, it wasn't over. But, as is usually the case, God had a plan for me that had nothing to do with my plan for myself. In fact, as I look back on the last few years, I feel like I've been counteracting His plan in my fight to keep my own plan in line.
For many of us, it is all too easy to tie ourselves up in the idea of who we think we are. We spend years tackling our careers or other callings to rise to the top. Images that come solely from who people believe us to be on the outside: a banker, a doctor, a realtor, a designer. And, more often than not, those identities--though they may garner a significant amount of attention--truly have little to do with who we actually are. And more importantly, often have nothing to do with who we are in God's eyes.
Sometimes we have to move on from these persona in order to explore the person that God has meant for us to become. To move on from the life we have set up for ourselves and begin to settle into the one that He would have for us instead.
As I've struggled with letting this image of myself go, I've burrowed further down into my hole, trying to cling onto the remnants of my past. It's been an eight months of kicking, screaming, crying and clinging with my fingernails. Not pretty to admit.
Though it is difficult to move on,and though we may struggle to hang on as our fingers are pried one by one off of our stronghold, it is comforting to know that our hands are not the only ones involved. As I've transitioned through this phase in my life, I've come to realize (slowly, of course--my special gift) that God has placed His hand of protection over me during this time. It is a placing so gentle and unobtrusive that I often didn't realize it was there. As He allowed me to continue on my own path, He still remained beside me, gently nudging me in His direction for me. Putting a passion in me to complete His goals instead of my own.
As Proverbs 3:5-6 states:
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."
As I've become more familiar with this truth, I'm beginning to feel His hand lifting. And, as it has, I've been struck by the influx of light and air that comes from letting go of my plan and moving towards what I believe He would like for me to do next. From this vantage point, I am more able to look back and clearly understand why the roots I stumbled over, and the divots I tripped into were there. T o see them as hidden blessings in jobs not taken in haste or out of desperation. To focus on the clearing up ahead, and the One waiting for me to move in His direction.
He is still there with me in this. But, now his hand has shifted. Firmly planted on my back and gently guiding me as we walk in the same direction, towards the same goal: His.
Timing Grace
After two months of living in a deep fog, I am coming out of my hole. I think a lot of us would like to crawl in our own customized get-aways right now. Times are scary. For some more so than others.
For some of us, the scariness comes from stories on the nightly news or our daily newspapers as we watch the statistics of job losses and home losses and wonder if life losses will follow as they did in the Great Depression. For others, the scariness shows up at our own kitchen tables as we struggle with piles of bills we can no longer pay due to job losses that were out of our control and a job market that flows against us.
For me, facing this economic nightmare has meant more than putting back extras at the superstore, or taking a vacation closer to home in lieu of something more exciting. For me and my family, it has meant food on our table and clothing on our backs. The nightmare of the possibility of our losing our home. The phone that won't stop ringing from bills that we can no longer pay, but one that stays eerily silent of job opportunities. Sadly, I know that I am not alone.
.
With the passing of my career, came the loss of nearly two-thirds of our income. Quite a hit for any family to take. Unfortunately for us, it arrived just after we'd recuperated from my husband’s job loss nearly a year before. Just as we got back on track with our bills, the cycle began again. Eight months into this second job loss, we were at a dead end. Our savings depleted. Our retirement cashed in and depleted. We were at zero.
The looming thought of bankruptcy kept us awake and on edge most nights. With our mortgage company refusing to work with us after 7 months of us trying to jump through hoops for them, we resigned ourselves to the fact that it was inevitable. We would do what we had to do to save our house.
I can’t tell you the number of times I cried out to God during this time. It has been the biggest struggle of my life thus far. I prayed to God daily even to the point of begging Him to help us. Pleading for mercy. However, as often happens with the timing of grace, my time line was immediate whereas God's was not.
In the midst of our struggle, a single joy surprised me as by husband began his walk with Christ. However, as our financial situation carried on and worsened with each passing week, more than losing my home, I feared that my husband might lose his faith in God and what that kind of loss would mean to our family and our future.
After weeks of gathering personal financial information I never expected another person to have access to, and a growing sense of desperation and fear, we were ready to file for bankruptcy. Once we decided our course, I wanted it over with immediately. We got everything ready, turned it in and waited for our date. When we were given one, a Tuesday morning, I was put out that the lawyer couldn't squeeze us in the Friday before. Another weekend of worry. Another weekend of unending phone calls.
Finally, our bankruptcy date was one day away. As happened each morning, my husband received a daily Bible verse by email. Though he had read these regularly when he originally signed up for them, he had begun to delete them without even opening them in the last weeks. But when one arrived in his in-box that morning, he opened it and found:
"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete." John 16:24
He considered that verse, wondered if maybe he hadn't been asking for God's provision in the right way and prayed one last prayer of help, in Jesus name.
When he picked up the mail that night, a thick letter from our mortgage company sat amongst a pile of unpaid bills. Foreclosure papers, he was sure. After 7 months of working with them, we had already been informed that they would not be modifying our loan. We had already received a letter from an attorney stating that foreclosure proceedings would begin. Not wanting to read the actual words, he sat the letter to the side and went on with his evening.
As he stopped at one last job site to check on some work, he was delayed and had to wait for someone to show up. Staring at the letter on his passenger seat, he decided to face the inevitable.
With less than 15 hours before our bankruptcy would become final . . .
God showed up.
A mortgage company that had fought with us over minute details of our lives, had consistently lost tax returns, pay stubs, and a variety of information we had sent to them; A mortgage company that listened to our last plea for help only one week before and told us that they would proceed with foreclosure anyway . . . had suddenly changed their minds.
This information didn't arrive days before, as it could have, or days after--as would have gone along with our recent stroke of luck. It arrived within our greatest hour of need. On the very day of our final attempt to cry out to God one last time. Our last time of hoping beyond hope that He would answer, but feeling in our hearts that the time for help had passed.
In His own, Perfect, BEAUTIFUL timing . . . God answered our prayers.
As we sat stunned and read and re-read the proposal, we felt so undeserving of the love He showed us even when we didn't believe He would. It reminded us again of how big our God is, and how much He loves us, even when we can't feel it, or see it, or even believe that it is coming. God performed a miracle for us before our very eyes. Had we gotten the appointment date the Friday before, or received the letter 16 hours later than we did, we would have missed His blessing.
He is an amazing God. An unexpected God. An unfailing God. And, a God with impeccable timing of His grace.
For those of you who are hanging by a thread so small you believe it may snap at the slightest breath, I encourage you to hold tight! As you struggle with thoughts of abandonment, be steadfast! As you look around at your life and your circumstances, do not give up! God is with you in your struggle, no matter how large or how small. No matter how desperate it may seem. Whether you see Him in it or not. Keep your eyes on Him. Ask Him for what you need. Then wait on Him.
And, when He shows up--In His own perfect time--your joy will be beyond what you could ever imagine. But, that's His style after all. Perfect Grace for imperfect people.
Daisy Chain -- a book review
Jed Pepper can’t get his young love, Daisy, out of his mind. Thirty years later, he stands amidst the empty ruins of the church where they met, still haunted by her memory.
A charming and mysterious girl, Daisy Chance has the kind of personality that draws people in like fireflies to a warm light, pulling them towards her again and again. In the dusty heat of Defiance, Texas, Daisy seems out of place. Too vibrant for such a lost and lonely town. Irresistible for someone like Jed.
When Daisy goes missing, leaving behind nothing but her shoe, the search for what happened to her leaves the whole town questioning each other and wondering if one of them could be capable of harming such a lively young girl.
The last to see her, Jed sets out on a quest to find Daisy and the love she so freely gave to him. But, when shoes go missing from the backyards of other Defiance children, he realizes there is something much deeper and much more dangerous going on.
Mary DeMuth builds her characters a memorable place in our minds. A place they settle into and stay behind long after the book is completed. With tenderness and sincerity she touches on difficult subjects to expose the secrets that lie in her characters hearts. Though the subject matter is often painful, DeMuth reveals her characters to us in gradual unveilings that cause us to care so much for them that we must continue through to the end.
Though the questions about Daisy remain unanswered in this first book of the trilogy, it is the other characters deep affection for her that leaves you waiting and anticipating the next morsel of information that will lead to the truth about what happened. Not a light read, but a deeply moving one.
Kneading More
Okay. Maybe not TOTALLY homemade, but there was a bowl, a mix and some kneading involved. As homemade as it gets these days.
As I prepared the dough, I made sure to follow the directions exactly knowing that (from past experiences) not giving the bread the right amount of time to get ready would result in a big, lumpy mess.
Even knowing this however, when I got to the kneading part, I created a short cut. I mean really. Is it REALLY necessary to knead dough for 15 full minutes before putting it in a pan? I didn't think so. So, I cut it to ten minutes. Then, I stopped at five. What can I say? My two year old showed up soaking wet and covered in grass after sitting too close to the sprinklers.
As dinner preparation came to a close, I checked the oven to see how my bread was coming along. It smelled delicious. The top was golden and crusty. But, it seemed to have stunted growth. It was only half of what it could have been. I was a little embarrassed to even put it on the table in front of three little ones who have a knack for pointing out the obvious. Though it still tasted good, and I even got complements on it, I knew it wasn't right. It could have been better. And, it was all due to hurried efforts. An unwillingness to put in the time needed to make it right.
It reminded me of another short cut I sometimes take when life gets busy. My time with God. While I strive to spend time with Him each day, as my days get crazier I sometimes cut my Bible study or prayer time short. Whenever I do this, my week has a way of getting crazier and more stressful. I can always tell when I'm taking shortcuts in growing my faith because I begin to feel as if I'm stunted in some way. As if I'm not as connected to Him as I could be. And, it's during those times that I tend to do things that are embarrassing or that I regret in my relationships with others.
Can you relate?
Can you tell a difference in how you feel each day based on whether or not you've drawn near to God? On days that you do, do you feel better as a whole? What about days that you don't?
Isaiah 26:3 says
"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."
Want peace in your life? Stay committed in your walk with God. Daily. Share your struggles, your joys and your gratitude with Him for all aspects of your day. Finding peace is easy. Keeping it takes commitment and a willingness to put in the time. Some short cuts aren't worth it. Be steadfast in your efforts. You will be glad for the results.
Me No Speaky "Girl"
In fact, when it comes to the secret language of women, I'm totally clueless. I grew up with boys. I learned to communicate directly or be forced to act out the entire Star Wars saga for eternity. I mean, sometimes you just want to play Wonder Woman, you know?
So, I've found myself in interesting situations throughout my life where I am surrounded by women who speak a secret language of sorts, for which I have no dictionary or interpreter. It puts me at a disadvantage and can sometimes cause hurt feelings that I didn't realize were being hurt.
Many times I've sat in large groups of women as they've gone round-and-round a subject to no avail. Quite frequently, I become the one that feels the urgent need to stop the merry-go-round by making a blunt statement or pointing out the obvious answer so we can move on. You can imagine how popular I am in these moments. I never seem to understand that many are enjoying the ride.
Just this week a friend and I planned to get together. Due to some technical difficulties via text (I'm an adamant hater of cell phones by the way) we completely missed each others point for two days, due mostly to "girl-speak". My sweet friend had planned on me coming over, had prepared some special treats and waited for me to pop in. I, on the other hand, had taken her cue of "you can stop by if you want to, or not" to mean that she'd really rather I didn't.
After an entire weekend of missing each others point, and probably a very fun time together, we both had hurt feelings. All because --you guessed it--me no speaky "girl" language.
Apparently, I speak boy. I'm use to directness. When I hear the slightest opportunity for an out in someones invite, I assume they are placing it there for a reason. They want an out. So, being the polite Southerner that I am, I always give it. But (and I'm a slow learner) sometimes, they are placing the "out" there simply out of politeness on their part. They don't want you to take it.
Ahhhh....
This isn't the only language barrier I have.
I often feel this very same way in my conversations with God. If I pray for something that I'm not sure He would want me to be pursuing, I offer an "out". Not, of course, that He ever needs one. But, I sometimes feel obligated to say something like "But if that's not your plan for me God, it's okay." When deep inside my heart, it is NOT okay. I really, really want my prayer to be answered. Which, of course, He totally knows.
Recently, I've become more direct in my prayers. I've come right out and specifically asked for exactly what I want, unapologetically. Knowing that as long as I am asking for something that does not go against my faith, He will provide. And amazingly, He has.
John 15:7 says:
Jesus said, "If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you."
If we remain in Him and He is in us, He will give us that for which we pray. This has parameters, of course, knowing that what we ask for must be within the boundaries of faith, but Jesus tells us to ask. He tells us to be direct.
So I write this to encourage you today. If you are struggling , take it directly to God. Keep up your relationship with Him. Stay in His word. Study what He may say about your very situation. Then . . . be direct. Pray for what you need. Pray for what you want. Knowing that He is asking you to. He knows your every want and need, your every hope and desire, and He longs for you to bring them to Him. Ask.
Tween Mania
As my young daughter inches further along in her tween years, I'm starting to understand why the category "tween" was invented. At the age of nearly ten, she is quickly resembling more and more of what I was like as a teen. I'm amazed at the level of intelligence and savvy of children at this age. She has far surpassed where I was emotionally and mentally at the age of 10. And, I have to say, I don't like seeing it. With every request her father and I make, eyes roll and lungs exhale. When correction is needed, she balks as if we have crossed the line in our relationship with her. And, when firm action is taken we are flat out informed of the unfair / mean / rude / disrespectful (okay, she is mocking us) / hurtful parents we have become.
Even when she fully understands that what she is doing is of her own will, when trouble finds her she must blame someone. Always, someone else.
As I listen to tones in her voice that make me cringe, I think back to my own mother and wonder how she made it through. (Thanks mom!) Surely, I didn't start at this age? I mean, I clearly remember being a bundle of joy until the age of oh . . . fourteen, right?
As struggles ensue on a daily basis, I often come out on the losing end of these battles. Not that I don't get my point across, and not that she doesn't comply (forced to comply is still comply), it's that I feel like a horrible, mean, scary and terrible mother for being so hard on her.
My greatest desire for my daughter is that she grows to see herself as God sees her, not as the world sees her. I want her to understand that rules are made for her protection, not her fun-prevention. And, I want her to feel that she is deeply, deeply loved by her family . . . but most especially by her mother.
It's frustrating.
At the same time in our home, I'm having some issues of my own. Recently, my career came to a crashing halt as I was laid off and soon found that the textile industry has shrunken to a mere speck of its former glory. While I was actually relieved in many ways, and glad to pursue other things of interest, it has been nagging at me. With seething undertones. In the middle of the night.
I struggle with this fact on a daily basis. And, while I am determined to stay on the positive side of the fence, someone is clearly trying to pull me to the negative. It has caused me to cry out to God more than once, asking Him for direction. Begging Him to let me in on the little secret known as: my future. And, I would imagine, I'm not exactly the picture perfect child in these moments. Perhaps whiny even, as I long to know Whhhyyyy.
Though I don't find myself blaming God for my predicament, I do feel the need to blame someone. And, I don't like that. However, the thoughts in my mind have led me to realize how similar to my tween I've become. So frustrated over trying to follow someone else's rules. So helpless as to what decisions they will make. And so quick to judge when they don't go the direction I want them to.
Funny isn't it? How the things we struggle the most with our children are often the very same things which we are struggling with God? I feel Him telling me to be patient. I know He will show me in due time. And, I know throughout it all that I will be ok because of His deep, deep love for me. But, it's still not easy.
As I struggle in my obedience to God, I am reminded that it is the very same struggle my daughter is having with my authority. And, I'm reminded that in order for her to feel safe, secure and loved, the best thing I can do for her is to remain constant. To stand with her, and to love her like crazy even when she seems unlovable.
I know that is what God is doing for me. I pray that I can follow His perfect example.
Love Finds You in Humble, Texas: A Book Review
Love Finds You in Humble, Texas by Anita Higman is the latest in the Love Finds You series by Summerside Press. This sweet, lighthearted read will leave you wishing the characters were real . . . and lived next door.
Trudie Abernathy is like many women you know: warm, funny and often imperfect. Her sister Lane is the sister you’d love to have but are glad you don’t: beautiful, ambitious and determined to help Trudie improve.
As Trudie’s thirtieth birthday approaches, Lane insists that what she needs most in life is a new look and a new chance at love. She treats Trudie to a makeover and insists on allowing a blind date to share their dinner celebration. When Trudie hears that the date is a man that Lane has “passed” on, she is sure she will be forced to spend her birthday with someone atrocious. But, when she finds herself sitting next to Mason Wimberley, a handsome and charming businessman who seems to “get” her quirky sense of humor, Trudie is smitten.
As the dinner evolves, so does a love triangle. Lane realizes her feelings for Mason as she watches him dote on her sister.
Unaware of Lane’s feelings, Mason makes his affection for Trudie clear and immediately begins to pursue her. But when Lane reveals to Trudie that she is in love with Mason, Trudie removes herself from the relationship out of a greater love for her sister than for herself. Still, she is devastated and struggles to get her mind around the choice she has made and to get Mason to divert his attention to Lane.
This is a funny and engaging look at the lengths that people will go to in order to protect and care for the ones they love. This love triangle, shared by sisters who care tremendously for one another, gives an interesting angle that will have you boucing back and forth between characters and choosing sides. Anita Higman pens an enjoyable read that will leave you smiling from the building kinship you feel with her characters.
If Patience is a Virtue, Where Does That Leave Me?
I've had a bad week. Actually, a couple of them. Difficult weeks. Taxing weeks. And they don't seem to be getting any better even after a relaxing weekend. Not good for a mom of three who lives for that breath of relief that only comes late Friday afternoon.
Two weeks ago, my company implemented a layoff of my entire division. Sixty people gone in an instant. No warning. No notice whatsoever. Sold to another corporation while we stood by helplessly and wondered what would happen to all of the hard work we'd put in over the years. Such is the nature of textiles.
It's not the first time I've gone through this. In fact, I've been down this path several times, as have most of the people in my industry. This is however, the first time that the layoff has been painfully stretched across the span of two weeks. Thus, my impatience.
After being told on a Tuesday that our company was sold, employees were shuffled into two piles. In pile #1 were those that would be interviewed by the new company to be considered for the few remaining spots they needed to fill. Pile #2 would dangle precariously for eternity while the original company decided whether or not to continue using them in the business. Well . . . that's not exactly how they put it. But, can you guess which pile I'm in? Yes, pile #2. I'm lucky like that.
Normally, I'm a very patient person. In fact, I was so calm over all of this through the first ten days, my husband was seriously concerned that I was having some kind of silent mental breakdown. I wasn't. I have a strong faith and felt totally assured that God would take care of me and my family through all of this. I was just waiting to see what He would do. The direction He would lead me in next.
When my boss called the Friday after the layoff to say it would be a few more days, I wasn't the least bit upset. I prayed that God would lead them to the right decision for me, whatever that might be.
When she called on day eight to say it would be two more days, I thought "OK. This is all part of the plan. I can wait a couple more days to discover my new path in life."
When she called again, on the second Friday night, to say it would be a few more days, I . . . well . . . I sort of snapped. My husband longed for a silent breakdown.
Of course, my lovely family was in the crosshairs. My poor children could not whine within fifty feet of me without being sent to their rooms. My dogs couldn't even request a trip outside to potty without me reprimanding "Really?! Again?!" Not the best days I've seen.
While only days before, a close friend praised me for being a "Godly woman" during this fiasco, I was starting to wonder if all of that was just a facade. If, when it came right down to it, I didn't have enough faith.
My patience was gone and I began to feel pretty bad about myself. Not for losing my job, which incredibly, I'm still not fazed by. But for only lasting ten days relying on God to lead. A mere ten days and the unraveling began. It led me to some serious thinking.
One of my favorite parts of the Bible is Exodus. After God freed His people from lives of brutal slavery in Egypt, they followed Him through the desert for forty years of whining and complaining. OK. The Bible doesn't quite put it that way, but that is essentially what happened.
People who had food rain down from heaven on a nightly basis would get up the next day and complain about the blandness of their diet. People who followed a fire in the sky would whine about why God had left them to die in the desert. Really?! With signs and miracles right in front of their faces? They couldn't see that God was with them? I love those guys. They are so real. And, I can totally relate.
While God travelled with them and provided their every need, they whined and complained without ceasing. So I have to wonder, why am I so surprised to find myself doing the same?
As I continue through my Bible-in-a-year reading this morning (now on year two), I came across the following verses:
"The Lord directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way?" Proverbs 20:24
"Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord." Psalm 27:14
He meant those for me today. And, I really needed to hear them. I feel my patience renewing. Sure, I'm not going to wait forever on my company to decide -- who can do that in times like these? But, I am willing to wait on God. To make sure that every decision I make is done so prayerfully. To listen and learn from what He places before me. To see the signs and miracles right in front of my face. For those things, I am grateful. For renewed strength, I am thankful. And for God's plan for me, I will be patient.
Hiding in the bathroom / Waiting in the car line / Pretending You're Cooking so you can read Book Worthy : The Missionary
Looking for a great read? The Missionary by William Carmichael and David Lambert hits shelves next week. Or -- preorder through Amazon and get ready for a page turner. 
Dave Eller, an American missionary in the barrios of Caracas has a passion for saving the impoverished children so prevalent amongst him. While he dutifully tends to the orphanage he and his wife Christie have been called to serve, he remains unsettled with thoughts of the many others that he can't reach. Angry at the Venezuelan government and the policies that fail to protect these children, David is all to eager to accept a questionable opportunity from a wealthy business man who promises a generous donation to the orphanage in exchange for a small favor that goes against the country's leaders.
When the deal does not go as expected, David's history of publicly denouncing the government makes him a target for an investigation that might uncover his recent impropriety. Realizing his mistake, David becomes unsure if he is helping a government operative, the CIA, or drug cartel. He quickly falls into a nightmarish reality of espionage and a covert existence that leaves him with the possibility of losing his ministry, his family and his very life.
This gripping novel presents unexpected twists and tension that will keep you holding your breath until the very last page. With vivid detail, Authors William Carmichael and David Lambert pull us into the contrasting beauty of Venezuela and the corrupt government that taints its citizen’s lives.
Not only will the novel keep you up at night and hiding in the closet for a spare moment to read, it will leave you questioning the times you've turned up the volume on your own voice louder than that of God's, who was nudging towards another path. As The Missionary shows us, the choice is ultimately ours, even if it places us in grave danger.
Due out March 1, 2009.
What an Ingrate!
Truly. From the very first day we bought it until now, four years later, I have loathed it. I still don't like the guy who sold it to me, even though I freely walked up to him and asked him for it. I feel like a big idiot driving around in it. Like I've totally given in to the mommy-vacuum by purchasing it. And, I hate how I'm more concerned about trash containment of cheerios and oreos than my pre-van concerns of whether or not I would look good in red or black.
Unfortunately, my van has taken my loathing personally. In the span of four years, 18 things have broken on it. From the am/fm switch cracking in half and falling off to much larger issues that have left us stranded on the side of the road.
Our last evil-minivan episode occurred over the holidays when a death in the family led us to leave town the day after Christmas. We made our way towards Virginia and stopped what seemed like five minutes later for a bathroom break (No. She didn't go before we left the house). As we pulled over, smoke began pouring from the engine. After checking under the hood, my husband quelled our fears, added some fluid and we continued on our trip.
Thirty more miles down the road, it started again. And the crying began. Our kids were terrified of the smoking car and began a crying opera that rivaled a Pavarotti performance. My husband checked it again, added fluid and continued on a little less sure of himself.
"I don't want to die!"
"The car's on fire!" bellowed from the back seat.
I wanted to join them. Instead, we stopped every thirty minutes adding fluid and waving smoke away as the longest trip in Virginia history was recorded. We managed to make it to our destination in only twice the time, missing the evening wake.
The next day we dropped the car at a local shop and went on to the funeral. Hours later we learned that it would be days before the car could be serviced with no idea how to estimate the cost. Our Christmas gift to our kids was a mini vacation. It looked as if that would be canceled. More crying ensued.
My husbands family stepped in and generously offered us a car to drive until we could come back to retrieve our own. After his funeral, we piled into Uncle Delwin's car and headed South. It was a humbling experience driving that car.
Like everything in his life, Uncle Delwin had taken excellent care of his 1992 Lincoln. After 16 years of use, it was in better shape and was a striking contrast to our minivan of four years. There were no cup holders, dvd players or automatic lights. The back seat was large enough for two small children to completely stretch out and fall asleep on. The backseat also sat incredibly close to the front, making me realize within an hour why parents in the eighties felt the need to use "the arm" as a method of correction. The trunk was twice as large as the minivan's storage area. It's seats were worn, and carpet stained. It had few amenities, yet drove beautifully.
It made me think a lot about Uncle Delwin and his priorities. As an aerospace engineer for NASA, he was so unassuming, you would never know that he'd spent his career doing things of which most of us could only dream. His house contained awards and items of recognition in such inconspicuous places (behind the basement bookshelf), that you would never come to know that he'd been inducted into the Aerospace Hall of Fame, or won awards for developing Hang Glider technology, if someone else had not revealed this information to you. His priority was his family. Nothing else mattered.
Though he easily could have lived in a larger house, driven new cars every few years, and spent lavishly on anything he wanted, he didn't. I began thinking over how hectic our lives had become, the many bad financial decisions we'd made over needless purchases, and why the rest of the world seemed to mimic our steps more than some one more deserving. Someone like Delwin.
In the seven hour trip down to Florida, I began to make a new plan for my family. I wanted to be like Delwin. I wanted to be more concerned with the big things than the little things. I wanted to stop being so ungrateful for the things I did have.
Then, it happened. Fifteen miles from our hotel, the Lincoln died. As we pulled over to a side road, my kids hit a new level of inconsolable. And I began to join them. As I sat crying in the passenger seat, watching my husband melt down outside of the car, I looked up into the clouds as the words "Jesus Loves You" formed in airplane writing across the skies. I kid you not. That happened.
Hebrews 13:5 says "Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."
I realized in that moment that I had not been content in my life. Like many others today, I'd spent years chasing after things that truly had little significance. The reason I'd been so taken aback by Delwin is because he so resembled who I longed to be most like : Jesus.
As it turned out, the repair on the Lincoln was very minor. Something even the Fedex guy that helped us push it out of traffic was able to diagnose. However, the redirection I needed would not be as easy. But, I'm focusing on it. After years of living without thinking, I'm forming a new plan of how things should be. And, it's all thanks to Uncle Delwin. I miss him now more than ever.