Storms and Safety

Well, having closed my chapter as an instructor, here I am now, at home most of the time, doing at-home tasks like laundry, cooking, and kitchen cleaning. For the most part I like taking care of my little world here. A common piece of advice we might hear from time to time is not to get too attached to temporary things, like the little objects one finds to take care of around a house. This is good advice in the sense that we shouldn't rely on material things for happiness, but this approach, if taken too strictly, may also prevent some vulnerability that it might be good for us to experience.

In the past week or so we have had some severe amounts of rain and areal flooding. One night when the weather was particularly bad, my husband and I brought in some of the items from our balcony so they wouldn't blow away. We couldn't bring in the potted plants, and I sat there looking out the window with concern. I just knew that my little precious growing things would be destroyed by morning, either by wind or too much water. When I expressed my fear to my husband, his response (after surprise that I would feel so strongly about plants), was a wise one. He told me that when he was growing up in the plains of Colorado, every year farmers would plant their crops. They would tend their crops with diligence. They would hope for a good outcome so they could make a living. And every year, it seemed, some magnificent storm would come through and destroy at least one farmer's crop fairly completely. That was just the way things were. My husband reminded me that ultimately, the things we care for and try to protect are not guaranteed to be safe.

Does the lack of guarantee mean that I cannot invest in loving and caring for temporary things, such as plants on a balcony? No, I don't think so. To protect ourselves from all hurt we would have to close our hearts to all love (C. S. Lewis talks about this in The Four Loves). Loving is not "safe."

Jesus treated children and child-likeness (not childishness) with respect. He said, "Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these" (Matthew 19:14). He also said that "whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all" (Mark 10:15). Children often seem more fully open than adults are to loving and accepting a cherished thing and also fully grieving it if the thing is lost. In a wonderful memoir called Zippy: Growing Up Small in Mooreland, Indiana, Haven Kimmel recounts some poignant memories from childhood, one of which reveals the full embrace of unfiltered love and grief that a child is capable of. She tells of her pet chicken:

Speckles and I loved each other. Dad never had to tell me to feed her - I couldn't wait to see her every day. . . . [A]s I marched past Dad's tilty tool shed all I noticed was the quiet. When I got to the cage I saw why: one whole side of the cage was ripped apart, and inside there was nothing but feathers. . . . I turned and ran into the house, . . . and threw myself onto the couch. I wailed and sobbed with such abandon . . .

Could receiving the kingdom of God like a child look like this girl's response to her pet chicken and its death? Should we receive our relationship with the Lord (a thing that actually is guaranteed not to be lost) so absolutely, with such lack of self-consciousness, with such matter-of-fact recognition of the goodness of this relationship and its impact in our personal lives? There is no hesitancy, false humility, or self-conscious embarrassment on the part of this little girl as she loves and then grieves the loss of her sweet pet.

As I navigate life and become attached to little beloved things, whether they be plants or even new family members, hopefully God will be teaching me this child-like loving and, when necessary, grieving. There will be a day, though not in this life, when nothing will be lost again, and the open loving will be completely free. I guess watching my plants go through the windy storm without closing my heart to them is just practice.

Coping with "Lasts"

I am rushing to the end of something that's been part of my life for nearly five years now: my job as a college instructor. It feels more accurate to say that I am being rushed to the end of it, since the semester is going to stop, with or without my consent. This job has also been my first and only (aside from odds and ends or retail jobs here and there), which I started just after finishing grad school. You might say that my entire life has involved "doing school" in one way or another, in fact. The awareness that I'm encountering a series of "lasts" has pressed on my mind for a while now, and it certainly adds a bitterness to the sweet expectation of starting a new and exciting chapter of life when the baby is born this summer. Any kind of change is always difficult for me, and coming to the end of a thing can be particularly challenging.

In Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry often provides insightful comments along with lovely imagery through the narrator/protagonist, Jayber. The most recent such observation to strike my fancy was this:

Making the garden completed my departure from Port William. At that season I had naturally regretted giving up my garden in town. I had mourned over it, remembering the way the fresh young plants had looked in the long rows behind the shop. They had been art and music to me. But now I had planted another garden in another place in a different kind of ground, and expectation pulled my mind away.

Jayber has experienced the end of one long and meaningful portion of his life and is transitioning to a new space and a new role. I admire the attitude, represented in this passage, that recognizes the validity of both mourning a loss and celebrating a new beginning with eager anticipation, but it sure is a tough attitude to maintain!

I had read that passage last week, and then just this past Sunday, our pastor at church discussed the verses in John 4 where Jesus tells His disciples that the fields are ready for harvest (a spiritual harvest in the kingdom of God). One of the points the pastor made was that wherever God has placed us, whether it's a job or a neighborhood or a new country, is the field that we've been assigned. Rather than jealously looking at someone else's field or regretting the loss of a field we were in once before, we should focus on what God is doing in the current field around us.

Both of these "lessons," which arrived in such close succession, together strike me as God's gentle reminder that even though my upcoming transition may be a challenge, it is also a good thing. He will not keep me in the same field my entire life; there will be changes throughout, and my role no matter what is to trust that He places me with deliberate care and to serve within that placement. If my field suddenly seems smaller (a change from the sphere of the working world into the sphere of one little apartment with one little family), that does not make it less important. Rather than regret the end of my old position, I should let myself be wrapped up in the joy of my new field, whatever it looks like. A few little potted plants on a balcony can hold as much beauty and require as much careful attention as many acres planted with a crop of wheat.

Coleus on My Balcony

Not Knowing Is a Mercy

Sometimes, you make decisions that are thought-through, methodical, cautious. You know in advance what to expect (within reason, anyway) and you make a choice that seems wise.

And then sometimes unexpected things happen and you don't have the chance to know in advance or think through what you would like to do. We recently purchased a used car after careful planning and consideration, and I felt calm about it. Immediately afterwards (within the next two weeks) we experienced several car-related, unexpected expenses. The first expense, buying a car, seemed so in-control, and then all of a sudden I was thrown off course by the unexpected and was tempted to panic and get frustrated that these car expenditures were being required of us. I chatted with my mom about how I had to purposefully remind myself that money isn't our security, and that I knew we had to keep trusting God with these situations that arose without advance warning. She mentioned to me that these surprise events are one way He can cause us to practice trust. (Notably, they are not surprise events to Him.)

All of this reminded me of a passage that had struck me a while back when I first read it in Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow:

Thinking to try to comfort him, I said, "Well, along with all else, there's goodness and beauty too. I guess that's the mercy of the world." 

Mat said, "The mercy of the world is you don't know what's going to happen."

I think both points are true. Yes, God gives us a lot of goodness and beauty even in simple, everyday things, and these can encourage us as we get through each day. But also, not letting us know the future is actually a great part of God's mercy to us. Even though I often think it's better to know things in advance, since I like to plan and feel like I'm in control, I know it's true that in reality not knowing the future is much better for me. Imagine if we already knew exactly all of the sadness and suffering that we and our loved ones were to go through in our lifetimes. I think I would tend to want to just give up now, in that case! Furthermore, God is merciful in letting us experience the unexpected so that we learn to lean on Him. If we could plan for every "crisis" moment that we already knew we would experience, then where would be the need for trust?

On the other hand, there are certain things He has let us know about the future (and present) that are solid, certain, and completely reassuring. I love the confidence expressed in all of 1 John about how we as children of God are able to know many things. Most significantly, for example, John writes, "These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life" (1 John 5:13). In the end, we can know with confidence that things will end well for us "who love God, . . . who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). I don't need to worry.