Grandma"s House

 

Grandma’s House

 

Growing up grandma lived with us. Her room was a sanctuary for her eight grandchildren. A listening ear and a comforting hug were a tonic to our rough and tumble household. On social media I found something that brought back memories of grandma. I share it in part. The author unknown.

 

“Can I Sleep at Grandma’s Tonight”

 

Grandma’s house is where the hands of the clock take a vacation with us and the minutes unhurriedly go by.

 

Grandma’s house is where an innocent afternoon can last for an eternity of games and fantasies.

 

Grandma’s house is where the cupboards hide old clothes and mysterious tools.

 

Grandma’s house is where closed boxes become chests of secret treasures, ready to be unveiled.

 

Grandma’s house is where toys rarely come ready, they are invented on the spot.

 

Grandma’s house is where everything is mysteriously possible, magic happens and without worries.

 

Grandma’s house is where we find the remains of our parents’ childhood and the beginning of our lives.

 

Grandma’s house, on the inside, is the address of our deepest affection, where everything is allowed.

 

I wonder how our world would be if more children had the opportunity to visit and sleep over at Grandma’s house. Would there be less rancor and division in our society if grandmas would rise up and say enough is enough. Time on Grandma’s lap with a hug and a kiss can do wonders for young, tormented souls.

 

Thanks, gram, for being there for me during those difficult days growing up.

 

 

Mentors

 

Mentors

 

By definition a mentor is a trusted guide and counselor. This is a person who has earned the right to speak into my life. Mentors are women and men who come with a variety of backgrounds and walk alongside sharing experiences, equipping life  tools and imparting practical wisdom. From personal experience, they are worth their weight in gold.

 

This past week I received news that one of my former mentors went home to be with the Lord. This man had a major influence on my life personally and as a pastor. Giving freely of his time and energy, he encouraged and equipped me for what lay ahead. Although there was a season of misunderstanding and disagreement, we were, by the grace of God, to forgive one another giving thanks for the season that we had together.

 

Mentoring is not an easy job. It takes a great deal of trust to allow another to bring correction into your life. I am no exception to the fact that there is more enjoyment to the positive someone has to say about you. Yet, life lessons are rarely learned by flattery. Embracing correction from one who has your best interest at heart is essential to maturing.

 

The goal of mentoring is not to make a carbon copy of yourself. Rather, it is the experience of walking alongside another encouraging and equipping by word and example. This allows both people to learn and experience all that God has to offer each person. In reality, mentoring is a relationship that welcomes mutual respect and willingness to share life.

 

I am thankful for the mentors God has placed in my life. Each came with unique gifts to share. I can honestly say that had I not taken the opportunity to walk with them, I would be living a less enriched life.

 

Thank you, Lord, for guiding my steps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting

 

Waiting

 

In Montana when you start thinking of spring in mid January you are in for  disappointment. Winter has a mind of its own and does not yield to the wishes and whims of mere humans. Although spring officially starts in less than a week, that is no promise that winter in over. Springtime in the Rockies is not a date on the calendar but a slow progression of melting snow and increasing sunlight.

 

I heard mention that robins are returning. I wonder how their migration places them in such a hostile environment so early. Hearing their chirping early in the morning is a clarion call that spring is coming sometime. My grandmother used to say, “the early bird gets the worm.” Not sure these freezing birds have a chance.

 

I find waiting hard. I know that inevitably the season will change. I remember how wonderful it feels to step outdoors seeing the freshness of trees, grass and flowers coming out of hibernation. No parka, scarf, gloves or boots to do it. Driving around town the other day, I saw someone in shorts and flip flops shoveling the sidewalk. I am not the only one with cabin fever.

 

Yes, waiting is hard. Another adage from grandma: “a watched pot never boils.” Whether I am waiting for the the change of seasons or changes in life, I am reminded of the words from the Old Testament prophet Isaiah:

 

“Those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.”

 

Still waiting!

 

Outhouse

 

Outhouse

 

Sitting by the campfire on a warm March afternoon I noticed a small shed nearby.    I never noticed it before. It was one of those nondescript structures that belonged to another age. Having faithfully served earlier generations, now it was in slow decay.

 

Rarely do you hear of outhouses in our postmodern world. Thanks to human ingenuity, indoor plumbing has replaced the daily visit out back. Once an integral part of life, making way in all kinds of weather to the small wood hut that brought relief and a moment of privacy.

 

I remember the outhouse on vacations up north where an indoor toilet was a convenience not yet embraced. Not that I am a connoisseur but through the years I made use of the outhouse in exotic places: Jericho, Israel (rustic to say the least but with a great view of the Dead Sea); Mombasa, Kenya, East Africa (out in the bush with no TP, praying an elephant would not stop by); Aguascalientes, Mexico (a short visit to be sure); in the Australian outback (one of the best); not to mention all the camp sites where at least amenities were provided).

 

Just in case you think I have completely gone over to the dark side, here is a short poem you might enjoy:

 

Ode to the Outhouse

 

The little outhouse that was out back, had two seats and a wooden floor. With last years Sears catalog, and a half moon upon the door.

 

A busy little place it was, things were always brewing. And everyone that went inside knew what they were doing.

 

A place of quiet and solitude while seeking some relief.  You’d feel a great accomplishment though your stay was always brief.

 

There’s nothing left but shambles now, it’s crumbled down by time. But it still is standing straight and tall, in the outback of my mind.

 

 

Lent

 

Lent

 

Not my favorite season. Every year Lent comes around in the middle of winter. In our northern climate that means short days and long nights with snow, ice and cold. As if that wasn’t enough to put up with, church provides a season of self denial in preparation for Easter Sunday which has less that a fifty-fifty chance of warm, sunny weather. More than not Easter egg hunts necessitate winter gear and shovels.

 

Growing up, Lent meant a six week marathon of giving up your favorite things: candy, TV, fun activities. In our church tradition it meant no meat on Fridays making room for Mac and cheese, fish sticks, and Spanish rice followed by family devotions. It was an endurance race to see if I could make it to the end of Lent without cheating. Not exactly the intended spiritual motivation.

 

You can tell that I don’t embrace that kind of self denial as a means of getting closer to God. There is much to be said for taking personal inventory of life on a regular basis. In fact, a daily discipline of keeping short accounts with God and others is much healthier than a once a year sacrifice.

 

After more than a year of living with the consequences of COVID, a contentious political election, social and economic upheaval, I am not sure what is left to give up. Our freedom of movement, time with family and friends, eating out, no vacation, to say nothing of the loss of human life has provided plenty of opportunity for self denial and sacrifice. To make matters worse, we were denied the indulgence of Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) to kick of the Lenten season.

 

The Bible exposes our desire for outward obedience while ignoring the hardness of our heart. In the Old Testament, the prophet Samuel rebuked King Saul for his disobedience which he tried to hide: “Do you think all God wants are sacrifices, empty rituals just for show? He wants you to listen to him! Plain listening is the thing, not staging a lavish religious production.”

 

Saul lost his kingship and his life. Let us not cloud our relationship with Jesus by focusing on externals and ignoring matters of the heart.

 

Do they make fish sticks anymore?