Think hospital. Think
needles and probes. Think what it’s like
for the youngest. They’ve hardly entered
this world, and already their bodies struggle.
Yet there’s a song that comforts them.
My friend sings, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of
the world.” She sings of how precious
they are to Him, and she sees a little crease forming at the side of their
small mouths, lifting into a smile. She
cuddles these young ones who often haven’t known life outside their hospital
incubator. No puffy white clouds in a
blue sky. No sunshine or fresh outside
air. They live among beeps and blinking
lights and sterilized equipment. My
friend initiates some of their first conversations, introducing them to the
scenery of their future walks in the park.
Some endure the loss of their twin who is healthy and already at
home. Many love the quiet, exhibiting a
cringe at any loud clanking. They enjoy
the comfort of the Cuddler’s heartbeat that follows the rocking motion of her
chair. The sense of touch is a wonderful
blessing. My friend sees their tensions soften, and their reaction compares to the gentle release of air from a balloon, in
that their little arms and legs finally realize a way to relax. She often rests a baby on her shoulder or
nestles one in her forearm, blessed also to meet many moms and dads who talk
of their own side of the trauma. It’s an
opportunity to lessen the burden of a scenario that's difficult for many. I think of her soft voice
singing the name of Jesus to each little ear, resting in each little bed,
being blessed by the only perfect Love that knows the intricacies of their
medical situations. Inside
the walls of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, the Lord is present, bringing us to the aid of each
other.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Teacher vs. teacher
In Matthew 23:10, Jesus cautions the crowds. The hypocritical ways of the Pharisees are
not to be followed. The teachers of the
law had been seeking the attention of men, and Jesus stepped in to encourage everyone
to do the opposite. Respect this role of
teacher, He said, but don’t imitate their self-serving ways. He instructs, “Nor are you to be called
‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Christ.” And upon reading that sentence, I suddenly paused. How do we view this role of teacher? I have known the role of schoolteacher to be
humbling, for I have seen students pose questions for which I had no immediate answer. I have known the role of parental teacher
to be humbling, for when needing to teach my daughters to share their toys, I quickly
remembered one time not wanting to share my Hershey's
chocolate. Never do I want to
approach a teaching role on the assumption I have a final understanding of
any particular subject, for there's always a new perspective to come. Yet with another kind of
humility, I’ve learned also not to automatically decline a teaching role because I
lack qualifications on paper. The Lord may want to teach someone through me, even without formal schooling on my part. Years ago,
some fellow piano players offered me their overflow of piano students, yet I rather
quickly declined. More recently, some friends
asked me to teach piano, and I dismissed the notion again. Yet these friends persisted, and I finally
asked the Lord what to do. I don’t hold
a music degree. Neither did I study at a
music conservatory. The Lord has been my
music teacher primarily, and on the occasions I did study through a formal
school or private instructor, it was mostly oboe. Turns out I’ve now been immensely blessed to
teach piano, sharing openly about the Lord as our ultimate Teacher. He guides both me and my dear friends who are
students. And with church, when asked to
teach about the Bible and the Lord, I rely on the Lord’s qualifications. On formal paper, I have only CEUs. No Bible college degree. Yet what a joy to share with others my
experiences with the Lord. He is the
only One for whom I spell teacher with a capital T.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Leaping with Daniel
I awoke early, early, early.
Too early for my choosing. The
idea in my head was to host Bible study on Daniel 5. King Belshazzar has a banquet that leads to trouble, and suddenly the
fingers of a human hand write a message on a wall of the royal palace. People use the phrase “the writing’s on the
wall” without referencing the Bible, and that would be the point of the
study: to read the actual stories from
which these indirect usages have come. I
emailed friends to see if anyone was available to study at the house, and lo and
behold, here they come, and I’m so happy for a new friend to join us too. Midway through our time together, I hear this
new friend say how perfectly this study fits her personal circumstances. And as she started explaining, my heart began
to melt. Here the Lord had awakened me days
ahead about a certain topic for the sake of someone who would attend our study,
yet whose email address I didn’t even have. He would make certain she received an invitation, in whatever way He deemed best, which I later learned was through one of our ladies who is her dear friend. Indeed the Lord loves us
that much—that He brings together many for the sake of one, setting our feet on
paths that lead to things we’re unaware of, bestowing blessings in all kinds of
directions. Earlier in the week, I had been
frustrated at not finding some notes I’d written last year that would relate to
our study this week. Yet when my new
friend commented on the perfect match within these verses of Daniel, I realized
it was good for me not to find those notes because they contained other references that could’ve distracted me. The Lord had let my eyes see only what He
intended. His orchestrations do amaze me. I’m like the one on the street who stands
motionless in the midst of loud honks and heavy traffic, with my mouth agape, wondering
afterward if my jaw really did hit the ground. I'm not really unaware of the surrounding traffic, but I'm spellbound at times to witness the Lord at work. Motionless on the outside, yet giant leaps of joy within.
Monday, June 11, 2012
To repair William Tell's overture
No time to lament. Our initial shock came
backstage, and we scrambled to consider options. It was time for the chase scene, and should
we attempt it without our usual William
Tell overture? Our sound system had crashed. And what about our individual microphones and the rest of the music? It was only Monday, and we had 6 more performances that week. What to do for a trio of actors from out of town? Imagine gyms
full of kids, and would anybody be able to hear anything without the sound
system? That afternoon ushered us
through a host of phone calls, some in search of a repairperson, some to touch
base with the rest of our schools, and one to call in a lunch order for fast pick-up. All the while, we asked the Lord to guide our path. A trip to Guitar
Center introduced us to a very kind
staff who sympathized and quite generously offered their time. A recommendation to Guitar and Banjo
Studio connected us with an electrician who diagnosed our transistor
problem. Even reaching that point was
mentally taxing, given our narrow timeframes and the miles that separated the
stores. Through all our phone calls and jaunts on the road, and amidst our regular
loading and unloading of stage equipment and even the basics of locating the
different schools and driving to each one, the Lord's timing did prove impeccable. At each school, He brought together an in-house sound system, whether using clip-on mics or hand-held or stand-alone ones, each occasion being accompanied by a new amazement for the sufficiency of His provision. From the children came wonderful levels of attentiveness as well as lively participation and hearty laughter, lending us to realize the Lord's blessing upon them as well. And we did pick up our
sound system from the electrician in perfect time for our last
performance of the week. All along the way, the Lord tossed in reminders of His presence. One afternoon, having
collected our to-go lunchboxes from McAlister’s Deli, I opened my horseradish
roast beef and did munch to my heart’s delight, just so thankful for some
nourishment in the quick recess between venues.
But then I saw a sheet tucked behind the sandwich, and in it was a
pickle. Something so simple brought an
escape for me. It seemed each bite of
that pickle was flavorful enough to lift me out of our hectic pace. As long as I ate that pickle, my backache
disappeared, my heart quit racing, and my mind was quiet, except to tell my fellow
actors how freshly I was blessed by that pickle. I remember our director telling us ahead of
time, “Oh, Monday afternoon should be leisurely.
Maybe we can go to the hotel pool.” The closest we came to the pool was to peer
at it through a window on our way to collapsing on our beds at night. But we left town having seen the Lord at
work. And that's exciting indeed.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Curly ribbon & waiting
The prize was $10 for guessing closest to the actual number
of jelly beans in the jar. I waged my
guess at 171, and soon I merrily tucked $10 into my purse. Should I buy lunch at Chick-fil-A? Maybe Pei
Wei? The answer was neither. I had asked the Lord what to do, and thereafter I kept
picturing the face of a new friend. I
wanted to compile a care package for her, in hope of easing the near-exhaustion she felt from travelling so many weekends. Ten dollars
would buy her some healthful snacks for the road and some other things just for fun. For her early mornings, I bought Target’s version of
Nutri-Grain berry bars. Just for
fun, I bought some Bugles, some peanut M&Ms, and a few other items. A bottle of green tea can be refreshing
anytime, so I put one of those in the basket too. At home, I bundled everything together and added
purple and green curly ribbons dangling on the outside and stamped her a
colorful card that included Philippians 1:3, because each remembrance of her
really does sweeten my day. The next
Sunday, I would be so happy to present her the gift. But next Sunday I didn’t see her. The Sunday after that, I didn’t see her. The next month, I didn’t see her. Two months later, I still hadn’t seen
her. Four months later, still no sign of
her, and truly my heart was heavy. Each
Sunday morning, I put her package in the car, and each Sunday afternoon, I took
the undelivered package back into the house.
I fluffed the ribbons back into place, smoothing their creases, and
placed the package again in its weekday residence on my dresser. I held such high hope for seeing my friend
again. Occasionally the notion surfaced
to unwrap everything and piece the items apart into our kitchen pantry, but
entertaining that thought made me feel I was abandoning the whole
friendship. From the start, I had felt
strongly compelled to prepare this package, and here now I determined again to
hold on and keep asking the Lord for another opportunity to see my friend. And then it happened. Almost 6 months of waiting, and there she was. I walked in late and sat on the opposite side
of the congregation. Peering to the
side, I noticed her distinctively dark curly hair flowing near her
shoulders. I could feel the corners of
my mouth jump up into a smile. Even
more, I could feel my heart swell. The
hard part would be waiting till after the sermon to leap across the aisle to
give her the biggest hug ever. She
explained her absence, and I explained my care package. It was an occasion that brought immense joy
for having waited upon what the Lord set in motion months before. In the words of Philippians 1:6, what He had
begun, He had carried to completion.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)