Plain Wisdom (6 page)

When I came to Christ in my early twenties, the one characteristic of who He is that changed everything about my life was
hope
. It seemed to create its own sense of thankfulness and well-being.

At first, thinking on hopeful things didn’t come naturally for me. A hopeful thought would skitter through my mind so fast I couldn’t catch it. It seemed to take about five minutes to recall the hopeful thought, but I chased it down. And every time it slipped away, I chased it down again.

A hopeful thought would come to me, and negative ones would stomp all over it, trying to assure me that gloomy thinking was realistic and hope was a liar. I had to purposefully latch on to hope. I had to protect hope, standing firm against pessimism over and over again—for days, months, and years.

God’s love, in whatever form it shows itself, wants to give us hope.

Whenever welcomed and protected, hope joins the rhythm of our daily life, and it whispers encouragement morning, noon, and night—through every season.

I know from my own walk that if we’ll hang on to hope, it will grow
stronger than despair. Hope in who He is. Hope in who we can be. Hope for our loved ones’ futures.

Hope sees what cannot be seen with human eyes. It feels what we cannot touch with our hands. And it accomplishes what cannot be possible.

Giving my fingers a break from the pricking needle, I sat back and admired the beautiful quilt stretched out before me. The colorful fabric pieces formed a perfect Shining Lone Star pattern. A dozen or more ladies sat around the quilt frame, stitching away as we all got better acquainted.

For years the Cumberland Valley Relief Center in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, in cooperation with the Mennonite Central Committee, has opened its doors to many different church groups, allowing them to come together to volunteer their time for a variety of relief projects. There is a job for everyone: some quilt or knot comforters, others weave rugs or make homemade soap, and still others prepare health kits, AIDS kits, newborn-care kits, and school kits—all to be shipped to people in need.

We also help with the Mennonite Central Committee’s meat-canning ministry, which has been providing food to hungry people for the past sixty-two years. Every year people in approximately thirty-eight locations across the United States and Canada can high-quality meats to ship to at least twenty-two countries. These shipments, along with other kinds of material aid, provide significant help for the poor.

When the traveling cannery comes to the Chambersburg area for a week’s worth of canning, the churches come together. Fresh boneless turkey thighs are cut and canned. The cans are washed, labeled, and packed for shipment. By the end of the week, forty-eight thousand pounds of meat have been packaged in 26,880 cans. The whole process is under inspection, and all volunteers are required to wear white caps and aprons or coats.

As I stood at the door of the cutting room, observing the assembly line with everyone dressed in white, I envisioned a bit of heaven on earth—people of diverse backgrounds from different church groups with varied lifestyles all coming together … working side by side for the sake of others … bringing them hope and encouragement … in honor of the same God.

When our two older boys were in high school, they joined numerous extracurricular activities. My husband and I had known the busy teen years would shift how we handled our days, and we were ready to roll with the punches. But our five-year-old was caught off guard.

One evening I prepared a meal, set it on the table, and called our youngest to the table. The house was empty except for the two of us. His teenage brothers were at marching band practice, and Dad was still at work. Tyler came to the kitchen, took his plate off the table, and moved it to the island. “Lunch again, Mom?”

“No, this is dinner.”

He frowned and shook his head. “It’s not a real dinnertime unless everyone is here to sit at the table.”

“But you said you were hungry. And your brothers and dad won’t be home for another two hours.”

“I’m not hungry for food as much as I wanted us to have dinner together.” He pushed the plate back. “Can I just have an apple?”

I knew what he meant. I felt the same way.

Is it possible that when God created humans to need food, part of the plan had nothing to do with meeting physical needs? Newborns can’t feed themselves, so their first connection to Mom and Dad is warm, tasty milk filling their empty bellies while the parents snuggle with them, making eye contact, cooing or singing. Putting a high priority on that bonding time is good seed for future relationships and self-esteem.

Sometimes I wonder how emotionally distant we could become if our physical bodies didn’t require sustenance. Fortunately, adults eat two or three times a day, so we have numerous opportunities to come together and emotionally connect with those we share a life with.

Every year we hold an Amish school sale, auctioning off homemade items to English and Amish alike, to raise funds for the local school. To reward those who organize and survive the busy auction, we hold a lobster supper. Our friends from Massachusetts, Chuck and Carolyn, have been faithfully attending the sale and bringing fresh lobsters for the past eight years. We add steaks, baked potatoes, a salad, and some fresh fruit, and it turns out to be quite a feast.

The evening of the thirty-first annual auction, a weary group gathered around my dining room table, ready to relax and unwind. At the last minute my husband and I decided to add a few more leaves to extend the table. While we pulled on both ends at once, the runners underneath gave way. My table broke in half and crashed to the floor, spilling platters of food and cups of melted butter everywhere. One guest went sliding across the floor, nearly falling in a puddle of butter.

I just stood there, watching the chaotic scene around me, too stunned and embarrassed to move. Finally getting down on all fours to retrieve a runaway potato, I came face to face with my husband, who was going after the lobster. Daniel looked at me and said, “Monday morning you go to Zimmerman’s Furniture and buy a new table.”

Suddenly my humiliation turned to excitement. My old table had
been giving me grief for a long time, and the prospect of owning a new one was thrilling.

The right word spoken at the right moment can turn a negative situation into a positive one. When our perspective of an event changes, our attitudes change as well, even if the circumstances remain the same. After the table had been temporarily put back together and I was helping my guests find their places again, I felt blessed for our time around the table. Even a broken one. Even in the midst of all the chaos. Somehow those pieces of wood had managed to knit us all together.

The week before Christmas, snow fell outside, and the windows creaked and groaned from the wind. Inside, the fireplace shed a warm glow across the floor and set to shimmering the shiny wrapping paper on the many gifts stacked beside me. I had just finished wrapping the last one and added a small green bow.

As I looked at all the packages, my eye caught a middle-sized one wrapped in blue paper. Mom had wrapped it, and I knew it was mine. Suddenly I could hardly wait for Christmas! I eagerly anticipated the day when my whole family would get together to exchange gifts, sing holiday songs, and enjoy family fellowship.

Clasping my hands in front of me, I envisioned my siblings’ smiling faces as they peeled back the last of the paper, revealing their gifts inside. Excitement surged through me at the thought of my own blue box.

Then I thought about Christmas being Jesus’s birthday. There I was, surrounded by packages, bags, and boxes full of beautiful and useful items, but none were addressed to Him.

I bowed my head and breathed,
What can I give You for Christmas, Lord?

In a whisper as quiet as the falling snow, I heard Him say,
Your heart
.

My dad didn’t believe in bribing his children into good behavior. We were to tell the truth, work hard, and keep our mouths shut at all the appropriate times simply because those were the right things to do. And with a no-nonsense dad like mine, we did.

The only time he seemed to have no qualms about offering incentives was during vacations.

At least once each year, we traveled from Maryland to Big Mama and Big Daddy’s home in Glencoe, Alabama. If we four kids could make it to a key spot of the sixteen-hour trip without a break, he’d stop at a specific roadside stand and buy each of us one thing we wanted. The budget was one dollar per person, but Dad would cover the tax. He even allowed items slightly over a dollar.

We each got the same treat every time. My sister wanted orange slices. My oldest brother wanted saltwater taffy. My other brother wanted a pecan roll. And I wanted one of those adjustable rings.

After traveling for what seemed like forever, I’d see him look at his watch, then in the rearview mirror. “We’ve got about two more hours. How’s it going back there?”

Oh how I could have used a restroom, a cup of water, and a few moments to stretch my legs. But I’d say, “I’m good. Do you think they’ll have the deep blue turquoise ones this time?”

He’d smile. “I don’t see why not.”

Once we stopped and after we all hurried to the restroom and back, Dad would stand beside me at the jewelry stand and help me pick out the ring I’d been dreaming of for a month. I loved that he helped me choose. It sealed my sense of victory, and the man behind the counter treated me with respect rather than urging me to hurry up.

Many years later I realized that Dad had figured out ahead of time just how long I, as the youngest, could comfortably go between bathroom breaks. Then he added a little time. That way he could get as far as possible, and I could feel victorious with the ring on my finger.

Those experiences taught me the power of ignoring my body’s impulses in order to attain a higher goal. I learned that I could meet a challenge and that others could benefit from my restraint. I also discovered that the sweetest part of any victory is the sense of winning against one’s own self. And that hard times go by much more quickly when hope is calling.

That was a lot to learn when all my dad wanted was to get to the destination as quickly as possible while keeping the mood light during the long trip. What lessons can your children learn if you plan something that requires them to be responsible for part of the success?

T
IMELESS
B
EGINNINGS