Working it Out and Working it In

Dear Faithful Readers,
I have decided to honour God's principle of Sabbath by leaving Whatever He Says fallow one day a week from now on. I believe that as I do that here, He will help me to take it into the rest of my life more faithfully too. So this, and every Saturday post from now on, will be my "weekend post."

Belinda
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My friend Susan: mother of nine and grandmother of ten; wrote to me last weekend to tell me how her day had gone. She wrote about her evening with her little granddaughter:

"I had a challenging evening. This is one conversation I had - (between me an Lizzie)

"I know everything." (Lizzie)

"You do?" (Me)

"Yes, I do."

"You can't possibly know EVERYTHING."

"Yes, I do. I know everything."

"You don't know when I'm going to die."

"Yes, I do."

"You do?"

"Yes, but I'm keeping it a secret."

Now, tell me. How do you reason with THAT?! And she's only five."

Lizzie was hilarious, but her attitude of certainty reminds me of my own self assurance at the start of my journey of faith.

At that time I often subjected my poor dad to what I can only describe as sermonizing, delivered with passionate zeal and disrespectful confidence.

I had a deep faith in, and understanding of, the One who is Truth, but in sharing that, I forgot that I was 16 and Dad was 40. I lacked the humility that listens before speaking.

Confident children grow into teenagers who are more sure of everything than ever, but who start to know less and less the older they grow. In the same way the older I grow, the more I realize how much I need God to teach me. This tends to take my attention off what I think others need to learn, although I still long that others who don't know the story of Jesus might know it and the peace that can be found through knowing him.

I think that may be the meaning of this verse in Philippians:

Philippians 2:12 (New International Version)
12 Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,

with this reminder in verse 13 of who is really doing the work:

Philippians 2:13 (New International Version)
13 for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.

The journey once begun, is still a journey, and a disciple will always sit at the feet of his or her Teacher.

Until the journey's end we will be working out our salvation, and working into our lives, the ways and wisdom of another Kingdom.

Transformations

by Susan

We sat at the kitchen table, my baby and I. Well, she's not really a baby anymore. She'll be old enough to legally consume alcohol in just a few weeks, but she'll always be 'the baby' in this family. (Poor kid).

Long dark blonde hair frames an animated face with eyes full of the light of success. She is handing me her latest assignment from school and is justifiably proud of the mark she received. 34 out of 35. She lost that one mark because she forgot one silly little heading. Still, not bad. Not bad at all.

Academics have never been Jorie’s strong suit. By the end of Grade 4, she still couldn't read. We borrowed a book from Belinda on our way up to a friend’s cottage that summer, "The Princess and the Goblin" by George MacDonald. If I remember correctly, it was the first book Belinda had ever purchased with her own money when she was only 11, and it was such a compelling story that it really did the trick for Jorie. We went to bed early each night, not to disturb our elderly hosts, and Jorie and I would sit up in the big old brass bed that sunk like a hammock in the middle and we would take turns reading. She would read one chapter and I would read the next. In the beginning I had to help her with nearly every word. But by the time Gurdie and the Princess reached their happy ending, Jorie was reader. What a victory!

She continued to struggle in school, however. One of our biggest challenges as her parents was trying to ferret out whether she actually had homework and how to get her to do it. She was a master at flying under the radar. She never seemed to have homework to do, and yet her marks were always mediocre at best. I could never figure that out.

We had her tested - a full psych. ed. asssessment, and contrary to what the school kept trying to tell us ("it must be the lack of structure at home") she clearly had some identifiable difficulties, especially in the areas of maths and science, although her ability with language and visual arts was above average. At the same time, a profound attention deficit was identified, which didn't help her cause at all. It's hard to keep on top of assignments when your brain is so naturally disorganized. But there are advantages that come with such a diagnosis! Like incredible creativity, for one. We saw signs of it everywhere. But alas, never on her report card.

How she got out of high school, I'm not quite sure, given the number of classes she missed and the amount of homework that went left undone. She did go back for a "victory lap" to pick up the last few courses she needed, and we used to joke that she was going through high school "on the installment plan" because whenever a course became too difficult for her, she always seemed to find a way to drop it while still able to get through by the skin of her teeth. I have worried about her more than any of my other children, I think, except perhaps the oldest one, who gave us lots of concern of a different nature. (And we him!)

During her teen years, it became evident that she is gifted with children. Jorie is shy, painfully shy, and unassuming, but she cares deeply about people and with children she could always relax. They seemed to feel safe with her and she clearly had a natural ability to put them at ease. And they her. She decided she wanted to spend her life working with children and eventually become a kindergarten teacher. But with her marks and the courses she chose, there was no way she was going to get into university. She settled on Early Childhood Education, and registered at the Orillia campus of Georgian College this fall. Her plan is to do as well as she can and go on to university as an adult student, once she gets that ECE diploma under her belt. We held our breath, are prayed alot, and blessed her on her way.

Highly motivated now, her struggles are not a thing of the past, but she has learned this fall to face them head on. She can’t afford to drop a course that becomes difficult. College is too expensive. There won’t be a second run at it. She won’t allow herself a second run. She’s going to make it the first time, and she’s going to do as well as she can. Her marks so far in almost all her courses have been outstanding. The paper she showed me tonight is just one piece of evidence of many successes.

That means she has had to face her fears and go to profs for help bytimes in order to understand the expectations and to keep all her assignments straight. No-one but her knows how hard that was to overcome her shyness and negativity, and to go ahead and knock on those doors.
“I figured out why,” she said to me tonight as she put her guitar back into its case and turned her full attention to explaining to me her latest epiphany. “It was Mrs. Jones.” (Not her real name.)

Ah, Mrs. Jones. That didn’t surprise me a bit. I had many a battle with that woman when Jorie was in her class in her primary years. I had tried to explain to her what “attention deficit” means, but she just thought we were excusing bad behaviour, and kept on about the “lack of structure at home”. Arghh. Her diagnosis was clearly “irresponsible and lazy” and instead of giving Jorie credit for doing as well as she did, considering the challenges of a brain that constantly galloped away on its own and required immense effort to bring herself back to the task at hand, she was constantly negative and critical.

“Mrs. Jones used to centre me out and humiliate me in front of the whole class,” said Jorie. “She would see that I wasn’t paying attention and then she would say, “What’s the answer, Jorie?” I would sit there and have nothing to say. The other kids would all laugh. And then she would lecture me for “not paying attention”.

Jorie went on to tell me about one of her worst childhood memories - how at recess the kids would role play with her as the subject while she stood and watched. One of her classmates would be in the centre of of a circle of her peers and say, “I’m Jorie. Duh-uh – I’m stu-u-u-u-pid. I don’t know the answer to anything.” Then everyone would laugh. When Jorie got extra help from Mrs. Jones, the teacher would sigh, exasperated after the second or third try, and scold, “I can’t believe you still don’t get this.”

Jorie said, “Mom, I learned that it was better to be a rebel and look like I was bad than to look stupid. So I stopped trying. I learned never to go for help because that would make me look stupid.”
Well, not anymore. “I’m not letting Mrs. Jones hold me back anymore,” said my beautiful daughter, as I watched the wounds of her past transforming into strong and beautiful scars of character before my very eyes. She went on to tell me about how she went to the director of the program a few weeks ago, and how she got a very different reception there than she did from Mrs. Jones. That’s when she showed me her near-perfect paper.

Suddenly I don’t worry so much about her anymore. And suddenly, well, maybe she’s not a “baby” after all.

The Answerer

Once upon a time there was a young-ish woman who thought that she had the answers to most situations. In fact, the answers were readily available at the tip of her fingers, if not her tongue.

Whenever people shared their worries and burdens with her, she could hardly wait for them to finish talking so that she could give them the answer that was obvious to her. In fact, once she thought of the answer, her eyes stopped focusing on theirs and she was only half aware of what they were saying until they were finished. She noticed that sometimes the people to whom she gave the answers seemed resistant to receiving them.

As she grew older, a strange thing began to happen. She discovered that there were layers of complexity in people's lives and in her own responses to them. Answers seemed less readily available as she encountered this messiness. Sometimes she was in need of answers too and the answers she once found easy to access for others seemed trite.

Fortunately, the woman, answer-less now; had a Friend who had better answers than she ever had. His answers were never quick, trite or simple, but they were profoundly loving, true and wise.

All she had to do to contact him, was to stop what she was doing, be still, tell him all about the situation and then quietly listen, with every part of her being.

His answers did not always come quickly, but she would always experience a peace that told her that he knew all about the situation, cared deeply about it and understood it from a perspective that was perfect.

Sometimes the answer that she thought she needed so desperately when she first contacted him, was delayed indefinitely. But strangely, it didn't seem to matter so much anymore.

All that mattered was her trust in her Friend's wisdom and love, and that her heart was always open and listening for the answer when it came...

James 1:5 (New International Version)
5 If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.

James 3:17 (New International Version)
17 But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.

In Flander's Fields

Susan Stewart, who writes here, sent me a link to this beautiful musical rendition of the poem In Flander's Fields, sung by Adele Simmons and set to a very moving video.

I would also like to honour the memory of Susan's father (also Brenda Gresik's father, one of our blog readers,) Hugh Alden Saunders;another old soldier: March 6, 1924--February 7, 2009 (and yes, his funeral bulletin is in my loft room.)

In Memory

I am so close to finishing the loft room at last; filling my last banker's box; this one with funeral bulletins, wedding invitations--that kind of thing--I can't steel myself to throw away these evidences of lives lived.

Yesterday evening, I picked up one small bundle of cards inside a bulletin that declared "A Service to Celebrate the Life of Christopher Cater--4th May 1921--22nd January 2003. My dad's funeral.

"How fitting," I thought, "That I should find this on the eve of Remembrance Day," for he was an old soldier; a role fulfilled for a just a few of the overall span of his almost 82 years, but one which once played, forevermore changed and defined him.

Inside the bulletin are two hymns: The Lord is My Shepherd, and Just As I Am, a hymn that meant something to Dad, even though he staunchly wrestled with God as though he was somehow the enemy. Here is the last verse, which with all my heart I pray was true for him:

Just as I am, Thy love unknown

hath broken every barrier down;

now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,

O Lamb of God, I come! I come!

Text: Charlotte Elliott, 1789-1871

On the back of the bulletin is a poem I chose because I loved it:

Prayer of a Soldier in France

My shoulders ache beneath the pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back.)
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart.)
Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek.)
I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy Agony of Bloody Sweat?)
My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come.)
Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.
So, let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.

Joyce Kilmer
(He was an American poet and journalist who died on the battlefield in World War 1)

Today we remember, and give thanks for those who sacrificed so much. We pray, too, for those sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers who are in harm's way overseas. Dear Lord, watch over them.