Fireworks

Like thousands of other families, we watched fireworks on the 4^th of July.

I wondered what it is about fireworks that makes them so memorable. We talked at work the following Monday about where we had seen the best fireworks ever. We talked about how long the shows lasted. Everyone seemed to have a favorite fireworks story.

I can remember watching fireworks with my parents when I was little. We’d drive up to a point that looked out over our western Kentucky town and sit in the car to watch. I don’t remember getting out of the car, like we do now, but maybe we did some years.

The first fireworks show I watched with someone other than my parents was during the county fair. I was in high school, or maybe college, and was with a group that included a boy I had a crush on. We all had great fun saying “ooohh” and “aahh” to express our appreciation for the bigger explosions of sound and colors.

As a family, when our children were small, we made a big deal out of watching fireworks. We got to see them over a lake or river many times; the colors reflected off the water increase the pleasure of the spectacle. We watched them from the shadow of the Minnesota state capitol as the formations sparkled above us; another year we watched from a bridge that crosses over I-94 in St. Paul, about a mile away from the capitol.

One time, we set up “camp” on a blanket on the shores of the Mississippi to enjoy a boat parade followed by a fireworks display. During the parade, our four-year-old son fell asleep and when the fireworks began, he woke up suddenly and was scared. He began to cry, and I don’t remember enjoying the fireworks at all that year—not that I blamed him. We just didn’t realize how frightening it would be to a four-year old to wake up to that noise. I think he enjoys watching fireworks now, though. In fact, he and his wife saw the new year fireworks in Hong Kong a couple of years ago, and he said that our little displays just don’t compare.

So a fireworks show always brings back memories for me—and, I believe, for others. Perhaps it’s because these paintings in the sky are as close as we humans get to Creating something as big as the universe. When the chemicals explode and create those multicolor designs—how do they get a bunch of rockets to form happy faces and hearts?—it’s like a huge multidimensional sculpture that is rivaled only by nature’s fireworks.

The show we watched on the 4^th this year took place following a thunderstorm. So the fireworks were surrounded by an awesome lightning display as the storm moved away from us.

“The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship,” declared King David (Psalm 90:1, NLT).

That’s where we see the best fireworks. Ooohhh. Aaahhhh.

Remembering a Great Lady

My husband and I recently learned of the death of a dear friend. Though she was his friend first, I came to care for her deeply as well. As we talked about her, I learned that many of the qualities I love most about him were learned from her. So in tribute to her, here is his remembrance of Jean Gibbs:

Jean Gibbs was the first person, other than an aunt, who really showed me what relationships are all about.

I met Jean through her daughter Hilarie when I was in high school, and I soon learned that Jean Gibbs knew more about being a teenage boy than I did. I would perch on a stool in her kitchen and watch the family interact. As they came and went, they would talk to me—especially Jean, who would impart her words of wisdom in her gentle, knowing way as she prepared cranberries in more ways than I ever imagined.

I never felt like just another kid passing through. Years later, I would take my wife to meet the Gibbs family and she, too, was welcomed like a member of the family.

Jean and Phip taught me by example how to love each other, and Jean gave me some rules about what women need. I needed to make my family better than what I had come from, and Jean helped me to do that. She taught me:

• “It’s nice to have a man around the house.” By this she meant that little things like drippy faucets are not so little to the woman who has to listen to it, and even though the husband is tired when he comes in, it is important to fix those “little” things.

• “I love it when we think alike.” I learned that, if we weren’t thinking alike, things would go easier if I adjusted my thinking to hers.

• “It’s easier to hold onto someone you love if you hold loosely, not with a tight rein.” Was she talking about sheep, horses, or people? She explained that people need their personal space and it’s important to give them time and space to work out their differences.

From about the seventh grade, my family never ate together. There were eventually 10 kids, and there was no room in our house for everyone to gather at the table. I didn’t realize that families did that until I saw at the Gibbs’ house how important they made it to sit down together for dinner. Because of them, I made a point for our family to eat together when our children were growing up.

I learned from Jean and Phip to keep a sense of humor about life. When Hilarie and I were dating, I would often spend the weekend, sleeping on the couch since they lived more than an hour from my house. I remember one night after Jean and Phip went to bed, the two of us were sitting on the couch kissing. After a short while, we heard one shoe or boot hit the floor above us—hard. We waited for the other shoe to drop, then burst out laughing when it didn’t. We knew it was time to say good-night.

My wife and I have adopted similar humor. Jean used to say the first one to mention divorce would have to take the kids. Our first significant purchase was a brass bed, and we always said that the one to mention divorce first gets the kids and forfeits the brass bed!

Many of the things I have done and do to take care of my family are because of Jean’s lessons—teaching my daughter to dance, spending time in Boy Scout activities with my son, making sure my wife always drives the “good” car.

Jean made sure their house was a safe place for me when I needed someplace safe. When I did a dumb thing and they reprimanded me, I knew it must have been really dumb if Jean thought it was, so I never did it again. That probably kept me out of a lot of trouble later in life.

After I married, we visited the Gibbses several times. On one visit, Jean told my wife that she knew that Hilarie and I were too much alike, and that she was glad to see us happy and not fighting all the time. She was happy that I had found peace and happiness, and that meant a lot to me.

We saved every Christmas letter she wrote us, and out of all the Christmas letters we received each year, I cherished hers the most. It was a loss when she was no longer able to write her letters, but she was often in our thoughts.

The world is a lonelier place knowing that Jean Gibbs is no longer in it. But I’ll always remember that she could pitch hay with the best of ‘em.

Signed by the Author

The conference I attended last week included a number of writers who were signing their books. I am always amazed how long people will stand in line for a book to be signed by the author.

Granted, these were not your ordinary book lovers—they all own or manage bookstores. I consider myself an “extreme” book lover, too. This is evidenced by the stacks of books in my house and the multiple books that I am reading at any one time.

Still, I had no desire to wait for as much as an hour to get an autograph. Just give me the book and let me go, thank you very much. Of course, my week was crammed with meetings, so I really didn’t have time to stand in line. And I tried really hard to avoid taking any books home with me, due to the new airline baggage fees. (I made an exception only for novels.)

Disclaimer: I have been known to queue up for certain authors in the past.

Why does having the author’s signature make a book seem more valuable? In the case of classics, it really does increase the value. Imagine what a signed copy of Huckleberry Finn would bring at Sotheby’s auction.

Do we treat ourselves with the same value? When we set out to perform a task, do we remember that the work we do is, in effect, a creation that is signed by the Author? Since God created us, He is making us into His handiwork. So whatever we do, or say, or how we act, reflects our Maker. And He always signs His work.

God, help me to remember that I am signed by the Author, and I am of great value.

Aliens in a Strange Land

I'm attending a convention where there's a lot of talk about high tech business solutions.

The rental car has OnStar, but no GPS. The GPS I brought with me doesn't cooperate, and the highways here are confusing. If you have a wireless, electronic pass, you can zoom right thorugh the toll booths, but without that, you need correct change or you'd better get in the line where there's a live person.

The TV in the hotel room shuts itself off after 30 minutes. I'm sure there's a way to deprogram it, but I can't figure it out. At least the bedside alarm clock/radio is easy to use.

I could use voice dialing for my new cell phone headset, but I have to read the manual to find out how to set it up.

The digital photo holder I got for Christmas is sitting next to the computer at home. It has the pictures I loaded initially, but I haven't had time to load the latest photos of the grandkids.

My MP3 player plays the same 20 songs because there's no time to load new ones. I'm tired of listening to Bob Dylan and the Kingston Trio when I'm walking.

High Tech is great, yet not so great. I'm writing this on a laptop in the convention center. There's a free public WiFi here, but the signal strength is so low, I can't get on the Internet. Meanwhile, my battery power is going down rapidly. Without power, all my high tech gadgets are just heavy paperweights.

I plugged in my cell phone at the last hotel, which we checked out of yesterday morning. After spending a day at SeaWorld before the conference started, I suddenly remembered the phone. Of course, the housekeeping manager at the hotel was gone by the time I called. I was facing a sleepless night as I thought of all the long distance calls being placed on my cell phone. But, lo and behold, there it was in the suitcase! I still don't remember putting it in there, but praise the Lord!

But those hours fretting over it made me realize how vulnerable I am to technology. Someone today said that those of our generation are aliens in a strange land. We can't keep up with the natives, who have been born and raised with texting, IM, MP3s, social networking, blogs. They don't know what the world was like before the Internet. If it weren't for Harry Potter, they probably wouldn't know what it's like to curl up with a good (low tech) book.

Aren't we all aliens in a strange land? According to 1 Chronicles 29, we are "aliens and strangers in [God's} sight" and everything we have belongs to Him (14-16, NIV). If we want to learn how to live in this world, whether high tech or low tech, we need His guidance

Technology is great, but there are times when I will choose the low-tech option for simplicity's sake. And, sometimes, I think I'll just go "no tech" and listen to what God is trying to tell me without all the "buzz" from the atmosphere around me.

“Forgive the Typos”

Where I work, we often receive copies of books for possible review in our magazine. One that arrived the other day had been self-published.

Now, many good books have been self published. What struck me about this one was the white index card stuck in the middle that had a hand-written note stating, “Please forgive the typos.”

The author may have had very good reasons for not realizing there were errors until after the book had been printed. No doubt, he wanted us to know that he realized the mistakes were there.

Isn’t that often what we do? We do something that we know is wrong, then we say, “God, please forgive my mistakes."

I have good intentions not to gossip, but I hear about a co-worker who is having problems and I tell a friend about it. Later, I pray, “I’m sorry, God. Please forgive me.”

Or God has convicted me that my tendency to complain is wrong, and I vow to keep a positive attitude. And I do—until a project with an unrealistic deadline is assigned. Then the old spirit rears up and spits out sarcastic, bitter comments. But again, I say, “Oops, God. Just don’t pay any attention to my errors.”

“Please forgive my typos,” I say to God again and again. The good news is, He does. “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west” declares Psalm 103:12 (NLT).

Even though God forgives my sins, I wonder if I am taking the easy way out when I knowingly commit a “mistake,” expecting God to overlook it. Still, it is reassuring to know that I can go to Him when I mess up and that He will, indeed, forgive me.

So today, Lord, when I sin—because I will, whether intentionally or not—please forgive my typos.

Kicking and Screaming, Part 2

Today I felt like God was smacking me “upside the head.” Lovingly, of course.

Two friends and I started prayer-walking this morning. We decided to pray silently as we walked, which was a good thing, since I don’t think I could have prayed out loud without getting choked up. Every time I tried to pray what I thought we should, God jerked me around. It seemed as though He was saying, “No, honey, that’s not what you need to be praying about. I want you to pray about your own heart.”

Then, in devotions—I’m blessed that we have devotions every morning at work—we sang Have Thine Own Way and I Surrender All. And God kept asking me, “Why won’t you trust Me, honey?”

See, I have been praying for something specific to happen, something that I thought was the only way a certain situation would improve. But I realized this morning that God is big enough to change the situation in an even better way than I envisioned. He wants me—instead of telling Him what to do—to just trust Him.

As if that wasn’t enough to convince me, I picked up a devotional book around lunchtime. I turned “by chance” to a chapter about trusting God. Once again, I realized that I haven’t been trusting Him to take care of the difficult situation.

Tonight, I found these verses in Nehemiah 18:

“So turn from your evil ways, each one of you, and reform your ways and your actions.' But they will reply, ‘It's no use. We will continue with our own plans; each of us will follow the stubbornness of his evil heart’ ” (verses 11-12).

It’s pretty clear that God wants me to change, instead of praying for other circumstances to change. My heart is stubborn, but God is pulling me—kicking and screaming as I am—back toward Him. Now I just have to trust Him to help me change, because I sure can’t do it on my own.

Kicking and Screaming, Part 1

Ever feel like you’re being pulled kicking and screaming into something you don’t want to do?

That’s the way I feel lately—like Jesus is pulling me. Not to do something bad, of course, or even to do anything uncomfortable.

The truth is, there’s this habit I’ve picked up. Not one of the “big” sins, mind you, like drinking or gambling, but one of those Paul talks about: “They are filled with all unrighteousness, evil, greed, and wickedness.…They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, arrogant, proud, boastful,…unloving and unmerciful. Although they know full well God's just sentence—that those who practice such things deserve to die—they not only do them, but even applaud others who practice them” (Romans 1:29-32, HCSB).

Ouch. Gossips and slanderers are right there alongside God-haters.

Somehow, over the last few years, I’ve slipped into this habit. I don’t want to give it up. To give it up, I’d have to actually forgive someone who hurt me. Jesus says forgiveness means forgetting, too. At least, that’s what He does.

So if I forgive this person, I also have to forget how hurt I was. And not ever bring it up again—to anybody. It feels like that would be saying it wasn’t important—that I wasn’t important. That how I felt and what I had done wasn’t important. I’m not sure I’m ready to accept that.

But a good friend says we—all of us—need to pray and ask God to sweep out the hidden corners of our lives. She asked me to be part of a prayer group at work. I said I would, because I know God wants me to.

That doesn’t mean I have to like it. So I’ll try, but I’ll be kicking and screaming on the inside.

GPS for elderly parents

My 96-year-old mother’s been in a nursing home for over a year, but we can’t sell her home. Or even her 1990 Toyota Camry, which sits in the carport unused except when some of us come to visit.

My mother-in-law has been living with one of her other sons for several years now. He feels guilty but feels like he has no choice but to put her into a nursing home soon.

A friend at work is bringing her mother from four hours away to look at an assisted-living facility so she can be nearby. My friend says her mother has been indecisive, one week wanting to make the move and another time wanting to stay where she is.

Indecisiveness seems to capture this stage of life. Elderly parents know they need to change their living situation to one that works better for their stage of life, yet they cling to the familiar. Children want their elderly parents to be safe, yet don’t want to be pushy or force them into an uncomfortable environment.

Selling the car or the house carries a sense of finality with it. She won’t ever drive again. She’ll never live in her own home.

It’s a passage of life—and not one that any of us looks forward to, for ourselves or our parents.

But the psalmist said, “all the stages of my life were spread out before you [God], the days of my life all prepared before I'd even lived one day” (Psalm 139:16, Message).

Helping parents make decisions—or making the choice for them—as they near the end of life is not easy. God doesn’t give us the Google maps directions: “Turn left at the next light.”

But He does promise that He knows each day of our life, and He will be with us as we make these choices.

Baby Steps and Dieting

My husband and I went to a nutrition class at the Y.

I was expecting a boring review of the food pyramid and a lecture on eating right. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by an instructor who barely mentioned the pyramid and was realistic about what it takes to change habits.

She encouraged us to take “baby steps,” starting by drinking more water, writing down what you eat, and not eating for two hours before bedtime. I can do this, I decide.

It reminds me of the movie, What About Bob?, when Richard Dreyfuss encourages Bill Murray to take baby steps to get over his multiple phobias. It occurs to me that baby steps can be applied to other areas of life, too—such as my writing, and my spiritual walk.

I’ve been working on a novel for two years now. Or mostly thinking about it, not writing. But if I apply the baby step principle, maybe I can work on it in small chunks when I have 15 minutes instead of waiting until I have a two-hour block.

Applying the principle to my spiritual life, I will focus on getting through one day without saying something critical about someone. I will try to spend five minutes reading the Bible and praying instead of putting it off until I have 30 minutes.

Dear Jesus, help me to take “baby steps” toward becoming more like You.