Day 12 - October 27

Ernie + Phil

The puppy loves Phil--devotedly. completely.  He follows Phil everywhere.  He waits by the bathroom door during showers or other other activities.  He snoozes on the bed in the evening while Phil lies somnolent with the computer on his lap.  He frisks after Phil down the long sidewalk of Benjamin Street, never racing ahead, always at his heels, intent only on keeping his god in close proximity.

I get affection, yes.  But Phil gets devotion.  I will never measure up to the godlike status my husband has achieved with Ernie.

This does not bother me.  I have achieved goddess status with the cats.

It does make me wonder, though, about God and devotion.  Mine doesn't seem to measure up to Ernie's.

Day 11 - October 26

A quiet day of reading, reflection, prayer.  I previewed a video study on prayer for the church's small groups and began writing discussion questions to go along with the video sessions.  Writing questions for other people is easy.  Challenging others to grow and change is easy.

It was when I challenged myself--or rather, understood that God was challenging me--that I began to get some real benefit out of the day.  I left the comfortable place of telling others what to do, and allowed myself to be uncomfortably honest with God.

The upshot is that I'm beginning a reading plan that will get me through the Bible in a year.  Skimming and dipping does not give the depth and breadth of God's thought and nature needed for Spirit-directed prayer.  All too often recently I've come across verses and think, "Wow, John (or Paul or Isaiah or Mark) really said that?"

So, back to the Word in a daily, disciplined way.

Beyond the written page
I seek you, Lord.
My spirit pants for you,
O living Word.

Day 10 - October 25

We have a minor miracle going on here.  The new puppy, only 10 weeks old, pees and poops outside.  No accidents today. This is so unexpected.

The young technician who came to install our new dishwasher this morning took a look at the plumbing under the sink and said, "We're going to need a miracle."  He was referring to the near impossibility of matching the new Samsung plumbing to our old patchwork of original plumbing.  An hour later, he left with a smile on his face.  "Get your miracle?" I asked.

"We got it," he said.

The third miracle today was the gift of 80-degree October warmth, blessedly clear skies, and a day off from work--all occurring at the same time.

Well, one more miracle.  The Arabic student who was seriously displeased at our having brought home a puppy (most of our Arabic students are terrified of dogs) was on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor tonight, barking and trying to get Ernie to come to him.

It's the small miracles that make life interesting.  It's the big Miracle that makes life possible.

Day 9 - October 24

A warm October evening--unseasonably warm.  Walking to my car after work, I was inundated with the moist, sweet smell of decaying leaves.  Suddenly I was not in Michigan but in California, seven years old, walking along Palm Avenue to catechism after school, scuffling leaves with my shoes in the mildness of an early winter afternoon.  

Research suggests that, of the five senses, smell is the most closely linked to memory.  It is a powerful link; the fragrance of damp leaves pulled me back over half a century into the past. 

Along the sidewalk I passed a building that was once fragrant with the presence of God.  Built in the 1920s, it is reminiscent of the medieval churches in England, with mellowed stone and towers and climbing ivy.

Some years ago the dwindling congregation of Bethlehem Lutheran voted to sell the building and relocate to a rented downtown meeting room.  Contractors began renovating the church building for elite condo living, near to downtown and the hospitals.  But the economy fell, and no one bought.  After a year of halfhearted work, the contractors left too.

Now the church sits empty, the once manicured lawns unkempt, the shrubs overgrown.  The most poignant sight is the doors.

Ivy is beginning to seal them shut, and branches stretch long fingers across spaces that were off limits when the groundskeeper was still around. 

If we opened the doors, would the fragrance of God flow out like a breath of warm air?  Do the angels still worship behind the locks and windows covered with ivy?  I don't know, but the scent of sadness is palpable as I walk by. 

Day 8 - October 23

Today is the birthday of a wonderful young man.  He is kind, intelligent, musical, artistic, patient, generous, loyal, funny, and gentle.

He is a dear friend of a wonderful young woman.

Today, I am thankful for Cass.

Day 7 - October 22

Crossing the threshold of 60, a few inevitable fears start to creep in.  Most of them have to do with the body falling apart or the mind saying, "So long, dummy."  Lately I've had more opportunities to fear the failing of mind and memory.  Here's one:

Last Wednesday I had gotten the mandatory TB test for hospital employees.  It's to be read 2-3 days after being given.  I forgot on Friday to have it read at the downtown hospital where I work.  I forgot on Saturday to have it read at Blodgett on my way to coffee with the girls.  Sunday morning I awoke with the frantic need to have it read, so I drove to Blodgett's ER on the way to church, only to discover I was a day late.  Today I had a retest, and now I must for the next two days constantly remind myself to have it read on Wednesday afternoon.  My only hope is to remember to add it to my online calendar tomorrow at work, so that it will keep popping up on my computer screen on Wednesday.

My mind is normally forgetful.  I like to compare myself (in private only) to Einstein, who would wander outside in his pajamas while cogitating on the mysteries of the universe.  Sunday morning I forgot the stop sign at Fuller and .... (sorry, forgot the name of the street).  I sailed right through, then spent the rest of the way to church asking forgiveness for being such a menace on the road.

When asked how my day has gone, sometimes my mind draws a blank.  What did I do today?  Or, introducing the students who've lived with us for four months to the small group members I've been meeting with for two years, I cannot for the life of me remember their first names.

Well, that could be brain freeze.  I did remember the name of the dog owned by my sister-in-law's in-laws fifteen years ago, a dog we met only once but remember because the entire house smelled like wet dog fur.  His name was Jacob.

On an unrelated note, here is something else we did today:

He's a Bichon-Shih Tzu mix, only ten weeks old.  We drove an hour in the darkness and pouring rain to check him out, fell in love with his habit of putting his chin to rest on  your chest, and drove back home with him.

The nice thing about him is, I don't have to remember his name, because we haven't given him one yet.

Day 6 - October 21

Grand Rapids, Michigan, is known as one of the "Cool Cities"--mainly because of ArtPrize, an annual art contest that involves thousands of artists whose works of art are scattered over the whole downtown area for several weeks in the fall.  People flock to each site and mark down their favorites.  Each year there are heated discussions as to which amazing piece will win the top award of $200,000.

I was in Europe for most of ArtPrize this year and was too busy upon return home to see any entries.  But I made up for it on a walk today.  Phil and I drove to Gaslight Village late this afternoon and walked about five miles through the ritzy neighborhood by Reed's Lake. We like to comment on how unhappy most of the rich people who live there are, and also speculate on how much time or money it must take to clean the expansive homes and manicure the sweeping lawns.

Toward the end of our walk we came upon a work of art that I felt should have won first place in ArtPrize, had it been entered in the contest.  It was vibrant, quivering, alive.  There was no artist name or entry tag, but most people in Grand Rapids knew who made it.  He's pretty well known.  His sense of color and form is amazing, and this work is representative of a lot of other stuff he's done.

Here it is:

It's a temporary piece, but I think we'll see it again next fall, come ArtPrize time.  Maybe I can get people to vote for it.

Day 5 - October 20

This day I am thankful for my three friends, who have been meeting with me on random Saturday mornings for the past ten or so years.  We have settled into Clique Coffee Shop, where we gather at 9:00 a.m. and go around the table, talking about what's been happening in our lives and identifying concerns for prayer.  We have walked with each other through financial crises, depression, grief, self-deception, loneliness, job changes, struggles with children, joys of grandchildren, petty and profound frustrations, marital rockiness, times of dryness, and times of undeserved richness.  We can call or text each other at any time to ask for prayer.  We are about as different from each other as the four seasons of the year are different, yet we are sisters and friends.  Here we are:

At the end of my life, I am quite sure that my regrets will not be that I did not spend more time at the office catching up on work, did not clean my house more thoroughly, or did not get caught up on more TV shows or magazines or bestselling novels.  If I have regrets, they will be of this nature:  that I felt too busy to lend support to a struggling friend, that I was too impatient to listen to a friend in crisis, that I put lists and projects ahead of relationships.

As Sally said, "We aren't related, but we ARE sisters.  We are sisters in Christ.  This is family to me."

Amen.

Day 4 - October 19

Tonight we drove to my sister-in-law's to celebrate my birthday dinner. Mary had spread out a feast: wine, cheese and crackers, nuts and fruit, pumpkin soup, salmon, scallops, cherry nut bread, and a mouth-watering vegetable casserole with sweet potatoes, butternut squash, brussel sprouts, onion, and herbs. And this all on the day after my fast.


To top it off, I had brought along a gluten-free carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

Everything was, as our students say, "tasty."  I ate far too much (to the point of physical pain), and have decided upon reflection that it was not out of hunger, but because I thought it was polite to do so.  At home I would have had one-quarter of what I consumed at Mary's.  But I felt that would not have been acceptable at another person's table.  Eating a lot is a way of saying, "You're a great cook!  This food is fantastic!"  Which it was.

As my poor 60-year-old body tries to digest the final bites of that sweet, oily carrot cake, I am trying to think of better ways to compliment someone else's cooking.  At 60 I should be old enough to say no if I'm getting too full.

Day 3 - October 18

A day of fasting and fatigue.  I've made it a practice over the past three months to fast weekly--a water fast for 30-36 hours.  Sometimes I think I'm crazy to fast.  Tonight, after a ten-hour workday at the hospital, I came home and lay on the couch before I could get enough energy to face the dishes that lined the kitchen counter.  Other people obviously weren't fasting.  And I was tired.  My feet hurt.

One of our homestay students wandered into the kitchen and began preparing food.  "I'll wait," I thought, "until he's done and then tackle all the dishes at once."  Presently I heard the tap water running and the sound of silverware clinking against the bottom of the sink.  My first instinct was to get up, protest, and tell Abdullah that I was perfectly capable of washing up the dishes.

But then I thought, what a kind thing for him to do.  Should I prevent him from doing a good deed?  Just because I'm the recipient?  So I waited until he was almost finished, and snapped this picture of him:

I told him I am keeping a record of all the things I'm thankful for this year.  And one of them is Abdullah and his kind act of dishwashing.

This morning I had my annual biometric screen.  Unlike last year, the numbers--bad cholesterol, good cholesterol, total cholesterol, weight, triglycerides, blood sugar--are all in the "ideal" range.  In large part, I must admit, because of regular fasting and exercise.  This gives me great satisfaction.  

So, I am thankful for fasting.  For the way that something that is painful and difficult is also beneficial. I will keep at it this year, and give thanks.

Day 2 - October 17

Back to reality today.  My friends ask me if I have set goals for this coming year.  I laugh them off, but my secret goal is to write more.  To be disciplined enough to write every day on my middle-grade novel until it's finished.

Writing is a lonely, solitary occupation--until I become immersed in the story and observe and talk with and try to push around the characters I've created; then it's very social and time ceases to exist for a while.

Today everything conspired to keep me from writing:  the plumbers who took two hours to flush hot water pipes and tell me we need a $2,000 repair job, the morning sunshine that showed all the streaks and spots on my windows (thus necessitating cleaning), the TB test and flu shot required by my employer, the student who needed a ride to the hearing aid repair center, the friend who requested a jar of chicken soup, the rushed trip to Costco for stuff we probably didn't need, the meeting about how to revitalize small group ministry, our students' all-time favorite meal of grilled chicken kebabs, phone calls regarding a painful family crisis....

Sometimes there is too much color to life.

Day 1 - October 16

Today I stepped over the threshold into my sixties.  My birthday falls in the midst of Michigan's October color blaze, and I am reminded of the fact that I am now in the autumn of my life (not winter yet!), and I have a great desire to enjoy the depth and intensity of life's color in this year.  I want to leave a record of it in pictures and in writing.

This day was spent with my dear husband.  Usually we are too busy to do anything together, so this was a great treat.  He drove me down his favorite motorcycle route out to Grand Haven, down Leonard Street.  Trees were burning with color, and we stopped to take a few pictures:

We walked out onto the lighthouse pier at Grand Haven, fighting the wind and dodging waves that broke against the concrete abutment.  In the shelter of the turbine we broke out a clandestine canning jar of plum wine (the same brand we had enjoyed on our honeymoon), and Phil surprised me with a new wedding and engagement ring.  (I had lost my diamond last year in Lake Tahoe.)  This is really romantic for him.  He also okayed a takeout order of Asian cuisine for a birthday dinner with our four Arabic homestay students that evening, then washed up all the dishes, and then—crowning self-sacrificial gift—played a game of Settlers of Catan with me, losing with panache. 

What a dear man.  One of God’s best gifts to me, and completely undeserved.

We go most days to the gym, pommeling our bodies and muscles into some semblance of shape so that we don’t go into old age too weak and sick to enjoy each other and whatever adventures God gives.  We remind ourselves often that the retirement account matters less than our health, when it comes to getting old.  Maybe we’re wrong, but it makes us feel good.

So, at the beginning of my 7^th decade, I want to go on record as saying that my husband is a good man and that I am so, so happy to be able to wear a new, shiny ring that says we still belong together.