Going Zen

I have a subscription to Parenting magazine.  (Or should I say the subscription has me?  I ended up on their mailing list through no direct action of my own.  I wouldn’t pay money for this magazine, that’s for sure!)  I usually skim through the articles, dissing many of them, and then hand the magazine over to Lyd for her to do with as she will.  But I found this article, entitled Going Zen,  in the most recent issue, and I really felt a connection to what the author was saying.  I completely agree with the author when she states:

There was a time when I believed that life with children would be simpler, that we could limit the amount of stuff we would accumulate to a handful of cunning and education wooden toys.

And I laughed out loud in understanding when I read:

There was a time when, each night, after Coby was tucked up into his crib, my husband and I [although in our household it was just me] would painstakingly pile rings upon rings, pair small wooden pegs with large wooden boxes, match like with like.  Presumably we did all this only so that if by chance we were robbed in the night, the burglar would be able to play with complete sets of educational toys.

I struggle with the mess of toys in our house every day.  Lyd currently has an obsession with crayons; the different colors have personalities, and she makes up stories with them All. Over. The House.  She has a similar love affair with bubble wands.  And wooden stringing beads.  And pillows.  And blankets.  These things end up all around the house.  However, it is the toys with pieces, the toys in sets, that get to me, and those are the toys I want to see put away neatly, all together, thank you very much.

But, that’s just not how Lyd plays with them.  She gives these various pieces lives all their own, lives I would never have imagined.  And I am so excited to witness her creativity, to witness her processing the events of her own life through her play.  When I feel like I am butting my head against a wall, as I try to encourage her to share, to listen to me, to consider the feelings of others, it is gratifying to see her acting out those very virtues with her “dolls,” as strange as those dolls may be.

But we still need to work on picking up after ourselves.  I just have to learn to not be so obsessive about everything going in the right place, and just be glad when she puts it away in a momma-approved toy space.

This reminds me of my Theme for 2008: Things don’t have to be perfect to be effective.  (Thank you, Mister Rogers, for that quote.)

Afraid of death? Not us!

Recently, on a trip out to retrieve the day’s mail from our box at the end of our driveway, I happened to meet up with our end-of-the-driveway neighbor, Jean.  Jean is a retired elderly lady with whom we are on good terms, although we don’t see her all that often.  She likes to garden, and when I see her, it’s usually because she’s outside puttering in her flowers.  So, I called out a friendly “Hello!” to her, and she came over to talk to me.  I asked her the perfunctory, “How are you doing?” and was surprised to hear her respond, “Not good.”  It was then that I realized that the eyes behind her dark sunglasses were blinking back tears.  She went on to say, “My son died last weekend.  He had been out with his son all day, and he had a — massive heart attack after they came back.  He was just 53 years old.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say.  Normally, I would ask, “Was he a Christian?” but in this case I didn’t.  I don’t believe Jean is a Christian, and I don’t suppose her son is, either.  Out here in the Bay Area, to be a practicing, professing Christian is not the norm, and if you DO profess to be a Christian, it’s highly likely that it’s of a watered-down, all-gods-lead-to-heaven variety, the kind of which I discussed a few weeks ago.  So, when you’re a Bible-believing Christian who believes that Jesus Christ is the only way to heaven, what do you say to an unbeliever whose loved one has died?

So, I said the pat phrase I’ve learned over the years, which is, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”  Because I am.  Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents, not even when they’re 53 years old and still have children living at home.  I AM sorry for her loss, sorrier still because there’s a reasonable chance that he probably isn’t in heaven.

After exchanging more essentially meaningless condolences and telling her that I would keep her and her family in my prayers (for which she thanked me), I walked back to my house with my mail, pondering what had just happened.  While I am so incredibly sad for Jeannie and her family (and more so because I don’t think they’re Christians), I am so incredibly grateful to God for having me grow up in a family where I always knew that heaven was my home, and where I’ve never feared death.  I am so grateful to God for making me and my loved ones part of God’s family.  I am so incredibly grateful that I was adopted into God’s family at the tender age of 9 days old, before I even had anything to say about it.  I am grateful to God for planting faith in my heart through baptism, and I am grateful to my parents and teachers for watering that seed of faith and helping it to grow.  I am grateful to be married to an amazing pastor, who answers my questions about theology and faith with more thought-full-ness and with more of an emphasis on what the Bible actually says (it’s so handy to be married to a guy who can go back to the Bible’s original languages and give you the exact flavor of the words used in a Bible passage!) and more appreciation of the delicate balance between truth and love, between justification and sanctification, and more dedication to being a gospel-centered minister than I ever could have imagined when we first were married.  I KNOW how little of a decision I truly had in any of this, and how MUCH of a hand God has had in the major events of my life.  (Don’t get me wrong, I did decide to marry JJ on my own.    But the timing for when I met him and how our relationship has grown is really quite amazing — and a whole ‘nother story.  I still attribute it to God.)

But what the conversation with Jean reminded me of most was a poignant conversation I had with Lyd just a few morning ago in the bathroom.  It went something like this:

L: Momma, I’m afraid that you’ll die.
E: Why are you afraid of that?
L: Because then I’ll never see you again.
E: Well, where will Momma go when she dies?
L: Heaven.
E: Why?
L: Because you believe in Jesus.
E: Do you believe in Jesus?
L: Yes.
E: So, where will YOU go when you die?
L: Heaven.
E: Guess what?  We’ll both be in heaven!  We’ll see each other there!  When we die, it’s not the end.  It’s just that then we will live in heaven, so you WILL see me again after I die!
L: That’s good!

It was amazing to see her little face light up when I told her that we WOULD see each other again.  Her fear about me dying is something that’s she’s been talking about for some time, and I was glad to lay this fear to rest.  She hasn’t mentioned my dying since then, so I think it worked.

It’s a powerful hope she has, and one that I wish everyone was so blessed to have.