The Christian and the Atheist Agree: Nothing Matters

I'm an unapologetic, evangelical born-again Christian.  There are enough adjectives in that statement to let you know I'm serious about my faith.

I also happen to be very good friends with an unapologetic, militant atheist.  One who is as determined that his extreme position is correct as I am about mine.

He's a delightful person and we have incredibly stimulating conversations that leave my neurons buzzing for hours afterwards.

And we have more in common than you might think.
Here's the absolute truth that both of us believe.  (Although, ironically, he would argue here about the existence of absolute truth!)

Nothing matters.

That's it!  Two words we can wholeheartedly agree on at the end of the day.

His circumstances don't matter because he doesn't matter.  He's a conglomeration of cells that came together purely by chance and for no obvious purpose.  There's no moral imperative for him to behave by any set of rules other than the ones he determines matter.  He will live his life and die and turn into so much worm food; ashes to ashes and dust to dust and the world can continue turning, oblivious to his birth and his death and everything in between, as new little piles of ashes and dust are birthed into new people to take his place with no apparent purposes of their own.  In his worldview, nothing matters.


My circumstances don't matter, either, but for different reasons, all of them completely opposite of my friend's.  I was woven together in the secret place of my mother's womb and all of the days ordained for me were written down before one of them came to be.  God chose the time and place of my birth, my life, my death.  He numbers the hairs on my head and collects my tears in a jar.  He is familiar with all of my ways:  the words on my tongue before they're spoken; the thoughts of my mind; the motives of my heart.  He looks upon my inward being.  He created good works for me to do in advance and fills me with His Spirit and His power to complete them. My life is brimming with purpose and what I do in His name will last forever in His eternal kingdom. And the reason that my circumstances don't matter is that everything - EVERYTHING! - that comes my way is considered and approved and tempered by His will for my life.  Whether blissful or tragic, I can trust that the Creator of the Universe is working on my behalf, wasting nothing in His plans to finish the good work that He started in me the day I became His child.  Even death has lost its sting, because ultimately some tragic circumstance will steal the breath out of my lungs and use up my very last heartbeat.  On that day, my eyes will open to a more glorious reality than anything I've asked or imagined as I see my Heavenly Father face to face.

Nothing can thwart God's purposes for my life, so great is His love, His power, His grace towards me. This is why I can laugh during a biopsy, smile through tears at a funeral, face the endless tasks of the day with joy in my heart.  Because everything about my life matters to God, nothing that happens in this world has to matter all that much to me.  As I place my life, my hopes, my dreams, my circumstances under His lordship, I can also release my fears, doubts, and concerns for the future into His capable hands.  The more days that I walk in His light, the more quickly my heart settles into this restful mindset when circumstances spin out of my control.

When tragedy strikes on a random Thursday afternoon, my friend can only shake his head and consider that nothing really matters.

I can do the same, resting in the full assurance that God has everything under control.  I pray daily that my friend will eventually come to the same wonderful conclusion when he puts his faith in Jesus.

It's Puzzling

A 2000 piece puzzle and the big blocks of color are completed, leaving about 500 pieces that are all nuanced shades of grey, blue and green.  This is when the amateurs walk away from the table and I resign myself to finish the puzzle on my own. 

Any serious puzzler knows the logical steps:  perimeter, major colors, piece by piece sorting for the remainder of colors, then a second piece by piece sorting through what's left with even more stringent sorting criteria.  Every step results in piles, and every pile becomes more homogeneous until the final groupings are just shades of the last remaining color.

Even though the end seems to be the hardest part, by this time I'm so familiar with the boxtop picture, the colors, shapes, textures.... that I can basically reach in, pull out a piece and almost instantaneously know in what area it belongs.  I'm not sure if there's any better training in observation than this.  The concentration and skill required admittedly make me a bit arrogant, and I'll admit to feeling suspiciously wary of those flighty folks who can't sit still once the obvious pieces are settled in their place and things become more challenging.  I'll admit it:  I'm a bit of a puzzle snob.  The progress is slow but every time I walk by the table I stop and add a few pieces, and before long the gaps close in like slow forming ice in the wintertime.  I have the same feeling as when finishing a really good book -- I can't wait to be done but am saddened by the end of the journey at the same time.  

And finally there are random holes and 30 lonely pieces left and I'm ignoring everything but shapes.  This one has a big head and a downward right shoulder.  This is a four-legged; that has a shoulder and is right handed.  Occasionally there are more openings than pieces and I drop to the floor searching for what the cat might have knocked off the table these last few weeks.  Sometimes the last piece is hiding on a finished area of the puzzle itself, camouflaged by the shiny reflection and only found by running my hands over the surface, enjoying the contradictory smoothness and bumpiness under my fingers.  The last piece is deservedly placed with some fanfare, which in my house generally includes a long, slow arc with a fitting tune that ends in some kind of "Ta Dah!"  And another running of my hands over the glossy surface just to stretch out the sense of accomplishment.  Because it seems dismissive to immediately put them away, finished puzzles remain out for at least a day or two before I dismantle them, the perimeter first so they can be placed into a sealed bag on top of the rest of the pieces, a quick and easy start for the next time I pull out this particular box.  I know that some people view jigsaw puzzles as a waste of time, but for me they're a wonderful escape -- one of the few times my mind stops racing about all that needs to be done and I can lose track of To Do lists and the worries of the day.  So pull up a chair, Friend, and let's be puzzled together!

Neighbor, May I Please Have Your Earrings?

From Exodus 12:

35 Now the children of Israel had done according to the word of Moses, and they had asked from the Egyptians articles of silver, articles of gold, and clothing. 36 And the Lord had given the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians, so that they granted them what they requested.

I am feeling more and more like an Israelite as the July 1 moving day approaches.  An Israelite with the benefit of knowing the end of the Red Sea story, of course, but still.

I imagine the people thought Moses was crazy when he told them to go ask the Egyptians for their silver, gold and clothing.  Imagine!  Your God is bringing plague after plague upon these people because of their stubborn Pharaoh -- and none of the plagues are affecting you.  You and your people are slaves, and you're asking them to simply hand over their silver, gold and fine clothing?

Yes.  Yes, I am.  Because "....God had given the Israelites favor in the sight of the Egyptians."  I imagine the Egyptians realized how unjust Pharaoh had treated this group of people.  I imagine they saw the suffering and how the Israelites continued holding their heads high despite the mistreatment.  I imagine a few of the Egyptians were even secretly rooting for these downtrodden slaves to be liberated.

Just like my friends are rooting for me to be liberated from the bondage of the past 15 years.  My wish list doesn't include gold and silver, but I am putting together a list of household needs.  (Since I've determined to not take anything associated with bad memories, you can imagine I'm packing up very little.)  And of course on moving day I'm going to need a few friends with pickups and even more friends with muscles.  And friends who will carry small boxes and chat with the girls and help them deal with the stress of moving out of the only house they've ever known.  Friends who will notice my needs and say, "I can help you with that."

My needs aren't just for some furniture and appliances, though.  Check out my current prayer list regarding this move:

An apartment / condo that fits my very meager and laughable budget.

Which becomes available on July 1.

In the West Shore school district, just in case I have to pull the girls from their wonderful Christian school.

But praying to NOT pull the girls from their wonderful Christian school!

With at least two bedrooms and preferably three.

That allows us to take our menagerie: 1 BabyCat, 2 rats, 2 gerbils and 2 goldfish.

That moves us far enough away from the old house to give much-needed space, yet close enough to make custody drop-off convenient.

For a custody agreement to be made privately and amicably to avoid the court system as much as possible.

For peace and security to fill the hearts of my daughters throughout.

For financial blessings as I learn to live on a single income.

For a new and smaller car with low mileage and at the right price.

For wisdom as I make decisions I haven't had to think about for years -- phone service? internet? insurance? etc.

For a strong awareness of God's presence to combat my loneliness.

For the plans of the enemy (to steal, kill and destroy) to be completely thwarted throughout our move -- by the power of Jesus' blood that covers Faith, Abby and Sarah.

I know how ridiculous this list sounds, but that's the kind of faith I have in the amazing God we serve.

I imagine it also sounded pretty crazy when Moses told the people, "Ask your Egyptian neighbors for their gold, silver and clothes."  And even more insane when he said, "Get ready, we're going to cross the Red Sea shortly!"

Friends, I need your gold and silver.  No, not your jewelry or your money -- but something even more valuable to me:  your prayers and encouragement and support.  The Israelites weren't too proud to ask their Egyptian neighbors and neither am I.  Please lift the DelliGirlies before the throne of grace.  Pray through that list with me and ask the God who parts seas to open apartments and welcome pets and provide a vehicle and heal the hearts of little (and big) girls.

With Gratefulness for Your Love and Friendship,

Sarah

ParadiSE

Let me tell you about this little girl.  She is loved, thoroughly and unconditionally.  Her Mommy is kind and teaches her good manners and how to think of other people's feelings, how to work and play and read and do things with excellence.  Her Daddy -- oh, her Daddy!  He gets on the floor to play with tinker toys, he lets her fly like an airplane on his upraised foot.  He pretends to eat the mud pies she makes on the front porch.  He snuggles her and tells her how beautiful she is and that Jesus loves her and has an amazing plan for her life.  He is silly and tender and a foreshadowing of what she will eventually discover of her Heavenly Father.  He leaves seminary every afternoon to pick her up from preschool for lunch -- the only father to do so.  Their lunch menu every day is peanut butter and jelly or honey sandwiches, hot chocolate and a piece of cheese.

This little SE is blissfully ignorant of evil or hardship.  She doesn't yet know that her family is poor, that her mother cries over bills, that the budget is somehow miraculously met every month by groceries that appear on the front porch, by the gas meter apparently running *backwards* during the biggest snowstorm the county has ever seen, by an anonymous payment to the phone company on our behalf.  She has not yet been teased by classmates over her glasses or the brand of her clothes.  She doesn't even know what temptation is at this point, or that there's reason to feel guilt or fear.

No, all this little girl knows is that SHE IS LOVED, fully and perfectly.  SE in paradiSE.

This picture is my Bible bookmark, and every time the book falls open to it or I hit my knees to pray, I first spend time looking at it, a reminder of who God made me to be and the kind of existence I will soon experience in His presence.   Simply being -- no agenda, no needs, no concerns, no fears, no guilt, no struggles! -- drowning in the reckless, raging fury of His Love.

This is the greatest gift my Mom and Dad ever gave me, the absolute certainty of how much Jesus loves me and who I am in Him, despite the false names the world and the devil try to pin on me.  And this is my greatest goal in mothering my own precious girls:  to so reflect God's love for them that they have a picture in their own Bibles many years from now, of little girls at rest and in peace, surrounded by the love of their Mommy and Jesus.

Pulling Punches & Pursuing Peace

Two weeks into the school year and it has already happened -- what the headmaster warned me was imminent during his Back to School Night address.  A daughter burst through the door yesterday, breathlessly reporting on a controversial discussion that occurred in a classroom with our very favorite science teacher, Emily Durrell.  (Who gave permission to be identified, in case you were wondering.)

After waiting for the excited rush of information to finally wind down, I firmly planted said child on the sofa, soothed her with an after school snack and started digging for the full story.  No small task when dealing with an eighth grader!  

I mentioned that it might be a good idea to contact the teacher for some clarification, which went over like a lead balloon, as expected.  So a deal was struck that the e-mail would not be sent without her final approval, to avoid being labeled as "that family."  (You know, the family who raises eyebrows at every turn, most especially when theology is involved.)  Ah, the delicate balancing act of every science and religion teacher at a Christian school!

The e-mail was written, edited once or twice and eventually sent, accompanied by prayers for grace and peace.  Hours later and Voila! an equally gracious response from Mrs. Durrell, who actually expressed her gratitude for the inquiry.  A quick and easy discussion filled in the gaps, informed both sides, and established an even closer connection for whatever future drama is sure to unfold in the eighth grade classroom.  

Bless you, Emily, for welcoming our questions, for your wisdom and patience, for helping me teach my daughter why God's prescription for conflict is always the best:  "If your teacher says something you find offensive, don't make assumptions, don't let it fester, don't gossip to your peers.  Ask Mom for wisdom, and then approach your teacher privately and with an open heart.  Gain all the blessings of working through the conflict together -- increased communication, trust and confidence in your teacher's goodwill.  And don't forget the end of my promise: that where two or three Christians are gathered together, I am in the thick of it with them -- even in the midst of their conflict!"  Matthew 18:15-20, liberally SarahPhrased.  (This last verse I find most often quoted regarding worship, when in actuality it is God's finishing touch on dealing with conflict.  How good of Him to remind us that we don't enter the fray alone!)

 

As always, His ways are perfect, and Daughter goes to school today with increased faith, increased confidence, increased love and respect for her teacher.  Praise be to Jesus, whose wisdom is first and foremost meek and peaceable.  Our perfect example, our perfect instructor, our patient Savior.  

James 3:13  “Who is wise and understanding among you? By his good conduct let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom. 17 .... the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. 18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.”

Good & Guilty Motherhood

I recently bought this plaque and put it on the windowsill above my kitchen sink.  Granted, it was an attempt to remind my ex-husband that I'm a good mom despite the usual messes around my house.  And truthfully, I don't have sticky floors and a dirty oven, but that's only because I am quick to clean up spills but slow to clean up crumbs.  Also, I have a self-cleaning oven.

But take a quick tour of my house and there are things you will notice.  Dust bunnies in the corners and peeking out from under the furniture.  The faint smell of kitty litter that always seems to need scooping.  Shoes and books and occasional dirty dishes left in odd places by my children.  Always a basket of laundry acting as a plastic dresser instead of a tool to move clothes directly from the dryer to the drawer.  So yes, I have a mostly organized but generally sloppy house.  I can always find my car keys but would never eat food off the floor.  Except for chocolate.

As long as I'm being forthcoming, the real reason for buying the plaque is insecurity.  See, I'm a good Mom.  I know I'm a good Mom.  I don't need anyone to tell me I'm a good Mom, but I feel like the best Mom would be doing all that I do with my kids while at the same time having a perfectly clean house.  I'll admit, I don't know any Mom like that.  June Cleaver comes to mind but no one in the real world.

And now I'm having second thoughts about the plaque and am considering taking it down, because I don't think the opposite is true, either.  I don't think Moms with clean houses are bad Moms.  I don't think they're ignoring their kids, even if they don't allow playdough or confetti or moon sand to cross the threshold.  In fact, I'll bet those Moms are looking for plaques that say things like "Good Moms Strike a Balance Between Housekeeping and Parenting."  I don't want to offend any of my somewhat germophobic friends who might wander into my kitchen and think I make the bold assumption that their parenting is lacking because their house is cleaner than mine.

Here's the bottom line:  We are all walking that fine line, balancing fun quality family time with mountains of laundry and dishes and paperwork.  It's a common frustration and there's no simple answer, only what works for you and your kids and your house and your family.  And your comfort levels.  Personally, I can live with a bit of a mess if it means a few more minutes to snuggle my girls.  But if another Mom spends those extra minutes picking up, I'm not going to judge her for it, and who knows what precious moments she's carved out for her kids while letting a different chore slide?

"Her children rise up and call her blessed.  Her husband also, and he praises her."  Proverbs 31:28

Okay, so the ex-husband rolls his eyes at the mess occasionally, but I know that my children recognize I'm a good Mom to them, and I'm certain if you asked them they would choose those few moments of snuggling rather than Mom pulling dust bunnies out from under the sofa.

Do not forget the reason that this Mom is called "blessed" by her family.  It's not for her clean house, her impeccable wardrobe or her five-star, home-cooked meals.  Verse ten of the same chapter explains why she is so valuable in her home:  "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies."  She is virtuous, despite the dust and dirty dishes!

For all of you Moms who are doing an amazing job of juggling family and home, blessings to you!  I'm thinking about putting up a new plaque:

A reminder to my kids that I love them as well as a reminder to myself -- that God, Lulu and FooFah love me no matter the size of our dust bunnies!

Great Expectations, Managed

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket."  It applies to lots of stuff, least of all marriage.  But young girls are silly, with great expectations of how one single human being is going to some day swoop in to fulfill all their dreams.  Friend, lover, confidante, sharer of dreams.  One egg, two egg, red egg, blue egg.  Into the basket you go.

It's a recipe for disaster, but a small one that's easily fixed.  Broken eggs are pretty easy to clean up, and after the first few, you realize that maybe filling the basket to the top was a bad idea in the first place.

I've given this advice to countless married women over the years.  "Lower your expectations.  It's not healthy to put all of your dreams on one person's shoulders."  Their husbands are grateful as these lovely women stop smothering them with neediness; supportive, even, as their wives stretch beyond the bounds of marriage to develop friendships and nurture their hobbies with friends.





A good marriage is a balance of things shared and things individual.  What joy when your passions overlap, and what relief when you're no longer bugged to share every single interest.  Overlapping circles create a whole other color, an exciting new dimension of a relationship, without swallowing up one member by demanding sameness.

Great expectations, managed.




The trouble comes when one member is destructive.  Unreliable, critical, controlling and harsh.  You start taking eggs out of the basket on a daily basis.  No support?  Goodbye, egg.  No encouragement and one more drops to the floor.  Untrustworthy and a full dozen fall away.  A half full basket can still maintain a relationship, but an empty one?  Eventually, after all needs have been outsourced to loving and trustworthy friends, you're left staring at an empty basket, thinking, "Why am I still carrying this around when it plays absolutely NO PART in my life anymore?"





So I set it down.  Not out of anger, but filled with the steady assurance that dragging around an empty basket is only draining my finite resources of love and perseverance.  It's a tragedy, all right, but not my tragedy.  After all, I'm free of the burden of carrying it around, constantly determining what it can hold and what's too precious to risk putting in.

Great expectations are troublesome, but there's still hope to manage them.
       Realistic expectations are amazing, because they give freedom to both people.
               No expectations are sad.  Laying down the basket is liberating.