Here recently, I’ve really enjoyed a podcast about the Titanic . Over the 13 episodes, it goes in depth into the giant ship’s design and construction. It discusses details about the passengers and crew. And it eventually covers the disastrous collision with the iceberg. As I listened to the final installments, I kept hoping it would end differently with everyone surviving. Of course, that’s not what happened.   One of the experts they interviewed for the podcast mentioned an anecdote stating that the designers spent two hours discussing carpet selection for one of the grand rooms but only 15 minutes deciding on the lifeboats. Many have disputed this as a myth, but if it’s true it’s a real shame. (The ocean liner had twenty lifeboats which could accommodate about half of the 2,000+ people on board. This was insufficient, but it met the maritime regulations of the time.)   Whether this story is truth or fiction, it highlights a prevailing human characteristic—all too often we concentrate on the wrong thing.   It reminds me of a different boat-related tale, but this one is about the prophet Jonah in the Old Testament. Many of us know the story: God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh to preach against their wickedness. He doesn’t want to go so he hops on a boat going in the opposite direction. God stirs up a storm, and the sailors dump Jonah into the water. Instead of drowning, God sends a big fish to swallow Jonah whole. He stays in the fish three days and nights, until he’s vomited onto the land. Then God gives Jonah another opportunity to obey, and this time he goes to Nineveh. The people repent and fast, and God relents from the destruction he had threatened.   It seems like a happy ending, then we come to chapter 4. Jonah is angry about God’s kindness when directed to people he finds undeserving. Jonah said, “I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity. Now, Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live.”   It’s a pretty jerky move. When Jonah was diving deeper and deeper into what he thought was going to be his watery grave, he was all about God’s mercy, but the Ninevites getting saved from annihilation? No way!   So Jonah went outside of the city to have a pity party. He made a shelter and sat down to watch what would happen to Nineveh. God sent a leafy plant to grow over his perch to give him shade. Verse 6 says, “Jonah was very happy about the plant.” But God sent a worm to eat up the plant so that it withered. As the sun beat down on him, Jonah grew hot, and he repeated his disgust with living when faced with such injustice. Then God countered by saying, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. Should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a 120,000 people who cannot tell their right hand from their left?”   Jonah cared too much about the wrong things and too little about the things that mattered. I want to be a person who counts the lifeboats. I want to avoid the biases and selfishness that keep me distracted from pursuing God’s perfect will. Lord, help me care about what matters most to You.

When our son Ezra joined our family after living his first five years in Africa, he became exposed to a lot of food he’d never eaten before. Like most parents, we had already dealt with picky eaters to a certain extent, so this wasn’t especially troubling. To move things along, we often enlisted our older son Knox to help us convince Ezra to take a “no, thank you” bite, the very minimum of trying a new and unwanted food.   I remember one evening when we introduced him to corn. He suspiciously regarded the pile of bright yellow nubs with complete disinterest, so Knox stepped in to offer his personal endorsement, scooping up a big fork-full of corn. Once he had chewed and swallowed his food, he remarked with exaggerated enthusiasm, “I loooove corn!” This incident happened about ten years ago, so I can’t recall if it was effective, but it has become a mantra we repeat most every time I serve corn.   Funnily enough, I was thinking about that memory when I read from the prophetic book of Zechariah last week. Amongst a lot of wild and often confusing visions, Zechariah is full of words of hope and restoration for those Jewish exiles who had returned to their homeland. The people were discouraged and often chose the wrong path, so God through Zechariah was reminding them of His promises and giving them clues about the Messiah to come. (I know what you’re thinking, “What does that have to do with corn?” Stick with me here, I’m getting to my point.)   When I came to Zechariah 8:23, this is what I read the Lord Almighty saying, “In those days ten people from all languages and nations will take firm hold of one Jew by the hem of his robe and say, ‘Let us go with you, because we have heard that God is with you.’” The Lord was telling them that in the midst of their struggles and division and uncertainty, their godly lifestyles would be a shining example for the people around them. The “ten people from all languages and nations” refers to a complete group. The idea is that people from every walk of life would see God’s people and be drawn to them for His sake.   It brings to mind the image of someone on her knees, as low as she could be, and then Jesus walks by. She stretches out a tired hand to grab the edge of his robe, grasping as tightly as she can so she can get going in the right direction. It’s like the woman whose story is recorded in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. She had been suffering for 12 years with a bleeding disease. It was ruining her life, so she went to Jesus, a man she’d heard was a miracle-worker. He walked by and she reached out.   Now comparing corn to Jesus is completely ludicrous, and I know that. But Knox was willing to overact his love of the yellow vegetable, hamming it up for comedy as much as to get his little brother to finish supper. But to make Jesus appealing, just like Mr. Rogers said to “try your best to make goodness attractive,” doesn’t mean we have to fake anything. We don’t have to spray paint the gospel gold or hot glue rhinestones all over it. We’re called to be godly not gaudy. Scripture doesn’t say, “They will know you are Christians by your political affiliations.” It doesn’t preach wealth and prosperity for believers, but instead calls for humility and dying to ourselves. John 13:35 says, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” God’s Word tells us to love our enemies and strive to make peace.   When those of us who claim to follow Christ bemoan the news about churches closing their doors and the down-trending of Christianity in the U.S., we should stop and wonder what we’ve done with the true, core message of the gospel. Is it something the lost see as propaganda, pushing a certain worldly agenda or have we portrayed it for what it is—a lifeline to a miracle-worker?

One of my favorite verses is 1 Thessalonians 5:11: “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.” The words build up make me think of the children’s song about the Wise Man and the Foolish Man. The wise man builds up his house on the rock and the foolish man builds his on the sand. The rains come and the house on the rock stands, but the house on the sand goes splat . We use that song in Bible class and Sunday school to teach our children that the foundation you build upon is equally as important as building up the house. They love to sing that one and the fun hand motions that go with it.   In 1 Thessalonians 5:11, Paul wasn’t speaking about building an actual house, but building up each other . Paul wrote these words in response to information he had received through Timothy about the faithfulness of the church in Thessalonica.  Paul was familiar with the Thessalonians from a previous missionary journey to the region in which severe persecution and opposition forced him to leave abruptly. His personal experience with persecution there and information from Timothy prompted Paul to grow concerned about this group of believers.
   Fortunately, Paul learns through Timothy that while the church in Thessalonica was indeed experiencing persecution, the church overall was doing well. So Paul was writing this letter in part to encourage them to continue in the faith in spite of the real threat of death and horrific oppression they were enduring. It’s interesting that in the midst of suffering and loss, Paul’s advice is to continue encouraging one another and building each other up. He doesn’t tell them to take up arms or slander those who are giving them such a hard time. Instead, he reminds them where their strength comes from and urges them create unity, not division.   In the previous few verses, Paul tells them to hold on to the hope of eternity with God through Jesus and now in verse 11 he’s urging them to encourage and support each other on earth in their daily struggles. Through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and his own experiences, he knew that they needed both.   Like all the key truths of Scripture, this advice from Paul to Timothy is still true for all of us today. As we navigate a world that is constantly trying to pull us away from Jesus, we need to be encouragers. Sometimes it’s obvious who is in need of encouragement, but there are plenty of interactions with others which don’t reveal the anxiety, fear, and overwhelming feelings which lie hidden beneath the surface. That’s when we need to finetune our Holy Spirit antennae to be aware of the hurt happening all around us and then step into it as light-bringers.   It doesn’t always have to be anything extravagant. It can be as simple as telling someone they’re doing a great job and to keep at it. Reminding others of the hope we have in Jesus may seem inconsequential to the person speaking it, but it can be a life preserver to the one who feels like he’s drowning in worry and defeat. Be an encouragement to someone today!

My favorite goalie! As a parent of a soccer player, specifically a goalkeeper, there have been plenty of times when we get to the end of a game, and I feel like the score doesn’t fully reflect what just happened on the field over the last 90 minutes.   If you’re not very familiar with the game of soccer, the one thing you probably do know is that it is usually a low-scoring game, with many games even ending 0-0. Whatever the final score, those numbers only express the few times the soccer ball made it into the goal without being stopped. What those numbers don’t tell you is the number of times the goalie made a daring save or how often one of the strikers made a shot that hit the crossbar or how well the defensive players kept the ball out of harm’s way so the goalie could have a boring game and his mom could feel a lot less stress. (I have nearly worn out the rocking camping chair I bring to games due to nervous over-rocking!)   Of course, this surface understanding doesn’t just apply to the game of soccer or even to sports in general. This relates to understanding people, too. It’s way too easy to look at people and make assumptions about who they are and how they think and what they’ve done.   In John 7, we read about a time when Jesus went to the temple courts to teach. There was a festival going on and the crowds had gathered to listen to Him speak. In the span of five verses, those listening went from being amazed and saying, “Where did this man get all of this knowledge when he was never formally taught?” to deciding that He must’ve been demon-possessed because He claimed that there were people who wanted to kill him. Jesus called them out on their wishy-washiness and told them, “Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly.”   That wasn’t just instruction for Jesus’ audience thousands of years ago. That’s also sound advice for me today. Whether I’m meeting someone for the first time or it’s someone I already know, I have to pump the brakes when I’m tempted to make a snap judgement. It’s like the prophet Isaiah said and Jesus quoted, “You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes.”   That person standing in front of me is so much more complex than I might give him credit for. So I am called to pray that the Holy Spirit will equip me with grace and mercy, and that he will put my “God Goggles” in place, so that I see this precious soul the way God sees him. I like the words of the song by Christian artist Brandon Heath: “Give me Your eyes for just one second / Give me Your eyes so I can see / Everything that I keep missing / Give me Your love for humanity / Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted / The ones that are far beyond my reach / Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten / Give me Your eyes so I can see.”

If I had to describe the month of August in just a few words, one of those words would probably be thirsty . I try to begin each day drinking 32 ounces of water, and though it’s a great start, it’s not enough. My body will definitely need more. In spite of my efforts to stay hydrated, I almost always feel thirsty at bedtime.   David—psalmist, shepherd, king, and man after God’s heart—knew something about thirst, and Psalm 63 is a great example of this. David wrote these words when he was running away from his son Absalom. You can read that story in 2 Samuel 15-18, but here’s a summary: Absalom, David’s oldest son, manipulated his way into the hearts of the people to overtake the throne. David found out about his plot, so he escaped. Eventually, Absalom’s failed coup ends with him getting his hair caught in a tree while riding his mule, and then, as Absalom was hanging in mid-air, one of David’s men killed him. But before the story is resolved with David back on the throne, he wrote this psalm in the Judean wilderness where he was hiding.     Psalm 63:1-5: “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.” ( NIV )   I’ve been thinking a lot about that first verse and the intensity of David’s word choices. This was a desperate man going through one of the worst moments of his life. David had been hunted before, but this was a betrayal by his own son. Even though he’s at his lowest, he gives us an example of what to do when things look really dark. David starts off by saying what he knows. He claims God as his own. “You, God, are my God.” And, not only that, but David is earnestly seeking God. He’s serious about his relationship with the Lord. In fact, he’s so serious that he thirsts for God’s presence and his intervention.   With it being summertime, I think we can all sympathize with that feeling of having a strong thirst, that craving for a glass of water after you’ve been outside doing yard work. It’s tempting to focus on the bad parts of our situation—the cause for our spiritual thirst or physical need—but the thirst can actually be the magnet that pulls us toward God. Think about who Jesus mentioned in his Sermon on the Mount. He didn’t say, “Blessed are the well-fed and hydrated.” He said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”   God is always offering us ways to draw closer to Him. If you’re in a “Judean Wilderness” like David (though it’s probably not because your long-haired son is trying to steal your throne) you can still see your thirst as an opportunity to earnestly seek the source for Living Water!

My husband and I took a trip to a couple of beautiful, old Southern towns recently. We stayed in homes near the bustling heart of those downtown areas so we could park our car and walk around to see the sights. We walked to restaurants and shops and historic homes. I put a lot of miles on my sneakers!   Once we got back in the car to drive somewhere too far to walk, I noticed a certain empathy for the pedestrians attempting to cross busy streets. Whether they followed the rules about crosswalks or not, we were aware of their presence, just as we had hoped other drivers had been looking out for us when we left the relative safety of sidewalks and stepped out into possible danger.   That got me thinking about empathy. When you’ve (literally or figuratively) walked where others are walking, it should inspire a measure of compassion and sympathy, because you’ve been there . As a veteran of that particular battle, you know the pros/cons, the ups/downs, the good/bad, the blessings/curses, the peaks/valleys of their situation. As life experiences increase, empathy should increase, too.   It's similar to the way I feel when I see a mom wrestling young kids in a public place. The kids are tired and hungry and mad because mom won’t buy Cocoa Puffs. There’s weeping from the kids and gnashing of teeth from mom, and I fully empathize. Sister, I’ve been there. I’ve had to park the shopping cart full of unpurchased items and just drive the kids home. It’s the same on airplanes. When parents board with a newborn or toddler, I secretly hope they’ll sit near me, because I have a high tolerance for kids’ antics. With my background, I can take the sounds, smells, and sticky fingers of children.   But it’s not possible to have every specific experience, so empathy may require imagination at times. I’ve never worked at Walmart, but that doesn’t prevent me from being kind to the cashier with the long line of customers before and after me as she’s checking out my groceries. I’ve never worked at a restaurant, but I can easily pretend what it would be like to serve food and drinks to potentially grouchy people for hours at a time with very little compensation.   But let’s talk about what empathy is NOT. It’s not pity, and it usually isn’t an opportunity to fix anything. Empathy is a location—sitting, walking, or being with the God-designed soul right in front of me, whether it’s in a deep hole or high on a mountaintop. In his book Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life , Henri Nouwen writes, “When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”

Like a lot of parents, I spend quite a bit of time driving to, sitting during and driving home from ball practice. I could try to figure out how many hours are spent in this way, but that would be depressing, like when my twin daughters were newborns and I calculated how many diapers I bought their first year. And, anyway, I’m not much into numbers. I’m more of a words person. Sentences are how I quantify and qualify my daily activities. Words are how I decide if the outcome is worth the expense of my time. I believe in practicing something over and over to get better at it. I believe that mastering a skill doesn’t happen overnight. I believe that learning how to work as a team takes time. I believe that hard work builds character. I believe that a coach or teacher or leader deserves respect and that is strengthened through face-to-face interactions. So, in other words, I believe that practice is a good thing. But there are those times…when it’s rainy and dark and I’m hungry and really behind on laundry, and I see the email that practice is cancelled. Ahhhh! Those three beautiful words: Practice is cancelled. I rejoice because I’d rather be home from the hours of 5:00-9:00 pm. I would love to be in my pajamas in front of the television, instead of sitting in my van and checking the clock to see how long I have until I can drive home. And practice is just a part of being a sports mom. There are also games and the preparation involved in going to these games. You have to be sure all of the equipment and uniforms are accounted for, but sometimes the planning fails me. For instance, last year my son had a game 45 minutes away from home. It was 81 degrees at my house, but at the fields we found 22-mph winds and the temperature dropped 20 degrees. Wearing shorts was not the best choice after all. I made myself into a ball—pulling my knees inside my shirt and wrapping my arms around my legs. I may have also turtled my chin and nose inside the collar of my shirt. Yay soccer! I don’t tell my kids the unpleasant truth concerning how I feel about driving them around, because this would make them feel like a burden. Though kids are a burden in the very literal sense—something to carry, a responsibility, an obligation—my four are loads I gladly shoulder. Precious inconveniences. Treasured encumbrances. Cherished disruptions. Running them to practices and sleep-overs and school and doctor’s appointments can get hectic, but what better way to show them how much I care. Do they always appreciate it? No, of course not! Did you appreciate your parents for all they did for you? I doubt it! But I’m grateful for the opportunities to serve them, and let’s face it, you don’t get into the Motherhood Business for the awards and the shout-outs. Even that one special day devoted to us, Mother’s Day, can be a letdown. Serving without any expectations for praise and gratitude seems almost superhuman, but it’s the definition of humility. I’m not always great at it, but I’m trying and being a mom gives me lots of opportunities to hone my humility skills. And you know what they say: “Practice makes perfect!”

Since November 9, 2019 marks the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, this moment in history has reappeared for a little while in the news. I was a teenager when it came down, but I realize now that I knew very little about this wall. I knew it was symbolic of the horrors of Communist Soviet Union and that President Ronald Reagan famously said, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” in a speech he made outside the Brandenburg Gate and a boy who liked my older sister gave her a chunk of stone that was supposed to be from the actual wall to somehow get her to go out with him. (It didn’t work.) I didn’t know that the wall went up in 1961. I assumed it was constructed just after the end of World War 2, when Germany was divided by the conquering nations—Soviets getting the eastern half and America, Britain and France ruling the western half. But the wall was a result of a slow simmering pot of dissatisfaction with the lack of freedom in the east and a controlling dictatorship. The Soviets didn’t like that so many people were leaving their side. Once the wall went up, that pot of unhappiness and misery had to build in intensity until the people could no longer abide the cruelty it enforced. I have been listening to an interesting BBC Radio podcast called “Tunnel 29” about a group of people who worked to help others escape from East Germany into West Germany. There are heartbreaking stories about families and friends being separated first by barbed wire, then thick concrete walls, trenches and land mines. The wall was heavily guarded and the East German Police employed spies to find those who might want to defect. The people were desperate to get out. The podcast focuses on one German man in particular named Joachim. He escaped from East Germany and was soon approached by a team of people wanting to dig tunnels under the wall. Joachim was an engineering student, so devising methods for removing dirt and pumping in fresh air and constructing scaffolding was his expertise. Without revealing the many plot twists and perilous moments in Joachim’s story, one of the most astonishing realizations I made while listening to the podcast is the group’s dedication to the rescue mission. When Joachim escaped, he took risks, but this was to save himself. He was willing to do whatever it took to get out of East Germany or die trying. The tunnel diggers jeopardized their own freedom and possibly their lives, but from the position of safety. They were in West  Germany. They were safe . Many of the other diggers were also escapees. They knew what was waiting for them on the east side of the concrete wall, and yet they started digging…digging toward  danger. This mentality may explain why so many social workers were once foster kids. And some medical professionals spent a lot of their childhoods in pediatric hospitals. And sometimes police officers grew up in homes where abuse was common. And the best caretakers to dying loved ones are cancer survivors. So often and contrary to human logic, the people who escape danger are the ones who are more likely to turn around and start digging in the direction of those who need rescuing.

One of the most reviled species of birds has got to be vultures. When I go for my morning walks, it’s not unusual for me to see them—either flying in circles above me or observantly sitting on a lamppost or feasting on some dead animal in the gutter. I don’t know whether it’s a cultural influence that makes me cringe when I see their featherless heads, beady eyes, and curved beaks, or if I would feel the same about them even if their public image were less negative.   But now I’m working with some new information about vultures that has changed how I think of them. I went to a bird show recently where I learned that they are among the most intelligent birds. They are good at problem-solving, and they have strong eyesight and a keen sense of smell. The bird handlers repeatedly sent their “show birds” into the open-air auditorium to retrieve items on command. Those trained vultures might not have been the prettiest birds in the show but their performance was impressive.   I often find it interesting to learn the names of groups of animals (a murder of crows, a memory of elephants, a blot of hippos, a parliament of owls), and the names for vulture groups don’t disappoint. For example, you could call a flock of vultures: a cast or a colony, a vortex or a volt. According to birdfact.com , “ The term or name for a group of vultures varies depending on where they are, although the generic term is a flock. When they are flying in formation, they are referred to as a kettle. When they are resting in a tree or on the ground, vultures are called a committee, and whilst feeding, they are known as a wake.” Apparently, the term “a kettle of vultures” refers to how they look as they fly in a circle, scouting and sniffing the ground below for something to eat. The circling motion looks like the whirlpool movement of a pot of boiling water.   Vultures are very social creatures with flocks that can number up to 300 birds, although they are most often comprised of about ten birds. They are good at sharing, taking turns eating a dead animal and even letting other species join them for the meal. Black vultures and Turkey vultures mate for life, and the couples spend time together year-round, not just during mating season.   There is so much to learn from the animal world around us and not just so we can know random facts for the next trivia night. Looking at vultures, I see examples of community that we should be replicating in the human world. They share. They stick together. They don’t seem to be swayed by physical beauty. (Okay, I’ll admit that last one was a stretch. I’m sure vultures probably look beautiful to each other.) They also serve a very valuable function. Vultures are equipped with strong stomach acids that destroy diseases that are found in the stinky, rotting carcasses. With this super gastronomical power, they can happily dispose of the things which the rest of us cross streets to avoid.   Vultures reminds us that everyone is made with valuable skills that can be used for service to others. As Dr. King said, “No work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.” So in the nicest way possible, I say, “Fly way, you kettle of vultures! Do your thing to make the world better!”

If you ask anyone who knows me—family, friends, people who sit near me at church—they’ll tell you that I am a big cry baby. Well, hopefully they won’t phrase it like that, but it’s a pretty accurate description. I cry while watching movies, commercials, and news segments about football teams who let that one kid score the winning touchdown even though he’s just a really skinny water boy but he’s the most devoted and encouraging person on the team and they eventually realize his true worth. I cry in every wedding, funeral, and baptism. I cry in big crowds, in small groups, and all by myself.   I’ve always been embarrassed by my tears. I don’t really like to draw attention to myself, and when I cry it gets people rubbernecking in my direction, no doubt trying to figure out what tragedy I’m currently suffering through. But most of the time, I’m doing fine. I’m just designed to wear my feelings outside my body and they come out in liquid form. My grown-up brain knows that it’s perfectly okay for me to cry, but I still don’t like it.   Then I stumbled upon a little verse in Psalm 56 where David says to God, “You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” All of a sudden, my tears took on a significance. Each one is worth preserving. They are valuable enough to be caught in a bottle and logged in a record book.   When I recently watched my youngest son worshipping with his youth group, hands raised and eyes closed as he sang praises, I wept. Then a visual came into my mind of God standing beside me as He held a slender glass bottle against my cheek, catching the tears as they rolled down, and I realized this was my contribution. I was worshipping with my tears.   When I cry because I see someone else cry, this is an act of both service and worship. This is me trying to obey the principle of mourning with others as they mourn. When I sit in a church pew and cry—whether it’s a funeral or a wedding or just another Sunday morning—I’m attempting to do what Jesus said in Matthew 22. When He was asked which commandment was the most important, Jesus quoted Deuteronomy: “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment.” For me, my all comes out as tears.   Of course, not everyone has to express their emotions like I do, but that doesn’t make my show of feelings wrong or weird. At least that’s what I’m trying to remind myself. We have so many examples in Scripture of strong people who were brought to their knees as they wept—David, Jeremiah, Hannah. And don’t forget that Jesus wept multiple times—for his friend, for Jerusalem, for his own death. These stories tell me that all of our emotions are safe in God’s presence. Just like our expressions of joy are welcome, our tears aren’t radioactive drops of embarrassment. As James 4 says it, “Come near to God, and God will come near to you.”

Apart from my seasonal allergies, this is my favorite time of year. April and May are glorious in middle Tennessee. I’m currently typing these words with the windows open as a light morning rain polka-dots the driveway. Robins, cardinals, and wrens are singing in harmony just outside, while an occasional mockingbird adds her chorus to the mix.   I recently planted a variety of annuals and perennials in pots and in flower beds, hoping and praying as I plunged my spade into the dirt that the flowers, herbs, and tomato plants would survive through August, and the rosebushes would be there for much longer.   As I added some bright red vincas to the planters on my front porch, I spied glistening trails all along the brick porch steps. They looked like snaking threads of silver. I traced one trail until I saw a tiny snail as big as my thumbnail. It was slowly and methodically making its way from one end of the step to the other. I looked away from the snail for a few minutes to focus on my task of getting those vincas in the potting soil. After I had watered everything and cleaned up my mess, I looked for the snail again. It had begun its arduous ascent up the knee wall. Even though they’re known for moving slowly it was chugging along at top snail speed.   My interactions with the snail and the flowers made me stop and think about how something can seem so gradual and unhurried—like watching a flower bloom or a snail reach its destination or a child grow up—and then it’s somehow suddenly over.   It’s like King David’s expression of grief and wonderment in Psalm 39 where he says, “Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure. Surely everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing whose it will finally be. But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.”   That’s the other thing about the month of May. It’s about beautiful spring weather, but it’s also about the “vain rushing about” that David described. It’s also known as the month of graduations and the start of summer weddings. Major milestones are written in bold letters in the boxes of our May calendars.   A few months ago, our 14-year old son asked me, “What’s the point of having kids if they’re just going to grow up and move away?” That’s a valid question. In the last few years, he’s been a groomsman twice and attended several graduations. In his own way, he recognized how fleeting life is.   So as I praise God for these glorious spring days and witness those that I love grow and change, I will try to notice all of the journey—the snail and the trail, the start and the finish and the race in-between. I’ll listen to the words of another psalm, Psalm 143: “I remember the days of long ago; I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done. I spread out my hands to you.”

When I was growing up as the middle of three sisters, we spent a lot of our summers in the Great Outdoors. Getting kids to play outside was less of a battle back then than it is for parents today. We only had a few television channels to watch and no video games or smartphones to keep us inside, glued to screens. We might start the day watching a few games shows, but the options interested us less and less as the day went on and the lineup of soap operas began. So we’d head out to the backyard to play on the swing set or ride our bikes around the neighborhood.   One of our favorite summer pastimes involved a Radio Flyer wagon and a steep driveway. Living amongst the hills of Nashville, our driveway started at street level and plunged at an incline to the bottom before curving around to the area in front of the garage door. Where the driveway leveled off at the bottom, there was a long curb dividing the asphalt from a sloping little vegetable garden. We loved to take turns sitting at the top of the driveway in our red wagon, holding the handle against our chest with our eyes clearly focused on the goal: Ride the wagon down the steep incline at breakneck speed, then use the handle to steer to the right just in time to avoid flying headfirst over the curb and into the squash and cucumber plants in the garden. It’s a miracle that we never broke a bone or suffered anything more than a skinned knee with these Evel Knievel stunts.   Another favorite summer activity was to challenge each other to Hot Foot Races. As the name implies, we would race barefoot across the blazing hot blacktop. The heat of sisterly competition and the actual heat of the asphalt would spur us on to break Olympic speed records (at least, that’s how I remember it).   I’ve never been much of an athlete, so these outdoors sporting events were the closest I get to understanding the author of the book of Hebrews when he says in chapter 12, “And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”   When reading these verses, it helps to read the chapter that precedes it: Hebrews 11, the Faith Hall of Fame. Here we see a list of Bible heroes and their claims to fame—Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Joseph, to name a few. Then at the end of the list, we read, “These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.”   Then Hebrews 12 begins with: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.” The great cloud of witnesses are those heroes listed before, the ones who went before us and showed great faith and endurance even though they didn’t live long enough to see Jesus on earth as he made everything perfect and complete.   Unlike those races of my summers long ago, Hebrews 12 isn’t talking about those short sprints across the blacktop or down a driveway. We’re told to take part in a marathon requiring us to “run with perseverance.”  Fortunately for us, we have One who’s gone ahead and demonstrated the route we should take, a pioneer who has placed mile markers along the way and raised the banner for the finish line. We just need to fix our eyes on Him.