The nest is empty. This year I missed the first flight of Madame Robin’s new chicks. Hard to believe since there’s usually a week of loud demand from the nest for worms. Maybe I have it wrong and need to go look into the nest. It would be one more excuse not to finish the cleanup of my memoir, which I promised myself to do today. Yes, I know I could do that tomorrow, a practice in place for months now. But I purposed that tomorrow has arrived and will happen today. I have only seventy five pages left to sweep clean of words and sentences that add nothing and go nowhere. If I finish it today, what will I have left to write tomorrow?
Ah yes! The sequel. Many decades of my mundane life lie fallow and concern themselves with growing up, marrying, mothering, and working at a fulfilling job that I enjoyed for 35 years. Those years were filled with purpose, and countless blessings, but the import of them occurred in the thing I loved to do more than any other.
I sang in a choir called Promise.
If you sang with me, you know this is my second family. You know we still gather on occasion to sing the joy of belonging to the Creator who determined our every move in His name. You know what Anne Graham Lotz knows: out of suffering comes blessing.
She wrote about Audrey Wetherell Johnson, the great missionary who began her journey from agnosticism to God’s voice in the wilderness world. Bells rang in my head as I read Lotz this morning. Recently I watched a movie without knowing it was the story of Miss Johnson’s life. Interred in a Japanese prison camp for three years, the guards and the camp commandant treated her a bit less harshly, knowing full well who she was…God’s vicar in their charge. They were afraid of God’s wrath on them if they harmed a hair on her head. Prison wasn’t easy for her, but their hand was held back from destroying her.
It is always a bad idea to thwart God. It is a dangerous move to thwart His people, particularly those anointed to His assigned work. One could consider that the very instrument causing the suffering ends up with blessing. The commandant did, however hard he tried to avoid it.
I am the “why” child. “Why” is forever on my tongue. Why, why, why is my litany. It is only in the past decade that even I am weary of myself. I ask that less and less and just say okay. Whatever. Lead on. It is the path of least resistance that leads to greater clarity and sometimes when I stop asking, the why is answered. When I no longer care why, but just ask for the road map and the task, I will likely find I have arrived at understanding something of what my life is about, and what is my purpose and where I’m going. Until I get there, the best I can do is place one foot in front of the other and head on up the road. Next assignment? Do it with joy.
The blessing? Many of you are walking the road with me.