Peace that surpasses understanding

It was over a month ago, on a Thursday. We'd worked a long day already and it was unseasonably warm for April. Unused to heat and the physical exertion required to mow, trim, and edge all of the lawns on our schedule--and probably dehydrated--I had developed a migraine headache. 

I'd felt the first twinge of awareness that not all was right with my brain a few yards back. After I finished blowing the clippings at customer's house and hung the backpack blower on the wall of our enclosed lawn trailer, I went to the cab of the work truck and checked the console. Darn it. I must have used my last pill last fall and forgot to restock my emergency stash.

With migraine headaches, time is crucial. The sooner you can get the medication into your system, the better the chances that it will work quickly and effectively. The longer you delay, the greater the chances that the headache will develop into a multiple-day ordeal requiring several doses.

We were working in our neighborhood, and to get to the final three customers on our route we would pass within a block of our house. I told my boss husband I needed to stop at our house and take my medication first.

What he said surprised me.

"Karen, why don't you just be done for the day. Don and I will finish it."

Relief flooded me. A cold front had whooshed in minutes ago, dropping the temperature nearly 30 degrees, and leaving me shivering in my tank top and shorts. The storm in the forecast couldn't be far behind, but suddenly I had a reprieve.

Once inside my house I quickly found my headache pills, took one with a big glass of water, and headed to our hot tub. I eased my body into the blissfully warm water and watched the blossoming trees swaying in the wind. The rain came, making a musical drumming on the cabana roof.

And in that moment, I had a peace that surpasses understanding.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. The good feeling may have had a little to do with the prescription drug I just took. But every thought I had was fueled with an intense rush of gratitude.

I still had a headache, but I was so grateful that I had a prescription that I knew would take care of it soon. I was grateful that I had health insurance to help pay for it. I was grateful that I still had plenty and wouldn't need to reorder during the coronavirus shutdown.

Working our lawn service business can be incredibly hard some days, but I was so grateful that Kansas had deemed it essential and we could continue without a hiccup. I was grateful that we only lost a couple of customers and had gained half a dozen.

I was grateful we had a hot tub, and grateful for the cabana roof to listen to the rain. I was also grateful for the rain, because it meant that we might have a day off tomorrow, or at least a later start and could plan on sleeping in.

Since our business in Kansas is seasonal, we have money coming in during the summer and use it up during the winter. If we didn't save enough, we might have to put stuff on our credit card before we can start earning again in spring. We were at the end of a full April, and I was so grateful that I could begin invoicing our customers and getting money to start balancing our accounts. I was grateful that we have been able to support our family with our business since 2003. 

Working with my husband as my boss is often challenging, but when he unexpectedly let me off for the rest of the day, he fostered a lot of goodwill in my heart. I was so grateful. I was also grateful for our faithful friend Don who runs the weed eater on Thursdays when we do our biggest residential lawns, letting me mow with one of our riding mowers and saving some steps. I was also grateful that our daughter Laurel had helped us during her spring break from Emporia State University, and continued working with us when her spring break was extended due to the virus, and that she had promised to work with us again for the summer when she finished all of her classes.

As I continued to look over our tree-filled back yard, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for God's faithfulness and blessings, even though I felt we were on the precipice of COVID-19. In the weeks since, I have often gone back to that moment when I so clearly felt that peace that surpasses all understanding. 

Philippians 4:6-7 has long been my go-to verse, and it is even more pertinent now.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving let you requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your mind in Christ Jesus."

My green gables- Our hot tub at the back of our house is normally a peaceful place, but this time I experienced a peace that even surpasses understanding.

606

I woke up at 6:06 a.m. For ones growing up in the Mennonite tradition, 606 is the number in the hymn book of the "new" version of "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow." I think extra sheets were physically taped into the current hymnbooks after the last song, 605. I can't be sure, because this was from the General Conference, and I grew up in the Mennonite Brethern, so we had different hymnbooks. But I digress. . .

So when I woke up at 6:06 a.m., I immediately thought, "Praise God, from whom all Blessings flow."
So I am praising God for my home that Dave and I returned to after 26 days away.
I am praising God for David Franklin, my husband, my travel planner, driver, and companion.
I am praising God for his amazing might in creating the mountains, gargantuan boulders, endless ocean waters, impossibly tall redwoods, and sandy beaches.
I am praising God that I live in a country where we can so easily drive to see these amazing places, and drive through these amazing places. (Some of the roads along the coast were crazy, but they all were in pretty good shape, and the mudslide damage from two years ago is repaired).
I am praising God that we were able to see dear family members that we hadn't seen for far too long.
And I am praising God that I get to spend the day with my granddaughter Rose today, I have missed her sweet face.

An Easter like no other

12 days until an Easter like no other.
I saw on Monday that my mom, Rosella Epp, has a cross right by her door. Jesus's sacrifice for our sins and then his rising from the grave is the reason we always have Easter.
This year will not be an Easter for getting new shoes and dress clothes for the family. This year we will not have huge Easter egg hunts and Easter SunRuns.
This is an Easter for listening.
"Call to Me and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know." Jeremiah 33:3

Mother's Day Parade

I had a wonderful Mother's Day yesterday, and the absolute best part was the surprise parade that my husband, Dave, and daughter, Laurel, planned for me.

A while after we'd nearly finished a panful of grilled shrimp, chicken, and veggies (that looked like this--yum!)

the mothers were told to congregate on the front porch to wait for a surprise, so June, her mom, my mom, and I went to the porch. This is what we saw:

And this is what we heard:

So we joined them!

It was such a beautiful day for a walk. Our streets were resurfaced last week, so the asphalt was nice and smooth. The music that Dave had on his Bluetooth speaker tucked in the wagon lent a festive air. The two dozen cans strung together rattled behind the wagon, and if they didn't make enough noise, someone was ringing a cowbell. (Because, if you know me, you know I like to ring cowbells!)

And Rose loved it! She was grinning from ear to ear, and moving to the music. She knew this was really a Rose parade. Occasionally she would grab a balloon and try to bite it, I was hoping it wouldn't explode in her face, but it didn't.

As we walked through Benjamin Hills, we waved to people who were wondering what the commotion was about. We saw our friend Angie (not pictured, darn it) and wished her a happy Mother's Day and marveled at her son Indy's amazing flips on his trampoline. Then we stopped to deliver a handmade sign for another favorite mom and mom-to-be:

So all-in-all, it was a great idea and so much fun. I think we'll have to do it next year too! 

Nativity Set

Okay, I admit it. When I go to Sam's or Costco, I am sorely tempted to buy something for my granddaughter Rose (who is nine months old today!) I am a sucker for the Carter's play outfits and footed jammies (they are on CLEARANCE!) and the picture books.

Usually my husband, Dave, is along, so usually he talks me out of these purchases. Last month, however, I insisted.

Sam's had just stocked their seasonal aisle with Christmas decor and toys, and I saw this cute children's nativity set. I really liked this set because it looks similar to breakable ones, but it isn't. 

I bought it. 

But not as a gift for Rose. I plan to keep it at my house, so I can play with it with her and any other grandchildren in the future.

When my daughter Laurel came home from college the next weekend with a couple friends, I excitedly showed her my new "Grandma" purchase.

We opened the box and exclaimed with delight at the figures of Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, an angel, and the little baby Jesus. 

Laurel's friend, who had been watching with interest, said, "I don't really know the story."

She hadn't ever gone to church, she told us.

So how else would anyone know the nativity story? I wondered. Aside from the Charlie Brown Christmas special, even the classic Christmas TV programs don't really mention Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. And it isn't discussed in schools.

Even kids growing up attending church every Sunday might not know all the details of the Christmas story. 

So Laurel and I held up each figurine in turn and explained the cast of characters. We told her that God so loved the world that he developed an elaborate plan to have Mary, a virgin, give birth to the Son of God who would 33 years later be sacrificed for the sins of the world.

Laurel also told her that she should watch "The Nativity" which we own on DVD. Maybe she will make that happen. I hope so.

Tonight I babysat Rose so her parents could go out for dinner. We went to the basement and I took the set out of the box. When she grabbed the angel I told her, "the angel told the Shepherds that baby Jesus was born." When she grabbed a wise man, I said, "The wise men were so happy that Jesus was born, they brought him gifts:  gold, Frankincense, and myrrh." And when she grabbed baby Jesus I said, "No, no, give that to Gigi," because baby Jesus is a choking hazard.

But next time maybe I will have a chance to tell her more about baby Jesus, and his mother Mary who yielded her will and reputation to God's divine plan, and his adopted Daddy Joseph who listened to God in a dream, and all the rest. 

Because I want her to know the story, and its Author.

The Hangover, Part 2

Shortly after I posted "Teaching Sunday School with a Hangover," my women's small group reviewed the four steps of restoration from "It's Not Supposed to Be this Way" by Lysa Terkeurst.

I may have skipped some steps.

Lysa used Psalm 51 as a model for how we are to handle things when we screw up. King David wrote the psalm after committing adultery with Bathsheba and ordering her husband's murder, so we know it can cover some serious sins. (I know all sins are serious).

I found it interesting that the psalm has notes "for the director of music," as many psalms do. The psalm was intended to be used for a communal experience of confession within the faith community.

The new testament contains a verse that talks about just that:  James 5:16 "Confess you sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed."

Confessing your failings to others is difficult and uncomfortable, but that last line is why we put ourselves through it, to reach the ultimate goal--healing!

David's psalm starts by asking for mercy, and continues with his confession: "For I know my transgressions and my sin is always before me." Nathan the prophet had to bring the whole sordid mess to David's attention, but finally David admitted his wrongs, and he fully admits his guilt to God.

He then asks for cleansing: "Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow." Lysa pointed out that right before the exodus the Children of Israel used hyssop as a paintbrush, to paint blood from a sacrificed lamb on the doorposts so the angel of death would pass over their house.

After cleansing, David asks God to create something new: "Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." A friend in another group once pointed out that David is asking God to create a whole new heart, not just a remodel of the old.

Then, amazingly, David asks for a calling: "Then I will teach transgressors your ways, so that sinners will turn back to you." After he has learned his lessons well, he intends to encourage others who have messed up to get back on track as well. I find this both bold and hopeful.

So where does this leave me? With my 20/20 hindsight, I would say that Noah's unknowing offer of grace should have encouraged me to confess my slipup to my group and our Sunday School coordinator. And maybe it did, it just took me two years.

So I would say I should have confessed in a TIMELY manner. That way my group could hold me accountable to make sure something similar didn't happen again. Sometimes we even call them "accountability groups" because that's one of their functions.

That reminds me of what River Community's pastor, Terry Williams always said. "When you mess up, 'fess up, don't slide and hide."

So after confessing, I needed to ask God for cleansing (which I did). I want Him to wipe my slate clean. David asked God to blot out all his iniquity.

I don't think I've ever asked God to create me a completely new heart, but it sounds like a good deal. Well, maybe I have. "Create in me a clean heart" was one of my favorite songs in the late 80s and early 90s. I can still hear Keith Green singing it.

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." David knew that sometimes things get hard to maintain over the long haul, so he went ahead and asked for a willing spirit up front. Good idea.
 David ends his psalm by saying "Open my lips, Lord, and my mouth will declare your praise."

My equivalent would be, "Move my fingers, and my blog will declare your praise." May it be so.

Teaching Sunday School with a Hangover

I taught Sunday School at our church for about seven years and my daughter, Laurel, served as my helper. We stepped down a little over a year ago. 

When I started teaching, I didn't drink alcohol all that much, but occasionally, I did. One Sunday morning I remember feeling the effects of imbibing too freely the night before, and I determined that I would never teach Sunday School with a hangover again.

So if we were at a gathering or party on Saturday night, I was careful to not overdo it. I wanted to be a good example for my second graders in Sunday School the next morning, not to mention my daughter and helper, Laurel. I made a pact with myself, and did my best to keep it.

Two years ago, however, the St. Patrick's Day parade was a perfect storm.

I had run 10 miles early with my friend, Kristen. (I know this because I keep a 10-year diary, a habit I picked up from my dad). Then Dave and I planned to meet up with friends at the Monarch on the parade route through Delano. I don't remember if I ate breakfast. I suspect I didnt.

Since the weather was a chilly 40 degrees, I decided to wear my cozy fur coat (which I received from Dave's mom Janet's estate). Since we happened to have some wine in the house, Dave had a great idea to fill up a wineskin and bring our own drinks. Since I am thrifty, I thought that was a great idea. I hooked it over my shoulder and easily concealed it under my fur coat. 

St. Patrick's Day Parade 2017- 40 degrees

So we met our friends and joined the gathering throng to watch the parade.

I was in charge of the wineskin, so it was very easy for me to take frequent sips, but not so easy to share. Dave ended up getting a green beer, and I made surprising progress on the wine. 

I knew at the time that some red wines are triggers for my migraine headaches, but I don't think I realized then how sensitive I am to them. Or maybe I have become more since then. Who knows?

I do know, however, that I drank most of the contents of the wineskin. Then I had a green beer because we were celebrating St. Patrick's Day, after all. Then after the parade we went to the newly-opened Aero Plains Brewery and I had a craft beer but I have no idea which one. We ran into other friends and I remember trying hard to concentrate on what they were saying, but having little success.

It was a little after 3 p.m., for sure no later than 4 p.m. when Dave realized he needed to get me home. I went straight to bed, but had a rough evening and night. I probably took at least one dose of my prescription migraine medicine.

As luck would have it, that was also the weekend to start daylight savings time. Yay! Spring ahead! Laurel and I were scheduled to teach Sunday School at 9:30 a.m., although it would feel like 8:30 a.m. (or zero dark thirty for me!)

As the morning approached I wondered if I would be able to make it. I kicked myself for getting into this situation. I didnt want to bail on the kids and call in sick, but I didn't want to teach Sunday School with a hangover, either. 

I started feeling a little better and decided I could teach. I got ready, had some breakfast, and Laurel and got to church and made it through Sunday School.

We attended second service, like usual. Afterwards, Chuck, our worship pastor, made a special point to come over and talk to Laurel and me. His son, Noah, had been in our 2nd grade class that morning.

Chuck told us that Noah had insisted on going to Sunday School during first service that morning even though it was an hour earlier with the time change because Mrs. Franklin and Laurel were his favorite teachers.

God says we are to come to him as little children, and there are times that He uses little children to deliver His messages of grace. 

At least that was what happened that day, from Noah's sweet declaration that we were his favorite teachers, to his perceptive dad who diligently passed it on, most likely obeying the promptings of the Holy Spirit even though he had no idea how desperately I would be needing that message of grace.