Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

I've been going back through some old pictures, putting together ideas for a new project. This one, which I believe my cousin Jimmy sent me, is one of my favorites because there's a little mystery to it. Something seems to be happening—or maybe someone is approaching—off camera, to the left side of the picture. The woman in the white dress and heels (a distant relative I'm told) looks unimpressed, maybe even confrontational. The woman in the apron (my maternal grandmother) appears resigned and suspicious. She has seen what's out there and thinks it will be, in the end, just more trouble to deal with. The girl in plaid (Aunt Joyce) has a hopeful expression. She seems curious and eager. And the little girl (my mother) has turned her head away, as if she's not sure she's ready for this. She hides in the shadow of her big sister.

Granted, someone else might read this old snapshot differently, but for me, it's a reminder that we approach the world so differently as we move through life. We experience the good, the bad, the tragic; thrilling successes and heartbreaking failures. Some dreams come true and some don't. Through it all, we try to overcome childhood fears and hold onto the optimism of our "girl-in-the-plaid-dress youth" but temper that with the wisdom we've gathered over the years.

Daddy has always said that young people might have intelligence, but nobody acquires any wisdom till they're over 30:) He also says that you have to know God through faith—if you rely on books or anything else to prove God to you, you'll be disappointed. This is coming from someone who has one of the most inquisitive minds you will ever encounter. Junior Fraser questions everything. But his journey has taught him that there are some things we can accept and believe, even if we can't fully understand them.

I've had cause, in the last few months, to revisit the question, "Why is there evil and suffering in the world?" And I've been rereading Reverend Timothy Keller's The Reason for God. Two things jumped out at me:

(1) It's okay to examine your faith.

From Reverend Keller: Only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself, that are plausible rather than ridiculous or offensive. . . . [S]uch a process will lead you, even after you come to a position of strong faith, to respect and understand those who doubt.

(2) It's okay to admit you don't have all the answers—and never will.

From Reverend Keller: If you have a God great and transcendent enough to be mad at because he hasn't stopped evil and suffering in the world, then you have (at the same moment) a God great and transcendent enough to have good reasons for allowing it to continue that you can't know. 

A special prayer this morning for anyone facing a difficult personal battle—or wrestling with difficult questions.

Sunday Morning Serenity

Today is my Aunt Joyce's birthday. I've been thinking about her a lot this week because a friend of mine was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, which she is facing with characteristic spunk, humor, and courage. Aunt Joyce fought her own battle with breast cancer—against enormous odds—and won.

We lost her many, many years later to other causes, but not before she had made decades of memories with her children and grandchildren and not before she had helped countless other women find the strength to fight. And I think the reason she was so good at helping others find their courage was that she understood how hard that could be. She had lost her husband to cancer in the 1960s, when there were almost no treatments available. When she discovered her own cancer, she was so afraid of it that she waited months and months to tell anyone or see a doctor. The outlook wasn't good. But our family and our church family began to pray fervently for her. And she had an outstanding doctor who said, when it was all over and she was well again, "I was just God's instrument." He knew he had a lot of help with this particular patient.

Aunt Joyce was one of the most spiritual people I've ever known. She believed in the power of prayer, and she had a way of making other women believe in it, too. Though she had a very sharp wit (and an even stronger will), she was always, deep down, very modest and private. Cancer changed that. She became like one of those frontier explorers, blazing a trail through daunting territory and then leading trains of fearful followers through. I can't tell you how many times I've seen her stand by a bedside or sit down on a church pew with a terrified woman, newly diagnosed. She would take them by the hand and say, with Aunt Joyce confidence, "Just look at me! I'm fine. And you're gonna be fine!" They would hug her and thank her because they knew she meant it. And when she told you something, you believed it.

I guess I'm thinking about Aunt Joyce and my friend together because they remind me a little bit of each other—funny and feisty, courageous and compassionate—strong survivors, like my mother and so many women in my family and my church. (That's Mama and Aunt Joyce at left.) Some of them have won their fight. Some are still in the trenches. All of them need our unceasing prayer and support. 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Last week I heard an NPR interview with some high school students who were too young to remember September 11. One of them said she had researched the attack but didn’t want to see any video footage from it because she would find it too disturbing. I can understand that. She’s very young. Some images from that day make me want to look away, too. But part of me feels an obligation to all those people who lost their lives—to watch their story and be disturbed by it; to remember that there is both a great darkness and a great light in the world.

I was listening to firsthand accounts of that day on a documentary this morning, and what I kept hearing over and over again was the amazing capacity of ordinary people to reach out to each other during a great tragedy. Also, they reminded me that what was a national loss for all of us was a very personal loss for some—a parent who never came home; a friend who was never found; a brother or sister who didn’t live long enough to get married, finish that master’s degree, celebrate that next promotion.

Today I’m going to church with my friend Missey’s mom. It’s our way of remembering her and commemorating her life. I know that many families are doing that today—remembering someone dear. And I am thinking of this passage:

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life,
nor angels nor principalities nor powers,
nor things present nor things to come,
nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing,
shall be able to separate us from the love of God
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39

Sunday Morning Serenity

I'm taking this weekend to shut off the "life racket"—all the problems and challenges that have been swirling around in my head for the past couple of months. I didn't realize how many of them were rattling around up there or how much noise they were making till we escaped to a beach house where there was nothing to look at or dwell on but water and sky and bombardier squadrons of pelicans. (I think it would be grand to be a pelican: perch, fly, splash, eat, float, repeat; perch, fly, splash, eat, float, repeat.) 

It's amazing how something as simple as a change in the weather can refresh your perspective. There's a little nip in the air this weekend, and that alone is a reminder that whatever season we're in right now, it won't last forever. Fresh air will eventually come blowing in, and a new light will shine through the sky overhead. (Aside: Among the wonderful mentors who took me under wing in my youth was the brilliant Dianne Young, who once described the clouds of West Texas as "ripped by wind and fired by light." Don't you love that?)

I'm trying to look past the bigger hurdles up ahead and just be thankful for the little things in the here and now—a cool morning, birds chirping, and well-adjusted cats who aren't (at the moment) trying to kill each other:) Simple little blessings are reminders that there is always help and hope, no matter what challenges come our way. We all get ripped by the wind sometimes, but we're also fired by the Light.