Growing Up

Where did you grow up? Wait. Stop. Not the city where you were raised, but where did you grow up? Where did you mature and feel the impact of the French statement whose author I failed to trace. “We all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one.” I know it sounds confusing, but think about it.

            Ready now? Where were you when you realized your life on earth really does end one day, leaving a ‘to be continued in eternity’ screen for those left behind? Where were you when you had to make difficult but necessary decisions regarding the way you use the finite time you have remaining as you walk the earth breathing God’s free air? That moment is when I believe we grow up, although we don’t always realize it until later.

            An artist needs to take a step back to view his painting, a chef has to wait a while until the ingredients she’s chopped, mixed, and heated  become dinner, and a carpenter must take the time to provide adequate support before installing a new microwave over a range (cue my brother Matt, “Let’s just say y’all won’t be heating anything up in that tonight.”)

Sometimes a little distance, a little time, a little step back is required to see what’s happened in life. I took that step back when I walked into Dr. Gurtler’s office last month. I paused, just for a second, as I surveyed the circle of lounge chairs supporting lives attached to tubes attached to bags of chemotherapy. My 21-year journey was summarized in a single thought,  this is where I grew up. Or as the French would say, where I realized I only have one life.

            A couple of decades ago,  in Dr. Gurtler’s office,  I realized  life was going to end for me and my fellow lounge chair occupants, some sooner than others, and I had to decide what to do. Conversations varied in that chemo lounge. Conversations about nothing and everything with people I saw repeatedly and others who never returned.

            There one day I fought tears, but in the end the tears won. My weekend plans had been brought to a halt by an unexpected round of chemotherapy. Tommy, God bless him where he is, quietly connected me to the drug and used his gentle wit to soothe my disappointment.

            And it was also there , another day, when I got so tired of hearing about insurance and odds of our survival and whether or not to stop treatment that I brought an abrupt halt to the conversation by saying, “I realize I will die, but it won’t be for a long time and it won’t be from cancer. I will die of old age.” And then I did what I had to do medically, made daily decisions to  joyously embrace the moment, and began and ended each day with a whole lot of thanks for the past and trust for the future. Yes, there in Dr. Gurtler’s office, I grew up.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Trophies of Grace

            There they sat. In the corner of Geoffrey’s closet. Lots of trophies earned by him and sister Monique. Cleaning out the closet in the room once used by Monique, then Geoffrey, provided a lesson in their history. The trophies were earned for academics, athletics, personality, and even piano. (On a side note, if I had a do-over I would require my children to remain in piano lessons until they graduated high school.)

            I couldn’t wait until Monique and Geoffrey There they sat. In the corner of Geoffrey’s closet. Lots of trophies earned by him and sister Monique. Cleaning out the closet in the room once used by Monique, then Geoffrey, provided a lesson in their history. The trophies were earned for academics, athletics, personality, and even piano. (On a side note, if I had a do-over I would require my children to remain in piano lessons until they graduated high school.)

            I couldn’t wait until Monique and Geoff dropped by. I just knew they would be thrilled to take their hard-earned prizes to their own homes. Later that evening when they visited, I brought out the trophies. They and their spouses enjoyed going through the box and reading each of the engraved brass plates. However, no one wanted to take them home! “You have to,” I insisted, “they’re yours.” No responses. Time to tug on the hearts. “Monique, one day  Olivia will want these. She will want to know what her mother did in school”

            “No offense, Mom, but I don’t want any of your trophies. Why would Olivia want mine?” No offense taken. Honestly, I have no clues as to what happened to my trophies.

Anyway, where did this idea of trophies begin? The word trophy is derived from the Greek word tropaion and means any property or person captured in battle. Ancient Romans celebrated their military successes by exhibiting newly conquered captives and treasures in a parade while burning incense to the gods.

This practice is alluded to in 2 Corinthians 2:14. The Amplified version of the Bible gives an interesting translation. “But thanks be to God, Who in Christ always leads us in triumph [as trophies of Christ’s victory] and through us spreads and makes evident the fragrance of the knowledge of God everywhere.” We’re trophies of His grace, a constant display of His love. Makes me want to check myself to be sure I’m accurately reflecting my God.

            As to my children’s trophies, they are not on display. Rather, there they sit. In the corner of my garage. Lots of trophies.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com.

And Sometimes He Closes the Door

           “She just sits by Monique and Frank’s closed bedroom door and cries. It’s so sad!”  Elise was babysitting her niece, Olivia, and called with an update.

She must really have been missing her parents because Olivia usually entertains herself. Watching the one year old is wonderful exercise for she is rarely still. She roams throughout the  house, briefly plays with a toy or two, climbs onto a chair, or pulls books off of shelves. Her parents are kept busy childproofing their home by putting dangerous things out her reach, locking cabinets, and closing doors to keep her from wandering around getting lost.

I wonder if my Heavenly Father gets tired of childproofing my life? Keeping things that would poison me out of my reach? Closing doors that might cause me to wander away from Him? I hope not. I need those closed doors as much as I need open ones.

When I pray for something, I usually add, “But just keep me in the center of Your will. If it’s not supposed to happen, please close the door.” Then, when God closes the door, I’m disappointed. “But God, I’ve thought about it a lot and I really think it’s a good idea.” And He doesn’t budge. Oh, He always answers my prayers, but sometimes the answer remains, “No.”

Once a little time has passed, I realize how shortsighted or downright ridiculous my request was and I am grateful for divine guidance, for fences and refusals and closed doors. Even though I’ve been known to sit by the closed door and cry.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtcoline.com.

Looking for the Lost

             It was lost and she would not stop looking for it. Even though she had others, and other things to do, the woman was on a mission.  Let the dogs bark, let the neighbors knock, she would not give up until she found it. One of her silvers coins was gone and the search was on.

            Like the Palestinian women of her day, the woman in Jesus’ parable  (Luke 15:8-10)  was likely given this silver coin, and nine others, as a wedding gift.  She was supposed to take care of it, keep it in a safe place, and treat it as the treasure it was. Losing this valuable and sentimental coin right under her own roof began a hunt that would not end until the coin was found. 

            First, she lit a lamp. Darkness would not hide what was hers. Once illuminated, she swept her home to clear away anything that might cover up her gift. Finally she began to search carefully until her coin was found. Only then did she call out to her friends and neighbors, inviting them to share in the joy of her find.

            Maybe we can’t relate to losing a silver coin received on our wedding day, but surely we’ve all experienced a search for something which was lost.  The more valuable the item, the more intense the search, and the greater the joy when it is recovered. And it is that joy which concludes Jesus’ parable. Referencing the celebration over finding the lost coin, Jesus said, “In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

            This season of Lent, as we prepare ourselves to commemorate the sacrificial death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, perhaps we could mimic the course of action taken by the woman in Jesus’ story as we seek to bring others to Him. Just as she lit a lamp, the light of Jesus will shine through our lives when our words and actions reflect the His love, truth, and forgiveness. We can ask God to help us to  sweep away our  busyness, selfishness or apathy  so that we might seek and reach out to those in need. Let’s keep looking.