Memories of Mom and the Power of Simple

My mother was a science fiction writer and had some short stories published by the time she was in her teens. When her first novel was accepted by a publisher, their contract came with the requirement that she cut her manuscript in half. Mom cried off and on while she typed a shortened version over the next two weeks, saying various angry things about Avalon publishers. But once she fought through slicing and dicing that story mom went on to have another 7-8 books published. A copy of her first book, “The Sea People” © Avalon Books 1959 sits proudly on my bookshelf next to a few others.

Did mom ever become a famous writer? Well, other than working as an instructor for “The Famous Writer’s School” the short answer is no. But mom was moderately successful, with her fourth book (Sons of the Wolf) published both in the U.S. as well as Germany, Italy and the UK. Whatever our ability level, we who work in words often fall into the trap of elaborating a scene, an idea or a character till only we are in love with our story. But longer is rarely better and less is usually more. Consider the brevity of the parable of the prodigal son. In just 495 words Jesus shares a story that has touched more lives and changed more hearts than all the works of Shakespeare, Twain, and Jane Austin combined. He tells us about a son who left the simple life of a family farm for the glittering complexity of a distant city. There the son lost all that his father had given him and wasted everything he had trying to be somebody important. But the oinking of the pigs soon made it clear that his dream job had ended up being just feeding hogs. There in the pigpen, Jesus tells us that, “He came to himself.” In that single moment of clear thinking, he remembered his father. On the way home, the prodigal son carefully rehearsed a list of apologies and explanations, but on his arrival, he was immediately interrupted by his joyful father’s welcome. To every one of us who have come home to a childlike faith in Jesus, God gives a story to tell. The less distance we put between the story He gives us and the heart of our neighbor the better. Every story is a pathway to somewhere and the story of grace should be a simple pathway that ends with a Father who is waiting to celebrate our return!

Heaven’s Family Album

Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven. Luke 10:20 KJV

This year we decided that the time had come to organize our vast collection of family photos. We put this off for years because in our cabinets lie thousands of snapshots of our own, as well as hundreds from our parents, and even grandparents. Slowly and methodically, we went through our collection, tossing out faded landscapes, faces of folks we do not recognize or wished we didn’t.

At first, this was simply tedious but as time went on and the images passed before me, the memories came rushing back. We laughed seeing images of our children (now in their forties) jumping on the couch, we wept to see faces of friends and family separated by death or broken relationships. Some of our memories are treasures, while others we simply wanted to throw away. As flipped through the pile of photographs, I saw my life in the faces and was reminded that God also has a family album of His own in Heaven.

From His vast collection, He has lovingly shared with us a few eternal snapshots, to teach us the most important lessons of life. From our children, we learned to be patient and to love them even when they failed. From parents and grandparents, He showed us how to face difficulties with faith and respect for those weaker than we are. But from those who hurt us He has given us the opportunity to learn the greatest lesson of all. With these Jesus brings us to the cross where He teaches us to treat thieves as companions, failed friends as family members and those who cause our deepest pain, as people in need of mercy. At the cross God shows us that in forgiving others, He has forgiven us in spite of our sins. Then by His grace He has added us one by one into His family album in Heaven where we will one day see His face forever!

Do You Wash My Feet?

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, do you wash my feet?” John 13:6 ESV

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

When I was four years old, we lived in a tiny apartment over a store and my back yard was the flat roof of the building with a wall around its edge. One morning as I was out there playing with some pots and pans, I got the notion of flinging a frying pan over the wall, but my happy smile turned to terror as I heard loud yelling below and then the sound of footsteps coming up the fire escape. Soon the angry face of a delivery truck driver appeared at the top of the stairs holding the frying pan in his hand! My memory fails me as to what happened beyond the well-deserved spanking my mother dished out that day. As she finished, I shouted, “I don’t like you! I want to go live with Gammy and Cap-Cap!” (My grandparents) Mom quietly smiled as she dried my tears, then without argument, fetched my suitcase, put it up on the bed and started to help me pack. Soon I was down on the street, holding my luggage in one hand, staring determinedly ahead as mom pointed, “Okay you walk up this road about 500 miles and you’ll come to their house.” I made it about half a block when the sound of cars swooshing past and the long late afternoon shadows struck fear in my heart and in tears, I ran back to my mom and threw my arms around her. How hard it was to admit that she had been right all along and that I loved her! Just like me, Peter hated to admit how much he needed Jesus. He was ashamed how dirty his feet were, and shocked to see Jesus kneeling to wash them. But Jesus not only washed Peter’s feet, He wants to wash yours and mine as well. If we simply confess our need for Him, what a joy is ours when He washes us, then picks us up and carries us all the way home!