"Connecting with someone is not necessarily a bond with a significant other, or even a friend, but can be the indefinable - perhaps the rarest and most precious thing in life to find at all." ~Donna Lynn Hope

 

Monday began as a normal day for me - I had my list of things that I needed to do this week, appointments to be kept, and mundane chores to accomplish. But after a few text messages and phone calls from Sarah, I canceled those appointments and booked the earliest flight I could get on to Nashville. 

The first text message Sarah sent indicated that Ryan's mother, Cheri, was ill and needed prayers. Within a few hours, though, it became apparent that she would not survive her sudden illness. Ryan jumped on a flight to Houston to be with her as she passed, and everything kicked into high gear. 

In my hurried moments of trying to get to Nashville as quickly as possible to be with Sarah and the kids and drive them back to Texas, I had little time to fully process what was happening. I boarded my flight at DFW shortly before 7 pm, and as I checked my text messages one last time before take-off, I received a note that Cheri had passed peacefully with her family at her side. I turned off my phone and had two hours in the air to think about the events of the previous twelve hours.

I first met Cheri at one of Sarah's bridal showers. I remember as she approached me that day, I walked over to greet her, and she quickly enfolded me in a warm embrace, saying, "I'm a hugger!" From that day on, she would frequently tell me how much they loved "their Sarah," and how happy they were to have her as part of their family. I shared that feeling back toward her son. There is just something special about a lady who will envelop your child into her family, along with the fact that the son she raised to love the Lord has also become a part of ours.

Then came grandbabies. When Lydia was born, we were able to be at the hospital together -- Cheri, the seasoned, experienced veteran Grammie, and me, the newbie, rookie, first-time Mimi. There was something special about sharing that moment with her - admiring together the first child born to her son and my daughter. We were able to do the same a few years later when Henry was born. In fact, at that time, two-year-old Lydia had her best day ever as Grandpa & Grammie along with Pappy & Mimi kept her entertained for the day! 

When Owen was born, Dale and Cheri were out of the country. But the morning of his birth, I received a text message from Cheri that I still have on my phone. She asked me to keep her posted and send pictures - she ended it with, "I hate that our travel plans got in the way but I'm so glad you are there!" That was Cheri.

We texted each other frequently over the past eight years, but especially in the years since we became grandmothers to the same grandchildren. If Cheri was in Nashville visiting, she would send me a picture or two, and I would try to do the same - but she was better at remembering to do that than I was.

Cheri loved all nine of her grandchildren with a passion. If you knew her, you know what I mean. And her grandchildren loved her back. Lydia often told me about fun things she did with Grammie, and if they were leaving our house to go to Houston, Lydia was always excited in anticipation of being with Grammie. I can't really explain what it's like to be a grandmother and know that there is another woman in this world who loves MY grandchildren exactly like I do, because she is their grandmother, too. I never really thought about that until Monday...

When I arrived at Sarah & Ryan's house after 10 pm Monday night, Sarah had told the children what had happened that day. Lydia was still awake, and Sarah said that she and Henry wanted me to sleep in their room. And as I bunked with them Monday night, listened to their sweet snores and sighs, I felt the weight of Cheri's loss, and my heart broke for Lydia, Henry, Owen, and the new baby who will arrive next month. I'm thankful for the memories that Lydia will have of her Grammie, and I hope Henry will remember her as well. But I grieve for Owen's and the new baby's loss at such a young age, and for all of the future events that will happen in the lives of all of Cheri's grandchildren where she will be so greatly missed. 

I never knew Cheri as anything other than my counterpart as a mother, and especially as a grandmother. And as I laid in Lydia's and Henry's room Monday night, I felt an odd weight and loneliness in knowing she was gone. No matter how good of a Mimi I am, I can never be Grammie. No one can. I wouldn't even attempt to try. Instead, I will speak of her often, and as long as I live, I will remind our four common grandchildren of how special she was, and how blessed they were to call Cheri Renz their Grammie. I will also be sure they live with the great hope that because of Jesus, they will see her again one day.

"But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus." ~1 Thessalonians 4:13-14

"And I heard a voice from heaven saying, 'Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.' 'Blessed indeed,' says the Spirit, 'that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!'" ~Revelation 14:13

“The miracle of children is that we just don’t know how they will change or who they will become.” ~Eileen Kennedy-Moore

Twenty-eight years ago today, we met him for the first time. Caleb Jeffrey Stewart made his debut at 9:53 am that cold, clear winter morning at Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas - the week after the Dallas Cowboys won the Super Bowl by beating the Buffalo Bills 52 - 17. My doctor and his assistant had both traveled to Pasadena, CA to attend that game, and the main topic of conversation during my C-section was how amazing Troy Aikman and Emmitt Smith played the game. I remember wishing they would be a little more focused on the task at hand - didn't they realize they were helping to bring into this world someone way more important than Troy or Emmitt? 

I'm not the same person I was back then. I think everyone can say that of themselves when they look back over 28 years. But a big part of the reason I'm different has a lot to do with that eight-pound bundle of joy who entered my world that day.

Caleb was born into a home of introverts. I have always tended to be on the quiet side until you get to know me. I was also born with the proclivity to approach life from the side of caution, inclined to be more serious about most things. Jeff is much the same. 

When Caleb entered our lives, his two-year-old sisters were both painfully shy. Sarah and Becca didn't take well to strangers, and they also were slow to warm up to people they knew. I remember inviting some friends from church over one evening, and they were amazed to see the girls twirling and laughing together in the living room of our home - I think prior to that they had the impression that Sarah and Becca just sat silently staring into space or sitting in my lap all the time because that's the image they portrayed to the world around them outside of our home.

Enter Caleb. We've often wondered aloud where he came from. From his earliest days, he exuded joy. As soon as he was old enough to interact with people, he did so. I remember my 18-month-old son in a stroller who would say, "Hi!" very enthusiastically to anyone he encountered at the library, increasing his volume until he got a response. He would do the same to the men serving the Lord's Supper at church until I learned to clamp my hand over his mouth in anticipation of such greetings. I can also remember the three-year-old version of Caleb who made friends with the older gentleman at our local grocery store who sacked our groceries for us. He would ask on the way to the store if Mr. Kenneth would be there, and he would get genuinely excited to see him each week. 

As Caleb grew, so did his enthusiasm for life and people. I remember one day at the end of ladies' Bible class how Caleb passed out "notes" he had scribbled for each of the ladies in attendance. He loved going to the grocery store with me, standing up in the cart, and singing either "Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus" or the Ten Plagues song. Just imagine the looks we got as he belted out the ending "... locust, thick darkness, death of the firstborn!" It's a small wonder no one called CPS.

                                                                                    

Caleb was well-known at the girls' school before he was old enough to attend. He had two of the aides at Cain Elementary wrapped around his little finger as he charmed them each afternoon when we would be waiting to pick up his sisters at the end of their school day. He called one of them, "my friend," and the other one, "my lady." He is Facebook friends with both of them to this day. His first-grade teacher told me that she predicted Caleb would grow up to be either a preacher or a politician. I'm thankful that he preaches sometimes and avoided the politician route.

In high school, Caleb could be found on Friday nights leading the band in the "roller coaster." He once even led the entire crowd in the same at Fantasmic while at Disney World on a band trip. He has always found complete joy in the smallest things, milking every single experience for all it's worth. If there's one phrase that comes to mind when thinking about Caleb's life to this point, it would have to be "Best Day Ever." I cannot tell you how many "best days ever" he's had!

This boy - this man - who has jumped out of an airplane (and somehow convinced his dad to join him in that),  traveled to Guatemala on medical mission trips, made countless balloon animals for children, enjoys woodburning and photography, loves his dog Ranger (who he has trained to be a therapy dog), enjoys his niece and nephews to the extreme, loves hunting, befriends everyone, and above all else has a passion for his God, has changed my life profoundly.

Because of Caleb, I've learned to find joy in the smallest things, to stretch myself, to not take myself so seriously, to love more deeply, and to make every day my "best day ever." It has been my unique privilege to have a front-row seat to watching Caleb grow from that joyful, friendly child into the giving, caring, joyful man he has become.  

Happy Birthday, Bud! I'm overwhelmed that God chose me to be your mother, and I'm so thankful He did! I pray that your next 28 years will be as overflowingly joyful as your first 28 have been as you continue to follow in the steps of your Savior. And I hope today really is the Best Day Ever.

“To be a mother of a son is one of the most important things you can do to change the world. Raise them to respect women, raise them to stand up for others, raise them to care for the earth, raise them to be kind, compassionate and honest. If you do these things you are raising a leader-- someone that will affect the lives of countless people... " ~Shannon L. Alder

"Thirty was so strange for me. I've really had to come to terms with the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult." ~C.S. Lewis

Birthdays seem to come and go, and in some ways, they can run together when you've had a lot of them. At least that's the case for me. But some stand out - those "milestones" we hear about - and 30 is certainly one of those. I can remember how turning 30 was a pivotal time in my life- I had twin five-year-old girls and a just-turned-three-year-old boy who all kept me very busy. We were in the process of moving to a different state - in fact, we moved the week after I turned 30. I remember how it felt strange to say "I'm 30-years-old." And like C.S. Lewis' quote in the title above, it seemed that turning 30 indicated I was an adult, which meant I should have life figured out, right?! But in so many ways I still felt like I didn't really have it all together like "30" said I should!  

     

Fast forward 24 years, and today, two of the best young women I know turn 30. Thirty years ago today, I was looking at twin girls, born four weeks early. They were small but healthy. They made me a mom and changed my whole identity. Of the mother/daughter relationship, Adrienne Rich wrote, "Probably there is nothing in human nature more resonant with charges than the flow of energy between two biologically alike bodies, one of which has lain in amniotic bliss inside the other, one of which has labored to give birth to the other. The materials are here for the deepest mutuality and the most painful estrangement." I'm blessed not only to feel that deep mutuality without any hint of estrangement, but to also have that doubled. 

My girls are the best. Since their conception, I've been overwhelmed by both the immense blessing and colossal responsibility that is mine to be THEIR mom. They came to us with very different personalities, distinct strengths and weaknesses, and unique talents. Jeff and I often talk about how that even though they are grown, married mothers now, they are both still the same basic packages they were as little ones - those same fundamental personalities they displayed as infants continue to this day. 

And today, they are 30.

I have watched my girls throughout their lives with a strong sense of pride and gratitude. I've had the privilege of observing their growth in every way, having a front-row seat for all of the big events in their lives - both happy and sad. I've cheered each of them on as they've accomplished great things, and I've cried with them during difficulties. I've been filled with anxiety now on four separate occasions as they have birthed their own babies - there is something gut-wrenching in knowing that your child is going through that long, painful process of giving birth and becoming a mother herself.

A few weeks ago, we were blessed to spend a week together as a family. And although I've watched my girls in the past as they have lovingly mothered their own babies, I was able during our vacation week to witness them love on each other's babies. These women who are each striving every day to live godly lives while teaching and training their little ones to do the same have a bond with each other beyond explanation. Not only as twin sisters but now as mothers together. While Aunt Sarah's primary responsibility is to Lydia, Henry, and Owen, she took the time to love on her nephew, Noah. Likewise, Aunt B was mostly busy with Noah, but she also found time to snuggle Owen and play with Lydia and Henry. Their love for one another's children is palpable. I love that.  

  

Happy Birthday, girls! What an honor and privilege it is to be YOUR mom. I love each of you uniquely and fiercely. I love the passion you both have for God. I smile when I see you opening His Word in the early morning or late afternoon hours for some quiet time with our Lord while your babies sleep. I'm proud of the wives and mothers you both are, and the way you both selflessly serve your families and friends. I also am touched deeply by your love for each other and for your brother - I love watching the three of you together, the way you always have each others' backs, knowing that those profound relationships you have with one other will last long after I am gone from this life. I also love how unique you both are - sisters, twins, yes; but uniquely Sarah and uniquely Rebecca. (I have never liked it when people refer to you as "the twins.") And I am so very thankful for both of you and the differences you possess. The only thing better than having you both as daughters is knowing that my grandchildren have you as mothers. You are both miles ahead of where your mother was at 30 in your faith, patience, and mothering skills. I'm sure that the inadequacies I possessed and mistakes I made in my 30's as your mother have served to strengthen you in your resolve to be and do better - and you both are. 

Haley Elizabeth Garwood wrote, "The weaving of life between mother and daughter is just like the making of a basket. As time goes by, the interlacing takes shape and becomes stronger." I love how we are interlaced, and how now at 30-years-old, you are each not only my daughters but also two of my closest friends. Thirty-year-old women, shining your lights and loving your families in your little corners of the world. Strong, godly women, but still my babies. Forever our little Princess and Sweet Pea. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always; As long as I'm living my bab(ies) you'll be." Even when you're 30 and beyond. 

“A daughter is a mother's gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self." ~Victoria Secunda 

"I love these little people; and it is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us." ~Charles Dickens

Last week our family gathered for a much-anticipated vacation in beautiful Destin, Florida. I spent a lot of time cooking in the weeks prior to our trip. In fact, I prepared and froze every dinner meal for the week, as well as a lot of breakfast food. I didn't do this to give myself time to relax while at the beach. My primary reason for all of the prep work was so that I could wear my "Mimi hat" for the majority of our time there.

Lydia, Henry, Owen, and Noah. Each one is unique. And each one is worthy of Mimi's undivided attention. These four precious grandchildren that Jeff and I have been blessed with are the most special children I've ever known. (If you have grandchildren, you know exactly what I mean!)                

Lydia will soon be five-years-old - my first grandchild, and (so far) my only granddaughter. She loves puzzles, coloring, and being silly. She enjoys playing dress-up, and she's got quite a funny sense of humor - back in July, she jokingly began referring to her Pappy as "Frank." She knows this is funny, and she occasionally referred to him as Frank last week in order to tease him and get a laugh out of the rest of the family! During our last beach vacation two years ago, we could not get her to put so much as her big toe into the ocean. However, this year she loved walking in and letting the waves crash into her, as long as a trusted adult was there with her to hold her hand. I love playing with Lydia and seeing the world through her sweet, innocent, and silly five-year-old eyes.

Next, there's freshly-three-year-old Henry. When I look at Henry, I'm always reminded of a young Uncle Caleb - not only does Henry look a lot like Caleb, he has aspects of Caleb's personality as well. Henry can be silly, and he loves to make everyone laugh - he's good at it, too! Henry also feels his feelings in a big way. Often, Henry will get a far-away look in his eyes, like he is somewhere a million miles away. And just like Lydia began calling her Pappy "Frank," Henry would tease me at times during this trip by calling me "Gran" instead of Mimi. He became quite attached to a duck floatie last week, and he named him "Paul." I watched him on several occasions gathering a shovel full of sand to feed Paul. Henry's three-year-old imagination and his spontaneity are refreshing. I love the reminders he gives me to live in THIS moment and enjoy it fully.

     

Lydia and Henry both enjoy being read to, playing make-believe, helping Mimi cook, and giving the best hugs. They love each other, and it's fun to peek in on them as they play together. Last week they enjoyed playing in the sand together, chasing birds on the beach, eating popsicles, swimming in the pool, and playing hide-and-seek in the house. We colored, painted, and played with their toys. And I never tired of hearing, "I want to sit by Mimi!" when it was mealtime - by the end of the week, I even won Henry over to my side of the table.  It is so fun doing "big-kid" things with them, and I am enjoying every moment I get to spend in this preschool stage with Lydia and Henry.   

                                     

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.” ~Shannon Alder

He departed unloved. He departed without being desired, with no one's sorrow, without being wanted. No one was sorry, no one was sad he died. He left without joy. He died and no one even felt sad.   He died unmourned. There were no tears shed when he died—it was good riddance! 

He died to no one's regret.

Those words come from different translations of 2 Chronicles 21:20. They were written about King Jehoram of Judah. (Ironically, his name means, "Jehovah is exalted" - unfortunately, he did everything BUT exalt Jehovah.) Jehoram was a horrible, ungodly man who married Ahab's daughter, Athaliah - interestingly, her name is the female version of "Jehovah is exalted." What a pair. Jehoram led God's people into idolatry. He took the throne when he was 32 years old, murdering his six brothers along the way to secure that position. 

In 2 Chronicles 21, Elijah sent a letter to Jehoram in which God condemned the king, promising to strike everyone in Jehoram's family with a "heavy blow." He then went on to say that Jehoram would become ill with a disease in his bowels "until the disease causes your bowels to come out."  God always keeps His promises, and after a two-year-long painful disease, that's exactly what happened. Jehoram died in great pain. He had no funeral. And in the words of inspired Scripture, "He died to no one's regret."

As I read 2 Chronicles in my daily Bible reading program that I follow with 40 of my brothers and sisters earlier this week, those words jumped out at me. I found out in our group "talk it over" section of the reading program that others were impacted in the same way. There is something very disturbing about that. Even the worst people of our society who commit heinous acts generally have someone who regrets their death. Marina Oswald reportedly visited her husband Lee's grave several times a week in the years following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. And Timothy McVeigh's father expressed in several interviews how he grieved - not only about what his son did but over the loss of his child.

Last week I attended a graveside service for a lady that I would consider an acquaintance - I had spent limited time with her, but I mostly knew her through my friendship with her family. She was nothing like Jehoram, and she died to the regret of many. I often find that by attending such services, I leave wishing I had known the deceased person better. They are eulogized (which literally means "to speak well of") by people who knew them well. Last week was no different. She touched many lives, and she left behind family and friends who are greatly grieved by her departure.

We've all experienced that. The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us it is better to go to the house of mourning than the house of feasting, "for death is the destiny of everyone, and the living should take this to heart." With a graveside experience fresh on my mind as I read Jehoram's obituary, the contrast was striking. I've certainly taken it to heart.

Revelation 14:13 says that my deeds will follow me. What will they say? Craig D. Lounsbrough wrote, “Lives are transformed in the solitude of those entirely unassuming moments where one life turns sufficiently away from itself in order to brush by another, and in the brushing it leaves that life forever better. And if I am privileged to have any legacy at all, let it be a million of these moments.” I love that imagery - turning away from myself to focus on someone else, leaving them better simply because I "brushed" by them. I can think of a lot of people who leave me forever better. I can also remember a few who haven't. 

Ultimately, all that matters is how the Lord feels about me. I know from Ezekiel 33:11 that God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, and from Psalm 116:15 He actually considers the death of His saints "precious." Thankfully, He is "patient ... not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9) And the most beautiful part of all of that is if I serve Him first, loving Him with all my being, my legacy - that "brushing by others" in this life that Lounsbrough wrote about - will take care of itself. Every interaction matters - the way I treat the clerk at CVS, the nurse who gives me a monthly injection, the young man who loads my groceries at the Walmart grocery pick-up, even those who treat me rudely. Especially them. And for those who are closest to me - my family - I hope the only thing they feel when they surround my gravesite one day is joy in knowing that God chose me for them. 

(S)he died to no one's regret. May it never be said of me.  

"A child identifies his parents with God, whether or not the adults want that role. Most children see God the way they perceive their earthly fathers." ~Dr. James Dobson

My daddy holding me

Earlier this week I ventured out to the store (armed with hand sanitizer and a mask, of course) to pick up a few necessary items.  After grabbing the household necessities, I perused the greeting cards, picking up some I need for various occasions in June.  Then I hesitantly made my way to the "Father's Day" section.  Honestly, I have dreaded making selections from that group of cards for the past 17 years.  

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy choosing cards for Jeff and my sons-in-law. They are excellent fathers, and I am grateful for the Godly leadership they have so capably provided for the children I love most in this world - my kids and my grandkids.  But I can't help but feel an ache when I see the cards under the heading, "To Dad from Daughter."  My eyes automatically bounce away as I feel that twinge, knowing that I can no longer mail one of those to my daddy.

The importance of fathers cannot be overstated. In my work as a CASA, I've seen what can happen to children when fathers are absent or just not good at being a father. It is devastating, and many of our friends and neighbors in this world deal with the lifelong ramifications of that. As Dr. James Dobson wrote in the quote that I used for the title above, the first glimpse a child gets of God is by the way we are loved by our earthly fathers.  

My daddy wasn't a perfect man. He was sometimes lacking in patience, and there were times he worked too much - both at his job and in his yard. He would've been the first to tell you those things - in fact, the last conversation I ever had with him just a week prior to his death, he said as much. We sat in the swing in his back yard that day, neither of us having any clue that it would be our last conversation in this life because a week later he would be dead. I remember how we talked about my kids (one of his favorite subjects), and the "do-overs" he wished he could've had with my brother and me. 

No, he wasn't perfect, but he tried to be. He lived his life trying to grow each day into the image of Christ. He taught me the value of reading and studying the word of God by his consistent example. He also taught me the value of apology and forgiveness - I remember sitting on the edge of my bed next to him on several occasions as he told me he had been wrong, and he was sorry. Coming from my father, that was powerful.

He loved people, and even though he was an introvert by nature, He invested himself in the lives of others. I have memories of his firm discipline, but I also have vivid memories of him wrestling with my brother and me on the living room floor. I will always treasure the memories of going fishing with him, making our daddy/daughter Girl Scout cake together each year (which I baked and he designed the shape and decorations), walks together in the woods, and standing on a stool looking through his handmade telescope, as he told me about the stars and constellations. I remember the one and only time he attempted to fix my hair on the first day of third grade - my mother was in the hospital, so Daddy had to be "mom" for the morning.  He and I were both glad when she returned to her normal duties.

I recall his complete lack of cooking skills, like the time he tried to cook a frozen pizza for the two of us, but put it in the oven upside down - as it began to cook, the toppings fell off and made a burnt mess in the bottom of the oven. I remember sitting in the back yard swing with him where he taught me how to play his harmonica, which I still have today (both the harmonica and the swing). I remember him helping me set up my first checking account and going shopping with me for my first car, teaching me how to check the oil and change a tire, and I remember standing in the back of our wedding venue, taking his arm, and hearing him say, "It's not too late to back out." 

I also remember the times he was away from home because he was seeing to the needs of someone else - either a family member or friend, or later on as an elder of the church. I remember how every Friday morning after he retired, my phone would ring, and it would be him on the other end - he always began those conversations by asking, "What's going on over there?" quickly followed by, "How are the little shavers?" I remember sitting in his Bible classes as I got older, always impressed with his knowledge of and respect for God's word, and his deep love for our Heavenly Father. The best compliment I ever receive is when people who knew him tell me, "You remind me of your dad."

Joseph Addison wrote, “Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives, there is desire; to our sons, ambition, but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express.” I felt that from my daddy. I was blessed. 

He's been gone for the past 17 Father's Days. Most of the time when I think of him now, I do so with smiles, happy memories, and thanksgiving. Time is a wonderful healer in that way. But this week, seeing those cards, I felt a tear run down my cheek beneath my mask. When he left this earth so unexpectedly, my girls had just turned 13 and Caleb was 10. I thought of all that's happened over the past 17 years, and all of the people we've added to his family - he would be so proud of my children, the life choices they have made, and he would've been the best Great-Papa ever. 

But when my thoughts turn sad and wistful, I remember that I had a daddy who loved God and loved me. For 38 years I was blessed to learn from him and be loved by him. He showed me the love of my Heavenly Father. That is the best gift any man can give his child. And that brings me such joy and thanksgiving. It also gives me added respect and appreciation for the men I know who work so hard to be good examples for their children - and I know a lot of them! So, Happy Father's Day to all of the great dads out there.  You are important, valued, and appreciated! Keep pointing your children to their Heavenly Father, and they will be blessed eternally - you can have no greater legacy.

"Others may have wealth untold - mansions, diamonds, rubies and gold. But richer than I they will never be . . . I had a daddy who spent time with me." ~D. Morgan

"Monotony kills the heart. Ironically, monotony is what keeps the heart working.” ~Soumeet Lanka

 In the 1993 movie "Groundhog Day," a television weatherman finds himself trapped in a time loop, forcing him to endlessly repeat February 2nd.  At one point in the movie, he asks, "What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same...?"  Monotony.  I think we have all felt it this year.  I've had a lot of conversations with different people who asked, "What day is it, anyway?" 

In our ladies' Bible class (which was conducted mostly through Zoom), we recently completed a study of C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters."  In this satirical series of letters first published in 1942, a senior demon named Screwtape seeks to mentor his nephew, Wormwood, in the fine art of securing damnation for his "Patient."  In Letter 25, Screwtape teaches Wormwood how to use monotony to pull the Patient away from God.  He tells Wormwood, "The horror of the Same Old Thing is one of the most valuable passions we have produced in the human heart..."  Screwtape continues, explaining how God has created man with a desire to experience change, but He has balanced man's love of change with a love of permanence.  Screwtape writes, "He (God) has contrived to gratify both tastes together on the very world He has made, by that union of change and permanence which we call Rhythm."        

Things are slowly beginning to return to a more normal rhythm - last week I found myself at home alone while Jeff was at the office - something that hasn't happened since the week of March 9th.  But for most of us, the past three months have left us feeling like we are stuck, repeating the same day over and over again. And even though some things are back to "normal," many other things are still far from it.

Have you felt trapped or discouraged during this time of social isolation by the "Same Old Thing?"  My son is a textbook extrovert.  In fact, he chose to leave his single bachelor life to move back in with us for eight weeks, because he knew if he worked from his home alone with no physical contact with the outside world, he would literally lose his mind.   

I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite. If you look up "introvert" in the dictionary, I am pretty sure you will find my picture there . . . Being around lots of people drains my energy.  I enjoy solitude.  I have a small group of close friends. Some might find me to be quiet and difficult to get to know.  Too much stimulation leaves me feeling distracted and unfocused. (Actually, I'm not sure how Caleb can really be my son!)  But even with my "loner" tendencies, this extended, strange time of the "Same Old Thing" has become old even to me!  

                                                                                                                             

             

Have you noticed the photos throughout this post?  Take a minute and look at them. . .                                                                

I snapped each of these photos on different mornings over the past three months.  Every photo was taken around the same time of the morning from close to the same vantage point, of the same lake in our neighborhood.  The "Same Old Thing," right? Isn't it wonderful how different the same old thing can be if we will only take the time to notice and appreciate it? G.K. Chesterton wrote, "Monotony has nothing to do with a place; monotony, either in its sensation or its infliction, is simply the quality of a person.  There are no dreary sights; there are only dreary sightseers."

Ultimately, as with everything, the difference is in the heart. Both dissatisfaction and contentment are states of mind. We need and desire change, but sometimes a change of the heart is what is needed most. How's my heart? Seek today in the rhythm of the "Same Old Thing" to find something unique. Don't let Satan lull you into a sense of complacency by using monotony to pull you away from God. Find the joy. A good place to start is with God's blessings - His steadfast love and mercies are indeed "new" every morning! Great is His faithfulness, indeed! (Lam. 3:22-24)