Facing the front

I'm a light sleeper. I believe I've already written about that here, probably more than once.

For the past few days, I've been mulling a post about how frequently things change in our lives. It's the same kind of post that just about everyone in the world has read, usually penned by someone in the midst of personal upheaval. The gist of my thoughts is quite familiar: The only thing that's truly permanent is change. It's the one constant factor upon which we can rely.

It became crystal clear to me overnight, as I was awakened countless times by the noise of wind punishing the trees outside and rain trying determinedly to beat its way into our home. All those noises that woke me were the indicators of change coming—colder temperatures, precipitation where there had been none, wind rushing forth to usher in the new weather pattern. Each time the gusts blew with vehemence, I was reminded anew that I'd wake to a very different kind of day than the one that had preceded it.

My husband? My son? They slept through it peacefully, oblivious to the disturbances just a few feet away.

I think it must be nice to sleep through the approaching storm. I can't do it. I feel it, I hear it, I'm jerked awake over and over again with each new gust front. There are things swirling around me in my life, the lives of my family members, and I feel them full force: New patterns, difficulties and obstacles, unwelcome shifts in behavior and lifestyle.

I guess I am a person who directly faces the gust front in order to feel prepared to handle what's coming. I want to be ready each time a front nears... but is that even possible? Knowing that it's lurking doesn't really prepare you for what it's bringing. And yet, you can't spend your life waiting in an underground shelter. Sometimes I'd prefer to be like those folks who simply sleep through the oncoming storm, but I wonder how they do it. Are they standing sideways, weathering the blast without even realizing it's here? And what about those who never see it coming at all? Are their backs to the wind? Doesn't it blow them right over? How can they withstand the force without ending up on their faces?

I suppose there's a comfortable balance, of knowing but not dreading—preparing, but not suspending life during the prep. I have yet to achieve that balance. I face the front, and fret, and watch its swirling destruction. And yet, as someone recently reminded me, we humans are a resilient bunch for the most part. The changes wash over us, and we adjust our internal gauge to accommodate the "new normal." And happily, our stalks usually grow stronger when the wind is damaging. Sometimes we break, but far more often, we endure.

With help, we endure.

The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him. -Nahum 1:7

The waiting...

The waiting truly is the hardest part.

Things might be brewing with our home sale attempt, but they also might not. We wait for more information, more details, more possible deal-breakers or deal-sealers. We wait.

All this waiting, and trusting, has me thinking more and more about how God grows faith in His people.

It's not a pleasant experience sometimes, at least not for me, because the helpless waiting forces me to realize and acknowledge that I control practically nothing in my little realm. I never did, but for many years, I thought I did. I happily meandered down the path of my life, believing that I had the final say and that I would determine my own destiny.

And I do have a say in what happens, I suppose; my decisions, my reactions, whether or not I pray fervently—all these factors play a part in what befalls me and my loved ones.

Yet, there is so very much that I cannot control. I can see only a miniscule section of the world around me, and I can't begin to understand most of what I see within that section. Not only can I not grasp it all, I am only able to imagine the visible, provable part: I believe there is also an entire reality that is invisible to us, where good forces and bad forces are always quite busy with conflicts. The more I see, the less I am able to see...

I can understand though, in hindsight, how these uncertain times have forced me to lean more heavily on God. When all is predictable and feels steady and easy, then my mind turns happily to things of little consequence: art and music, fun activities, worldly gossip. And when the rug feels as if it might be yanked out from under my hesitant feet, then I find it much more difficult to focus on even remotely shallow brain fodder. Suddenly, the stakes are higher and I feel somber. I think heavier thoughts. So, it's nice to have the advantage of memory in the midst of rickety circumstances. I look back at God's faithfulness, at how past issues have been resolved (often in ways I could never have dreamed). In this current trial, I can grasp with much more depth than I could in the past just how reliable God is, and how unpredictable, and how creative.

The older I get, the more I realize how limited is my earthly intellect in the face of the big stuff. Indeed, we are all severely limited. We can all study and ponder amino acids, but I don't know a soul who can fathom how they were initially combined to form proteins that became life. We know at how many weeks a baby's heart begins to beat, but no one can explain what causes that action to begin. Scientists guess the ages of mountain ranges, or ocean beds, try to pin histories on blobs of solidified lava, try to explain arctic ice layers, and really, their means are childish at times, their laws determined by their own manly methods. No one really knows very much, when you get right down to it. We suppose a lot, we hypothesize and educate ourselves, but I don't think most of it is certain. It's supported by more man-made data, and discussed and confirmed by people who are deeply invested in the truth of such data. That's just not good enough for me anymore.

I will admit that there appear to be some inarguable truths on this little blue orb, but I can also see that a great number of intellectuals are slapping that "truth" label onto statements at will. It's all expensive, government-funded guesswork inspired by the pursuits of a few.

Someone lent me a book recently, and I started to read it, really I did. I tried to give it a chance. But it attacked a lot of the very things by which I choose to define my role in this place. The writer tried to provide logical reasons for doubting Jesus's virgin birth, the miracles that the Bible claims He performed—that author attacked the very character of God Himself—because Jesus is God and man. If I'm going to believe the Bible, I have to believe it. Period. I can't make it logical. I can't dumb it down to fit this world's knowledge base. God told us right up front that His word would be nonsense to the nonbeliever. He didn't try to hide this from us.

So, I gave up finishing the book. I felt as if I were really getting somewhere in my faith, though, because I didn't even take offense at it. I was reading this fellow's charges, his many pompous words as he expounded on the inaccuracy of the Bible and tore it down, and I was just shaking my head as I read. He doesn't get it, I thought; he still thinks he has a clue, that author. He still thinks he can figure it all out.

We are itty, bitty fleas to this universe. We'll never wrap our little minds around it. And I'm increasingly at peace with that. How could I begin to dissect God's ways? They're not for me to comprehend.

All I know is that there's very little I know, that I am so small...but when I go to Him in prayer, He is there to meet me. I'm supposed to go as a child; I'm not to bring my childish, argumentative, proud manner. Those are not the same at all.

In the last few chapters of the book of Job, God sort of smacks down everyone who questions His decisions. He makes it clear Who is large and in charge. I know it's Old Testament, and that Jesus brought the gospel of love, but it still bears my consideration, this idea that I am "dust and ashes." There are far worse things to be.

The cost of convenience

In my ever-present dilemma of whether to stay near a city or unplug completely, I've discerned a disturbing pattern.

It occurred to me as I sat in my really great parking place at the local Shop 'n Save store. I'd been so happy to find it! On a busy day, the day of the shop's crazy-good specials, I'd managed to land a spot right by the door. I couldn't believe my luck. This awesome spot would allow me to run in and get the three little items I needed.

Ten minutes later, five of which had been spent at the bustling check-out (stop chatting and move it!), I hurried to my car. Except I couldn't drive away. There was a big truck parked behind me, blocking me in along with two other cars. Of course it would stop there, with blinkers blinking; it was right by the entryway. As was I. Except now, my spot wasn't so perfect, was it?

I pondered my realization as I watched the truck's blinkers continue to mock me. Yes, every time there's a convenience, there is a price. Even if that truck weren't hedging me in, for example, the parking spot close to the door is also the spot most likely to feature runaway carts. I sought the pattern elsewhere. Cars? They're great. Except now that I depend on one, I am lazy and don't combine errands the way I would if I had to ride a bus, or walk, or bike. And, cars (and airplanes) have allowed people to move far away from jobs, schools, extended families, etc.—which seems convenient until you consider all the traveling hassles—not to mention the extra money we spend going to those places frequently, even daily. Plus the pollution.

I love my washing machine, clothes dryer, and the dishwasher. Love them. However. The price? Now it's too easy to be clean, to toss a shirt or a drinking glass into the ever available receptacle for dirties. I don't need to be careful, don't need to be mindful of whether the item is truly dirty, because the solution is right there. Waste, and waste more. The same is true for indoor plumbing and a seemingly endless supply of hot water at the ready. Now? We're all obsessed with cleanliness; God forbid we smell like people instead of perfumes. The Europeans don't seem to have been sucked into this illness; perhaps we should find out how they remain immune to the lures of scentlessness...

Easy, breezy communication? I've already touched on that one, and how I truly believe it's cheapened and weakened our interactions, to the great detriment of our language and relationships. Prepared foods? They're often very unhealthy for you, and use more energy to prepare and deliver than locally grown or slaughtered. Fast food? Same thing, plus all those convenient foods cost you more money, too.

Disposable goods are so convenient, aren't they? Paper plates, napkins, little zip-lock baggies, plastic cups that no one bothers to recycle, plastic tablecloths for parties, etc. I'm just as guilty—I've used them, too. Although I do recycle the cups, and we certainly don't entertain much... But I digress. The point is that since all this stuff is as close and cheap as your nearest dollar store (filled to the gills with imported garbage, no offense to the stores intended), we have an insatiable hunger for junk just because it's there. It's so affordable. We forget that we'll never use it all, that we never needed it to begin with.

Easy entertainment via TV, movies, and games? Well, now we've forgotten to think for ourselves, and we're getting less exercise than ever before. Health costs continue to skyrocket, not just because the health care and drug companies are the new mafia, but because collectively we're in worse physical shape than pretty much any nation in history that I can think of.

The best part? We're teaching our kids to require all these conveniences. So they, too, can be slaves to big corporations and foreign countries. So they can also have lifelong habits that kill them softly instead of infusing their lives with meaning and purpose.

It seems to me that everything intended to add convenience to our lives actually costs us considerably in some other way. Does anyone else see the pattern? Is anyone else starting to question our culture?

Upon closer inspection, the remote countryside is looking pretty good. Harder, yes. But infinitely better than the squishy alternative.