Coming Down from the Mountaintop

Mike worshipping his Creator in Colorado

After a lengthy conference call with one of our authors yesterday afternoon to plan her media campaign, I returned to my office to find the most welcome visitor I could imagine: my husband. Mike was waiting for me with a big grin on his face, a Greek t-shirt on his back, and a Boston Red Sox cap on his head. My hubby is home!

As our once-in-a-lifetime sabbatical ends this week, I’ve been thinking about mountaintop experiences.  We had lots of them this summer, and some of them – get this – even involved real mountains. I’ve already written about our amazing day visiting an ancient Greek Orthodox monastery in Meteora that was perched atop a sheer precipice, but Meteora wasn’t the only mountain in our rearview mirror this summer.

I held my breath in early July as Mike negotiated hairpin turns crossing the Peloponnesian Peninsula in our rental car, and we were rewarded by astonishing views from the tiny village of Lagadia.

Lagadia, Greece, clinging to the mountainside

In late July we linked arms with our children to watch the sun sink into layers of periwinkle clouds crowning the Smokies on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina.

Just ten days ago we spent a final weekend together in Colorado – my husband’s heart so full of praise atop Vail Mountain that he flung out his arms in worship.

And Mike’s final sabbatical experience this past week was a solo prayer retreat at Christ in the Desert in the mesas of New Mexico.

So…. are we sad to be coming down off the mountaintop? Yes.  And no.  We are eager to rejoin our wonderful church family for worship this coming Sunday and more than prepared to plunge back into service. Rest is transitory, but sabbatical has given us something much rarer: renewal.

Blue Ridge Parkway at sunset

It’s normal to mourn the end of a mountaintop experience with its rarified air, but you know what? You can’t live up there. Real life takes place down below, where it’s often hot and messy. As a farmer’s daughter who grew up on the Illinois prairie, I can attest to this: the best crops grow on the flatlands. Mountaintops are great for views and inspiration, but as Billy Graham once commented, fruit is grown in the valleys of life.

Mike’s nowhere nearly as old as Moses was when he climbed Mount Sinai, but they share something in common.  After having been in the presence of the Lord, scripture tells us that Moses returned a changed man.  “When Moses came down Mount Sinai carrying the two stone tablets inscribed with the terms of the covenant, he wasn’t aware that his face had become radiant because he had spoken to the Lord.” (Ex 34:29)

When I found Mike waiting in my office yesterday afternoon, it wasn’t the ball cap that stood out, or the Greek t-shirt, or even the grin.

It was the glow.

The Best Thing I Overheard on Sabbatical

Last weekend in Colorado

What’s the nicest thing you’ve heard your spouse say about you?

No, this is not a rhetorical question: I really want to hear from those of you reading this post. And here’s why: I have several conferences coming up this fall, and when I speak on the power of encouragement, I’d love to include input from you. We all understand the importance of gracious, affirming speech when it comes to our coworkers and neighbors, but how about at home? Do we persistently practice the power of affirmation with the one we’ve committed our lives to?

True story. Today at work I was introduced to one of our new authors, a pastor from Texas, and the marketing manager who made the introduction commented that I had just returned from a pastoral sabbatical with my husband. “So what was the best thing you saw in Greece?” he asked.

Hmm…tough question. I thought a minute. Was it the view of the Parthenon from our hotel rooftop in Athens, or maybe the stream in ancient Philippi where the Apostle Paul baptized Lydia? As I hesitated, I suddenly remembered what I overhead my husband say to someone just last week.

“The best thing I saw on sabbatical,” Mike responded, “was my wife’s face.  24/7.”

Oh man…why didn’t I think of that? Mike’s comment melted my heart, because I feel exactly the same way.  No, not about my face, of course: his! What could be better than to study and travel with my best friend of 35 years? But hearing Mike verbalize this sentiment to someone else was a powerful reminder of how much we need to affirm those we love in the presence of others.

So…OUT with it! I need your comments. What is the nicest, kindest, or most affirming thing you have heard your spouse say about you? (If you truly cannot think of a bloomin’ thing, I encourage you to give your spouse this post!)

And even as I ask that question, know that my heart is tender towards those of you who have lost a spouse due to death or divorce. But if you don’t mind me asking, what did you overhear back in the day that made you glow?

Do tell – I truly want to know!

Into Every Life (make that Basement ) Some Rain Must Fall…

    

Gen surveying the new basement trench

      I was at work last week when the end came so I didn’t attend the burial.

     Watch our  earthly treasures get thrown into the back of a dump truck? No thanks. Besides, I’d already attended the visitation on the lawn the night before. I turned over soggy mattresses, unzipped sodden suitcases, flipped through the pages of soaked yearbooks. Almost every item passed the bluish-green Rorschach test of ruination: mold.

      We had returned from our trip to find that the lowest level of our home had flooded during torrentially heavy rains ten days before. The water receded but the soaked stuff reveled in the humidity of late July in the Midwest. It swelled, it expanded, it grew. When we walked into the house we were greeted with a peculiarly pungent odor. “Pew-ee, who died?” I muttered, fearful of finding our geriatric cat, Genevieve, floating in the moat formerly known as our basement.

      Not to worry. Gen is a savvy sort who had no intention of paddling to a buoyant litter box.  Neither did she notify her caregiver that there were problems in the bowels of our home, focused as she was on her own immediate need for a Porta-Litter on dry land.  As with the Arc on Ararat, the water gradually receded, but the wetness left in its wake  wicked up into boxes of photographs, Christmas ornaments, and clothing.

     Enter our insurance adjustor, Mike’s former swim coach and good friend.  He has visited our home several times in our eight years of ownership for special water-related events (yes, God, I get the joke, thank you.)

      “Sorry, guys, your coverage doesn’t extend to this,” Don said, shaking his head and rolling up his sleeves.  When I admitted defeat and went to bed well after midnight, Don was still helping Mike and our son Jordan cart stuff out to the lawn.

      A call next morning to our church office to borrow industrial fans produced more help: several strong men who showed up within the hour to pitch storage cabinets, mattresses, and waterlogged boxes into the truck. Tom, our friend across the street who fits the biblical definition of neighbor to a T, came over with a couple dozen interlocking plastic crates complete with Sharpies and stick-on-labels. Another local friend who learned online of our troubles  quickly materialized as  Jim(my)-on-the-spot with a top-grade sprayer and chemical solution.

      “You don’t need me,” the professional mold- remediation guy said when he arrived in the midst of the waterpark of activity. “You all are doing just fine.”

      And we are.

      Who needs insurance when you have something far better: friends?