The God of the Lost…and the Found

And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ Luke 15:9

Mike was coming in the house from walking the dog when his cell rang. It was our daughter Amber on the other end. She was crying so hard Mike couldn’t understand her. When she choked out, “Dad?” Mike stiffened. Our son-in-law was downrange on a mission for the Air Force. Instantly Mike feared the worst.

“Ben..?”  My hand went to my throat. Mike listened for a moment and handed the phone to me, shaking his head. “Ben’s fine,” he said quietly, “but you need to comfort your daughter. Her wedding rings are gone.”

Haltingly, the story came out. A swim workout at the YMCA. Rings removed and placed in a locked locker for safekeeping. A swift shower and a devastating discovery.

One heartbroken daughter.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to her again and again, sick inside at her loss. “So very sorry.   Have you thought of…?”

We prayed. Amber, still shaking, formulated a plan.

A police report filed. Posters with reward information and photos of her left hand wearing the distinctive rings Ben gave to her on their engagement and wedding days nearly five years ago, her right with the little emerald from her dad and me that marked her 21^st birthday. A sympathetic clerk at the Y. A determined young bride.

But it would take a miracle to find three little rings in a haystack the size of Tacoma, Washington.

We believe that God can do anything. In a lifetime of ministry we have seen miracle upon miracle – divine assents to the most impossible of prayers.

But we have also been met by silence. By mystery.  And by shattering, inexplicable declination.

Yahweh does not throw a mattress beneath us every time we fall. He does not heal everyone we pray for.  He does not always choose to restore that which we have lost.

Sometimes that which is lost refuses to be found.

During the month of February, the adult Bible fellowship I attend at church will be discussing a book about a generation of young adults who have left the faith in which they were raised. They are in a far country spiritually. Their parents long to have them come home.

And in the name of all that’s precious we cry out, “LORD, you can bring them back. You have the power to force their return.”

But He has also given human beings our dazzling, terrible freedom – freedom to wander, to run, even to steal.

“I’m going to visit every gold buyer within twenty miles and I’m hoping the Y will let me put up a reward poster,” Amber wrote in an email to our extended family on Friday. “But in the end, God can change a heart and I’m praying that He does and that the woman who did this will return them.

“Things I’m thankful for: All of you! Knowing you’ll join me in prayer is amazing. Ben and my parents. The three rings were from them, which gives them significance beyond the mere materials. And I still have Ben and my parents, so I am so very blessed. A God who’s in control. I don’t have to be wracked with guilt for my lapse in judgment or worry that I’m not doing enough to find them because God loves me and will take care of me, whether that means getting them back or not, and I can trust Him.”

Friday evening, Mike and I were at an international dinner at church when our cell phones buzzed simultaneously. The manager at a shop that buys gold had recognized the rings from one of Amber’s posters and a clerk called to tell her they had purchased them the night before. An ecstatic text came from Amber: “They’ve been found!”

All three rings are now back on her fingers.

“I had 24 hours to reflect on how blessed I was by a wonderful husband, loving family, supportive friends,” Amber wrote the next day. “And now I have my rings back, too. Don’t you love a happy ending?!”

Sometimes stories that are too good to be true really do happen.

Sometimes those who wander find their way home again.

Sometimes that which is lost is found.

Celebrating!

Don’t you just love a happy ending?

YOLU: A Field Report

It’s the third Tuesday in January and we’re three weeks into YOLU – the Year of Living Uncomplainingly.

I started down this road last fall when a sneaky little edict from the Apostle Paul grabbed me by the collar. “Do everything without complaining and arguing,” he instructed his peeps at Philippi.

Everything?  Sheesh. Did Paul really mean that we can’t whine just a smidge? And what about good old-fashioned fussing!  Isn’t there a small budgetary allowance for moms at least?

Just as I’m trying to eat mindfully this year, I’m following a different sort of linguistic diet as well.

YOLU is Turkish for “road,” and this is one I’m choosing to walk in 2012 despite daily detours and the phonological potholes I fall into. If you’ve been following my journey from previous posts, you know it’s a lot easier to define what complaining is not than what it actually is.

It’s not complaining when you express a truth that happens to be difficult, register a legitimate protest or recognize a wrong that needs to be rectified.  If you are feeling particularly awful and a sympathetic friend notices, I don’t think Paul meant that we have to hide our pain behind a pretense of false cheer.

There are other people on this path with us.  Following last week’s post, my friend Lana (name changed) emailed me from her missionary post overseas:

“Maggie, I have been working on my YOLUing and just wanted to let you know.  Yesterday I woke up with one of my major headaches.  That’s not a good thing.  I had plans to meet with two of my teammates and pray, then a group of five over for lunch, then time with a friend I haven’t seen in 13 years and dinner out with some other friends.  So what does one do with a headache when one is trying to live a YOLU day?  I did a lot of praying, took a good dose of Excedrin, and made it through the day – actually having a good day.  Now – for your round table discussion with Mike and Jordan – is it complaining when one has a headache?  I didn’t complain because complaining comes too easy to me.  I wanted to see if I could make it through the day.  And I did!!  With God’s help, and [my husband’s] prayers (he knew of my headache – he can always tell just by looking at my eyes) and Excedrin!  It felt good to not complain – funny!” 

So there you go – a day in the life of a fellow YOLU’er.  And here’s the really funny thing – my friend Lana is already one of the least-complaining people I know.

Another friend, Joy, has taken her YOLU clarion call to social media. Just last night she posted this plea on Facebook:

“I’ve grown weary of seeing folks use Facebook as a forum to gossip in “code,” criticize people just to hear themselves, and publicly berate their husbands. These are just a few examples. I realize I subject myself to these things by even being on Facebook.  It just seems like if people need to vent, why do it online, for hundreds to see? Vent to God. If you’re married, vent to your husband.  Or vent to your journal.”

So as I plan ahead for the rest of 2012, I can tell you I have already  reduced the amount of currency allotted for this year’s personal  Fussbudget.  I’m saving my complaints for the things that really matter.

LIke the Chicago Cubs, maybe?

The Year of Living Uncomplainingly

So now you know my secret. The blogpost I was scared to write has been sitting out there for a week now staring back at me, arms crossed, silently defying me to recant my YOLU vow – a year of living uncomplainingly.

My friend Pam tells me that “yolu” is Turkish for road, and this is not one I’m sure I want to take. It’s not well marked and I suspect the tolls collected will be steep. Way easier to take the fast freeway of speech unencumbered by watchfulness.

I’m a week into this discipline, and it’s making me think if nothing else. Just as I’m trying to choose my meals mindfully this year, I’m trying to eat my words as well. But the tricky part of this particular linguistic diet is figuring out what’s allowed and what’s verboten. It’s easier to identify what complaining is not than what it actually is.

• You’re not complaining when you validate a truth that happens to be difficult. People all around us are navigating turbulent waters. We do them a disservice when we downgrade their personal hurricanes to the status of tropical storms or worse, pretend it’s actually fair weather when they know it’s foul.
• You’re not complaining when you register a legitimate protest. Women and men who are victims of abuse, workplace discrimination, deceptive business practices or a host of other ills have every right to speak up.
• You’re not complaining when you recognize a wrong that needs to be rectified. Scripture commands us to be concerned with issues of social justice. “Spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed” (Is. 58:10).

So then, why does our English word complaint have such a negative vibe, conjuring up expressions of discontent, censure and resentment, lament and faultfinding?

I decided to poll my husband and son over dinner this evening. Forking waffles from the hot iron onto their plates, I put the question to them. I consider both Mike and Jordan pretty experienced in this subject. Jordan has worked in customer service and Mike - well, you know what he does.

“Lamenting our losses is legitimate,” Mike commented, “but it strikes me that complaining is counterproductive when it becomes focused solely on self: my needs, my problems, my wants. When we turn inward we forget that others are hurting too.”

Jordan added, “Complaining is attention-seeking. Looking for pity is a cheap way to get attention, because you want someone to feel sorry for you, and when you complain maybe you can guilt them into it. It’s funny but I think Facebook has changed the way we complain. We sort of put it out there and look for others to ‘like’ our misery.”

When Jordan speaks, I listen, because he was never one to complain even as a kid. And as I drove to my after-dinner meeting, I mulled over his and Mike’s words. Is that what the Apostle Paul meant when he cautioned the Philippians about complaining, or was he issuing a larger warning to the entire community?

We’ll continue this conversation in a future post.

The Blogpost I Was Scared to Write

It’s the start of a new year, right? Time for inspiration, revelation or at least a resolution or two.

Dieting? Already doing that – doctor’s orders. Mike and I are both using a tracking tool called myfitnesspal.com, and he’s more self-controlled than I am. I’ve lost about 5 in the past two months and have 20 to go to reach the goal my doctor recommends.  Yikes. Like discipleship, it’s gonna be a long obedience in the same direction.  (And since my primary care physician is a female my age, I can’t even play the my-metabolism-is-slowing-down card.)

Fitness? Yep, working on it. I have watched Mike head out to swim laps at 6 am for decades, and I’m finally getting myself moving consistently as well. Elliptical trainer at the gym; workout DVDs at home.

Reading through the Bible in a year? Mike has done this for years because nothing is more important to him than hearing from God. I cannot substitute the reading I do for my classes or the prep for retreats for time alone in the Word.

You’d think my husband’s attention to physical and spiritual disciplines would have rubbed off on me after 35 years together, but you don’t catch them by contact. Instead you have to emulate them by example.

So here is my major resolution for 2012. I resolve to live uncomplainingly. 

When Mike is vexed by a problem, he takes it straight to the top, to the only One who can truly do anything about it. Solutions for him are nearly always Spirit-directed. I admire this in him, because it makes him among other things a superb listener. He has little need to complain to others when he already has the ear of the Holy One.

Yours truly, on the other hand, is a verbal processor. When I am vexed, worried, bothered or bewildered I voice my fears aloud, and to my ears, at least, it’s come to sound like complaining. I’ve been thinking a lot about the Apostle Paul’s charge to the church at Philippi to “do everything without complaining and arguing,” (Phil 2:14) and it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, good old Paul actually meant it.

So I am dubbing 2012 The Year of Living Uncomplainingly.

See why I am scared to write this post? What if someone (say you, for example) is actually reading this and lovingly holds me accountable? Sheesh. Do you know how hard it is to get through even one day without being verbally grouchy, grumpy, crabby or cranky? (THERE. See what I mean?! I can’t even write a post about complaining without whining about it.)

Seriously, this YOLU-stuff is harder than it sounds. If you resolve not to be a whiner, how do you avoid the everything-in-my-life-is-so-perfect Pollyanna Syndrome?

In her book Grumble Hallelujah, Caryn Dahlstrand Rivadeneira makes a terrific case for honesty.

“I’m no Pollyanna,” she writes. “I don’t wake up with a song in my heart or one coming from the little baby bluebirds chirping outside my window. In sharp contrast to a friend of mine who once told me the first thing in her head every morning when she woke up is, I love being a mom. I have a great life! the first thing in my head every morning is, Morning already? You’ve got to be kidding! or its cousin, Can’t these kids sleep?!”

So if Living Uncomplainingly is not Pollyanna Pretense, what does it look like? What happens when you have legitimate reasons to protest or a need to offer constructive criticism?

I’m trying to figure this out in the year ahead, and you’re invited along on the journey. And if you catch me fussing about something, you have my permission to post a comment that simply says “Whine Alert” (or Waa!).

Living Uncomplainingly, after all, may just have something to do with remembering what we have rather than what we lack.  Focusing on being thankful more than being fretful. Putting others’ needs before our own.

Love U!