you are a delight

“The Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty Saviour. He will rejoice over you with great gladness. With his love, he will calm your fears. He will exalt over you by singing a happy song.” Zephaniah 3:17[NLT]

we’re sitting on the alphabet rug at preschool, jo and i, probably singing “elephants have wrinkles.” an unlikely time to grasp a great new truth.

but we’re singing, clapping and swaying, as i said, when teacher marci looks at her sixteen preschoolers and says, “you know, they’re all such a delight in so many ways.”

and they really are! maddy’s melting smile (and i mean melting). austin’s unfailingly cheerful “okay, teacher marci!” bryant’s exuberance over everything, from saltines with peanut butter to a tower of pegs. mariah’s priceless giggles.

sometimes i feel pretty undelightful. i feel regret over past mistakes. i fail to show my love to the people i love most. my days are too busy to be beautiful and i forget to pray…again.

but just imagine with me that it’s eternity now. we’re in the new Jerusalem, a golden city illuminated by the light of the Son. and it’s been countless ages that we’ve been gathered round the throne; we, the redeemed…people of every kindred, tribe and nation, singing praises to the Lamb.

can’t you just imagine the Father looking over the diverse multitudes, beaming at each one a grin of tender joy and love? then reaching over to tap Jesus on the shoulder and whisper, “you know, they’re all such a delight, in so many ways.”

that’s my God.

His resources

if i never felt a hunger i couldn’t fill,
why pray for manna?
if i never tasted an unquenchable thirst,
why look to One who has the living water?
if i never met an obsatcle,
what would be the point of mountain-moving faith?
if i never erred or lost my way,
why a Shepherd?
if throughout life i never faced a need,
i would never, ever learn sustained trust in His provision.

now i believe that He really can bring water out of a flinty rock,
and drop new manna in each desert morning.
i believe in my Shepherd’s ability to lead me to sufficient pasture
even though the landscape all around is dry and empty.
my resources might be nearly depleted,
and my needs truly overwhelming.
but as i learn to draw on His abundant gifts,
as i see Him at work in my world,
i begin to realize that my incredible God will always come through for me.

daily contentment settles over me anew.

when i was a child

when i was a child…
what a whimsical phrase.
a phrase the old-timers use with authority and relish,
and parents use as overall reproof.

i didn’t use to understand why the elderly dwell in the past.
at least, i didn’t connect in any way.
i didn’t have much of a past, you see.

but now i’m a little bit older.
and i think i have an inkling of the charm in the phrase…
…when i was a child.

such carefree joy and painless troubles were mine in those days.
such days, innumerable as dewdrops.
as i danced through those years,
i was convinced beyond a doubt
that around any of life’s bends existed dozens of opportunities.
i would choose among them, all golden of course,
and i would find my perfect dream.

but the road got a bit too long and weary,
the next bend so far away that it looked like a mirage to me.
and when i finally reached it,
fear and sorrow joined me on my journey.

i then lost the rosy idealism and naiveté i possessed…
…when i was a child.

we drove home tonight. i was spent, physically and emotionally.
but i lifted up my eyes to see slate clouds float by in the gloaming,
and i opened my soul to the glorious strains of an old hymn.

“abide with me, fast falls the eventide,
the darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide.
when other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.”

i reflect on this moment. i remember the tender care of my God,
the One who will always be a Father to me,
in whose arms i can always rest secure.

then i know that all is well,
and will be well forever.

as long as i am His child.

thank you, mom

The more I think it over the more I feel that there is

nothing more truly artistic than to love people.

(Vincent van Gogh)

I am quite sure my mom would not call herself artistic, or even creative [although I disagree on that point]. It is true that she does not like to write poems or paint or play the gourmet chef. But my mom is a master of one type of creativity...the art of giving herself.

I notice this in a dozen little things daily. The card for a single friend on Mother's Day. The afternoon spent flight shopping for my Virginia trip. Her patience with a fussy little girl in the wee hours. Her attention to unspoken needs. Her listening ear.

Thank you, Mom, for the way you touch us. Thank you for the beautiful, creative ways you show us your love, and God's.

teacher again

BEREA CHRISTIAN SCHOOL--Harrisonburg, Virginia

My time spent in Virginia last weekend was profitable; I now have a position as 6th grade teacher for the 2008-09 school year. A wonderful visit and good times with Dad...

"And therefore will the LORD wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you: for the LORD is a God of judgment: blessed are all they that wait for him...and thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left."

Isaiah 30:18, 21

"I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way that thou shalt go;

I will guide thee with mine eye." Psalm 32:8

my heritage

Dusty love letters. Bank books. Goofy family photos of the ‘40s. Decaying telegrams. I am up to my elbows in these, and loving it.

After two evenings of scanning photos and puzzling over the confusing Ribar family tree, I began to wonder why I was still as happy as a cricket in a task most abhor. Why does knowing my heritage delight me so much?

Ultimately, the best motivation to all this organizing is the new picture, even new perspective, I’ve developed of my late grandma, Dorothy Wagner Vinar. When I read pages of her diary and see the particular care she took to preserve mementos of history and of family moments; I am amazed at how much I share with her.

Tradition-making. Memory-keeping. I love these things, too, and the connection helps me remember what I loved about my grandma. The ethnic meals on Christmas Eve were a result of her wish to expose the grandkids to other cultures. The diary she kept faithfully, daily, with the intent of someday typing up a summary of her life, was meant to share a legacy, making sure it was not an unknown one. The pieces of nostalgia she treasured show me the depth of her love for her family, her empathy with their accomplishments and tragedies.

All in all, it’s been very rewarding. Maybe someday I can discover other facets of my heritage, but for today I am content with remembering someone. With knowing the photos, keepsakes, and traditions Grandma left behind will remind me of who she was, and of what she meant to me.