A little smoother...

Have you ever been recalibrated?  Recalibrate - to calibrate for a second or subsequent time.   Calibrate is a technical term meaning “to adjust precisely for a particular function” or “to measure against a standard.” In layman’s terms, this can refer to resetting the function of a device to original or enhanced performance levels. 

            Have you ever had your reset button pushed so that your priorities were realigned?  We can go along in life, blissfully ignorant in our own little world.  Then suddenly, something causes us to take a u-turn, assess the situation, and have a seismic shift in our attitude.

In his book A Bend in the Road, Dr. David Jeremiah describes how a diagnosis of cancer dramatically readjusted his own priorities and attitude.  He called such life events “a bend in the road” and relates stories of difficulties, adversities, and challenges others faced which shaped their character and values.  Course corrections in our lives can come in a multitude of ways, both good and bad – success, tragedy, the birth of a child, loss of a job, death of a loved one, a new place, empty nest, full nest, milestone reached or missed, triumph or defeat.  There are infinite ways in which our vision may be tweaked and fine-tuned by life circumstances.


            A Peanuts cartoon depicts Lucy sitting in her five-cent psychology booth dispensing wisdom when Charlie Brown stops by for advice: “Life is like a deck chair, Charlie Brown,” she says. “On the cruise ship of life, some people place their chair at the rear of the ship so they can see where they have been. Others place their chair at the front of the ship so they can see where they are going.”


          Lucy looks at Charlie Brown and asks, “Which way is your deck chair facing?” In his typical pessimistic fashion, Charlie replies, "I can't even get my deck chair unfolded."


          There are times when, like Charlie, we struggle to get our deck chair unfolded and rail at the chaos and confusion of our lives. There are times we feel overwhelmed by thundering waters of despair, accosted by past failures, and crippled by fear of the future. All of our life experiences shape who we become. They can recalibrate us, in a sense.

In her beautiful song “Rolling River God,” Nichole Nordeman portrays God as a river and humans as little stones in the riverbed being buffeted and polished by the rushing water.  Sometimes raging and swollen, the river’s work never stops until stones once rough and grainy become smoothed by the relentless power of the water.  I especially love these words:

“And when the sunset comes,

My prayer would be this one.

That You might pick me up
And notice that I am

Just a little smoother in Your hand.”

            Praying to be a little smoother in His hand....

Rolling River God

By Nichole Nordeman

Rolling river God
Little stones are smooth
Only once the water passes through
so, I am a stone
Rough and grainy still
Trying to reconcile this river's chill

But when I close my eyes
And feel You rushing by
I know that time brings change
And change takes time
And when the sunset comes
My prayer would be this one
That You might pick me up
And notice that I am
Just a little smoother in Your hand

Sometimes raging wild
Sometimes swollen high
Never have I known this river dry
The deepest part of You
Is where I want to stay
And feel the sharpest edges wash away

 

How I met (and fell in love with) books…

          My love affair with books began quite early. Some of my first and most vivid memories involve reading, being held as I listened to stories read aloud.  As the fifth of six children, I was read to by my parents and siblings, but I don’t recall favorite books, other than Little Golden Books, The Child’s World: Stories of Childhood (which I still have), and the big family Bible story book. 

Kindergarten was taught in her home two blocks from mine by Mrs. Doolittle, whose most memorable talent to me was being ambidextrous, a huge factor in my own ability to write left-handed without the awkward grip so many lefties have.  We learned together, played, and had homemade birthday cakes made by our teacher with pastel pink, green, or blue icing, the color choice up to the birthday boy or girl.  Every day, we walked across the street to the elementary school cafeteria to drink chocolate milk. 

I don’t remember learning to read or any favorite books from kindergarten.  But I do remember the very large (coat size) shiny green box I toted to school daily containing my most valued possessions, including an extremely large, heavy family Bible.  That’s the only thing I know was in the box.  Why a gift box instead of a book bag, you may wonder?  So do I.  And why a family Bible?  Who knows.  

 My first real recollection of learning to read comes from first grade.  My teacher, Mrs. Cook, taught us to read about Dick, Jane, and Sally from the huge, oversized reader in the front of the classroom.  As a reward, we were sometimes allowed to sit in the back of the classroom and read books when our work was done.  I have happy memories of sitting under the shelf containing verdant houseplants cascading down in shady green curtains.  Hidden away under this lush tent of fern fronds and trailing vines, my best friend Anna and I would become lost in the books and stories we read.  We loved being in this secret world where we felt both safe and daring at the same time, sharing our newfound reading skill and exciting literary adventures. 

As I grew older, my reading experiences increased and expanded.  The library in our little town became a favorite destination.  Housed in the building with city hall, it was rather small by modern standards.  Sometimes my mother would take my brother and me, or I would walk or ride my bike the few blocks from our home and spend hours curled up in a corner reading, scanning the shelves for the next book I wanted to read.  The librarian, Mrs. Cole, did not seem to mind my long visits and exhibited remarkable forbearance with my library habits.  I once checked out a biography of Mozart for weeks on end simply because I thought it looked good propped on my bed for passersby (my family) to see through the open doorway.  The book cover matched my room décor perfectly! I am happy to say that since then, I have never chosen books to read based on their color scheme or decorating potential.

In college, my roommate and I often swapped paperback romances.   I almost always read a book to completion, and I seldom re-read books.  Once I know how it ends, it has lost its mysterious attraction.  But my roommate selected books by first reading the ending.  If it seemed good, she would read the book.  If not, she didn't read it.  To me, this was sacrilege! 

From my earliest memories, books and reading have been a big part of my life.  My professions, first as an English teacher and then working in libraries, have been closely related to my passion for literature and reading.  And the adventure continues…..   

The little soap bird...

          Opening a cabinet, I discover her perched there on a high shelf… the little bird made of soap.

I haven’t been a teacher for over 30 years, but I still have the little soap bird, a gift from a former student.  It was so lovely I decided to save it for a special occasion – which apparently never came.  So there sits the little soap bird on the shelf, exactly where it has been for all these years, waiting patiently to be used, never fulfilling its intended purpose.  She’s only slightly the worse for wear, with a tiny chip missing from her beak.  Why have I kept the soap bird so long and never used it?  Why do we save things for some future time and deny ourselves the enjoyment and pleasure of using them in the present? 

Upon opening a gift of a scented candle or beautiful note cards, a friend often exclaims, “You know I can’t use it!”  Just like me with the little soap bird, she finds it difficult to make herself use the gifts she is given, saving them for some unknown future day when the time is suddenly right to burn the candle or write on the note cards.

My mother stockpiles nightgowns and robes for the possibility of a hospital stay.  Her closet and drawers are filled with new pastel robes and gowns while she continues to wear old, threadbare ones. 

What is it within us that chooses to save, hoard, or postpone using the gifts we have been given?  Is it some deep-seated feeling of unworthiness that makes us believe we are undeserving of gifts.  Maybe we fear some future time of need in which we will require just the thing we have been saving.  Or possibly we cannot bring ourselves to open the gift and thereby destroy forever its pristine newness. 

We are all given gifts every day which we choose to use or store.  Used, they can bring delight and fulfillment.  Unused, they sit high on a shelf, neglected and unable to fulfill their created purpose. An unused gift is lost potential, stifled joy.  A gift is meant to be opened, used, and shared….like a box of Godiva chocolates.

This year, I resolve to open and use gifts, not save and hoard them.  I want no more little soap birds but a life of extravagant thankfulness and grateful generosity.