The Universe

When you are a kid, you pretty much think that you are the center of the universe. As a baby, you cry and someone (hopefully) comes rushing to fulfill your needs. But as you grow up, there is a slow dawning that there are others in your world: you need to wait your turn, to ask politely, to reciprocate, to cooperate...and it doesn't come easily, not even for a grown-up.

But I think at some point, everyone looks up at the stars and sees the universe. Or what can be seen of the universe with our naked eyes from this vantage point, earth. And we feel...small. tiny. infinitesimal.

For me it first happened when I was on vacation with my best friend from high school, floating on a lake in upper Wisconsin in the middle of the night. (Ok, we were skinny-dipping, if you must know.) I was 'communing with nature', suddenly able to see millions upon millions of stars that are invisible in Chicago. And I felt small, even inconsequential compared to the awesome vastness of the skies.

When I began asking the big 'wh-' questions several years later in college, I had more questions than answers. Who am I? Why am I here? Who's in control of all of this? My spiritual journey had begun in earnest, and took me through world religion and art history classes, transcendental meditation, yoga, a Tibetan monastery, and the great art and cathedrals of Europe.

Soon after my return from Europe, on another star-studded night in central Illinois, I looked into the sky and blurted out a challenge to Whoever was out there: "If You are there, show me Who you are!" And the most surprising thing happened. He answered me.

It turns out, I'm NOT the center of the universe. But the paradox of the Christian faith, which is where He led me, is that God not only knows exactly where every star is, He knows where this tiny, infinitesimal speck in the universe is (me!). And He even knows my name.

Awesome.

"He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.
Great is our Lord and mighty in power; His understanding has no limit." Psalm 147: 4-5

Harmony

Raising kids mostly focuses on trying to keep them from killing each other for the first 18 years of their lives. The firstborn lives in relative peace until sibling (in this case) #2 and #3 comes along. Soon the halls ring out: "He touched me!" "She's hitting me!" "He started it!" It's a bone-wearying, patience-trying, my-will-against-a-ten-year-old's test of endurance from start to finish.

What surprised me the most about raising kids was the fact that they are born wanting to do the exact opposite of what you want them to do--which is, of course, the right thing, the compassionate thing, the polite thing. Their first words are "NO!", followed by "MINE!" It takes almost 18 years to teach them to say civilized words like, "Please" and "Thank you" and "You're welcome".

I didn't have a lot of experience with babies growing up--I didn't do much babysitting, and truth be told, didn't much like kids. So when I had my first child, I felt fairly unprepared for what was to come. They didn't come with user manuals, and my first child was born in Nicaragua, far away from my support system--my mom and sister and grandmother.

Now that my parenting days are (mostly) over, when I think back on those years, they seem like a blur. I'm sure I'm not the only parent that wonders where the time went. How many times did I change a diaper, flip a pancake, wipe a nose, pop in a binky, or drive a carpool and think those days would never end? And then, abruptly, they do.

And here's the most surprising thing about having grown-up kids: After all the times I worried and fretted and paced and prayed like crazy, it turns out. . .They LIKE each other! They are polite! I would choose them as friends!

Who woulda thunk it? Thank God!

"How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony!" Psalm 133:1

The Swans

We've had big drama in the ponds behind my parents' home this summer. Every spring, swan pairs are introduced to the four ponds in the neighborhood to keep the Canadian geese at bay. What follows is usually pretty predictable: the male 'cobs' and female 'pens' mate, lay about 5-7 eggs, guard the nest until the babies hatch, and then parade around the pond with their darling cygnets in tow. Every once in a while disaster strikes, and a coyote might grab a cygnet in the night. Every morning we would peer out the windows to see the drama unfold.

Until one morning the female 'pen' was nowhere to be seen. It was bitter cold, and the eggs were getting colder by the minute. (Do you think Dad could have taken over for a while?? Guess not.) In the end, Mom had inexplicably died and was floating on the other side of the pond. I was stunned. I was expecting one or two babies not to make it, but not the momma!

That was pretty much the end to our little family. The babies were farmed out, and Dad was given a new mate, but they never really 'clicked'. Swans mate for life, and I think he never stopped grieving for his mate and his babies. The other swan families in the other ponds saw their opportunity and tormented this new couple and drove them out again and again. Once the male (I just know it was the male, that bugger) even wandered off and was found on a pond in the next neighborhood. They have survived, but it doesn't look to me like a happy union. I think they just barely tolerate each other.

Sometimes life just doesn't turn out the way you expect it to. You make your plans, you work the plan, you even think you are in control of the plan. But when 'momma dies', and your world is turned upside down, everything changes. You realize that your plan might not have been the most important thing after all. And in those moments, or days, or even years of pain and struggle and discouragement, God draws us closer to Him.

God's plans always trump our plans. And somehow, He works it out for our good and His glory.

"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." Proverbs 19:21

Artichokes

One the best things about being Italian is eating Italian food. But who doesn't love Italian food? Pasta, pizza, meatballs, calzone, Parmesan cheese-- not to mention Italian wine. I believe that secretly, everyone who isn't Italian, really wants to be Italian in their hearts. (I'm talkin' ta YOU!)

Italian Sunday dinners were an institution in my family. There was no negotiation. You made it for dinner, on time. These were noisy, chaotic extended family gatherings that centered on food, and lots of it. You had to pace yourself, because if you stuffed yourself on the first course (homemade pizza) or the second course (pasta and 'gravy'), you would have to crawl home after the main meal of roast beef, vegetables, and mashed potatoes, followed by dessert. My future husband, trying to make a good first impression on my family, made that mistake--once.

One of my most favorite vegetables prepared Italian-style is stuffed artichokes. 'Italian-style' to me means 'prepared in the kitchen with the whole family giving their opinion on how it should be done'. Artichokes are the epitome of this concept--you just cannot make them by yourself. You need at least 5 people: one to read the recipe, one to interpret the recipe, two to stuff the leaves, and one to pour the wine for everyone else.

A few weeks ago I came across an artichoke growing in the Chicago Botanical Gardens. It was the first time I had seen one growing in the ground, blooming. I knew these particular artichokes would probably never make it to Italian Sunday dinner, but in their hearts (that's a pun!), I just knew they'd be there if they could. Stuffed and on time.

"Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment." I Timothy 6:17

Lychee

One of the most exotic fruits in the tropics is the 'lychee'. It's not much to look at-- the rind is bumpy and inedible, but the inside...ah, heaven.

It's hard to describe the sweet burst of juice that floods your mouth when you pry open the shell and pop it into your mouth. During the season, they are sold off the backs of trucks and vans all up and down Old Cutler Road. I buy them by the bag, pull off the road, and stuff them into my mouth, one by one, until I'm almost sick.

God beckons us to experience His grace and extravagant goodness. He tantalizes us with the beauty of the world He has created. He calls to us in a blazing sunset, the call of a whippoorwill at dawn, even a lychee. . .

"Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him." Psalm 34:8

Hope

I have lived in the tropics for so long that I'm not sure I could return to Chicago to live. Once in twenty years we came back to spend Christmas in the frozen tundra, and it almost killed us all. We hacked and coughed for days afterwards. But I miss the changing of the seasons.

Spring exploded into my senses this past May, and I couldn't help myself from stopping every few minutes to snap a photo of a tulip emerging from the damp, fresh soil or a tender, green leaf sprouting from a tree. Everything even smelled new and fresh and exciting. The woods were hushed but expectant.

The seasons remind me of God's grace, that He has set the stars in the sky and the seasons into motion, and has not, and will not abandon us. The sun rises every morning. The snow falls in the winter; it is dark, and cold, and unforgiving, but there is the promise of spring, of warm breezes and more sunlight. Spring comes, no matter how dark and cold the winter has been.

God paints our deepest longings in His creation: spring is our hope that things will get better no matter how dark our circumstances are right now. The backdrop of our lives is not a chaotic mess, but an ordered universe that was created by a loving God who cares for His creation. The sun will come up tomorrow, the tulips will bloom next spring. They have no choice--they must rise and bloom. But I have hope.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13

The Locust

You can't tell how big this locust is in this photo, but it is enormous, about the size of my hand. Everything in Florida grows larger-than-life, like the Valley of the Giants.

This particular one is in plain sight, silently and relentlessly chomping away; yet the destruction of this plant, and several more, went completely unnoticed by the owner of the property. Shocking.

Locusts don't get good press in the Bible. They were one of the plagues of Egypt. John the Baptist ate them. But when I was growing up in Chicago, they were the sound of summer in the trees, whining and calling to each other, a noisy, invisible backdrop to the long, hot summer nights.

I don't remember actually seeing one as a child, (grasshoppers don't count) although recently I have experienced the '17th year' when they die in alarming numbers and litter the streets and sidewalks with their crunchy carcasses.

So, are they evil destroyers? Protein for prophets? Musical melody makers? Once-in-a-blue-moon nuisances? I'm quite sure that God made them for a reason, and that somehow our world would be incomplete without them....yet, it wouldn't bother me if I never crossed paths with one again. In fact, there are a few other creepy insects that I'd like to take off the Florida map. Cockroaches come to mind.

The fact that, for the most part, locusts remain invisible, yet are capable of so much destruction, demands we pay attention; at least when they are chomping away within our borders.

"Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith..." I Peter 5: 8-9