The Clout of Doubt

You would think on a hundred-degree day, somebody—something— would be moving on the lake. That’s the thought that dampened our previous enthusiasm and turned our fanciful dreams of buying a lake house into suspicions we were standing on the fishing pier of the Fifth Dimension.

We had decided to explore a nearby lake where, someone told us, there was a pleasant restaurant. A quick online map search gave me the general location. It looked simple enough to find. But after driving for an hour through unpopulated countryside, and not seeing one sign indicating nearby water, we finally found a lone soul outside a post office who redirected us back down the road. “Watch for the turn just past the Mini Mart,” she said.

We turned down a narrow road, otherwise unmarked except for a tiny Lake Dr sign. For the next hour, like kids on a scavenger hunt, we explored unoccupied houses, camps, and lakefront property whose For Sale signs begged us to peer in windows and fantasize what we would do if we owned the place.

“It’s so quiet,” Bob kept repeating, no matter which cove or dock we stood on.
Making our way around to the other shore, we found the shiny, aluminum, public fishing pier jutting out from an empty parking lot. Except for a woman in a bathing suit, who stood at the edge of the water and threw stones and muttered to herself, nothing stirred. Not a boat, not a splashing kid or stick-fetching dog or crumb-seeking duck in sight.

“It’s so quiet,” Bob said again. This time suspicion replaced his previously contented observation. “Something’s weird. Where can you go on a lake in July and not see people in the water?”

I looked down the lake. Scenes from Deliverance tainted my idyllic vision. Like a soap bubble on a blade grass, it burst.

Doubt now determined the course of our conversation on the way home.

“It’s probably really shallow. Looks like leach haven.”

“It’s so remote. Doesn’t take long to get hokey around here.”

When we got home, I looked at an aerial map of the area. Actually, it was quite populated and not so very remote after all. But the damage was done. I had allowed doubt to steal my sense of peace and beauty. And all it took was a seed of suspicion.

“Guard your hearts and minds,” we are told. Doubt is a powerful weapon. The tiniest drop eats at faith like acid.

“Why did you doubt?” The One who made the sun and the stars asked his fearful friend (Matt. 14:31).

Good question. Why do we become so easily sidetracked by doubt when He is—

The Lord [our] God who churns up the sea so that the waves roar. The Lord Almighty is his name. . . who set the heavens in place, who laid the foundations of the earth, and who says . . . ‘You are my people’(Isa. 51:15-16).

Let’s continue the conversation next time. If you experienced a time that faith triumphed over doubt, please join in.

My spot between George Bush and Sarah Palin: Bob's bookshelf

Yep, if you look closely you will see that's my Call of a Coward wedged there in between Sarah Palin and George Bush, a placement that suggests two things about my husband: he honors me, and, he doesn't read many memoirs. (I think the two fictions are included just to distance from the hard core Bible study books that line the rest of his selves.)

As proud as I am to have my book published, I certainly don't put my achievements in the class of my bookshelf company. I do, however, boast that my God can make do with little as well as with a lot. All He asks is that we trust Him.

The Bible is full of examples of  people who were "the least" and yet God was able to do mighty things through them. I love the confidence Jonathan has in God when he says to his armor bearer, "Let's go over to the Philistines; it may be the Lord will work for us, for there is nothing to prevent Him from saving by many or by few."

To each of us is given a purpose and a gift, all ultimately to the glory of God. Some may accomplish great things that affect many, but most will live quiet lives of unacclaimed faithfulness. Helen Keller captured the sentiment of many a heart with her observation, "I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble."

It only matters that we do that which God has purposed for us. First to love Him. And to know however lofty or little we may feel our impact is, we can proclaim as did King Asa, "It makes no difference if those you help are mighty or powerless--You are God alone."

Meanwhile, I'll enjoy my sliver of a spot on Bob's bookshelf, and I will pray that the telling of God's faithfulness in my life brings glory to Him, and encourages any of you who read it.






        

               

May My Lasting Impression Not Be One of a VW Bug

The birthing center anchors the entrance to the town; a veteran’s cemetery marks its end. Dunkin Donuts, a market, bar, pizzeria, and smattering of other enterprises sustain the ebb and flow of life between. 

We snagged the only beds around—a quintessential country B&B with printed wallpaper, eclectic furnishings, and hearty breakfasts that brought new meaning to “stick to your ribs,” and everywhere else to boot.

I had been quick to secure the one bedroom with its own bath, (although my brother delighted in saying I stole it from under him—he having to share the other bath with the guests in the next room—his sons.) I had no qualms in pulling rank. And he had none in short-sheeting my bed. Having never experienced this age-old camp trick, we were totally baffled when we pulled back the blankets. Surely our innkeepers knew how to make a bed. Bill’s triumphant giggles on the other side of the door were a dead give-away.

We had come to this tiny spot on the Vermont map, wedged in between lush hillsides and Interstate 89, to celebrate a man’s life and death, and to reacquaint ourselves with family and friends long ago scattered, like a rack of pool balls, in different directions.

I was curious about the images my brain released in response to the oft asked question, “Remember me?”  In an instant, the white-haired woman facing me morphed into a teenager urging me to buy my mother a parakeet to match the one she was buying for her mother. The gregarious woman dishing out generous portions of food and picking the dog hairs off my sweater informed me I was her godmother (Lord forgive me for my delinquency in spiritual motherhood).  The lanky woman in jeans stirred sad memories of a trio of best friends broken by a family move.

A solid, towering man reminded me he was indeed the young cousin boy who worked for my father one summer. He, in turn, remembered two things about me:  I was a skinny, beaded hippie, and I had a 1964 blue Volkswagen.  Since I don’t have a cool mini cooper, or any other car of note, and I’m not decked out in beads or tattoos, this got me thinking about the impressions I make on people.

Whether we like it or not, our days are numbered. Soon my car will be at the head of the train. When it’s time for me to get off, how will I be remembered? Funerals and family gatherings remind me I have been careless with my time, my friendships, and family. There’s not much I can do about what’s behind, but I can affect what’s ahead.

[Lord] teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom . Let Thy work appear to Thy servants, and Thy majesty to their children. And let the favor of the Lord our  God be upon us; and do confirm for us the work of our hands; yes, confirm the work of our hands.—Ps 90:12-17

I suspect the life I have lived in between the birthing center and the burial plot will be remembered along with tepees, and other assorted adventures, but in the end, I pray it will be saluted as one lived in the faith and joy of the Lord.

The nautilus and the sea urchin

Like a heat-seeking missile, I was determined to find a nautilus shell like the one I saw on the postcard in my hotel lobby. It was early morning. I was trying to sneak out the room without waking my husband. But he turned, blinked a few times and asked,"Where are you going?" We were, after all, on vacation, which to his mind meant rest.

"The tide's out," I said. "I have to get on the beach early to find a nautilus shell.

Sport that he is, hubby sighed, rolled out of bed, and donned his sweatshirt and shorts. We joined the other early-morning seekers along the vast stretch of beach famous for its shells. The birds vied for low-tide pickings; the gentle lapping of the retreating water and the misty salt air added the ambiance for a seashell hunt.

I set out briskly, certain I would find the one shell I had in mind. Bob soon lagged behind, stopping every few minutes to examine something which he either discarded or added to his bag. I walked faster, ignoring the piles of shells and shiny objects on the shoreline. Bob stopped, examined, enjoyed. After an hour or so we met up and compared treasures. I had nothing. Bob had a bag full of perfectly formed, shiny, spikey, curly, pearly treasures.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a shell store where I learned my nautilus didn't even live in those waters. They were just props on a postcard.

I had been so focused on the big treasure that I had overlooked all the little beauties along the way.

Today, may I have the eyes to see, the faith to believe, and the heart to be thankful for what I have today.

Those powerful little things

I was in a bit of a blog fog, not able to settle my thoughts, when I noticed a slender sliver of a bug on the edge of my laptop. On legs thinner than a strand of hair, he marched along the perimeter with singular purpose. Suddenly, (I know writers aren't supposed to use this word, but that's the way it was) a tiny round bug appeared on the opposite edge of my screen, poised for a direct encounter.

In a flash, without breaking stride, skinny bug snatched up the round one. Startled by this unexpected entomological turn of events, I peered around the screen to see how skinny bug could possibly eat the chunky one, but they had disappeared.

It's amazing how powerful little things can be. I often think the big things are the most influential and desired, but it's the little things that influence a matter for better or for worse.

It's the little irritations that belie my grandiose thoughts of self-sacrifice--of course I'd lay down my life for you, just don't interrupt me when I'm busy.

And it's the little pleasures that refresh the soul. Stopping for a moment to watch the light filter through the leaves, or examine the intricacy of a tiny weed flower, or look into someone's eyes while she is speaking instead of fidgeting with my watch.

One Christmas my husband gave me diamond with all the right number of "C" qualities a diamond should have. My granddaughter gave me a pencil inscribed,"to the world's best grandmother." One gift as treasured as the other.

Today we may not all get a Big moment, but I'll bet we'll all have a chance at a little one to influence a life around us, or to bring our hearts to a place of delight in recognizing the handiwork of God in the little things.

If you do, I'd love to hear about it. 

He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much--Luke 16:10

P.S. For those of you who say you can't post a comment--try the anonymous option.