It is written that He makes His sun to shine on the good and the wicked alike. He lets the rain fall on the fields of them both. From a scientific stance, it is inevitable, it will eventually rain. Because of the presence of water on the Earth, it will evaporate and get heavy enough to fall. And the sun shines, it has enough fusion going on to power us for several million years. From a spiritual point of view, all of it was set in motion out of His favour, His love, His grace. Be it rain or shine, each is a blessing. A good gift, given freely to all. None deserve these gifts. That is why they are gifts.
My sister married a man who was her friend. He still is a great friend for her. Not so hot in the husband department, but I am biased. My marriage is not amazing, far from it. Yet the problems she has I have not had in that intensity. I was told during a trying part of my life, the Lord allows hardship on those He trusts to shine through the trials. I said then He trusted me too much. I have been given a respite, and my sister is in the thick of it.
Even though we are raised in a competitive, 'earn your salt', 'prove you are worth it', eat or be eaten world; we need to understand grace. Free favour. Just take it and say, no shout,"Thank you!" I have done nothing to deserve the life I have. I am not a better person than my sister, or anyone else. I am pretty rotten. It is a gift, that I am here and she is there. I am basking in the spring sunshine and she is fighting summer downpours. My time will come. And as I am there for her now, she will be there for me. Her love, again, a gift of trust she has given me. So much entitlement in our lives. When we just ought to take what is given and shout, "Thank you!"
Personally, I like rain. It rained on my wedding day. I loved the gray skies and the way the green on the trees just popped. White looks really white under gray skies. It was a gorgeous day, she is gorgeous. I'll take the rain when it comes. It is a blessing, as blessed as sunshine. Thank you, rather...THANK YOU!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Forgetting
In the movie Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts plays Vivian Ward a strangely (for Hollywood) self respecting, frank prostitute, an immoral woman with a heart of gold, not so much a heart for gold. She said, "People put you down enough, you start to believe it...The bad stuff is easier to believe" Remember "Sticks and stone might break my bones but words will never hurt me?" I have concluded that to be the sour grapes response of a very very injured person. I would rather have had my bones broken.
I was raised by a good (seemingly mismatched) pair of parents, but what child does not think that? My mother is a mostly quiet, lovely, cute little woman. She was strict, has high expectations, works hard and picks her battles. She fights endlessly for her family against staggering odds and stands by her man, stood by him even when everyone told her to leave him. My dad was a type A, short tempered, cute little man. He too was strict, still has high expectations. He likes things just right and when they were not so one learnt how short his fuse was. His explosions were loud and damaging, they got the desired response though; people did what he wanted how he wanted. He loved money and all it could buy. Picked more battles than she and fought them with fierce determination, tenacious as a bulldog. Fair and ruthless in his dealings. They both knew poverty well. Money was a big deal for them. They valued hard work and results above everything (my opinionated view). Then Jesus found them.
I left home eight years ago. When I left my parents were becoming older, mellower people whom God was teaching not to provoke their children, but to nurture them in the fear of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4). They were not yet there, so my memories are filled by pain tainted images of malformed people. I had begun to notice the change that was occurring in their persons and in their union, and I missed out because I chose not to trust in it. It is easier to keep away those that hurt you than to believe and embrace their change. The man who at one time spent Sunday nursing a hangover after an early morning home rousing row now spent the afternoon in the yard with his wife a liter of Coke and biscuits (cookies...may I add, they giggled a LOT!) Money was still very important, and it was all I spoke to my father about. When I called home, I talked to mom about life and people, I talked to dad about grades and earnings. Until one summer I called and told them I would not go looking for a 'steady' job, I would keep doing odd jobs. Their response was, "Do what makes you happy, your joy and peace of mind are most important to us." I was shocked! Now, six years later my parents say they love me and though I feel a tad awkward, I tell them I love them too. They love and cherish my wife like (more than!) their own child.
They rarely provoke us (my siblings and I), we speak now of our childhood as of bad dreams. It still hurts when we think of the pain, oh how it hurts. It does not hurt all the time though, it used to, but not anymore. The bad stuff is easier to believe. Easier to remember. And because trust is slow to build, we sometimes treat them like ghouls, but quickly repent. They have changed, and so should I.
I will keep forgetting.
I was raised by a good (seemingly mismatched) pair of parents, but what child does not think that? My mother is a mostly quiet, lovely, cute little woman. She was strict, has high expectations, works hard and picks her battles. She fights endlessly for her family against staggering odds and stands by her man, stood by him even when everyone told her to leave him. My dad was a type A, short tempered, cute little man. He too was strict, still has high expectations. He likes things just right and when they were not so one learnt how short his fuse was. His explosions were loud and damaging, they got the desired response though; people did what he wanted how he wanted. He loved money and all it could buy. Picked more battles than she and fought them with fierce determination, tenacious as a bulldog. Fair and ruthless in his dealings. They both knew poverty well. Money was a big deal for them. They valued hard work and results above everything (my opinionated view). Then Jesus found them.
I left home eight years ago. When I left my parents were becoming older, mellower people whom God was teaching not to provoke their children, but to nurture them in the fear of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4). They were not yet there, so my memories are filled by pain tainted images of malformed people. I had begun to notice the change that was occurring in their persons and in their union, and I missed out because I chose not to trust in it. It is easier to keep away those that hurt you than to believe and embrace their change. The man who at one time spent Sunday nursing a hangover after an early morning home rousing row now spent the afternoon in the yard with his wife a liter of Coke and biscuits (cookies...may I add, they giggled a LOT!) Money was still very important, and it was all I spoke to my father about. When I called home, I talked to mom about life and people, I talked to dad about grades and earnings. Until one summer I called and told them I would not go looking for a 'steady' job, I would keep doing odd jobs. Their response was, "Do what makes you happy, your joy and peace of mind are most important to us." I was shocked! Now, six years later my parents say they love me and though I feel a tad awkward, I tell them I love them too. They love and cherish my wife like (more than!) their own child.
They rarely provoke us (my siblings and I), we speak now of our childhood as of bad dreams. It still hurts when we think of the pain, oh how it hurts. It does not hurt all the time though, it used to, but not anymore. The bad stuff is easier to believe. Easier to remember. And because trust is slow to build, we sometimes treat them like ghouls, but quickly repent. They have changed, and so should I.
I will keep forgetting.
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