Buckle Up, Buttercup!

Last year about this time, we were releasing Stacking Stones and I was looking ahead to a year of book signings. Things at work were going well and I was really happy. I didn't know what was coming. 

As I shared recently in Planted Firm, the next months were full of the unexpected. My husband tore his meniscus and ACL, which led to surgery in another city. My younger son was in a car accident and incurred a serious concussion that affected his health and schooling for weeks. My grandmother, who lives with us, broke a vertebrae and had a series of suspected TIAs, leading to round-the-clock attention. In those first few weeks, she was in and out of consciousness and, with my aunt and sister, I helped care for her in my home. A cousin came to help with her longer-term recovery, enabling me to attend and celebrate the high school graduation of one of my sons and the college graduation of another. It also allowed me to spend a little more time with an uncle before he passed away. Shortly after his funeral, my grandmother fell, cracking another bone and ending up back at the hospital. My dad went through several eye surgeries. Three of my loved ones are battling cancer. Oh, and I have had some health issues of my own--a couple of ugly winter and spring viruses, food poisoning, a string of dental procedures, a cancer scare and the latest. . . . a vitamin deficiency and hives outbreak which led to a prescription that caused problems with my heart and landed me in the ER.

Let's just say it was not the year I had planned.

Have you ever been on a really rough stretch of road? One that shakes the car windows and chatters your teeth? Here's one from our past (SEIZURE WARNING): 

Sometimes, our journey in life is like that. It has been lately for me. As the last year has moved me forward--sometimes to places I didn't want to go--I have felt my grip slowly tighten, my muscles tense as I strain to keep from hitting my head on the ceiling, or bouncing into the window.

I've thought occasionally of Rocky Balboa: "It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."

So, I've focused on getting back to my feet, pressing forward, surviving each blow.

Here's the thing that has been running through my brain this week. . . I missed something. I lost my perspective. Because as important as it is to keep rising to your feet, life isn't just about surviving. It's about thriving. 

My friend Julie gets that. She is in a room in the oncology ward of a hospital, taking her days one at a time. But she doesn't just exist. She lights up that room. She has words of wisdom to share, as well as lots of love and laughter, hugs and encouragement. In all of the pain and suffering, and in the uncertainty about how long she has left, she is full of peace, hope, love and even joy. She's intentional about what she does and says. She doesn't just survive the days, she thrives. 

I had lost sight of how precious and important it is to do that.

During some seasons, the roads we travel wind and bend. I think of my sons, as they leave their childhoods for adult lives. Sometimes blind curves pop up on them unexpectedly, changing their plans. As the road twists again and again, it can feel like they are headed in a circle, going right back around to places they've already been and gaining little ground. That's difficult.

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Yet I know that even on the winding roads, they are moving ahead. The serpentine pattern actually benefits them as it slows their speed, expands their view, gives them practice and traction for what's coming further down the road. I've journeyed roads like those, too. Looking back, I see that there is a purpose to each winding turn, as frustrating and unending as they may feel at the time.

I have to remember that same lesson when the curves aren't blind and I see my road leading straight through places that are ugly and rough. Even when I see some of what's ahead, and don't like it, there is a reason for it. There is a purpose in the shaking. I need to remember that.

One purpose that hides in the bumps sometimes is the purpose of stillness. My father-in-law has told me often that when we won't stop and rest on our own, God sometimes steps in and stops us for our own good. Recently, as I mentioned, I was grounded once again--with an allergy and then the bad reaction to its cure. As I rested, I wasn't allowed to be outside in the sun, so I couldn't garden. I couldn't drive, so I couldn't go to work. I couldn't expend much energy, so I couldn't clean my messy house. I was helpless. I was forced to be so still. 

In the midst of that stillness, brought on by challenges I didn't want, I learned some things about thriving. I began to think about my life and how much had changed in a year. I began to see more clearly how ridiculously out-of-hand my schedule had become and how off-kilter my heart was. 

I saw that I have been complaining far too much and praying far too little. Striving so frequently and laughing so rarely. Exhausted too often and at rest too scarcely. I've been filling my days with what Charles Hummel called the "tyranny of the urgent," and neglected so many things that matter. I've had no time for writing letters to loved ones, eating dinner at the table with my family, reading good books, walking my dog to the park, bicycling with my husband or creating something beautiful and artistic. Instead, there has been so much movement with so little to show for it. While I've been rushing around trying to put out fires, I've let things that are important to me smolder.

How could I thrive in all the nonsense?

Of course, all the while in the midst of it, the Bible has continued to hold those ancient answers:

Take time to rest.

Be thankful.

Rejoice.

Lift up your eyes.

Walk in love, joy, peace. . . 

Be still. 

We're quick to remind people Jesus wept (John 11:33). You know what, though? Jesus also slept (Mark 4:38). 

Rest is a good thing!

Even when the world is busy and noisy, it's okay--even essential--to stop and rest. I don't have to be in chaos when my world is in chaos. I can slow down a moment and pause. Reflect. Heal. Thrive. 

The road is still bumpy. Make no mistake about that. The ridges jar me, lift me from the seat and knock my head toward the glass. I can't change that. What I can change is how I behave inside the car. When I hear the screams of panic in fellow passengers, I can meet it not with consensus, but with singing. Peace. Hope. Trust.

I know the tilting and tottering won't last forever, that the lurching will end and the destination will be worth the rough ride. 

I have traveled  a lot of physical roads that have left my head aching and stomach in knots. I've experienced many narrow shoulders, high cliffs, trees blocking the sightline and switchbacks upon switchbacks. Yet, it's worth every mile traveled to arrive at the destinations where my loved ones are.  

 This journey of life, too, will be worth the ride. If I didn't know where I was going, I might refuse to be jostled and tossed. But I know where I'm going. It's the right road to be on, and I can rest in that. As the song says, "It will be worth it all when I see Jesus."

So, buckle up, Buttercup! If you are on the right road and trust your heavenly Driver, you can look out the window and enjoy the view. Remember that this too will pass--leaving you richer in character and wisdom after your bumpy, winding journey. Rest in the knowledge that God works ALL things for our good and his priceless glory. He IS faithful and loves you. So, rest. Trust. THRIVE.