by jphilo | Apr 24, 2015 | Uncategorized
Watching our children mature and strike out on their own is a great joy of parenting. This Fantastic Friday post first appeared in April of 2009, but our delight in the way the boys who once graced our home have become men continues. And our memories of them are still as strong and sweet as ever.
Our Boys Are Men
One of our favorite people in the whole world ate supper with us last night. Adrian, a Romanian foreign exchange student who lived with us for several months in 2001, was back in Iowa for a week before starting his new job in Singapore. He walked in the kitchen, and it was as if he’d never left, as if we were still an integral part of his life.
The best things about Adrian remained unchanged – his enthusiasm for adventure and travel, his love for his family and his delight in the people who have been part of his life. But, as we caught up on each other’s lives, we could see how our boy has changed. His story of landing his first job showed us how determined he’s become, how serious he is about contributing to society, how sober he is about the present financial downturn.
Allen’s attitude on the phone last weekend was a duplicate of Adrian’s. He was serious about life, grateful to have found his dream job in a down economy, responsible and optimistic, apprehensive about the future, but determined to move forward.
I reflected on their similar attitudes and realized what has happened to them since 2001. In spite of the times, or perhaps because of them, our boys have become men. Unless I am mistaken, they will be fine men, the kind who not only make the world a better place, but also find joy while doing so, even when times are hard.
Our boys are men, and my heart is glad.
by jphilo | Sep 30, 2013 | Church Newsletter Columns
We give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
praying always for you,
since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus
and the love which you have for all the saints;
because of the hope laid up for you in heaven,
of which you previously heard in the word of truth, the gospel.
Colossians 1:3–5
Sometimes, I don’t like being a grown up. Last week, when it was time to say good-bye to dear South Dakota friends and head home, was one of those times. A piece of my heart remained with them as I climbed in the car and drove away from the little town filled with people who loved and supported us during the early years of our very sick baby’s life.
But I had to leave because another piece of my heart lives in Iowa, in the town where Hiram and I raised our kids, where we have many friends who supported us during the trials and joys of life for almost three decades. Other bits of my heart are scattered all over the country and the world, wherever beloved rellies and friends now live. And every year, my heart cracks anew as I say final good-byes to dear ones God used to bless my life before he called them home.
With each good-bye, a bit more of my heart chips off. These good-byes makes it impossible to hold onto my foolish childhood belief that everyone who populated my secure world and loved me would be with me forever. Life…and death…continually prove that my childhood belief isn’t truth. The truth of the matter is this:
People change.
People move.
People die.
In the shadow of that reality, my grown up self longs for and seeks after Someone who is true and loving and secure. Someone who never dies. Someone who can repair my heart, and the hearts of all who seek Him, for eternity. Who can that be but Christ, the One Paul calls “the hope of heaven?”
Christ is our hope on earth and in heaven. He is hope a person can cling to when saying good-bye. Hope to share with those God uses to bless our lives. Hope to encourage us to pray for those we love who don’t yet know Him. Hope to makes mature believers rejoice, knowing they are drawing ever closer to the Hope laid up for them in heaven.
Hope to make us eager to join Christ and the cloud of witnesses surrounding Him in a heaven where there are no more tears.
No more sorrows.
No more pain.
No more broken hearts.
No more good-byes.
And no more grown ups.
Just children of the Father, His saints reunited with one another and worshipping God’s Son forever and ever.
Amen.
by jphilo | Jan 17, 2008 | Daily Life
It snowed in the night, while I was sleeping. I woke to a changed world. This morning the yard glitters with three inches of soft, white coldness covering every blemish. I hated to mar that smooth perfection, but scooped a small path to the garage. Then I put the shovel away and went inside, determined to enjoy the beauty before it melted away.
While I ate breakfast I noticed the spruce trees in the back yard, their tips dusted with snowflakes. Every few minute a bit of snow fell from a branch and exploded in the silent breeze. I looked at the trees and wondered, as I have so often in the past year, when they grew so large.
Hiram and I planted four blue spruces when our children were little. Allen was about ten, and Anne was four. The trees were tiny, less than a yard tall when Hiram dug holes and the kids and I dragged the hose from hole to hole. We never watered the trees again, just trusted their roots to find water and their branches to soak up the sunshine.
The trees are so tall now, and I marvel. When did their branches grow strong enough to bear the weight of the snow? And when did my children learn to stand and accept the weight of adulthood?
It happened in the night, I think, while I was sleeping.
