Quiet observations from MoonDance Cafe

I sit here, quietly typing on this soft keyboard. These two women, women who meet here faithfully every Tuesday, are laughing. I love sitting near them, feeling like a voyeur, trying not to eavesdrop but catching fragments of their conversations. They pray, then they take turns reciting from memory all the carefully-copied scriptures they’re learning. Page after page of neatly-handwritten verses fill binders. One closes her eyes and starts speaking, while the other follows along, word for word, mouthing the verses alongside her friend. Their conversation rarely strays. I know. I sit by them most weeks, half listening, half writing or reading or talking to friends. But always aware. I feel the Word of God washing over me. We are cleansed by the hearing of the word, and as they recite God’s promises, I feel a peace settle around me. I thank God for their faithfulness, for their discipline, for their devotion, for their diligence. They work hard at this, and they take it seriously. It’s not like if I met with my friends to do it. We would talk. Catch up on all kinds of things, get distracted, make fun of each other’s mistakes. I’d probably not get around to memorizing my verses, and I’d be cramming at the last minute. But I pray that God will bless these women, even more, because surely they are already blessed for all this. The words hover in the atmosphere, weighty, present. The Spirit lingers in the trail of the words, rejoicing in their faith, staying near to see what they’ll quote next. They love their God, and they love His word, and I love hearing bits and pieces of the Word floating all around me. This wholesome gladness makes my spirit sing.

My dad's hands

My dad is an artist, and I’ve always loved his hands. Large, strong, capable – but so gentle. Soft but not frail. So very able. Talent hidden in those hands, the ability to make something surprisingly beautiful. My dad worked with his dad as a cabinetmaker, and he is skilled at carpentry, at making things solid and beautiful at the same time. But when he sits down with a brush, he is amazing. He’s got such a delicate touch – he can effortlessly, in a couple strokes, invoke the sagging roofline of a barn in the snow, bring out depth and color in the shadows of a hollyhock, or carve ruts in a dirt lane. With years of experience and loads of innate talent, my dad makes it look so easy. When people ask how long it took to paint a panting, he’ll reply, “3 hours and 30 years.” He worked hard and spent years developing his skills, and now it comes easily to him. It’s not that easy for most of the rest of us.

I’ve always thought my dad’s hands must be a lot like God’s. Big enough to hold my hand and make me feel protected, and at the same time capable of such gentleness. But when God works, it doesn’t just look effortless on his part, it really is. It’s more than a well-honed skill. He creates with just a touch, just a word, just a thought. And then He tries to involve us. It’s like when we teach our kids that success doesn’t come without effort and monetary gain doesn’t come without work. We want them to understand the value of what they have. So even though it’s not hard for God to grant our desires, He may ask us to do some work to get what we need. Not in exchange for His blessing, and not as a form of payment, but simply so we understand the worth of what He’s given us.

I’ll take what’s behind door #3!

Do you remember all those old game shows? A contestant would finally make it to the last round of the show and would stand there, a nervous wreck, jumping up and down, trying to decide whether to choose door #1, door #2, or door #3. Which one has the car? Which is the European vacation? Which is a new living room complete with a pool table? The thing is, no matter what the curtain or door revealed, it was good. The prize was fun, extravagant, and nearly always something the contestant wanted. And it was usually something they could not have afforded on their own.

Yesterday I was talking with a friend about baptism. Her son is hesitant, not sure how much of Christianity he believes. I asked, does he believe in Jesus? If the answer is yes, it should be simple. Baptism isn’t like a final exam, something you do to prove your knowledge. You don’t need to have experience, you don’t need to study, you don’t need to prove you’ve reached a certain level or that you’re worthy. You just have to get to the point where you’re standing in front of the doors wanting to know what He has in store for you. You have no idea what’s behind the doors, but you trust that He wouldn’t offer you something bad. You may be a little scared. It might not be exactly the same as what your friend found. It might be safe, or it might be a little risky. But you understand that until the door is opened, you won’t know for sure what it is, how it makes you feel, or how it will change your life. You just know that it will be good. So take a deep breath and pick one. Because opening that door is the only way to know what is waiting for you. Your very own, personal, made-just-for-you grand prize.

Wearing a wig

When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, one of the things that was difficult for her was going out in public knowing people were looking at her. She was afraid people would be watching her to see if she had lost her hair, if she had on a wig, if she was losing weight, if she looked sick yet... And people may have been watching, but the good news is she looked great through it all. It’s been several months, and my mom is healthy (thank you, Lord!). People are curious, though. Today I saw an acquaintance of hers, and she said she’d seen my mom the other day, “But how is she?”

“Great,” I replied, and started thinking.

Typically, when we look at people on the outside, ourselves included, and we see nothing unusual, we decide everything must be fine. And that’s how we want it. We don’t want people watching us, looking for signs that our health is failing. We don’t want the stigma of being labeled with a disease. If no one knows it’s there, we don’t have to talk about it. But at the same time, no one can help us treat it.

With my mom, since people know something is (or might be) “wrong,” they wonder. They can’t tell by appearances, so they ask. But how many of us have something painful on the inside that no one ever sees, that no one knows to ask about? We might be eaten up by guilt, or fear, or regret, or sorrow. Most of what hurts us can’t be seen on the outside. Thank God He knows our hearts, that He can see what the world misses. That He knows to talk to us, and soothe, and touch, and heal, even when others don’t know we need help. We’re good at covering; we hide our “illnesses” better than a great wig with perfect highlights and a cute cut hides a bald head. So maybe it’s time to bare all before the Lord, and let Him do His thing.