Peace and Quiet

"I'm a silent 'e,' Elliot," Vince said.  "What letter are you?"

We were out in the garden working, or at least Anna and I were.  Vince and Elliot were having an odd little conversation of their own.

"I'm a silent 'L,' Elliot replied.

"There's no such thing as a silent 'L,'" Vince told him.

"Yes there is," Elliot told him.  "I have one in my name!"

It is odd to me that my children both thought they were silent letters, because they are far from silent in every day life. 

I have thought that it would be nice to have twin girls and name them "Peace" and "Quiet," because that would be the easiest way to obtain both peace and quiet in my home.

However, I know that there will come a day when our children are gone more than they are home.  There will be days when the conversations at the dinner table will have a lot less cackling of laughter and fewer interruptions and a lot more stillness.

I don't know how much I will miss all of the non-funny comments followed by hysterical giggles, but I certainly will miss the fun of a family growing up together.

It seem to me that we tend to long for that which we do not have.  I would enjoy my children as they are now -- giggles and all -- rather than long for peace and quiet that I don't have.

I would have joy in each season of life, be they noisy, or quiet.

Crazy Eyes

It came to pass one day, as the time of school drew near, that my beautiful wife and beloved children did wend their way unto the office of a Doctor of Optometry. 

And there, they found out news, but not all of it was good.

Later that same day, my oldest son, Vince did approach me.  "Dad," he said.  "I have a Crazy Eye that doesn't see well," and so saying, he squinched up his left eye and he stared out at me from his Crazy Eye.

"I suppose that is why you need glasses," I told him.

Vince nodded his head sagely.  "Yes, Dad, glasses are for people with Crazy Eyes."

Perhaps my son is right.  Maybe it is those with Crazy Eyes who need lenses between them and the rest of the world to help them focus, but I think it is more than that.

It matters little if one has an astigmatism like Vince, or is near sighted, as I have been told my daughter Anna is, the question is whether or not you can see the world around you clearly.  If not, then a little help is just what the Doctor of Optometry orders.

The book of Proverbs says that "Where there is no vision, the people perish."  While it would be tempting to think of this as talking about a community without glasses running stop signs and cutting of digits due to lack of sight, the issue is a lot more important than that.

Vision speaks of seeing the future.

Where do you want to be in ten years?  Now, tell me what you are doing to get there.  Each decision you make is taking you farther from, or closer to your goals.  It takes a special kind of glasses to be able to focus on your own life and your own actions and evaluate where they are taking you.

So it is, that the most important vision is not the kind that optometrists can fix with lenses.  The problem is not people with Crazy Eyes, it is people who do not see themselves as God sees them and who will live in chaos as a result.

Unlocking Doors

"I can't open the door," Vince told me.

"Why not?"  I asked him.

"Because it is locked."

I went to the door of the boy's bedroom.  It certainly was locked.  It wasn't supposed to be locked, particularly with no one inside, but it was.

"Vince, did you lock it?"  I asked him.

"No," he answered.

"Did you lock it Elliot?"  I asked my younger son.

"Yes, Dad,"  Elliot said.  "I didn't want Vince to go in there."  Elliot is a little prone to doing things that aren't exactly well thought out.

I went and got something to pick the lock.  As I went to insert it into the door knob, I found that it wouldn't go.  A very small nail had been inserted into the knob and completely blocked me from getting to the lock mechanism.

"Elliot, did you put this nail in here?"

"I was trying to unlock the door," he said as a way of explanation.

I was pretty frustrated at this point.  It was time for the boys to go to sleep and I couldn't get into their room even to get their pajamas.

I tried to move the nail, or pull it out -- unsuccessfully.  The door's hinges were on the other side so that wasn't a way into the room, either.  "I'm sorry boys," I told them.  "I can't get the door open.  I'm going to put you to sleep downstairs."

They were both a little upset when I left them in the bed to return to working on the door.  I finally managed to slip a straight pin past the nail head and wiggled it till the door clicked open.  I took the knob off and extracted the nail, while Elaine went down to bring the boys up to get changed and sleep in their own beds.

As they were coming up the stairs, Vince told her:  "I was praying that God would unlock the door."

The night before we had sung a song with words by Fanny Crosby:  'Prayer is the Key.'  The chorus says: 

 

Prayer is the key, the only key,

to heaven's unfailing store.

Faith is the hand that guides our own,

but prayer unlocks the door.

 

I had explained to my children how doors are metaphorical.  God opens ways for us when we don't what to do, or where to go next.

 

But Vince knew that God unlocks literal doors.

 

With his child's faith, he reached out and asked for help.  In that moment he reminded me that no task is too big or to small for God.

 

For God hears even the smallest voice speaking to Him from an unfamiliar bed and unlocks his door.

Splint or Crutches?

"Dad," Vince asked me.  "Which do you like better, your splint or, your crutches?"

It wasn't an easy question to answer. 

I was lying on a bed in a hotel room with my leg propped up and a stirrup splint strapped to my swollen ankle and crutches beside the bed.  I wasn't grateful for anything in this picture.  In fact, I was upset at how a sprained ankle was going to spoil a family reunion for me.

As I battled self pity, I remembered a verse from Phillipians.  "Rejoice in the Lord always..."  I wondered how that applied to my situation.  What was the good thing that I could rejoice about?

It has been my tendency to try to figure out the good things that come about because of the suffering I experience.  The traffic accident I avoided because I was running late.  The lessons that I learned because of the difficulties I faced.

But the command is not to try figure out how having a sprained ankle will help me grow, or develop character or, benefit me in some tangible way.  The command is to rejoice.

I never did figure out a reason why I sprained my ankle playing Ultimate Frisbee or, why the elevators weren't working in our hotel and I had to maneuver my way up and down eight flights of steps with an ankle the size of a softball, but that doesn't matter.

My son Vince was right.  I need to have joy in the presence of pain and splints and crutches -- not because I like them, but because I serve a great God.

He's enough for every situation I face.