Just for fun....

On Juggling

I always admired jugglers. As a kid, I would see them on the rare occasion my farming family was in the city. More recently, I see them on TV, or at our town's summer festival. The current circumstance fades away as I watch. It doesn't matter if a moment before I was hot and thirsty, or if the kids are pulling me toward the snowcone booth. Nor does it matter if I am in my living room with stacks of housework calling my name. When I see a juggler I am mesmerized - watching as one ball arches gracefully between his hands. I blink, and seemingly out of nowhere comes a second ball, then a third, a fourth, fifth and sixth, all moving up and down and over each other in such perfect sync they appear to be moved by magic. I want to see one ball complete its circuit, but I blink again - and miss it. I shake my head and decide they are moved by magic. The magic is in the hand of the juggler, given to him because of hours and hours of practice and unwavering concentration. At the end of the show, I applaud loudly then walk away, knowing I will always be a spectator. I will - in all probability - never participate in it. I will always only be a fan of the act.

The other day I looked at my schedule and wondered how the list of small things that needed to be done had gotten so long and complicated. One small thing piled on top of another, and I realized I needed to manage things just right to make everything work the way it needed to.
Our truck was in the garage - leaving Marlin without wheels. After breakfast and morning routine, he needed dropped off at work and the kids to two different schools. I had agreed to trade babysitting with a friend, since we both had places we needed to be without preschoolers.
After school delivery and a few quick jobs completed at home, I watched her kids until she came back. Then I watched the clock and chatted my allotted few moments, kissed Chloe goodbye and headed off to school to watch Allison's volleyball game. I made it just in time - her team was heading onto the court. After the game, I picked up Chloe, picked up groceries, picked up kids from high school, and made it home with minutes to spare before my elementary scholars walked in the door. Next was helping with homework and music practice, making dinner, and picking up Marlin and Sherri at work.

Later that night, with a hot cup of coffee in hand and a very chaotic but quiet house, I was contemplating the crazy turn my day had taken. I left out an internal exhale, happy I was able to keep my commitments without dropping the ball. It was then the word "juggling" came to my mind. "Hmm," I thought with a tinge of sarcasm, "maybe I've been wrong all along. Maybe my fascination with a juggling act is not because I wish I could do it, but because I do it all the time!" I realized when I stopped to think about it, that I have a great deal of empathy for the amount of concentration and energy it takes to keep a whole lot of balls in the air at one time.

The balls I juggle are colorful - kid's schedules, school activities, housework, office and business activities, time with friends and family, time for my own soul growth and stimulation.

But I've got a real advantage a professional juggler does not have. Many days I do lose rhythm, momentum, energy or concentration. Just when I begin to feel the panic of losing a ball, someone else steps in and expertly catches it.

Marlin gives me a kiss and says, "I've got that one covered, Babe." The kids pick up an extra job or two. A friend may stop by, call, or email at just the right time, and with the motivation of that interaction, I resume my rhythm.

God didn't create me to be super woman and juggle life alone. He created me to be interdependant: to allow others into my act, and at times to step into someone else's.

And then there are those days when Marlin steps into my act, looks at the balls I am juggling, points at one and advises, "Drop that ball, Les. It isn't worth the energy it takes for you to juggle that one. Let it go." With his perspective I realize that my act would be more beautiful and graceful without it. And so - I do. I let it drop without regret.

The next time I watch a juggler I will respond like always. I will admire him, and ignore the world for a few moments while his balls swirl magically around him. And the next time I will also identify with him in many ways. Like him, I use energy and concentration to keep things flowing in our family. And at least some of the time, I hope the flow is smooth, graceful and beautiful. Though I will never wow crowds with my talent, I will not feel so different from him. I think I know a bit how he feels. Sort of. One thing he does that I do not do is stand there alone.

The Little Girl in the Yellow Dress

She's taught me so much. I learn from her each day. I do not know her name, nor exactly where she lives.

She is a tiny Indian girl, caught by the camera of a photographer. I "met" her when her image filled the large screen at the Leadership Summit Marlin and I attended in August. The speakers were showing us the desperate need of children in the east, and my heart twisted in pain as I watched the drama unfold.

Totally unaware of a photographer nearby, she paused on the dark and dirty street. I was captivated by her tiny figure; no more than four years old, maybe only three. I saw my little girls' faces in her beautiful brown one, framed by lovely black hair. She wore a vivid yellow dress, the only bright spot in the scope of the camera lens. No adult or older child accompanied her. No one. I never noticed she carried a blanket until she began to spread it on the ground, walking around it to deliberately smooth out all four corners. The spot she chose was close to another figure lying on the ground and covered with a blanket. I could see it was someone much bigger than she. She paid no attention to whomever was lying there, but I wondered if subconsciously it was a small comfort to have someone else nearby.

Her blanket fixed to her satisfaction, she picked up a small pillow off the ground that she had also carried with her, lay down, and curled into a semi-fetal position with only the thin blanket between her and the hard ground. She had nothing to cover herself with; no one to kiss her and hug her.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I watched. There were none on hers. She went about her bedtime ritual of finding a spot to sleep and smoothing out her blanket so nonchalantly.

I don't know who she is. But through the lens of a camera, she has touched my heart so deeply....so deeply, it broke that day in the dark auditorium, and unlike some other sorry scenes I've witnessed, I can't forget about her. Why? Is it because she was so small, so vulnerable? Maybe. Or maybe it is because my heart was soft and open and uncluttered that day. I really, honestly don't know. I just know God asks me to wrestle with her story, to pay attention, and to allow it to become part of me. I don't do life quite like before I met her.

I see her when I glance longingly at the beautiful leather furniture pictured so vividly in the mail flyers, or when I sweep our 25 yr old floors a bit grudgingly, or wish the girls' bedroom furniture would all match. I see her in mid-conversation with friends about how lovely it would be to have a lake front home. I see her when we tuck our kids into their clean, cozy, warm beds at night, when I hold them close and plant soft kisses in their hair. I see her when our family talks about our birthday gift to Jesus this Christmas.

She has taught me so much, this little girl in yellow. Through her, God nudges me away from greed and envy toward contentment and thankfulness. Because of her, and often for her, I hold my own little girls just a bit longer, a bit tighter. The day I got that tiny glimpse into her story, my heart expanded to a level of compassion I didn't know I was capable of. Our family prays for her - prays for her to have someone to hug her, kiss her, and tuck her into a safe bed at night. We ask God to give her food. We pray someone will tell her about Jesus and that one day she will be able to do for kids what no one did for her. And I still cry when I think of her. If I had mascara on now, it would be running in black streaks down my cheeks, just like the day I first saw her.

She doesn't know. She is oblivious to how profoundly God has used her to make a difference within me, and maybe within thousands of others a world away who saw her on the screen that day. She had - literally - nothing. Maybe not even a bowl of rice in the last 24 hours. Only a blanket, a pillow and a bright yellow dress.

You know what, there are days when I feel like that, too - like I have nothing - nothing that would really make a difference to the world. I hold nothing in my hands that I can wield to get things done on a grand scale - no power of influence or prestige, no great sums of money, no fame.... just dreams in my heart. Dreams I share with Marlin of ways we can change and impact our broken world just a little bit. And sometimes the reality of those dreams seems like a far off distant speck on the horizon that never moves closer. But you know something else? Somehow I expect that even these days when all I have to offer to God and the world is dreams and just living in trust and contentment, it is enough. He will multiply my nothing for great impact. I know He can because I've seen Him do it - through a little girl in a yellow dress.

They are my kids; They are my teachers

I look at Chloe, my 3 yr old - innocent and trusting. We are at home, her place of comfort and security. She knows the way of things here. But we need to leave. I want her to experience different things so she learns, grows and becomes a bigger person.

We leave the house. She is excited. She doesn't know exactly where we are going; neither the purpose of our "trip". But she trusts me. She places her hand securely in mine and off we go. She follows my lead, in step with me, content to be together, knowing that with her hand in mine, she is safe. Never mind the cars that whiz by us only a few feet away. Never mind the lake, the rocks, and everything else that is potentially dangerous. She is beside me and she is safe.

But in a short while the trip begins to seem long to her. Not to me. I understand the purpose, the destination and what I have planned for her. Her steps slow. She walks with reluctance. Soon, she forgets that the journey is special in itself, as are the things we are talking and learning about in the process. She forgets there is a purpose to this trip. She is distracted by insignificant things along the way. She whines. She begs for things that I know are not good for her. They will quiet her only a bit, not make her happy. Her focus is totally gone from me, or from discovering where we are headed. She is consumed with unhappiness and thinks that the only way she will be happy are this stuff she sees - all small, cheap, and temporary. A lollipop that will only last minutes, a balloon that will burst... they seem so silly to me. I want her to focus on me, and on the surprise that awaits her.

Now the little hand in mine is not only reluctant. She doesn't hear my encouragements and promises. She tugs and pulls her hand out of mine and turns and runs. Away from me. She is done with this trip. I catch my breath and call for her to stop. She doesn't realize the danger of where she is running. All she knows is that it is away from me - away from the direction we were headed. But she quickly becomes disoriented and confused. She is too small to see the big picture of where we are. Fear replaces confidence. She pauses to listen. Can she hear me? She does. I am calling her - moving toward her. She turns, sees me, and runs into my open arms.

Her fear subsides and she places her hand in mine once more. We resume our walk, she with a heart of contentment, me with anticipation of showing her what I have planned.

I see myself in Chloe. I am so much like her. God nudges me away from my comfort zone; it is time to head out. I put my hand in His, though I don't usually know where we are headed. I just understand His gentle leading, and keep in step beside Him. One step at a time. Now here, now there. We change direction a bit, but continue to move steadily forward. I am secure. I know I can trust Him. He always keeps His promises.

But.... within a short distance I begin to think this is taking too long. I knew we were headed out, away from what was secure and comfortable to me, but I never thought it would take this long. My feet slow, and my hand in His begins to pull back a bit. I forget to look at Him, or to listen to Him. I look around me, and get distracted by things that look so appealing. I want them so much. I know they would make the trip easier.... I beg. I whine. I bargain. I am doing all the talking and it isn't sounding very nice.

I begin toying with the idea that maybe I don't want to go with God on this "trip". Actually, no I don't. This is too long, too hard. I am tired. I thought we'd be done and planning the next trip a long time ago. I jerk my hand away and turn around. I begin to run back to what is safe and secure and comfortable. Oh - but I don't see the danger. I can't see the big picture of where we are. I keep walking, ignoring God's voice. But - I can't find the place I loved. It isn't the same anymore - and quickly I become confused, scared and alone.

In time, I understand I am only secure when God is with me. To go back by myself to what I knew and loved is only loneliness. I am afraid. I stop running. I pause. Can I hear God? How far have I run away from Him? Too far? No - I can hear Him! I turn back, and see that nail-scarred hand stretched out to me - He was following me. I run - this time toward Him - right into open arms. I put my hand back into His. I am ready to get on with it. I don't care how long the trip is. I only care that I am with Him. The loneliness, the loss of direction was too hard, too scary. I look up. A mountain looms near. I grip His hand more firmly..... He whispers, "It is called grace - and trust. I have both for you."

I smile - and know at the end of this adventure - whenever it is, I will look back and say, "What a ride! What a ride!"

Isaiah 41:13 "I am holding you by your right hand - I, the Lord your God - and I say to you, 'Don't be afraid. I am here to help you'."