Growing Home: Rest and Glory

We needed a break this weekend. An escape from the house with its construction fumes and plastic-covered furniture, an escape from the city with its appointments and frenzy of activity--a pause button moment to take a long, deep breath and remember (as a friend graciously reminded me last week) that God has provided everything we need to confront the challenges before us right now. So, we accepted an invitation from Jim's parents to join them at the lake, which is in the midst of its glory season. And could any setting be a more visible reminder of God's grace?

Fall is beautiful in Atlanta, but this place is something completely different. The leaves are bigger, the colors more magnificent, the air cleaner, fuller, brighter somehow.

For the boys, the lake and the mountains are like a giant playground. This far into the fall, it's too cold for water sports. Instead, we skip rocks in the water and collect leaves and go on hikes. We laugh and giggle and pretend and explore, and roast marshmallows for smores around the campfire. And it relaxes me to think that my children are spending time outside and enjoying nature and learning to love this place the same way that their daddy did as a boy.

I wish that we could rest well when we're at home, but somehow, in this stage of life, the distractions always prove too great. For Jim, there is always a house project, or grass that must be mowed, or someone who he could fit in a quick meeting with before church starts. For me, its an errand (or six) that can get done during one of those coveted rest times when Jim is at home, a project, laundry outgrowing its basket and threatening to swallow me. At the lake, we get away from all of that. And the distance makes room for perspective. We begin to remember what's important--which is not the laundry, or the grass. We relax.

Psalm 19 says:
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.

When I see it like this, creation reminds me that God is mercifully taking care of me--providing for me and my family faithfully, perfectly, and just at the right time, the same way that He provides for everything He has made. Just as the trees will endure winter so that they can come alive again stronger and more glorious in the spring, I can count on God to use this difficult season to bring bear rich fruit. To bring redemption about in my family just as he is bringing redemption to the entire creation.

I was listening to the radio yesterday and heard something that made me cry. It was cheesy, but sweet--a segment called "tell me something good" when people are supposed to call in and spread cheerful news to other listeners. In a twist that seemed to flummox the producers, each person that called had a long sob sorry that ended with a moment of redemption. One was a mom who spoke about her twelve year old suffering from brain cancer. He had finally finished chemotherapy and then had been selected for his school basketball team. She cried tears of joy as she told the story. It reminded me of something I heard in a sermon about a year ago: God doesn't always protect his children from painful trials, but He does always provide for them with His presence in the midst of them.