Dandelions, wildflowers and Slurpies

As always seems to happen to our lives in Salvation Army ministry, early April adds a new gear to the schedule, ready to kick all speeds into hyperdrive. More to be accomplished, many programs coming to a focus and climax before the summer break. Network opportunities adding their final meetings and awards before summer claims. Graduations, weddings, birthdays add more pastel icings and flowers, dresses and balloons, hugs and kisses, joy mixed with pride, inspiration and tears. My birthday and our wedding anniversary have frequently been shared with a Civic Dinner or an Annual Dinner or a ballroom event of some sort. Dave just keeps reminding me with tenderness that he arranged it all for me, that I looking great in a uniform and he looks dashing and promises to save the best dance on my card. Several concerts, and musicals and plays and other stage-based creations - so many performances to be prepared for, to participate in and then to check off the list with a sigh of relief and accomplishment.

And then there is baseball season.

The lists were received in hand today and already God has answered many prayers about potential time conflicts, garnered family phone numbers to help filling the holes of when Dave or I couldn't be available and limited the misses to nearly none. Intentional ministry happens when baseball dirt has been mixed in with our vans and clothes and service. In a way that is predictable, baseball season, whether we are coaching or not, has reached our hearts and the hearts of other parents deeply in a way that cannot be ignored. I keep a Bible (Kate calls it my baseball Bible, the nearly indestructible bound - certainly not leather) in the middle of our driver and passenger seat and it comes out with the chairs, sunscreen, picnic dinner, blanket and sunglasses. Everytime. It is beat up, stained and slightly warped from a mad gotta-get-out-of-the-instant-thunder/lightning storm dash which still found us soaked to the bone.

It is tearstained and dogeared, with bookmarkers that are dried dandelions and pressed wildflowers. Mostly it is connections with moms, but dads as well, and the conversation always includes spiritual questions, heart talks, needed discipline, encouragement that they are doing the right thing, lonely nights when a husband is three weeks on the other coast with his job, an aggressive court date over child-support, loss of a job, family celebrations/funerals - the works. And favorite verses are easily found because they have been turned to so frequently, as easy as finding the Psalms - right there it is.

John 14 is one of them, and I look at it tonight and recognize the stain that covers it is a little bit of flower pollen, a little bit of Slurpie. Looking through the colors I hear Jesus talking with me, "Don't let your heart be troubled..."

Actually going to these practices and games can be slightly demanding, requiring me to be "prayed up" and willing to be open and listen. Listening to a person, really hearing what is said (and just as importantly, what is NOT said) requires a compassionate and deep store of stamina.

"Don't let your heart be troubled..."

Stamina has not been my strong suit these past few weeks.

It was not until I was perched at the edge of the hospital examination table this afternoon did I acknowledge why my patience was unbelievably short, my memory scattered, my concentration distracted, my heart pulled in so many directions.

I've been worried over something that is very wrong, and each doctor's visit is leading to another one, a more specific one, a more thorough one. Specific to not send warnings of alarm, each new face has helped express rationale reasons and potential explanations, "these tests are to eliminate the unknown so we can focus on the known".

So there, with lowered lights and technical machines, I began answering the most natural of questions and responding with the same to help occupy the time of this 30 minute test. My nurse replied to my questions and it was obvious, both of us had hearts that were full; the conversation was natural and unhindered. When your heart is full there is not need for small talk, diminutive answers about your favorite sports teams or the weather you expect for your next garden party. Life issues were on the surface here.

Her daughter...graduation...communication...."where did the time go"...divorce...uncertainty of life.

Her tears and my tears.

"Don't let your heart be troubled..."
She knew I didn't just come in off the street looking for a place to rest my aching feet and pass the time playing Euchre. She knew my reasons, and followed the breadcrumbs of information, connecting the dots with dates and events and details. Apologizing slightly, she knew my heart was just as concerned. Her reassurance and comfort were tangible, encouraging and tenderly applied.

These spiritual conversation opportunities weave in and out of my day, and since I spend my days tracing God's activity, they are natural and expected. The verse I shared with her was for me just as soundly, John 14:1, the words of Jesus to his disciples, the words from my flower-pollen, Slurpie stained Bible - "Don't let your heart be troubled, trust in God trust also in Me."

And I let her know that my heart prayer every hour has developed into, "Precious Lord, please hold my heart" because it quakes with concern and worry, is easily angered and over-occupied with future details which have yet to be seen or determined.

She grasped my hand and said, "That will be mine too. Jesus needs to hold my heart."

Don't let your heart be troubled...Jesus promises that whatever meets us in the future has already been prepared for us by the loving and caring, merciful Heavenly Father. Nothing is faced alone. Nothing is a surprise to God. No detail is off His radar or beyond His awareness. No circumstance is unanticipated by our Father God; He has prepared...He has prepared.