Pleased!

 ⁸Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Ponder the above. Thinking about God covers each of the suggestions and more. What pleases?

Mulling over what pleases may seem misleading as though anything that gives happiness is pleasing. Two instances with our granddaughters are stored in the treasures of memory along with those of times with our children and other family members

When I think of being pleased, I remember a photograph of our eldest granddaughter, Bett. She and Auntie were at the park near her home. She is between nine and eighteen months of age in the picture, wearing a T-shirt, bib overalls, socks (no shoes). Wisps of baby hair indicate there was a soft breeze from the lake. At the top of the little wooden climber she has the most elfin quality – not beautiful but enrapturing.

On Bett’s face is the most delightful expression. She is gazing somewhere far beyond this world into something only she sees and feels. To see her little face radiating such extreme pleasure, peace, contentment, excitement and wonder all at once makes the viewer feel good inside. We have all been to that place but have forgotten to go to refresh and relax. At the ripe old age of 13, Bett still remembers how to go there. That same expression can still be caught at certain times. The occurrences are fewer and farther between but they do occur. That Auntie captured her expression is as great a marvel as the expression itself. For one split second orchestration of eye, finger, shutter, and flash, all was captured for anyone who will look. In a breath, no more, Auntie snared that expression because she, too, was in tune with the discernment of a baby. There was an instant to commune with God; Bett and Auntie shared it.

The other moment was not caught on camera. Belle and I were sitting side by side. She never seems to soak up enough cuddling. Even at the very mature age of 11 she still comes for hugs and likes to sit close for periods of time. But the particular time I think of is when she was maybe four. Belle does not like to feel confined. There are times she remarks on hand and arm sensations that are not painful but uncomfortable (possibly the nerve endings reacting to mild claustrophobia?). She came to sit by me and I began to put my arm around her. I stopped. I looked at her little face and said, “You prefer holding the person you are cuddling instead of being held, right?” She smiled. I held my arm loosely away from by body and she wrapped her little arms around my upper arm and snuggled in. There was no broad smile, no noticeable muscle rearrangement to her face. Her eyes spoke volumes. There was pleasure you could touch. She was so pleased someone understood. By the Grace of God, I did and said the right thing.

At Bible study last night, we were asked to reflect on those moments when a time seemed like the perfect place to stay forever. The comparison was for the Transfiguration of Jesus on the Mount with Peter, James, and John as witnesses. Peter wanted to build tents for them all to stay: Jesus, Moses, Elijah, Peter, James and John. Jesus still had work on earth as did the three disciples. The mountain-top experience was to teach, grace, and gift the disciples for what was to come as well as for God to shower His Son Jesus with love.

I caught myself nodding as I thought about the good news Dave was not seriously damaged in a fall off our deck a couple years before; relief, love, tenderness and joy replaced the fear of a few minutes prior. I thought about holding babies, my own and others’. I thought of the way our grandchildren have slipped their hands in mine in complete trust. I thought of so many times when nature seemed too perfect to believe heaven could be better.

There have been times in my life when opportunities to be pleased were given, enjoyed or not, and gone as rapidly as they were given. Some were reveled in others came when busy, or sad, or angry, or hurting, or pleasure seeking; they may have been missed, never noticed.

After a summer storm which cleared the air of heat and stifling humidity, one 1950’s morning dawned with crisp cool air and lightness in the atmosphere I could taste. I woke to shift in bed and glance out my westward facing window. The world was molten gold. Everything, from our neighbor’s house and windows, to the garbage pit in our back yard was shimmering in gold. I lay there marveling. For the length of a heartbeat, everything was pure pleasure. It was not something I could seek out. It had been given to me. I remember it as clearly as if I am in the midst of it again. I’ve been given two other such mornings. As much in awe, I did not make time to savor it.

The second occurred when our son, Marc, was having knee surgery. I was driving southwest on I35W to meet Dave, our soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Jenny, and Marc at the hospital. Suddenly the world around me was molten gold. I knew Marc’s surgery would be successful and without complication. I had time to notice my own hands on the steering wheel of the car. They shimmered before my eyes! The moment was gone. While I didn’t give it the attention I should have, I do remember it vividly.

In an instant still thought of by me as “THE CLOUD!” I felt the end of this present time and was lost in fear rather than welcome. It was early evening in the summer. The sun was just nearing the horizon and there were clouds in the west. Helen and I were going somewhere, Dave was in the house, and Marc was with Jenny in Mounds View. As Helen and I stopped to check the sunset, a deep purple ribbon shot from a cloud, streamed across the blue sky of evening, racing straight into the east. We gasped! We called Dave to come see. As he reached the door, I heard both he and Helen breathe the word “cool”. Our phone rang. Dave answered and it was Marc who was on the back side of the clouds and had watched the phenomenon race toward us. He asked if we were all right and what we thought it was. He admitted it had frightened him.

Dave and Helen spoke of it later as being exciting and breathtaking. A friend of mine in Andover had also witnessed it. She is a lovely woman with an angelic soprano voice, and a communion with God only to be envied. I was startled to hear her say, “I saw it go and thought to myself, ‘even so, Lord Jesus, come!’.” As she related what she had thought, her face was softened with an ethereal quality. Pleasure! She was well pleased!

I was saddened that I could distinctly remember my own thought. “No, Lord, I’m not ready!” Not ready to see Him face to face? Not ready to leave unsaved loved ones behind? Not ready? What was I thinking? Slow to answer His call to salvation; am I to always be slow to answer His call? Though we have since determined the event was triggered by the sun sinking to a point where it caused the cloud to cast the shadow, my pleasure in it is tainted by the fear I felt and my unwelcoming attitude toward my Lord who will one day return and expect me to be ready. Lest you fear I labor under guilt, I won’t leave you there. I serve an understanding and forgiving God who let me see my weakness and is helping me to grow proper strength to one day meet Him in total readiness.

When Helen suffered ovarian cancer, our family discovered what it is to fear, trust, pull together, agonize, and get to work to survive. After a summer of hoping some of Helen’s health symptoms may have been an indication of pregnancy, we learned it was ovarian tumors. I don’t know why people need horror movies; life itself can feel like being caught in the wildest Stephen King horror. I’m not yet emotionally prepared to write about that entire time. Helen and I took turns using Caring Bridge to document the daily struggles and give health reports to caring friends and family. We are daily grateful for her good prognosis, her continuing gain in strength and health, and her good cancer numbers. I sat one day to go through my prayer journal. I regularly go back through prayers and see there are those to be noted as answered.

I realized I was beginning to read one of the first prayers I wrote during Helen’s diagnosis and surgery. I wanted to say, “I’m not ready yet, God”; but I remember “THE CLOUD!” so I begin to read. In the panicked scrawl of a mother praying for the life of her child the prayer came to life. I reached for a pen with different colored ink and began checking off the answers. I made margin notes and gave thanks. I continued through the prayers written for the circumstances of her healing from surgery, chemo infusions, and loss of dignity through the resultant physical attacks on body and mind and spirit. Each prayer had multiple answers. Sometimes I was amazed at the answer being beyond what I had asked in awe-inspiring ways. I finished with my gratitude and paper-clipped those pages together. The clipped pages became a closed book on a painful period of time. I was exhausted! What a wonderful walk with God. I was pleased! Do you know? I think God was pleased!

You may be wondering what caused this reflection in the midst of Christmas when the author is a self-proclaimed Christmas Looney! At Community Bible Study last night, a class made up of mentally (some physically as well) challenged youngsters shared their teaching on the meaning of the Christmas tree. The tree: representing, both the tree in the Garden that Adam and Eve tasted and the tree on which Christ died. The garland: representing an on-going, eternal, God and Christ’s love for us. The ornaments: representing all creation in the sun, moon, earth, planets and stars. The angel: representing the appearances of the Angel Gabriel to Mary and Joseph and the host of angels who greeted the shepherds. The star: representing the star that led the wise men to Jesus. The lights: representing Jesus as the Light of the World. It wasn’t the program itself that touched my heart, nor the music, nor the kids who did so well reading their parts in front of all of us.

What played across the strings of my heart was before all that. Dave and I arrived early. We were able to observe the Agape Class going through one final dress rehearsal. It was their care and dedication to getting it right that was mesmerizing. They cautioned each other and handled their props with such deliberation and tenderness. They sang with such joy and abandon: We Three Kings of Orient Are, Go Tell It on the Mountain, and the finale O Come Let us Adore Him. Spontaneously and without reservation one of the young men raised his hand in praise during the finale. All Heaven was pleased!