God’s economy

This story has come up recently, so perhaps it’s time to give it a little wider circulation:

When Zack was just six months old, we discovered that Susan had early-stage thyroid cancer for which she underwent surgery twice in six weeks.  Part of her treatment involved a medication that significantly increased a baby’s risk of cardiac arrest, so Zack was unexpectedly and abruptly weaned.  He had not yet become accustomed to a bottle and wasn’t happy about the sudden change.  That was tough.  Susan’s further treatment added radioactive iodine to the mix, and Zack was allowed very little physical contact with radioactive Mommy.  If she had been on her own as a parent, Susan could have obtained a lead-shielded apron to hold him, but we didn’t push it.  By the time she was far enough out of the woods to resume nursing, Zack had lost the hang of it.  Aaargh.

Some time later Susan was in for a follow-up scan and I shared the radiology waiting area with a young couple.  She looked like she might have a baby any minute, and he had a big and new-looking scar across his neck.  I noticed that they had a devotional book with them.  When Susan emerged from the scan with a big thumbs up, we hugged and whooped it up.  The pregnant couple asked what news we had just received, and we learned that they were about six months behind us in his treatment for thyroid cancer.  He was concerned about not holding their new baby and missing out on those first opportunities to bond.  As we talked with them, there were half a dozen specific things we had learned that were helpful or encouraging for them – including the lead apron option if they wanted to do it.

* * * * * * * * * *

That situation remains one of our clearest pictures of how things work in God’s kingdom.  As we celebrated the good news of a clean scan, there were people less than ten feet away who needed some of that same hope and encouragement that God had just delivered to us.  God’s gifts are not given solely for our benefit, but also for the sake of others.  And sometimes we don’t even have to look or wait for a chance to get them circulating.

He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.  –2 Corinthians 1:4

Windshield wipers

In recent weeks it has rained almost every day.  Soggy even for Seattle.  And it’s reminded me of the time years ago that we got a brand-new Ford Fairlane station wagon.

My Dad believed cars were to get people from point A to point B.  They were not comfortably furnished living rooms with wheels in which one might listen to a radio or indulge in frivolous playthings like electric windows or power steering.  Car = transportation.  Even so, I was 13 and excited about a new car in the family.  We’d had the old station wagon for ten years, and several delays in the delivery of the new one only heightened my sense of anticipation.

It finally arrived:  “Silver Smoke Gray,” pretty blue steel dashboard, three-speed manual transmission with shifter on the steering column, no radio, all crank-down windows, including the tailgate window.  It was Exhibit A for my Dad’s functional view of cars.

This was the era when it was practical and affordable to “go for a drive,” and we took the new car out for a spin after church one Sunday.  We ventured much farther than the usual routes, onto back roads and into countryside we’d not seen before.  I’ve always enjoyed exploring new areas and neighborhoods, and what could be better than touring in the new Fairlane?

It started to rain.  Almost immediately after turning on the windshield wipers, the bracket that connects the electric motor to the wiper arms broke.  Rain was coming down in buckets and we didn’t have a way to keep the windshield clear in the gathering darkness.  But it turned out that there was a way.  I crawled under the dashboard in my Sunday best and pulled that broken bracket back and forth by hand.  Wow – manual windshield wipers.  What a concept.  And this was before the 1968 advertising slogan, “Ford has a better idea.”

Seemed like it took us at least an hour to get home, which is a lot of pulling-that-stinking-bracket-back-and-forth-to-wipe-the-windshield.  All the sparkle and appeal of that car evaporated in that hour, and it never returned.  In fact, if someone had offered us two cents for it that afternoon, they probably would have had themselves a new car.

That was 1965, and there hasn’t been another Ford in our family since.

The love of a father

I swam competitively when I was in high school.  We worked out in a crappy pool covered by an inflatable bubble during the winter months.  If the fans quit working or it snowed, the bubble collapsed onto the surface of the pool.  A guy threw up in the water once, but our coach insisted that we keep swimming because “it’ll spread out.”  Another time the fog inside the bubble was so thick that we couldn’t see three feet in any direction.  We positioned ourselves around the edges of the pool and made appropriate splashing sounds while the coach sat in the fog blowing his whistle for most of an hour.

Perhaps swimming is a genetic thing.  My Dad swam on a college swim team, and now Lauren is turning out for her school team.  I respect her discipline and willingness to take on the commitment.  And if anyone can make swimming a more social sport, Lauren’s the one.

I also get some points for my own discipline and willingness to take on her commitment.  I’m driving her tomorrow, when she starts two morning workouts a week that begin at 5:00 AM.  I’ve never been more interested in carpooling, and will make a point of giving her more driving practice.  I should also add a note of appreciation for my Mom, who was one of those faithful early morning drivers of our carpool in days of yore before we could drive ourselves.

Like I told Susan while we were out in the wind and pouring rain watching Zack play soccer last weekend and again today, I think I’ll have a good reply if the kids ever tell us that we don’t love them.