Another Thanksgiving in the books. Another chapter in the Memory Book.
While others may have become flustered when they discovered they were a gallon short of frying oil or the kitchen sink drain plugged up or the downstairs oven didn’t work, my crew handled it all with poise. They went and bought some more oil … worked on the sink drain and when it became obvious it wasn’t going to be repaired any time soon, started washing and rinsing the piles of dishes and glasses and bowls in a big bucket. They juggled the contents of the upstairs over to make room for the green bean casserole. No complaining. No grousing. No drama. Just another Turkey Day … and another realization of Who is actually in control.
The events of the day reminded me of a column I wrote way back in November 1988 – just six weeks after I started at the Catholic Chronicle – that summed it all up. Here it is.
… Trust in the Lord with all your heart, on your own intelligence rely not; in all your ways be mindful of Him, and He will make straight your paths … (Proverbs 3:5-6)
How often do we trust in the Lord with all our heart? Completely? Without hesitation? Without retaining just a little bit of self-indulgent “control” over the situation at hand?
That thought was summed up in a maxim I read this week: Prayer is asking for rain; faith is bringing an umbrella.
As some of you may know, my family is still in Illinois. {Remember, this was back in 1998} I’ve donned the role of part-time husband and father and a weekend commuter. It’s a new role for me, and one that I don’t particularly relish. Inevitably, my weekend is capped with a Somber Sunday evening, followed by a Blue Monday and a Down Tuesday.
On one of my recent commutes back to Ohio, I was particularly down and vulnerable. It seemed as if nothing was going right. Leaving my family was getting more painful. We were getting little to no house-buying traffic in Illinois. The homes I saw in the Toledo area that would fit my family wouldn’t fit my budget. Those that fit my budget wouldn’t fit my family. I still hadn’t seen a home that didn’t a) needed immediate remodeling to squeeze everyone in; b) need immediate repair to make it livable; or c) both of the above.
“Lord, I don’t understand,” I cried out as I entered the Ohio Turnpike. “What’s happening? At least give us some hope we’ll be together soon. You espouse family, yet You are allowing us to be separated. It doesn’t make sense, Lord. I’m asking for help and You’re throwing these roadblocks. I don’t understand.”
As I checked in with home, my wife and I were commiserating about the situation. We were both mired in self-pity, but she commented, “I guess I’ve resigned myself to this separation.”
Nobly, I responded, “So have I. But I don’t have to like it!”
Before that tag line could roll off my tongue, the whole situation came in-to focus. It was like one of those proverbial light bulbs coming on. I don’t have to like it!
It suddenly became crystal clear I had turned the situation over to the Lord, but kept that little bit of control. He wasn’t acting fast enough to suit me. I was becoming impatient, which led to irritation, which was leading to bitterness. I expected the Lord to work at my convenience.
Whoops! It’s supposed to be the other way around, isn’t it?
So, Lord, I publicly turn this chapter over to You. Completely. Without reservation. With the knowledge You can fit the pieces of the puzzle together without my intervention, just as You have so many times before. In Your time frame, not mine.
And, in the spirit of Thanksgiving – which we just celebrated – I want to reflect on the blessings that have subtly been given through this separation. Lord, I thank you for:
- the opportunity to serve You;
- the warmth of all whom I have come into contact with in the diocese;
- the safe passage during my shuttle from Illinois and Ohio and my treks throughout the diocese, especially that first trip to Toledo. Literally, I was just minutes ahead of severe storms all the way from Belvidere to Toledo, but You kept the road clear and the clouds contained and held me in Your hand;
- my wife, Karen, a strong woman who has become stronger with each day. She is my strength;
- our marriage. After 20 years {which ultimately morphed into 40}, you sometimes forget the excitement and magic of marriage. You tend to take each other for granted. This separation has changed that. We feel renewed and re-energized. We look forward to our weekends, to seeing and sharing with each other. We’ve rekindled some of the romance that first attracted us. It’s like going out on a special “date,” a part of the process that often slips away through the years. Our communication skills have improved. Our commitment has been strengthened. “We” and “You” have replaced “I” as operative words. We have become more sensitive to each other. We are probably closer now – 326 miles apart – than we have ever been;
- my family. A hug and a kiss and a scribbled note or picture is invaluable;
- the little things, like cards or notes from home or an unexpected phone call;
- Your lessons. Sometimes it takes awhile for those lessons to sink in.
I may not understand Your ways, Lord, but I think I’m starting to understand Your whys. You’ll have to excuse me now. I have to get my umbrella.
THOUGHT FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS: We cannot cause the wind to blow the way we want it to, but we can so adjust our sails that they will take us where we want to go.
I shared that because it set the stage for the next few weeks. I was staying at St. Ignatius rectory and trying to keep busy recreating a “local” diocesan newspaper. The head of missions saw the column and offered us use of St. Theresa Convent on Dorr Street – one of the darkest areas of Toledo.
Karen came out to see the convent – it wasn’t too bad during the day – and we, of course, went sightseeing. As we were heading out of Toledo on Miami Street, we turned into a For Sale by Owner driveway … an old Victorian. Karen said, “Now that’s a house I would like to see.”
I stopped the car, but no one was there. End of story. We committed to the convent and made plans to just be together.
But it wasn’t the end of the story. After Karen left for Illinois, I tried to get in touch with the owners of that home on Miami Street. After about a week of phone tag, I finally made contact. I made arrangements for Karen to come out again and look at the house … and she fell in love with it. There wasn’t one thing about that house she did not like. It was her “dream” home. So we made an offer, hoping against hope we could get approved and be able to buy this place. In the meantime, we were finalizing plans to get into Dorr Street.
We finally packed everyone up as school ended.
The convent was interesting to say the least. The first night there was constantly punctuated by police sirens. There were gunshots. Then a strange little man appeared out of nowhere wearing nothing but a trench coat. Somebody forgot to tell us we weren’t staying there alone!!!
We did get approved for the house and we never closed and moved so fast. In fact, we closed before our furniture arrived at Dorr Street! The owners were anxious to get into their new home. We were glad to vacate the convent quickly – I think it was just a couple of weeks – and get into our new “home.” We even roughed it on the floor for a couple of nights as we awaited the moving van.
The amazing thing is how quickly this all transpired. Within six months of that column we were out of Illinois (although we did have two mortgages because the house hadn’t sold), found temporary housing, found a house that fit our family and our budget, closed, moved and settled in. That wasn’t dumb luck. Both Karen and I knew it was Divine guidance. All it took, we both believed with all our hearts, was letting go and letting God take over.
THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: You may face problems and setbacks, but remember, God is still leading the way.
The Light 