“Turn here, Mom!”
I barely heard Jake over the running list shouting in my
head:
Get home, eat lunch.
Finish up history and Bible lessons with Jake.
Walk the dogs.
Throw in a load of laundry and do the dishes.
Maybe have time to write.
Take Joe to cross country practice.
Hit the grocery store.
Make dinner.
Pay the bills.
And on.
And on...
“Mom, please,” my son, who’s done a lot more exploring of
our relatively new neighborhood than I have, seemed very insistent. “Turn here,”
he said again. “I want to show you something beautiful.”
I slammed on the brakes, made a sharp turn, and snapped, “Okay.
What?”
Jake waived his hand to take in the scene all around us. “Look.”
The street I normally use to get home takes me through a typical new
suburban neighborhood scene. These communities were carved out of flat, desert pastures
and Idaho potato fields. The trees and plants in our area are all new and small.
Mostly what you see is sky. But Jake’s route took us through an older part of
the neighborhood, with mature trees lining the streets and walkways. We were
driving under a stained-glass canopy of sun-washed reds, oranges, and autumn
golds. It took my breath away. It made me smile. I exhaled and my shoulders
relaxed.
We turned the corner and Jake said, “Look at those bushes, right
there. You should see them after it rains. Mom, they sparkle.”
This was my thirteen-year-old son, and lately it had seemed
the most important thing to him was which aliens he was going to kill in his favorite
video game. I’d been worrying about him just a bit. I’d been praying for him. I
breathed another sigh of relief. He’s a typical kid, but he also belongs to God.
In that moment I knew God was opening his eyes to His creation, and Jake was “seeing
the beauty of His Lord by it.”
I’ve been thinking about other times in my life when God’s
said something similar to me, like when I started to get the idea I should
marry a guy I’d met only a few months before. “This guy, Lord?” I’d said. “I
mean, he’s cute and smart, and yeah, there’s definitely an attraction there.
But he was a confirmed atheist just a few months ago. He’s barely gotten to
know you. His only mode of transportation is a motorcycle, his preferred
clothing is mostly leather, and that earring hanging from his ear may have a
cross on it, but still…and I’m really not interested in marriage right now. You
know all the plans you and I have for me…”
Turn here. I want to
show you something beautiful. So I did, and it was.
Or the time I started to get the feeling I should leave a
successful career in Christian non-profit development and fundraising to
homeschool my children. “Really? I was never one of those kid-crazy
girls. There’s a reason I didn’t get a teaching degree like everyone else in my
family. What if we end up hating each other? And I’m really making a difference
here – look. Look at all the good
things I’m doing for you.”
Turn here. I want to
show you something beautiful. So I did, and it was.
I know there have been times when I was so set on my own course, I didn’t listen to that voice. Nothing catastrophic happened. No lightning from
heaven. Some good things were even accomplished. Looking back, there is a difference
between the eternally significant things I get to be a part of when I follow
God’s leading, though, and the finite things I accomplish when I don’t. God’s
work lasts. Mine crumbles, gets blown away, like autumn leaves in the wind.
So this is my reminder, God’s reminder, to me and to you. Let’s
look up today, and look around. Let’s think hard about the courses we’ve
charted for ourselves, and let's listen for that voice. We might hear it...Turn here. I want to show you something
beautiful. Here's hoping.
