After about thirty minutes of waiting for the tow truck this morning I decided it was probably time to do an inventory of all the things I have to be thankful for.  The first was that I hadn’t had an accident.  You would have thought I had because my neck was stiff after spending 45 minutes trying to get my smart car started.  The problem I was having had happened once before and somehow I’d managed to get the car going but not this time.  The second was that it wasn’t dark like the last time.  The third was that it wasn’t snowing.  Snow would have made this all feel like an avalanche of stupidity.

All things to be grateful for but with lots of street noise in the background it was a challenge to be contemplative.  My attitude of gratitude quickly gave way to trouble-shooting which is far more my strength than being still and Zen-like.  First, how would I get home from where the car had to be towed?  Second, assuming the car would take more than a day to fix how was I going to get to the doctor the next morning for my appointment?  Third, how would I get the car picked up once it was ready?  Every one of the things I’d been thankful for had been replaced with a new concern and all of those required involving other people.  Yuck, I hate to be a bother!

Fretting made me hungry and after getting the call that it would be up to an hour before the tow truck got there I decided to go into the coffee house next door and get something to eat.   When I went to pay I couldn’t find the change in my bag.  The gal behind the counter told me not to worry about it and started to reach into her tip jar but I just couldn’t let her.  “No, I’ll find some I always have change.  Oh it’s no problem,” she said.  “No, I’ll find some,” and fortunately before any more debate I did.   I couldn’t bear the thought of this minimum wage making student parting with her tip money.  Heading out the door I thought wow I really have a hard time taking help from anyone don’t I?  That’s when I found a penny so now the question is shouting at me.  It’s probably time to think about my fierce independence when I get back to the car.

The tow truck driver arrives leaving me no more time to think about it.  After hearing him rant and rave about my model of car he gets it started and tells me I can drive it myself to the dealer.  Absolutely not I’m thinking because I don’t want to get stuck on the highway if it dies again and after I’ve surrendered my pride to call in the first place I want the car towed.  We go back and forth like the cars flying by.  This is ridiculous of course given the fact that he’s a “AAA” contractor and I’ve already paid for the service.  He should take the car wherever I ask him too but this F150 guy is not going to back down and I’m not getting anywhere with him.  Then he pulls what I can only describe as the ace card with me and says, “You don’t need to be intimidated Miss I know you can’t do it.”

Now the pride I was actually trying to overcome is seething.  It could have only been worse if he’d said little missy but “intimidated” really lit my fuse.  My ego had already been bruised enough. I hop in my car faster than Danica Patrick chasing a checkered flag.  Off I go weaving in and out of traffic to get to the dealer.  I barely remember calling my Mom to come get me I’m so mad.  In the service bay I find out that it’s not likely I’ll have the car back by the afternoon.  Zac the philosopher service advisor is trying to be encouraging not realizing I’m more upset about having to hit friends up for rides than I am my car. The car is easier to fix than my psyche.

The irony in the whole ordeal was that I was frustrated just yesterday with both of my neighbors for not asking the boys to shovel their driveways after it snowed.  Then there was my Mom who last week made me crazy by making an appointment with an acupuncturist without ever mentioning this to me.  Why hadn’t she consulted me when I’ve been needled more than a pin cushion?  The guy she was going to see was not right for her.  “Mom, no you can’t go to him.  He’s off the deep-end. Oh, I didn’t think to ask you,” she said.  Never mind that I ask about her hip every time we talk.

Back home I collapsed on the couch and thought what a hypocrite I am.  I’m the first to get frustrated with my friends and family when they don’t ask for help but I can barely stand to ask for a few rides.  I might not even have to but just the thought of being a bother was bothering me.  Where did this come from?  How has my independence become a character flaw?

The answer came before my question hit the ground – I was raised that way.  Self-sufficiency was a requirement in my childhood.  My Father divorced my Mom when I was three years old.  He lived out of town and she worked full-time and went to school part-time.  Lots of kids find themselves in this position and certainly it could have been worse.  It wasn’t the Great Depression it was the 70’s.  I was a latch-key kid with a green Schwinn ten-speed that took me wherever I needed to go.  I made a mean fried egg sandwich for lunch every day and mastered the Easy Bake oven.  To entertain myself I read for every novel I could get my hands on gravitating toward stories where I found resourceful characters.  These were my self-help books.  I could relate to the Boxcar Children who were orphans and had to figure out life on their own.  I hadn’t been abandoned but I was alone and richly rewarded with praise when I did well.

Unfortunately, children are great recorders but terrible interpreters and I soaked in the kudos thinking that being able to do it all myself was what was expected of me.   I worried that if I couldn’t handle things on my own my Mother who was working so hard already, might leave me too.  What would I do then?  This worry was the soundtrack of my life and fueled years of overachieving which has been both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because a healthy appreciation for what you can and can’t do is a good thing.  If you don’t know what you can do you won’t ever exercise those abilities.  That would be a waste of the talents God has developed in you.  We all need to feel competent and we all take comfort in knowing we can do things for ourselves. Likewise, we all want to feel loved and admired.

The flipside of the coin is the curse or shall we say trap because it’s all too easy to become so insistent on doing things for yourself that you become prideful.  Then the need to feel capable has you cursing when you have to ask for help which is a four letter word in your vocabulary.  When you do ask you think what could I have done to prevent this. It’s a crazy cycle and not what God wants for anyone.

When Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” he didn’t just mean treat your neighbor well he meant treat yourself well too.  Just like you don’t want your neighbor’s exhausting themselves with things you would be happy to help with you shouldn’t either.  You have to love yourself enough to receive love and it’s not fair to give it and then not take it.  Inner strength doesn’t come from being capable it comes from being vulnerable.  Allowing other people to love you makes room for you to change.  Just like God’s love will never change us if we don’t accept it, we can’t change without letting others into our world.

These are hard truths for me and maybe they are hard for my neighbors too.  When my beloved Glo hired a handyman to change the light bulbs in her kitchen she didn’t want to be a bother.  It hurt my feelings and if she saw me walking to the grocery store without a car that would hurt hers.  I’m the daughter she never had.  I can’t expect her to ask me if I’m not asking her.  The same holds true with my Mom.  I don’t ask for her advice often enough why should she ask for mine.

As for the tow truck driver maybe the guy was raised much like I was and thought he was doing the right thing by pushing me a little.  From the look of him I don’t think he’s had the easiest life.  He probably took one look at me and thought lady you don’t need a man to help you and you need to learn that.  He was wrong though I did and fortunately my old friend Zac was ready for me at the dealership – this time with coffee and few kind words.

Maybe if we all treated ourselves like we treat others we’d actually be a little happier.  I don’t believe it’s true that it’s better to give than receive.  I think they’re equal and the balance is where we find good health.  I know that’s what I’m hoping for in the year ahead!

Friday one of my blog readers issued a challenge to me to write about Tebowmania.  It came right before helping Luke get out the door for a tournament he was competing in out of town.  With his bags packed I got teary eyed at how grown up he’s become.  I remember when he was as tall as his racket bag and now he travels easily with two.  As he turned back to say, “Love you Mom,” I responded with my usual, “Love you too Bud,” but added, “Remember you can do what?  All things through Christ who gives me strength,” he answered.

I knew a note I’d written him with this verse on it was in his bag.  Since the high school state tournament last fall this has become a little thing between us.  I start the verse and he finishes it.  I know he feels shy about this so I don’t say it around other people but I try to remember to say it when I can.  Where I sometimes wear my faith on my sleeve he’s an easily embarrassed teenager living in a world where that’s not always acceptable to do.  The irony of the challenge struck me.  I would be thrilled if Luke had the confidence in himself to speak up that Tim does.

Off Luke went and with another chime from my phone I realized I hadn’t responded so I got back to my friend and said, “If I find 15 cents today I will write about it.”  I set my phone down on the coffee table right next to a penny I’d already found and laughed at the idea.  What could I possibly say that hasn’t already been said?  I’m a fan of Tim’s but not a Bronco fan so that would also make it tricky.  Knowing not much of the day was left I thought I would escape the challenge and not have to share my thoughts about the man everyone else is talking about.  I don’t know what’s happening in the rest of the world but here in Colorado you can’t open the newspaper without seeing his face.  Number 15 jerseys are everywhere.

I got back to all the tasks at hand setting the challenges aside. Unfortunately my work at home was interrupted by a necessary trip to the grocery store where I found a dime.  Okay now we’re only at eleven so I still think I’m safe but a couple hours later when I met a friend for dinner I got out of my car and found two pennies.  Thirteen is still not fifteen I thought so I’m in the clear.  I told my friend about the bet I’d made and she laughed reminding me with my luck I shouldn’t have tempted fate.  She was right.  Before I got home two more pennies jumped out at me.

When I got home I set the pennies on my coffee table next to the other eleven cents and the title of one of my favorite books caught my eye.  It’s one I’ve owned for twenty years called, “What My Parent’s Did Right.”  It’s a collection of essays written by people successful in their fields that talks about what they believe their parents did right in raising them.  This is when it hit me, what did Tim Tebow’s parents do right?  As a woman of faith and mother that’s the burning question for me?  I don’t really care all that much about the debate swirling around Tim.  I’ve only seen one article that I found intriguing and the rest are so biased in one direction or another that I don’t care to read.  There are far more pressing matters to debate in our country today than the separation of “church and sports” – that actually being one of the most ridiculous headlines I’ve seen!

With fifteen cents in hand and my son off at a tournament where he would be the underdog I was all the more intrigued by Tim’s parents.  How is it they raised such a fine young man?  He’s a college graduate, Heisman trophy winner, and NFL quarterback that hasn’t been linked to any controversy so far which in and of itself is a feat.  He doesn’t smoke, drink, or get caught with his pants down.  He’s 24 years old and has started a charitable foundation funded by more of his own money than donor dollars.  Add to that he’s re-energized a failing football franchise the whole time giving glory to God who he truly believes is his Lord and Savior.

Of that list of accomplishments what I’m the most interested in is his obvious passion because whether you agree with Tim or not it’s clear this is a young man with the courage of his convictions.  He knows what he believes and why and that influences every aspect of his life.  This is a far greater gift than his athletic ability.  You can make a lot of money with your football fame but you will go to bed every night without any perspective on what really matters in life if you don’t know who you are and what you believe.  This clarity of thought is a gift he got from somewhere and I know his parents had something to do with it.

So what did they do right?  Was it exposing him to the message of the Gospel?  Yes of course, but I know a lot of kids that grow up indoctrinated with Bible stories they could recite backward and forward and they still don’t know what they believe.  Was it a life of service?  His parents were missionaries certainly that must have had an impact.  You can’t travel the world without recognizing there’s something bigger than yourself underpinning everything that begs for a response from you.  Was it being homeschooled?  Maybe, but I know a lot of homeschooled kids who actually have no idea why their parents choose to do this.  The list of possible answers goes on and on and because I don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Tebow I won’t get the chance to ask them but here’s my guess.

What I see with Tim is that his beliefs aren’t just an intellectual exercise.  The greater reality in his life is his faith not his circumstances.  Where our Western Civilization will tolerate people talking about their faith it bristles when those beliefs encompass an unseen reality.  To talk about the hope you have is fine to connect it to the spiritual world is considered out of bounds.  This is true not just for Christians but Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists.  For anyone who insists that all things are spiritual there’s a price to pay.  You’re mocked.  Admitting that something unseen and unproven directs your life takes great courage and humility.

How did Tim’s parents foster this mindset?   I can only assume by living it themselves.  Children learn what they see more than what they hear.  Where did Tim learn to give credit where he believes credit is due?  From his parents modeling a life inextricably intertwined with God.  A life centered on what they believe rather than isolated from it by compartmentalizing their faith.

This is what inspires me amidst all the Tebowmania but also begs the question.  Do my children see me living a life of faith that doesn’t have boundary lines?  Does what I believe influence everything I do or is my faith just something I talk about?  When I tell Luke he can do all things through Christ who strengthens him do I believe that for myself?  Do I put myself in situations where that will be tested or do I just encourage my kids in that direction?  And if I put myself out there, do I shrink back when asked about my accomplishments or give credit where I believe credit is due?

Tim’s parents had a bold faith they modeled for their son.  He takes a lot of heat for carrying on that legacy but I’m certain it’s not from them.   After all they did it, not on the football field but in their circle of influence.  You and I can do the same.  I’ve got 15 cents that’s challenging me to learn something from this family that hopefully I can pass on to my boys.  Live what you believe seamlessly.  If you believe like much of the world actually does that all things are spiritual don’t let the skeptics silence your praise of He who is in you.  You may get tackled for it but better to fall being remembered for your courage than to stand without any.

When you’re dressed like a storm trooper it’s hard to bend down and pick-up a penny.  You really don’t want to either with the boots because you can easily find yourself tangled up in a mess on the floor.  Then there’s all the gear you have in hand – goggles, gloves, and gators.  The 3G network required for skiing.  If only you had the powers of Jedi you could telekinetically put the penny in your pocket but since I can only handle a single black diamond run it’s safe to say I have limited mind over matter abilities.  All that said last weekend I had a really hard time keeping up.  Not on the slopes but with the pennies because they were everywhere!

It’s not uncommon to find one in or around a ski lodge but every time I turned around Saturday there was a penny.  By lunch I had twelve.  Someone must have been walking around with a hole in their pocket.  It was crazy.  To a penny I can’t say no however, so I just kept making the most graceful bend I could hoping not to end up in a twisted mess.  A spill on the slopes is one thing, in the lodge it equals embarrassing. If it’s to pick up a penny people really think you’re crazy which of course is why so many aren’t picked up.

By the end of the day I’d had my fill so when I got to my locker and found a very large bald man wearing a neon yellow jacket sitting in the spot I wanted to land I was grumbly.  I wanted out of my trooper boots and into sheepskin, as soon as possible, but a big human bumble bee was sitting in my spot.  He was so busy buzzing on and on about something on his cell phone I couldn’t get his attention.  Like every large bald man I’ve ever met he had a whole heck of a lot to say so even when I tried to reach around him and get to my locker I couldn’t get his attention.

All that was left to do was climb over him to get to the other side and this wasn’t easy with the piles of gear left behind by other ski troopers.  When I couldn’t make it after what was probably only five minutes, but seemed like twenty-five, Mr. Social Bee is off the phone and realizes he’s blocking my locker.  “Oh I’m sorry I’m in your way,” he immediately offers.  “Don’t worry about it,” I say lying.  “Let me move my stuff,” he says reaching for his bag.  He moves it away and what do you think I find in front of my locker?  You guessed it a penny.  Exasperated I drop my 3G’s and laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asks.  I point to the penny and he smiles and says, “Oh that’s good luck.  Yeah, I know.  No – really it is,” he says adamantly. “It really is!”   Fatigue hits me like a ton of bricks and I give up.  If you can’t beat the penny obviously you have to roll with it.  With a little room to finally maneuver around I pick up the penny and give him my two sentence history and that gets Mr. Bee buzzing again.  “Wow, you’re kidding.  That’s amazing.  I should follow you wherever you go.  Do you know how lucky that is?  The odds of that are unbelievable.  To find a penny a week would be rare.  I’d say once a month would be the average.  Man! Wow! You should go to Vegas.”  On and on and on he went while I got out of my gear and packed my bag to go.

Before, I could think of some parting comment to politely acknowledge his enthusiasm and make my getaway he finally slows down and asks, “Why do you think you find so many?”  The million dollar question few ever ask had arrived and since it’s really just that simple I said, “Because I’m willing to pick them up.”  Without missing a beat he bellows, “COOL!” Then off he goes jumping in front of me.  Now I’m left hanging, wanting to finish a conversation I’d inadvertently started with a man I initially had no interest in talking too.

He wasn’t mean, obnoxious, or arrogant he was just big, loud, and in my way.  If I hadn’t laughed at my penny find he probably would have been long gone.  But now with what I consider a real question on the table he’s happy with a trite response and off he goes.  Where I typically get the skeptical questions this guy immediately sees the improbability of my experience and yet he’s appeased with the simplest of answers.  I find pennies because I’m willing to pick them up.  Doesn’t he see how loaded that idea is?

No and all the way home I rolled this over in my mind.  Then when I got home a friend called and ironically our conversation sounded much like my previous one albeit a different subject.  I thought maybe I was just feeling cynical because I was tired but then when I got online I had a queue of emails from different friends that went much the same way.  Lots of blah, blah, blah and then a question.  Not asked to be answered asked to keep the rhetoric going.  It seemed to be the theme of the day lots of commentary with no real interest in a meaningful answer.  It was like talk radio – plenty of passionate chatter but no thoughtful dialogue.

After dinner I put my feet up and reached for my prayer journal and noticed it sounded the same.  I know a journal is a safe space for carrying on but I didn’t see nearly enough question marks.  It had lots of venting but very few pauses.  Oh no, are my prayers like this?  Am I always telling God only what my thoughts on the matter are?  If I do happen to throw in a question is it one I want answered or is it rhetorical?   Am I like Pilate when he asked Jesus, “What is the truth?” to which Jesus offered no reply?  Not even one word back because He knew it was futile to say anything.  He would have been wasting His breath. Pilate’s mind was already made up like mine so often seems to be.

I thought about Proverbs 26:4 where it says, “[Don’t] answer a fool according to his folly, or you will be like him yourself.”   With so few pauses in my journal and probably in my prayers I wondered if God took his own advice.  If His wisdom is good enough for me wouldn’t He apply it to himself?  Are the times He’s silent on a matter the result of knowing it would be pointless to answer?  Is He heeding his own counsel by not responding because to do so would reduce Him to my level?  The one where I love the sound of my voice and actually have very little patience to listen for His?  When God is silent could this be why?

I think so.  Where my prayers appear to earnestly seek the truth they might actually all sound the same.  Lots of chatter and commentary with very little space for the bigger more poignant questions because those answers aren’t what I really want.  I’ve already made up my mind.  I’ve got figured it out.  I’ve rationalized it all away.  My prayers are said to reinforce my own position.  I don’t see this but God knows.  He knows when it’s pointless to answer and so He doesn’t.  Not for lack of caring but God will not be made a fool of by me.  When responding would be futile He’s going to take His own counsel.

This epiphany stung like a bee, a big neon yellow one!  My very frustration with all the blah, blah, and blah of the day was no different from what I do with God.  Where at times I know it serves no good purpose to answer a question so does God.  The difference is He’s far more tolerant than me.  I can carry on for months and when I finally ask the right question or I’m ready to hear a real answer He will speak.  Then the second part of the Proverb is likely to come true, “Answer a fool according to his folly or he will be wise in his own eyes.” A nice way of saying I’ll get put in my place which is exactly where I should be quietly sitting anyway.

I’m hoping when I get there a penny will be waiting like the one in front of my locker – a penny to remind me to bow down gracefully and listen.  I’m really no different than the big bumble bee man but hopefully  I’m learning that God knows to be silent with me because that’s the only thing that might stop my buzzing!

Christmas morning when I crept downstairs to start breakfast before everyone else woke up I realized we were out of milk.  I couldn’t believe I’d missed this detail after more than one trip to the grocery store the day before.  With that off I flew to the store hoping I’d be home before anyone figured out I was missing. I grabbed the milk and thinking my speediness had left me time to spare, I ordered a latte at Starbuck’s only to discover the guy in front of me had ordered six drinks!  Now I had to wait.  My best efforts to be up and ahead of the game had been thwarted by coffee.  The penny the guy left on the counter did little to reassure me I’d get back on schedule.       

To make the best of it I decided to say hello to one of the store clerks I’m friends with.  I knew she was working for the overtime so I thought she might need a hug.  I spotted her a few feet away hard at work tearing down the Hallmark display.  Out with the Christmas cards and in with the Valentines.  The store manager was an aisle over pulling the red and green candy to replace it with heart shaped boxes.  Christmas Day was just dawning and we’re already moving on to the next holiday which made me feel even more behind.  I’d just finished wrapping and mailing my Christmas creations days before and now I’m reminded that the next holiday I like to make things for is right around the corner. 

Finally my coffee was ready and as I headed out the door I spotted another small display being assembled but this one was filled with chocolate Easter eggs.  Now I really did a double-take.  Cadbury eggs already?  This sight hit me as hard as the eight degree wall of cold I exited to.  Hot coffee in one hand and cold milk in the other I was struck by the contrasts and felt like I was teetering on the brink of insanity.  Couldn’t we finish one holiday before we started another?  On Christmas morning was it already necessary for us to get a jump on Valentine’s Day? 

Apparently so but as I walked in my door minutes later to find everyone up and ready to go, long before I thought they would be, I was reminded that the retailer’s don’t set today’s pace we do.  We blame it on them but if nobody bought their Christmas presents in October then we might get to celebrate Thanksgiving in its’ entirety.   Who am I to pass judgment though when my first thought on Christmas morning was that I needed to get milk as if we’d perish without it! 

Before I could think any more on the matter my attention was shifted to the fun of opening gifts and celebrating a birthday – Jesus’ birthday.  The only one I know where gifts are exchanged in honor of the person being remembered rather than given to the honoree.  This idea being one as paradoxical as all the others we see at the holidays.  Fortunately I got lost in all the fun and it wasn’t until dessert that I came back full circle to the thought I’d started the day with. 

Chase prompted it by asking everyone at the table if they had any New Year’s resolutions.  It was a perfectly legitimate question but I couldn’t help sighing.  On to the next the holiday we’d moved and now all in one day Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s and Easter had competed for my attention.  Where I’m wanting my God consciousness to be at an all time high what keeps hitting me is how fast the clock ticks in our world because everyone, not just me, feels the need to get a jump on things.

The week before New Year’s illustrates this like none other when everyone starts making their resolutions.  With eating right, exercising more, and getting organized as recurring themes all you see are Jenny Craig testimonials, God’s Gym membership offers, and storage containers of every variety.  While folks are exchanging their Christmas gifts they’re also picking up more bins, calendars, and cleaning supplies than anyone could possibly need.  Before holiday travel is finished plans are being made for Spring Break.  The next thing on the horizon is now what we’re celebrating rather than the very simple, yet profound, reality that the birth of Jesus is what makes a meaningful future possible.  Gone is any time to contemplate this and how it should impact the year ahead. 

Culturally we’re so acclimated to getting a jump on things that we hop right over the manger onto a wave of hearts.  We go from “God so loved” to “I love!”  Not with any ill intention we just always want to be a little bit ahead.  So much so that we makes lists of what we hope to accomplish with little thought to whether we actually can. I’m sure Chase wasn’t the only one on Christmas that brought up the resolution question?  I’d venture to guess a majority of American’s already had their goals.  It probably started with the first extra serving of rich food they ate.  Indulge before you abstain.  Dive in then pull back.  Classic patterns and exactly why few resolutions are successful.  We plan for them way ahead of time hoping to get a jump start and then burn out in less time than it took to create them. 

Knowing this why does the cycle continue? Because we’re so restless and distracted we just do it.  We say we’ve got a “plan” but we’re actually just getting on the next train running without looking to see if it’s headed where we want to go.  We don’t pause long enough to live in one moment before we consider the next.  The idea of savoring life in every breath has become planning to savor life in our next breath.  In the end this just leaves us trying to catch our breath.  It’s a crazy cycle that isn’t fueled by retailers, consumerism, or any other dynamic it’s simply thoughtlessness on our part and I am guilty as charged. 

If I have one great hope (because I refuse to call it a resolution) for 2012 is that it won’t be blur.  I know it’s going to be filled with lots of big changes and I don’t want to miss savoring any of those, simply because I’m afraid of falling behind.  When the next holiday or big event rolls around and someone asks if I’m ready I hope I can say no I’m not. I don’t even have a gallon of milk in the house!

I’m calling it my gingerbread penny because while reaching across the counter to pay for my latte at Starbucks I spotted it in a basket of gingerbread macadamia nut biscotti.  Yum! I was actually doing my best to ignore the basket because Christmas plus coffee equals craving for something sweet and I love this annual treat the mermaid emblazoned elves roll out.  Where I have a great deal of will power when it comes to other treats a late afternoon stop under the green siren of sea sign means I’m tired and hungry and it’s hard to resist.  It’s just a little treat you reason and before you know it you’re nibbling away at your cookie. I had the courage of my conviction that afternoon though, but when something shiny caught the corner of my eye in the basket I had to dive in. 

I was careful because I didn’t want to break any of the packages but if a penny was in there I had to find it.  After five years, penny discoveries are now an all or nothing deal.  I can’t just ignore one that’s calling to me.  I will if it’s on a train track and the lights are flashing but as most of my friends know, I will actually stop in the middle of a busy street to pick up a penny which means I’m certainly not going to let my fear of giving in to the gingerbread get the better of me.  So, gently I moved the cookies while the penny kept slipping down lower in the pile.  Now I was beginning to understand why the pennies original owner just let it be.  They didn’t want to have to put all the biscotti back!

The gals behind the counter are penny friends so they didn’t bat an eye.  Some of them will even point out a penny if they think I haven’t seen it.  Amanda, the world’s best barista, finds quarters so that makes my pennies seem insignificant.  The gentleman behind me, however, thought this was completely silly.  He was polite about it because they’d taken his order and I wasn’t holding up the line, but it was obvious he thought I was insane.  I know if a word bubble popped up over his head it would have said, “It’s just a penny lady.  Leave it.”  Undaunted by his amusement I put the penny in my pocket when I heard him say, “Well now you’re a penny richer.”  I was a little taken aback by his tone which meant I now had to offer some sort of explanation.  Of course I didn’t have to, but I always hate the thought of people thinking I spend the pennies because I don’t.  I’m sure his glibness rubbed me the wrong way too.   

So, I gave him the two sentence explanation about me and pennies and when I told him I’d found a minimum of a penny a day now for five years he couldn’t believe it.  It’s not the first time I’ve met a penny skeptic but the look of sheer amazement on his part struck me.  He was dumbfounded by this.  I was beginning to think he’d never found a penny himself.  If there were ten cookies that had to go back in the basket during this exchange he said really on every other piece.  One biscotti, two biscotti, three biscotti four, one really, two really, three really more – okay this is an exaggeration but I know he said really at least three times and that’s a lot, not if you’ve won the lottery, but when you’re talking to a complete stranger it is. 

Typically you only get one really and then a wow so I was getting a little flustered.  Fortunately his coffee was now ready, I was done with the display and more people arrived to distract both of us.  As Amanda handed me my latte she said, “I don’t think he believed you.” I smirked and said, “Yeah, I’m used to that but he was quite the skeptic.” I answered. “It’s not the first time but what amazes me is that people believe a lot of other more unbelievable stories than mine.  Think about it”, I said.  “We grow up believing in Santa, flying reindeer, nutcrackers that come to life and elves that make toys but finding a penny a day is unbelievable? Shouldn’t be but it is.”  Amanda laughed and agreed. 

I headed out to my car found another penny and noticed a car near mine that had a nativity scene sticker on the bumper.   Then on the way home I spotted several more.  It must be the year of the nativity scene in my neighborhood because in the short five minute drive I saw almost a dozen.  Manger scenes on cars, painted in store windows, and on lawns – Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus everywhere. You’d expect to see them at the two churches I have to pass but no they were all just part of lay people’s holiday decorations.  Several were in places where I know the families that own them and I was surprised this symbol was important to them. 

Now I’m home and put some Christmas music on while making dinner and notice that almost every other song playing on the radio in some way mentions either the baby Jesus, Bethlehem, angels, shepherds, Mary, or the star that shimmers in the night.  This wouldn’t be surprising on the Christian station but this was the cable pop station.  All around me the magic and mystery of Christmas is being lauded by more than just believers.  While I think this is fantastic the penny in my pocket and the skeptic who’d dampened my spirits left me a little cynical.  Christmas is the in the air and everyone is caught up in the wonder of it all but what would happen if I questioned someone about it like I’ve been pressed more than once about my pennies?

It might go something like this, “So, you believe that on Christmas Day a baby was born in a manger to woman who was a virgin and her husband confirmed this?  Yes.  Then shepherds who’d been tending there flocks that night were visited by an angel, not just any angel an archangel named Gabriel, who told them to go and see the baby?  Yes.   Next, three wise men that followed a star to find him visited the baby and brought him expensive gifts?  Yes.  Later, we learn this baby is the Son of God? Yes.” Well, to some the answer is yes to others no, but up to this point there’s not much argument.  The Christmas story remains intact with people all around the world celebrating the miraculous birth of a man they either believe to be a prophet or a Savior.  Now this is an outrageous story!

It’s a story we tell over and over, year after year, and celebrate looking to the stars in the sky at night with great hope for what it might mean to us.  We gather at church and read the story, we take images from the story and decorate with them, and children re-enact it all over the world.  It’s a story that has become sacred and nobody at the holidays would think about questioning those people who believe every aspect of it.  At Christmas Christians aren’t challenged to defend their fervent belief in it.  In fact it’s probably the one time of year everyone get’s on board because people love the miraculous. 

We’re a culture that thrives on looking for miracles.  We spend millions of dollars looking for them.  We read about them, watch movies filled with unbelievable imagery, and feast on anything that offers a spellbinding finish.  In sports we can’t stop talking about spectacular finishes.  Here in Colorado Tim Tebow started being referred to as St. Tim after three miraculous down to the wire finishes.  The bigger the story the better and yet all these kinds of stories run contrary to the lowly birth Jesus had.  Aside from the angel and star leading his visitors it’s a really simple story.  One that quietly speaks to the way God has always taken care of His people.  He provided what we needed without a great deal of fanfare and he does this routinely.  If most people look at their life closely they can see this.  It’s called providence – God’s hand at work in our lives. 

For me, pennies frame the picture and often I wish for others the same gift I’ve been given.  Something that would help them see the way God is providing for them daily.  My friend Jill calls it the gold thread that weaves through her life.  This same metaphor has always been special to me as well, but now I would say mine is a copper wire and when I look closely I can see it even through the hardest times of my life.  It’s God’s hand at work weaving everything together to cover me in a blanket of His grace. The trouble has never been that He hasn’t provided it’s that I haven’t always seen it because I was too busy looking for the big and miraculous.  I was so focused on the next big thing He would do that I couldn’t see the little things He was doing.

I think my latest penny skeptic might have the same curse many of us fall prey to.  We have a hard time believing in all the seemingly insignificant things God brings our way because we’re trained culturally to watch for something epic. Then when it doesn’t happen that way we’re disappointed.  Disappointment leads to discouragement which lends itself to depression and the vicious cycle continues because when you’re depressed escape fantasies abound.  When I win the lottery all my problems will be solved?  When I get a new job all my troubles will fade away?  When the economy get’s fixed we’ll all be better off?  The list of miracles we need goes on and on, so much so that we can’t see the little gifts under our Christmas tree even though we all know big things actually come in little packages. 

A big thing came in a little package 2000 years ago and little things have been coming everyday of our lives since then.  My prayer this year for myself, my friends, and family is that we would resist the pull that always has us looking for the next big thing and instead look for God’s handiwork every day.  It will be there and with every little gift we pay attention to this Christmas I hope what dies in us is skepticism because outrageous things REALLY do happen all the time! They really really do!

There’s a penny that sat for months just inside my neighbor Kelly’s front door.  I don’t think it was there before her son Michael died.  I wondered many times when I would visit if it was his but I never asked.  It screamed at me from the foyer table “Pick me up!” but I knew better.  It wasn’t my penny to take.  When I told Kelly I liked her penny she gave me one of her sweet smiles and said, “Me too.”  She knew I understood it held some significance for her but beyond that I never sensed I should ask why. 

We’ve had so much more to talk about anyway but I was always thankful it was there to put a smile on her face.  At times when I would leave to come home feeling heartbroken for her I was glad to see it just to encourage me.  Pennies make me smile too and my friend’s grief is so deep and unimaginable it’s sometimes hard to muster one.  How do you comfort someone you love when you can barely fathom their loss?  Parents aren’t supposed to lose their children to death.  It’s not the natural order of things. Everyone knows this and after a year of sitting with Kelly this is still all I know. It’s not right.

I’ve tried several times over the course of the year to step back and disassociate from it.  This is almost impossible to do because I miss Mike too.  Luke and Chase miss him.  We all want him back.  I’ll drive up the street and pull into the driveway wanting him to sneak right up behind me like he always did to ask if Luke is home.  I’d say, “Yes, go on in you know where to find him.”  The two were such candy junkies they knew I had to be home before they could hang out. Mike would watch from his bedroom window for me to get home so he could come over.  I trusted those boys to stay out of trouble but not the pantry.  If I’d known then what I know now, I would have ignored their respective restrictive diets and just let them indulge. 

Life is too quiet on our street now.  Even with two new pint sized neighbors the action doesn’t come close to Mike and Luke’s epic street tennis battles.  If Mike were alive his Schnauzer’s and ours would be yapping their brains out while the boys battled it out.  The sun used to set on them playing.  Win, lose, or draw they always parted friends.  They were two gentlemen in the world of sports with Luke the tennis pro and Mike the golf pro.  Each one patiently helping the other improve.

This was the great treasure of their friendship.  They believed in each other and always wanted the best for one another.  Did they ever get snarky with each other?  Sure, but never to the point they wouldn’t go to battle on the other’s behalf.  As the saying goes they always had the other’s back and this is the thought that I cling to when the rest don’t make sense.  Michael’s gone but he’s still got Luke’s back.  He’s not physically present but the memory of his presence is with us in the way he fought the good fight.  He never quit and he never stopped believing in God’s love for him.  He crossed the threshold of heaven with the spirit of a warrior.

Because of this when Luke’s sometimes fragile countenance changes and he’s wrestling with self-doubt all you have to say is, “Be Mike strong buddy – be Mike strong.”  Like a shot to the heart he comes too and whatever force was pulling him backward is overcome by the memory of his friend’s fighting spirit.    Mike has become Luke’s modern day giant of faith cheering him on from his post in heaven.  Where some of us are helped by stories from Scripture he is helped by the story of Mike’s life – one that was told with great courage. 

While I may never know the story behind Kelly’s special penny I do know the story of her treasured son’s life.  It was bright and shiny and adds value to our lives to this day.  If I knew enough about angels and how they get their wings I would have say Michael has a very cool set of them.  I imagine he uses them to swoop into our lives, just like he did our garage, to see if we’re ready to move past whatever troubles us or as he would say to “get busy living”. To this our response in his honor should be we are.  We are MIKE STRONG!

When I got sick, the dog got sick, and the car had to go into the shop the day before we’d leave, I began to wonder if the rare trip we’d planned for Thanksgiving was actually meant to be.  As my head hit the pillow and I double checked my alarm, which would go off in only a few hours, I was simultaneously relieved and exhausted.  It would all be worth it I reasoned for the boys to visit with family we don’t get to see often enough.

Heading out the door before the sun was up we were unusually organized so my anxiety was receding.  Bundled up against the cold we scurried across the tarmac by moonlight to board the plane.  It felt like we were sneaking off to some exotic destination by cover of night.  When the boys were little I used to pretend with them we were secret agents on a mission whenever we traveled.   To start our day with such a fond memory had us all in smiles.

The plane was warm and toasty and we hunkered down.  The doors closed, all portable electronic devices were turned off, the plane moved away from the terminal and the captain welcomed us with the confidence you want from a pilot.  Sight unseen I pictured him being very handsome because aren’t all pilots? All was well for this mission, or at least I thought so, until the debonair captain came back on the air.

I was so cozy and doze-y in my seat it startled me.  At first I imagined he said, “Houston this is flight, we have a problem” but when I came to what I heard was, “The plane seems to be fine and we don’t think we have an issue but the indicator light says we do. So, because safety is our first priority we’re going to have to make other arrangements for you.  We’ll taxi back, de-board the plane, and have you speak with a gate agent.”  Oh no, not a gate agent!  They always have a very serious grim look this time of year.

I would swear the plane’s wheels buckled under the heavy sigh of all 52 passengers on board.  From my seat in the very back I was immediately assessing this was not good.  Since none of us are actually secret agents a jet wouldn’t be following right behind to scoop us.  The reality of travel to and from our small town is that it has its limitations.  With only a handful of daily flights sometimes you think a stage coach could get you over the mountains faster.   At Thanksgiving you really do need your own plane to ensure you’ll get where you’re going without any problem.  Why hadn’t I asked my friend who has one to fly us to Seattle?

Immediately, the weariness from the day before returned.  Dutifully we queued up to make other arrangements with our hopes of same day travel fading fast.  What ensued from that point on was a comedy of errors on the part of phone agents, gate agents, and baggage handlers.  Four plans, four turns in line, and two hours later my patience had taxied off the runway.  I wanted to eat the words I’d muttered de-boarding, “Be nice, be gracious, and be calm.”  I turned to summon my secret agents and flee the airport.  No more I thought, obviously this trip wasn’t meant to be.

Fortunately before I aborted a man stepped behind me in line with a package that changed my bad attitude.  At first I thought I was reading more into the situation than I should but when the guy with the box gave me a look that said no you’re not, I was completely embarrassed by my frustration.  While I’m worrying about not making dinner with my family, a transplant team and their patient are nervously waiting for a priceless gift.  Meanwhile another family is mourning the loss of someone from their Thanksgiving table.   One box that screamed your worries are nothing lady – get over it!

My frustrations unraveled faster than the line and by the time I got to the counter I’d found the necessary gratitude.  Calmly, with a smile, I answered the gate agent’s questions and plan number five started to take shape.  It wasn’t an easy plan but it would still get us to Seattle.  Watching the box marked fragile, reverently being escorted through security, I refused to complain about the flipside of our plan which was fraught with what-if’s.  A bigger picture perspective was clearly necessary.

Miraculously twenty minutes later, in a sprint worthy of a Hertz commercial, we were through security and boarding another plane.  Out of breath, I stopped in front of my seat to make sure I actually had the boys with me and to my relief they were.  As my heart rate slowed and I stowed our carry-on bags Chase sat down to buckle up and said, “Mom you missed something.” Before my heart could sink, he held out a bright shiny dime.  “I guess you were running too fast to see it.”

I sat down and thought oh yeah Chase I was moving too fast just like everyone else this time of year.  The hustle and bustle of getting where you want to be, when you want to be there, with what you want to take keeps you from experiencing what you’re supposed to along the way.  One thing goes wrong and your attention shifts from why you’re making the effort to what you aren’t accomplishing or what isn’t going your way.  Suddenly, you no longer have eyes to see what lies right in front of you which is life in all its’ fragility.  Life as a gift that is precious and worth going the extra mile to celebrate with the people you love – even if doing so at the holidays, or any other time of year, is complicated.

This is the hard part because we don’t like complicated and in some cases it takes more than just traveling physically.  Sometimes there’s an emotional divide you have to cross that can feel like a security checkpoint where you have to let go of all your baggage.   It can feel like a real violation of your self-righteous space.  You have to swallow hard more than once.  Other times it takes negotiating with more people than you want just to have a plan.  You don’t get to be in charge like you would prefer to be.  All this requires having air traffic controllers’ nerves of steel because the holidays like no other time of year trudge up family strife.

For some it really isn’t do-able but when it is you’ve got to try because, like that box and Chase’s find reminded me, life can change on a dime.  It’s short and it’s fragile and sometimes you just have to weather the challenges to get where you need to be to see who you need to see.   In the end you will be glad you did.

It was the first morning of the 5A State Championships and I was getting the Starbuck’s I’d need. With all my Team Mom duties taken care of I had only a few minutes to myself before play would begin. Standing in the line to order my first thought was to thank God for all that had gone well so far. It’s a short but intense season when high school tennis starts so by the time you get to State you’re simultaneously thrilled and exhausted. After offering my praises for all there was to smile about I had this undeniable sense come over me that today was the day Luke was going to beat, for the first time, his arch rival Kyle and make it to the semi-finals of the tournament. I answered that voice in my head with, “I hope so” and looked down to see a very shiny penny staring at me. Beaming at the thought I tucked it in my pocket and headed to the courts with my cup of encouragement.

High school tennis has proven to be one of the most heartwarming experiences in my life as a parent and with this being Luke’s last trip to State I think I was as nervous as all the players. This has also been the year I’ve learned just how deep the field is in this particular sport. It’s easy to get a little prideful when your kid is ranked in the top 25 players in the state in his division and then when you see the other 24 guys play you realize why Andy Roddick gets clobbered by Rafael Nadal. Great is different than the greatest. The depth chart in junior tennis is as unbelievable as the pros.

This broader perspective is why when Luke and his opponent were called I was taking nothing for granted even though everyone in the know about these things favored Luke to win it. His match started and from the first few games it looked that way. Luke was pulling ahead and we were all light-hearted. Then his opponent figured Luke out and turned on his A-game and things got a little tenser. Luke still won the first set but after that the momentum shifted and the other guy won the second.

Everyone who knows Luke knows he’s got the stamina of an Energizer bunny so after two hours of play we’re hoping the other kid would just wear out but he doesn’t. He pulls ahead and it’s 5-0 in the third set and Team Luke/Team Junction is in shock. We are doing our best to keep our game faces on but everyone knows how hard Luke has worked, how capable he is, and how much this means to him and his team that we feel completely deflated. To lose in the first round for him at the State tournament in his senior year would be his biggest tennis blow ever.

Nobody knows what to say. We’ve all got our heads bowed, as if in prayer, so that we don’t catch his eye when his coach calls him over to the fence. To give him anything less than a confident encouraging look would make it all worse. Then, in a way that only she can do, his coach nonchalantly says, “Well you’re right where you want to be Luke to make the biggest comeback ever so just go do it. Don’t give up. Get back in there and fight. We’re all behind you.”

Oh man she sounded good and we all wanted to believe her and dutifully followed-up her talk with clapping and cheering as he walked back to the bench but we were all bracing ourselves. In one game it would be over but then, we all saw what we call “that look” come over his face that says, “Absolutely positively no freaking way is this happening!” He walked to the service line like a tennis gladiator and served it out winning the next game, then the next, and so on giving up only one more game to his opponent. It was as if he wanted to win it in a tiebreaker just to prove a point. Three hours and twenty minutes of hard hitting tennis that prompted every one of his coaches, teammates, and their parents to erupt in a standing ovation. To say I grew a few more gray hairs is an understatement. I’ve never paced, wrung my hands, or had my heart skip so many beats in a match. You felt bad for his opponent but at the same rejoiced at Luke’s comeback.

I was shaking from the adrenaline overload and so was Luke. When he walked off the court with his hand bleeding and said, “Mom, I gotta sit down” everyone laughed at the understatement. Yes of course you do Luke! As soon as he was little less wobbly he headed over to the team’s tent to get some first aid and eat lunch knowing now he would get to face his nemesis Kyle in the next round. You could see he was exhausted and nervous.

His teammate the consummate encourager Tate sat down beside him while he was struggling to eat and said, “Luke, if you could do THAT then you got this. Today’s the day man. He’s had his three but the fourth is going to be yours. His charm has run out.” The penny in my pocket was shouting the same thing while I rolled it around to bolster my confidence.

Less than an hour later we gathered for round two hopeful from the morning’s victory but still worried that if history was on his side Kyle would once again “eek” out a win against Luke. After another three hours on the court that looked like it was going to be the case. They’d split sets and Luke was down in the third. He walked over to the fence when his coach called and leaned down to hear her say, “Okay Luke if we have to do it again this way that’s fine just get back out there and win it.”

Not a single one of us watching looked away. Instead we cheered louder because we saw it, that look come over his face that said I am not willing to accept anything less for myself right now. By this time he’d played for almost six hours yet he managed to do exactly what his coach said. In another nail-biting third set tiebreaker Luke accomplished what he had set out to do – make the semi-finals! Standing ovation number two and the most thunderous reception I’ve ever seen his teammates give him when he walked off the court.

After all the hugs when Luke finally got to me he handed me the last ball he’d played and said, “Mom I think you need to sit down.” I hugged him with tears streaming down my face. The boy was holding me up this time because I couldn’t stop crying. He’d done it. He’d accomplished his goal to make it past the first day of the tournament something he’d never been able to do. He’s had a lot of wins in his day but this one arguably meant the most.

My heart hurt for Kyle and his family knowing how much it meant to him to win as well, but I couldn’t help myself. The tears came from years of watching Luke always have to pull up from behind. From pre-school to now it’s never come easily for him. He was the kid who circled the playground from the day he could walk until almost 4th grade because he was so afraid of joining in. He was the proverbial last kid picked for any teams assembled in P.E. unless he had been designated the captain.

Luke reluctantly started hitting tennis balls with his Dad when he was five years old but wouldn’t even consider competing until sixth grade and even then he was terrified. He got turned around on the court more than once unable to keep the score straight. He wouldn’t come in to the net to hit a volley for fear of being hit by the ball. He had a hard time calling his opponents ball’s out when they were nowhere near the green. We wondered if it would ever click for him?

Then after getting a little taste of success he got the bug and with the tenacity of a bulldog Luke set his mind to being the best player he could be going up against kids that have played longer and are a heck of a lot more athletic. Knowing all this is how could I not cry? Luke’s win is a win for everyone who has ever had to come from behind in anything – personally, professionally, or financially. To be successful at things that come naturally to you is wonderful. To enjoy success at something you have to fight for is a triumph and in Luke’s case one I hope inspires others like it does me. I’m convinced that God blessed me with the children he did just for this reason. Their hard-fought victories keep me pressing on for my own. They don’t need me to encourage them as much as I need them.

I’d love to tell you that Luke went on to win the tournament. Sore, blistered, and sunburned he came back out the next day and faced two even tougher opponents. He fought hard and never gave up but even with all that grit his body betrayed him. If he’d had more time to rest maybe the results would have been different or maybe not, there’s no way to know. However, we do know the wins he did have and his fighting spirit were instrumental in his team’s third place finish and winning the sportsmanship award. Both huge accomplishments and proof that it’s always possible to win while you play if you’re determined to do so! Luke’s tennis ball and the penny I found that day sit on my desk to remind me of that much bigger picture.

It would be nice to have a glamorous explanation for my knee problem. When the doctor looked at the x-ray and asked me how I’d injured it I didn’t have an answer. “You’ve hurt your knee do you remember when? Nothing comes to mind other than maybe cheerleading,” I said wincing. The pain from all his poking and prodding was beginning to overshadow my bruised ego. Jumping off the top of a human pyramid under the goal post now felt like a stupid way to climb the social ladder in high school. If you’re going to have a knee injury you want it to be from something really cool like mastering the half-pipe Sean White style.

“How long has it been bothering you?” he asked. “Over six months now. I want to be able to ski this winter so I decided to come see you. I’m tired of not knowing what’s wrong with it.” I said. “I can tell you some of what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the whole picture,” was his response. “Let’s get you started in some physical therapy and see if we can get the knee tracking properly before we do any other tests.” Oh great I thought my knee is off track?

Reading between the lines I figured out a set of more expensive pictures (aka an MRI) couldn’t be ordered just yet. This was frustrating to me. I’d finally conceded to going to a specialist because I wanted answers. I’d tried every lifestyle and exercise modification I could think of to no avail. With the technology available I wanted as much information as possible right away not down the road. Having part of the picture when it’s possible to have the whole picture was maddening to me. It was becoming clear, however, that because of insurance restraints I’d have to jump through the physical therapy hoop before more testing could be done. Unfortunately, that was nothing close to a walk in the park.

The therapy looked easy especially for somebody in relatively good shape but it was hard on my knee and made it madder than ever. The only truly helpful technique I learned related to pain management which was good since rehab was miserable. So, last week after finding a trail of pennies on my prayer walks, my knee was killing me but I was upbeat about finally being allowed to get an MRI done. Soon all the uncertainty would be out of the way and my questions could be answered. Emotionally I was in a better place.

Then Thursday morning when I started really thinking about what they might find and what it could mean I suddenly wasn’t so happy. It occurred to me that not knowing wasn’t a bad thing. As the proverbial saying goes, “The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.” I was learning how to manage the pain from physical therapy. I was increasing my core strength and lessening the load on the knee so even if I was still hurting I was making some sort of progress. Why not leave it at that?

The realization that knowing the whole picture might not be any easier hit me like a ton of bricks. Now I didn’t want the MRI. I liked my limited perspective. It wouldn’t require surgery which for good reason I’m afraid of. It wouldn’t require any big needles near bones, the thought of which makes me faint, and I could stay away from water aerobics which I sadly consider the ultimate form of old lady exercise. Yes, not knowing was beginning to fit me just fine. I’d go ahead and buy my ski pass and just keep going with my physical therapy even at a glacial pace hoping to be ready for snow.

The problem was all these thoughts came to me while lying immobilized in the MRI. I wanted to wiggle around and ruin the pictures but I could tell the tech was patient and she’d just start over. I was wishing I’d left at least one of my week’s penny finds in my pocket because that would have put a halt to things but no – now the picture I’d originally wanted so desperately was going to be a reality. My anxiety shot through the roof and the magnet hammering over my head sounded like a jack hammer. I came home and turned to my friend the icemaker. Not for just help filling an ice pack but also a cocktail glass because my nerves were shot.

Resting on the couch with ice in hand and on the knee I was struck by the metaphor for me as a believer. More often than not I find myself wanting answers from God about the various aches and pains in my life. Frustrated by the lack of clear cut answers I’ve been known to set out on a quest to know – only to discover He’s not going to show me. He might give me a clue in the form of some new insight but in the end I only get a glimpse. It’s a limited picture just like the x-ray of my knee.

Why? I really can’t say. I used to think it was because “knowing” wouldn’t be good for me. This is true to some extent. Being in the know isn’t always ideal. Another plausible explanation is that God doesn’t want me to know because then I’d try to intervene. This is another convenient truth for a Type A personality like me. If you know what’s at the root of a problem and you’re a fixer then you have to get busy.
Anymore, I don’t think these are the big reasons. What I know and don’t know – what I do and don’t do are small pieces of the puzzle. What I’m beginning to realize about God’s silence is that it’s what keeps me moving forward. It’s His invitation to “work out my salvation with fear and trembling”. Perhaps even to the point I exhaust myself trying because whether I figure out the answer or not I’m at least engaged with Him. It takes a great deal of faith to keep going back with your questions to the one you believe has the answers, especially when you have so many of them. My faith it seems is of far greater value to God than my insight. I’d like to be the other way around but then my place in the whole scheme of things would be elevated too highly.

It’s easy in today’s world to insist on “understanding” things with the resources we have. When you can reduce human behavior down to neurotransmitters and then create medications that target those synapses in the brain that’s heady stuff. How do you avoid getting addicted to understanding in the Information Age? Despite our best efforts to the contrary, we find ourselves clinging to what is seen when God is far more interested in our hanging on to what is unseen. We ask for signs, wonders, and answers, wanting God to make himself heard believing that will tell us what to do next and yet it doesn’t. We remain as troubled as ever by our aches and pains.

As the ice was doing its work on my knee I began to relax and laughed at my anxiety attack. Be careful what you pray for I thought. In a few days like it or not I was going to hear something and sure enough I did. As if the whole experience had been orchestrated just to prove His point I had to shake my head when the doctor said. “Yep, it’s the cartilage. You’re wearing it out but we still don’t actually know why. We might not ever know.”

Of course I thought, that’s just how this was supposed to go! Then with little time to fret about it, I conquered the fear that felt bigger than the unknown – the whole needle near a bone thing. Hello cortisone shot! Lord willing that puts me on the road to recovery with a new appreciation for the less is more mindset when it comes to understanding the aches and pains of life. Things rub, they pinch, and they can really-really sting and sometimes you just have to keep your eyes shut and take a few deep breaths to get through it!

I have a new penny friend whose name is Eric and boy is he a cutie!  With curly hair, big brown eyes, and a smile from ear to ear he’s hard to resist.  He loves animals, has a fantastic imagination, and makes things – cool things just like my son Chase.  In fact, in more ways than one he reminds me of Chase.  Beyond all their similar interests Eric and Chase are not just both artistic but autistic as well.  In my book, that makes Eric a kid I already like so when you add penny finding to the equation I’m completely smitten.

Eric started collecting pennies in order to help raise $5,000 for an organization called All-Star Paws for Autism which trains service dogs for autistics.  Knowing from experience how therapeutic a dog can be I’m enthusiastic about his efforts.  Five thousand dollars may seem like a lot but I know with Chase getting a dog got him talking which is more than years of speech therapy accomplished.

Eric and I haven’t met yet in person but I think when we finally do he’s probably going to think I’m a little strange.  I’ll want to hug him and he might not like that.  I’ll also have a lot of questions for him and while he’ll do his best to answer I’m guessing he’ll quickly change the topic to something he’s interested in.  I’m sure he’s an expert on something I don’t know much about so I need to remember to allow time for him to tell me all about his passions. 

One thing I might know a little more about than Eric is penny finding but because I can’t ever get enough of a good penny story I wrote to him and asked him about his experience so far.  I tried to keep it simple because I didn’t want my flair for the dramatic to trip him up.  Kids like Eric tend to be very matter of fact so my style can be overwhelming.  As expected, his answers cracked me up with their simplicity.  You can see he’s a very concrete thinker whereas I’m always looking for the back story – the subplot behind an experience. 

My first question was when he started penny finding and how many pennies had he found so far?  His response, “I started about a month ago.  I have collected $17 in coins.  Not all are pennies but many are?”  Yes of course that’s the case I thought.  People drop all sorts of change.  I went on to ask where his most interesting penny find was and where I was hoping for a little more detail Eric left me wondering with his response.  “At school I found a quarter in the PE Court.”  Okay what is the PE Court?  I’m pretty sure that’s the physical education court but does court mean one for tennis, racket ball, basketball, or shuffle ball?  He lives in Florida so maybe they start learning shuffle ball early to prepare for retirement? 

Next question, “Have you ever gotten dirty trying to get a penny?”  This one was prompted by many of my experiences with penny finding where I’ve had to risk messing up my clothes, shoes and pride to get a penny.  I was curious about this kind of predicament for Eric because kids like him typically won’t risk getting dirty even for something they really want.  Surely here Eric would have more to say? His answer, “I did get my hands dirty.”  That was it.  Again, I want to know all the slimy details but my new penny friend is obviously as straightforward as the question. 

Next probing question, “Where do you think it’s easy to find pennies?”  With this one Eric showed me how cleaver he is because I wouldn’t have thought of this.  However, I don’t look for pennies like Eric so I’ll cut myself some slack.  If I do ever need to look for them I’m going to start where Eric has had success which is under the furniture in his house.  I bet there’s a lot of pennies under the furniture in my house too – maybe even pennies I’ve found around town that haven’t been put in the penny bowl yet. 

When I asked Eric why he thought people don’t stop and pick-up the pennies they drop, his answer was equally as cute.  “Because they are not trying to collect money for a dog like I am?”  Eric, pardon the pun, hit it right on the money with this one.  After five years of observing people’s ambivalence about change, literally and metaphorically, I know that the bottom line is motivation.  If you aren’t inspired you will pass by every opportunity that presents itself.  Most people have acquiesced to the mindset that change in their lives has to come in one big fell swoop like a Nike swoosh.  We’re addicted to looking for the next big thing instead of having the patience to reach our goals one baby step at a time.  Eric, however, is already demonstrating the patience life requires because when asked what his penny goal was he answered, “1,000”.  That’s a lot of pennies to find. 

I hope this patience will sustain him in other areas of his life as well because Eric’s reason for wanting a dog speaks volumes about what a kiddo like him has to deal with – which is lots of folks who know very little about how he’s wired, what makes him tick, and what life looks like from his unique perspective.  When asked why he wanted a dog Eric said, “Maybe if people like my dog they will like me too.” 

With that my penny friend Eric pretty much summed up how skewed, in the wrong direction, people can be.  Change is always for somebody else not them and when you’re a kid like Eric you can’t “change” how you experience the world.  You might be able to change how you respond to it, but even that is often not enough in a culture that loves sameness.  We like people who are like us. 

This I suspect is what Eric, even though he’s not a super touchy feely kid, has figured out and a dog is how he sees himself fitting in.   Like every other person on the planet he’s looking for love and acceptance and he believes something other than his wonderful personality is necessary.  He wants a friend who will love him unconditionally and help bridge the gap between him and those who can’t connect with him any other way.  It’s actually a brilliant little strategy but still one that breaks my heart.

 I’m sure it breaks yours too and so with this story I’m not asking for your pennies for Eric but I do hope the next time you find one you’ll think about him.  Perhaps his smiling face will remind you of somebody God may have put in your life that needs a little help connecting with the world around them.   Maybe you could be a bridge builder for them, just like Eric’s dog will be for him?  Someone who loves them unconditionally and helps them navigate the demanding world we live in.