On Timing… Or Trust.
On Timing. Or Trust. Or Taking my Hands Off the Stuff I Can’t Control Anyway
Recently, we took a family walk through our neighborhood. This really just means that I demanded my two teenagers get off the couch and come enjoy some fresh air with us, which was obliged begrudgingly. Esther was on her bike, so of course Eden also wanted to be on a bike; she rode her tricycle. Ty pushed an empty stroller (because we’re no fools), Nell and I walked.
Eden has a hard time on her tricycle. She does great with slight downhills (don’t we all?), but she can’t do inclines of any sort and she can’t do a significant downward slope. We did a lot of encouraging, gentle pushes from the back, and carrying of the tricycle. Thankfully, we have a pretty flat neighborhood.
When we were looping back around towards home, Eden decided she was going to walk the rest of the way. Ty took the tricycle and placed it in the empty jogging stroller, carefully balanced so that it would stay put while he pushed. (See note above about not being a fool—this is why you push an empty stroller!)
Eden wanted to just have her hand on the tricycle as Ty pushed it in the stroller. Multiple times, she reached out to hold it as she walked beside him. We both bent down and explained to her that if she touched the tricycle, it may fall out of the stroller and crash to the ground. It really was precariously—but perfectly—balanced.
This was not easily accepted. Tears, wailing, gnashing of teeth: she wanted to hold that tricycle so it wouldn’t fall. But actually, her hand on the bike greatly increased the risk of everything falling apart.
If she could just trust that her dad had it all balanced, and if she could just keep her hands to herself, we’d all be home in one piece.
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I understand her perfectly.
We find ourselves in quarantine over Christmas. With frantic texts amongst our family, with tests taken and results flying, we all did many hours of mental math and CDC code-breaking to answer the one big question: could we be together on December 25th?
And the answer was no. No matter how we tried to work it, the right answer was no.
It was a serious loss at the end of an already hard year. No family gathering for Christmas. No Christmas Eve candlelight service. All the Christmas traditions squelched.
Then anxieties, big and small started rearing their heads:
What can I cook for Christmas dinner with just a few days’ notice when I can’t even go to the grocery store?
When will we ever be able to gather with our family to exchange presents? Are we going to have to do a zoom Christmas this year? Or wait until mid-January?
What about my chemo schedule? I’ve already had two weeks off of chemo due to the shingles situation, and now I have another week off due to quarantine. How off-track am I now?
What if I get Covid? My immune system is compromised (hence the shingles from last post): I’m exactly the kind of person with “pre-existing conditions” or “health complications” that ends up in the hospital on a ventilator. No, thank you.
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I want my hands all over this bike. I want to do something to make it right, or at least better. But really, very little is in my control, which is exactly the way God wants it.
A few months ago, I began praying about some specific family things, which included concerns I had over the amount of screen time in our family. Me—Mom—nagging about those things does no good. Instead, I began to bring it to the Lord and ask him to make some changes.
Here’s the thing about prayer: it’s really helps if you actually release it:
Cast all of your anxiety on him, because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7
I picture a fly fisherman, hurling that line as far as it can go… quite a distance out into the water. That is casting: It’s release. It’s trust. It’s taking your hand off the bike, which is really good for your soul.
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On day three of our quarantine, in an act of desperation, I let the girls open one of their presents early. It was an embroidery kit, and I had purchased myself one, too. We three have immersed ourselves in this new craft and are ferociously learning the satin, stem, chain, and fishbone stitches. We are becoming champions of the French Knot. Many hours have been spent sitting on the couch together by the fire with Christmas music working on our stitches.
If we weren’t quarantined, this would not be so. If we had the busy schedule and the things to do and last minute needs to pick up, we would not be quietly sewing together. We would have missed the sweet wonderfulness of Just Us Five. And I would have missed another opportunity to spy a personal, real, intimately answered prayer.
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A friend texted to see how I was doing, and I mentioned my concern that I’m almost a month behind on my chemo schedule, which makes me nervous.
You’re not a month behind, she said. You’re right on time.
She’s right. I needed the reminder.
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Do you see what God has done here? This quarantine is an opportunity for me to trust that it’s all balanced in his hands: the Cancer, the Covid, the Christmas. And maybe it’s not the way I wanted, but if I just trust him, we will all get home in one piece. Actually, we’ll be the better for it.
I’ve got Christmas dinner covered, thanks to Kimmie’s Kitchen here in Knoxville, who graciously let me order an entire dinner for my family two days before Christmas.
Our church ended up canceling the in-person Christmas Eve service and exclusively doing an online version, so we didn’t end up missing that after all.
Our family Christmas exchange has been rescheduled for January. And I love Nell’s take on it: What a great way to start the year!
I’m back on for chemo with my regular schedule the week after Christmas, and I’m thankful for that… I’m right on time.
I’d like to close by leaving you with this poem, attributed to Columba (521-579):
Alone with none but you, my God,
I journey on my way.
What need I fear when you are near,
O King of night and day?
More safe am I within your hand
Than if a host should round me stand.
The child of God can fear no ill,
His chosen dread no foe;
We leave our fate with you, and wait
Your bidding when to go.
‘Tis not from chance our comfort springs
You are our trust, O King of kings.
May we all lean into the opportunities presented to us: take our hands off of our anxious situations, cast our cares on Him, trust our heavenly Father, and see him at work once again.
Merry Christmas, friends.
