When you go to the library, your book selections will reveal a bit of who you are…but only a bit.
When Vin and I went last week (sans kids, because it was our anniversary and we’re nerds), I got one book on quilting and another on leadership. Vin got books on history and true crime. And we both got a book to share (he gets credit for finding it, though) about toxic teachings in church culture that aren’t actually Biblical.
It’s not a full picture of either of us, but it’s a glimpse of this season. Also, it’s influenced by what the library offered: They had only two books by Dickens, three copies of Jane Austen, and zero (!) books by Wodehouse.
But I know what I like, regardless of whether or not the library carries it.
So in this sense, the place I’m in doesn’t really define (or reveal) who I am at the core of things. What this temporary space offers doesn’t define (or change) what I actually like.
At the core of things, I love British lit, and already own most of those books. I’m currently in a quilting phase but I am a yarn junkie at heart. I love the Church, and am usually much more focused on teaching what is true rather than debunking what is not.
So a snapshot can reflect parts of us but it doesn’t really show our full identity. In spite of the change of location and what is offered at the library, I still am who I am.
And this is true of our changing relationships and seasons in life, too.
Some seasons (and relationships) in our lives are like a library that only holds books on true crime or psychology. Other seasons (and relationships) are like libraries full of parenting books, picture books, and hacks on removing crayon masterpieces from walls. They’re snapshots that shift and influence us, but they skew the focus on certain directions that do not define us forever.
We age, and our circumstances change. Our abilities grow and diminish, and sometimes we do not know how to respond to those changes. The temporary space we’re in is so different, we’re not sure what our role is in it anymore.
My grandma is almost 94 and recently, her already not-so-great hearing is so much worse. Added to the loss of vision and memory over the last several years, much of her life has totally changed. She’s had to adjust, and so have those of us who love her.
We used to talk often, used to call back and forth. She was curious about our present, and she told me about her past. I told her about our days and asked her about hers. Now, though, there’s so much less to our conversations because this is the season we’re in.
A few months ago I had some questions about my birth (which she attended) and she couldn’t remember any details. Maybe six months earlier, she would have. And maybe next month, she will again. But for now there’s a gap in places she used to be able to fill with light, and lines, and color.
Nowadays I’m the only one who initiates our phone calls, and I don’t do it often enough. It’s hard to have a heartfelt conversation while yelling into the phone so the other person can hear you, yes? But I call her because I know at the core, she is still there, and she needs to know she’s loved and remembered. And also, I call because I need her voice, and she needs to remember mine even though the last few times she hasn’t recognized it and I’ve had to tell her it was me.
During our most recent chat she said she’s feeling well, no problems, that she has no reason to complain. Then she lowered her voice and said, “That doesn’t mean that I don’t, though” – and there she is, the woman I know, the sassy grandma who is never in trouble but likes people to think she could cause some if she wanted to.
She asks if anything is new here and I tell her I’ve been trying to learn Greek, but it takes a few tries before she understands. Then she asks if I’ll teach her a few words next time I come over, and I might, though currently the most creative thing I can say is “I need a ticket” (and by that, I mean one to the opera or something, not one for speeding, thanks). She asks how we’ve been staying busy these days but she can’t understand what I’m saying no matter how many times I repeat it. So she moves on to wisdom and advice.
“Stop and rest, that’ll give you more years. I used to go-go-go all the time, and now I go…go…and…go…”
She pauses, and then asks, “Do you have plans for the summer?” Hopefully this is a blip; she knows her birthday in early November is coming in a couple weeks.
But I don’t know how to answer. I’m having a hard time finding books I can read on these shelves; this is a song I don’t know how to sing.
These relationships change for all sorts of reasons: age, estrangement, boundaries, busyness, distance. We don’t always know how to relate in the new seasons. I don’t know where everything is anymore; so many things I love seem to be missing. The song has changed and I can’t just go along because I still don’t know this tune yet.
“Do you read at all?” Grandma asks. “Do you have time to read?” And this is a face full of cold water. Don’t you even know me anymore? I wonder. I know she knows. Knew. She was a reader, too, before macular degeneration became part of our vocabulary. What does she remember of me, of us, of our family? Deep down, hopefully everything. But on the surface, on the phone, very little.
It is just a season. It is not who she is, or who I am. Who she is, is the woman who led me to Jesus, who took me to church, who taught me that the Bible doesn’t always actually say the things we think it does.
She led worship when I was growing up. She taught all of the kids how to sing Jesus Loves Me and so many other songs. When I went to school in Anchorage, she and my dad would drive an hour to come to my choir concerts even though I never had solos and only sang harmony.
Do you know that the little girl in messy blond braids who you used to take to church every other weekend now teaches others about Jesus? Did you know that the seeds you planted over forty years ago bloomed into her full-time mission?
I can’t tell her that, yelling into the phone, her not hearing me.
But who taught me to sing Deep and Wide? She did.
There are so many songs we don’t know how to sing. Kids grow up and move out, and the tune changes. They learn new songs we’ve never heard and don’t know the lyrics to. They also learn songs they think we’re clueless about, even though we’ve been singing them for decades.
But in spite of changes, can we still remember who we are, and who they are? Regardless of how people treat us, or how they change, or how we change, or the ways the walls are different around us, can we still remember our core – who we are, who they are, Who we have surrendered to? Do we remember that we are the temple, and our hearts are the sacred place where worship is always occurring?
Because if we know that, then the temporary place we’re in doesn’t define (or redefine) us. When we know how music works, we don’t have to know the tune, or even the lyrics. We can sing harmony, instead.
I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry.
He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.Happy are those who make the Lord their trust.
– Psalm 40:1-4a
That person who distanced themselves and makes condescending judgments from their newly purchased high horse…can you see through their posturing? Can you recognize the voice that’s a touch louder than normal, and remember that it’s because they’re trying to convince themselves and others of things they don’t quite yet fully believe, and pray them toward integrity?
That one who needs healing, protection, wisdom, and maturity…can we love them through these changes, see past the braggadocio, and pray them through this season so they come out with fewer regrets on the other side of it?
That person who seems closed off and unreachable…can you see the heart that’s really there, the one that’s wounded and wary? The one that bottles up and then explodes because they still haven’t learned to recognize feelings and release pressure in healthy moderation? We can refuse to be cowed by the spiky exterior because the spikes aren’t about us, and we can press deeper than the shallow small talk, and risk baring a wound of our own that they might relate to.
What about that loved one who is singing away with everyone in their new crowd, seemingly reveling in how they’ve left you out? They’ve run hot and cold, and their song keeps changing mid-verse. You keep stumbling in, not sure what to do next. Should I hug them? Or will they bristle? Will they resent it if I don’t? I don’t know the words to this new song, they passed out the lyrics before I got here.
These are only glimpses of who they are. This temporary space they’re in does not define them, or us. We know who we are, whether or not we like the books on the shelves or the tune that others are singing.
And if you know music, you know what a rest is. You know that at certain times there’s an interval of silence when you’re not supposed to sing or play. Stopping and resting will give you more years, Grandma said.
So sometimes we need to stop for a while. You don’t have to share your song with someone who can’t stop criticizing your choice of music. We cannot have duets with people whose proximity is so corrosive you have to put a stop to it, but we can keep praying for their physical and emotional healing.
Beloved, do you know that we contend daily for your spiritual freedom, that you would encounter God and know His mighty love in every area of your life? Just because we stopped singing with someone doesn’t mean we lost our songs. They’re still there in the middle of you and me, wanting the best even for those who only seem to notice the worst.
But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him.
For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing: to the one group a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is qualified for these things? For we are not peddlers of God’s word like so many, but as persons of sincerity, as persons sent from God, we are speaking in Christ before God.
– 2 Corinthians 2:14-17
We know that the Lord does not change His tune. He doesn’t run hot and cold in affection and indifference, and pull the rug out from under us. We’re not His best friend one day, His punching bag the next, and then snubbed the following week.
He always wants our presence. He is always leading us in triumph, in wisdom, in joy, regardless of the people we’re around, the circumstances we’re dealing with, or the temporary spaces we’re in. This is how the music works.
But I trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord
because he has dealt bountifully with me.
– Psalm 13:5-6
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