Goose poop and grace

There are geese in the little pond behind my house. The number varies, anywhere from three to a whole bunch. My first thought when I saw the geese was . . . poop. Face it, geese poop. A lot. And my little white dog loves to roll in it, which makes him become my little white-and-goose-poop-green dog. So, when I first saw the geese, all I could think about was how much I dreaded the poop.

It turns out that the geese are great fun. A solitary goose paddling in the pond makes it a much more interesting pond to watch. When we sit on our deck and watch the sunset, the geese will sometimes fly low over our house. That makes my dog bark, the same way that a bunch of geese honking makes him bark. Since he’s an only dog, I’m glad that he has the opportunity to bark another species from time to time. The other night at sunset, about twenty geese marched single file in a long line through the neighbor’s yard, presumably off to tuck into bed. I thought that was a good idea and marched myself off to bed before long.

Often, something that I dread will turn out to be something that brings unexpected joy to my life. A mandatory grocery store run enables me to see a beautiful sky as I am driving. A pastoral call when I’m tired and ready for home becomes one of those moments where I receive much more than I give. And, yes, geese in my little pond. There's some poop, true, but mainly I know once again that unexpected blessings abound . . .

Phone Number

Friday was my first true “day off” in my new home. I had fun doing some arranging and decorating, which is a huge step up from the utilitarian unpacking of the past week and a half. I still don’t know where everything is, but the stuff I have found is mostly where I want it to be.

There was only one problem. It’s been happening regularly since we got our telephone hooked up. Apparently, our brand-spanking-new telephone number belonged to someone else not very long ago. And they are getting calls, lots of calls. Many of their friends and family members are looking for them, in addition to the a/c repair guy, who finally has the part they ordered.

I’m sorry I’m not of much help in this situation. I don’t know how to find the people who used to have this phone number, all I know is that I am not them. I actually find myself vaguely worried about these folks. What is going on in their world that their friends don’t know how to find them? Did some financial crisis cause them to lose their telephone service? Did they ever get their air conditioner working?

Even though I don’t know who had this number, though, I’m not really that worried. All of the things that I don’t know are known by the God who made each of us. At the risk of sounding preacher-cheesy, God’s got my number, and God’s surely got theirs---

The Letters

Last week, I mentioned that the only mail that had followed me to my new home so far was bulk mail. Magazines. I wondered where my “real” mail was. It turns out that the bills followed soon enough.

Two different couples took the time, however, to send me personally addressed notes. They shared the sentiment that they wanted there to be more in my mailbox than magazines, bills, and junkmail. In this era of email, getting a genuine handwritten note in the US Mail is quite a noteworthy event. (“Noteworthy.” Get it???) And both of those handwritten notes brought a smile to my face. I am so thankful for people whose thoughtfulness at unexpected times can change a whole day.

I always feel faintly guilty when I am the recipient of such undeserved niceness, though. I try to remember the last time that I did something like that for someone else, and, usually, I get stuck. Instead, I work on resolving to be extra-attentive and do something nice for someone in the future. Sometimes it works. For awhile. I try, I really try, but my hopes are often bigger than my reality.

For today, I will set aside the guilt and the false aspirations. I will simply live in this moment and be thankful for the goodness of others. Two different couples on two different days made a difference in my world by writing a letter, sticking a stamp on it, and mailing it to my new home address. God is surely good, and these friends have reminded me of it. Thank you.

Home

Home. When does a house start to feel like home? Last night, I was on a semi-maniacal mission to clear the living room, kitchen, and master bedroom of boxes before bed. Even though it was only our second night in the house, I wanted to wake up to some box-free zones. It helped, it really did. Until I walked into the garage. Or downstairs.

It’s not just the corrugated cardboard that is getting to me. I want this lovely house to start feeling like my home. It still feels like I am a visitor. The kitchen is different, the appliances are all different, even the views are different. The walls are still mostly bare, and I haven’t dug through enough boxes to find the family pictures. This house will make a lovely home, it just isn’t quite my home yet.

And so we’ll just keep unpacking and settling in. We’ll get to know the quirks of the house. The stuff of our lives will begin to accumulate around us. One morning, I will wake up and think how good it is to be home.

As I work with new members to my church, it seems like the same issues exist. Newcomers don’t know their way around the various groups and activities of the church. The worship service may be different than their previous experience. Finding the restrooms or finding a group to eat with after the service can both pose challenges. With time, church becomes home, but it isn’t always easy.
The main doors to the church say, in huge letters, “Welcome Home.” I pray that God’s house feels like home to those who come through those doors.

The Truck is Full, We're Done

Yes, we moved out of our house on the hottest day of the year. And, yes, apparently we have a lot of stuff. Not only do we have furniture for a family of 5, we also are now accumulating some things for two of our newly-apartment-dwelling children. We have also, however, been giving away a lot of things, big and small, in preparation of this move.

We were not prepared for what the movers told us at about 5:30 p.m. “The truck is full, we’re done and leaving.” Umm, but what about the things that are still in my house? Apparently, the guy who came and looked to make an estimation of our move underestimated our needs. At the end of a miserably hot day, the movers weren’t going to fix the estimator’s mistake. Apparently, these movers only move as much as they want, not as much as is actually there.

What could have been a huge crisis became an experience in grace. A couple from my church had arrived with a trailer to move some of our boxes that couldn’t withstand sitting all weekend in astronomical heat. They had generously offered to park their trailer in their garage, out of the heat. As the moving van pulled away, they allowed us to load the leftovers in this trailer. Between their trailer and our cars, we were able to vacate our house as scheduled.

I love it when something that could have become an incapacitating problem becomes a way for grace to abound. I will definitely be having a conversation with our movers (after they have safely unloaded our possessions) about their actions- and inactions- yesterday. However, what I will most remember is Nancy and Brian and their willingness to lug our stuff around and thereby care for us. God’s love shows up in the most unexpected ways. Isn’t that just like God?