Bits for Sunday, July 29, 2007

I used to babysit for a family who celebrated their children’s spiritual birthdays like any other real birthday. Complete with cake. I like the idea. And my own spiritual birthday (or the day I count as my spiritual birthday) is pretty easy to celebrate with not just cake –but all sorts of food. It happened sometime between 11:30 and midnight on New Year’s Eve when I was eleven. There’s all sorts of parties happening right at that time every year. But because it is such a significant day for me, I usually choose to ring in the new year with reflection. And food.

But if that is my spiritual birthday, then the last week in July must be more like an anniversary of some sort. It was during that week in 1996 that I made the transition from being a faith-moocher (stringing along behind my parents) to a faith-owner. I’ve written about it before. I was eighteen years old and two weeks into my first ever job outside of the babysitting enterprise. The assistant manager at the place where I worked, a twenty-one year old guy and the only friend I felt I had during business hours, took a week off work just to hang out and have fun. And on the first day of his summer vacation, the driver of a car didn’t see him on his motorcycle and he was gone.

And as I said before when I’ve written about it, that’s a tough spot for a girl who doesn’t know that her own time has come. Not her time to die – but her time to choose for herself Whom she would serve – and whether or not this faith stuff she said she believed really meant anything.

On July 25, 1996, I sat down on my white metal daybed in my bedroom and opened my book to Psalm 86. I found verses like Hear my prayer, O Lord; Listen to my cry for mercy. In the day of my trouble I will call to you for you will answer me…Turn to me and have mercy on me; grant your strength to your servant…Give me a sign of your goodness…and then I kept reading and ended up in Psalm 88. I found more verses – O Lord, the God who saves me, day and night I cry out before you. May my prayer come before you; turn your ear to my cry. For my soul is full of trouble…you have taken from me my closest friends…my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, O Lord, every day; I spread out my hands to you…But I cry to you for help, O Lord; in the morning my prayer comes before you…All day long they surround me like a flood; they have completely engulfed me. You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend.”
That night was the night I knew I really meant the “faith stuff.” If God could work out the details, starting months before when I had begun to read the Bible through, in such a way that I was ready for these verses on this night…if God could prove to me that someone else had felt this way first and that hope existed…then I would trust Him. I’d stay on the path.

I kind of wonder now if on that night, a little collection of angels in Heaven peeked over a cloud to see if some teenager in Greentown, Indiana, would pass the big faith test. I wonder if that same collection peeked over another cloud a few years later, almost to the day, when I was handed another test and this time, decided to try things my own way. Didn’t even realize at the time that I was in a test – but definitely thought I knew more than God. Bad move.

This week I was reflecting on both those “anniversaries.” I pulled off the shelf the study Bible I was using when Craig died, and I opened to the exact pages I’d read – found my notes in the margins and the pink highlighting over the words that spoke to me that night. And in the white space between the pink highlights, I found this verse: Is your love declared in the grave, your faithfulness in Destruction? (88:11). I’m sure that theologically, what I got out of the verse wasn’t exactly what the writer was intending, but here’s what I got…

Eleven years down the road, I can say that God absolutely loved me right through that tragedy. He started by sending two Psalms on a bitter evening and then He just kept right on moving. About a month after Craig’s death, I sat in the Burger King on a Thursday night before church (some things never change) and one of the college guys that worked there came out to take his break at my table while I ate dinner. His name was Randy. I have no idea what his last name was, but he was a really great guy who had worked there for a while. It wasn’t uncommon for him to take a break while my parents and I ate dinner, and he’d sit at the table across the aisle and we’d talk. That night I was there alone, but he still came out to sit with me. I have no memory of what we talked about that night – but I do remember laughing and then realizing that I was laughing for real. For the first time since Craig died, something brought a spark of joy to my life and I smiled and laughed sincerely. And that night, the dark load of grief left me. Randy must still live around here somewhere, because every now and then, I see him with his wife at Wal-Mart. I want to go up to him and say “Hey you probably don’t remember me, but I was a Burger King regular and one night God used you to do something big in my life.” But given my track record with Wal-Mart interactions, I just keep pushing my cart past him while inside thanking God for love and Psalms and Randy.

God was faithful to me in 1996, He was faithful a few years later despite my heart detour, and He’s still faithful now. This week, this “anniversary” week – has been a good one. God did it up right – He knows I love stuff like that. And while I don’t have any cake – I do have a big ole pan of brownies out in the kitchen. So I think I’ll go have one in celebration.