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Resting, Reading, Waiting, Worrying, and Working: A Few Untold Stories

Resting, Reading, Waiting, Worrying, and Working: A Few Untold Stories

Last updated on: April 25, 2017 at 6:40 am by Brenda Renee Coats

Resting, Reading, Waiting, Worrying, and Working: A Few Untold Stories 2017-04-25T06:05:16-07:00 Brenda Renee Coats

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Wasn’t it Maya Angelou who said there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story? And could an “untold story” be the same as a Facebook status never shared? Because since I’ve been trying to restrict my Facebook usage, I’ve got a bunch of statuses, aka micro stories, all collecting in my head, creating cerebral edema.

Well, that’s dramatic. But you know what I’m saying. My head feels big with words and stuff I want to say, and it’s all because of my self-inflicted Face A Book Challenge. So here’s that stuff:

1. Between some rain and a hard working farm boy, Orchard House is looking like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine (snort!). But seriously, while it’s amazing how many weeds, sticks, leaves, and other junk get scattered around the property, it’s equally amazing how much one young, strong man can accomplish in an afternoon. Me? I’m like, Look at me go! I weeded a 3×5 flower bed in an entire afternoon!

It’s been an especially windy Spring, so that accounts for some of the junk that’s been scattered around the property. I’m guessing people account for messes such as toys, used paper plates, empty plastic Easter eggs, gooey Marshmallows stomped in the dirt surrounding the fire pit, etc. On a normal week, we typically host the kids and grandkids a few times, which is exactly like hosting an army (numbers wise – and maybe volume wise, not that I’m complaining). Then there’s the farm boy, constantly running in and out of the house, tracking in sandy dirt, leaves, grass clippings, and an empty stomach. My Mom has been on dishwasher duty for weeks now. We laugh because as soon as she finally gets everything washed and put away, it’s time for me to do some more cooking. “You wash ’em, I dirty ’em” has been my mantra. It’s not uncommon for me to say “Oh, you just got finished washing? Must be time to brew some carrot juice.”

Juicing is a real mess maker. But the scrawny horse next door appreciates the peelings and I appreciate the juice, since we are both trying to buff up a bit.

We’ve got four people living on different eating schedules, and not all are on the same diet. Then there’s the extended family meals I’ve already mentioned. So my teensie country kitchen is in constant disarray. I’m probably cursed with kitchen chaos because of wicked deeds I committed in a previous life. Maybe I was a snake with a Kaa-like instincts, guilty of squeezing cute, vulnerable, jungle children raised by apes until they’re on the brink of death. And now, in this life, I’ve been assigned to feeding people, instead of feeding on people.

Of course, the doctrine of reincarnation is often used as a joke because it is a joke (Gen. 1-2), and the truth is that I’ve simply been assigned by God the crazy task of serving my little army chuckwagons of food I can’t eat.

Elisabeth Elliot always says that it is in the acceptance of what is given that God gives Himself. That works both ways in this scenario. I cook for others, even though I can’t eat it because of chronic stomach issues, and God gives Himself as I accept the job and obey. And those I cook for accept the task of eating what I’ve cooked, while true wisdom says that you never eat something the cook won’t eat. I assume God gives Himself to them in their eating. But I can’t help but think He is giving His funny bone.

2. Speaking of the jungle, did you hear about the little Mowgli girl? The first claims stated she had been living in the jungle for who knows how long, and was being raised by monkeys. Now they think she was abandoned by her parents, perhaps because she was handicapped. Perhaps because she was a girl. Perhaps both. I’m encouraged to hear she is learning some basic life skills, like how to eat and use the restroom. But I can’t imagine what the rest of her life will be like. As with every orphan story I hear about, my heart feels all messed up, like it’s in an uncomfortable twisty knot of compassion. If I could remedy one hurt in the world, I’d choose orphanhood. Since I don’t have that option, I’ll just continue to sob and hurt until Jesus comes.

3. Back to that whole Face A Book Challenge I mentioned at the beginning of this post. I’ve failed to let you know how the challenge is going. I can’t say I’ve done copious amounts of Facing A Book like I wanted to, but I can say I feel much more in control of Facebook and my phone in general, rather than the phone being in control of me (which was the whole point). I routinely set my #1 idol down throughout the day and completely ignore it for an hour here, a half hour there, or even an afternoon or evening. If I set it down for an evening, I always pick it back up before I go to bed. This is in case someone was bleeding and I was supposed to know about it. Or in case someone blew a tire on the freeway and needed a ride. Stuff like that. Oh, and to play Scramble, the only game I’m consistently able to win against my children. Dan (my son-in-law) wins occasionally, but I think his wins are accidental, even though I can’t articulate what I mean by that. I just like to think that I’m always the winner unless an accident occurs.

On a more serious note, I typically have one or two Elisabeth Elliot books that I am reading. Many of her books are basically a compilation of blogs, and her wisdom is so rich, I often find myself picking up her books, reading a “blog”, and going to bed in prayer about what I read. She’s probably the most convicting author besides the Apostle Paul and the Psalmist, and I find that if I keep focused on the Word and supplement it with some Elliot, my mind isn’t so muddled with thoughts about myself and all the poor things I suffer.

The other day, however, I stepped out of my routine and began reading a book on being a pastor’s wife. Not sure what gave me the idea to read it except I was just shocked to find that someone broached the subject. There’s not a lot of Biblical instruction on being a pastor’s wife, and I suspect that’s because being a pastor’s wife, in many ways, is just like being anybody’s wife. What applies to a grocer’s wife applies to a pastor’s wife, for instance. And yet! The two ends of the spectrum I typically hear in discussions about it are:

A pastor’s wife is just the wife of a pastor! (Nothing fancy. Just ordinary. And this is meant of free the PW to be herself.)

And in the next breath:

The calling of a pastor’s wife is special and significant, and she will have unique challenges and duties.

Errr … which is it? When I was a pastor’s wife, was I ordinary, or were there special qualifications and duties, expectations and challenges? I think I know the answer, but I don’t think anyone, as far as I know, has articulated too well on this subject. So for now, I’ve closed the book, as it was serving only to frustrate me. The first few chapters in, I thought, Okay, so when I was pastor’s wife-ing, I wasn’t doing such a bad job after all, as I had feared. And then in reading the next four chapters, I thought, You were pretty much the worst pastor’s wife to ever walk planet earth.

Sigh. I’m actually not called to be a pastor’s wife right this minute, and maybe not ever again, depending on what God’s plans are, depending on my health, depending on a lot of things. So I’m not going to burden myself or my husband with trying to figure out how to be the best of something I’m not currently called to be. If the time comes to figure it out, I’ll hurt my brain and my feelings trying to do so. Right now, aren’t I supposed to be resting?

4. The struggle to rest is real. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to say this, but I’ll say it anyway: it’s hard work to rest. So much of it is a mental and spiritual exercise. It entails silencing the mind, letting go of concerns, frustrations, everything that befuddles.. It’s a laying down of worries and unnecessary hurries. What it’s not is a lackadaisical approach to life. You still get up in the morning. You still work as much as the body will allow. It’s working while you’re waiting, and much of the work turns out to be working against worry.

Those that wait on the Lord, we are promised, will renew their strength. They will mount up with wings as eagles. The will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint. (Is. 40:31)

Have you ever asked yourself why so much activity goes on with the waiting? Typically, when I’m in a waiting room, I’m sitting, doing nothing or near nothing, because I suppose imitating a majestic bird in the doctor’s office would not be seen as copacetic. Or sane. And when I’m waiting for a ride to pick me up (usually on the corner of Ross or Marshall’s), I’m staring off into space, counting clouds or some other brainless, motionless “task.” I never say, “I’ll meet you on the corner, and I’ll be the one flying like an eagle. Or taking a jog. Or walking.” But waiting for a ride and waiting on the Lord are not the same. Waiting on God means remaining faithful in what He’s given you to do (and Godspeed determining what that is), while waiting on Him to change what you feel He should change. It’s doing all of that, while keeping in mind He may never change anything you are bereaved about until eternity, but knowing without a doubt that He will change it. That all will be made right someday. It’s an exercise of faith, mostly. Patience, too. And in exercising that faith and patience, God gives us strength to fly, run, and walk without weariness. Without fainting.

Fainting reminds me of another story, but I’ve overspent my word count. So we’ll continue this Thursday. Meanwhile, hop on over to The Doxology Project. Brad Roth really knows how to weave the realities of nature and Biblical wisdom into his blogs. He’s a bit Wendell Berry-esque. But not really. But kind of.

Until Thursday … toodle-oo.

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