Numbering my days

Today is my birthday and I'm taking stock of some numbers.

I've been a daughter and a sister for 55 years.
I've been a member of the family of God for 50 years.
I've been a mother for 26 years.
I was a wife for 29 years.
I've been a widow for 8 months.

I've lived in 9 houses, 5 apartments, and 3 dorm rooms, 7 cities and 4 states.
I've had 3 jobs as a speech pathologist, 4 seminary jobs, 3 jobs at FBNO, and a number of miscellaneous jobs. I've been a distributor for 4 different direct sales companies.
I attended 1 preschool, 3 elementary schools, 1 middle school, 1 high school and 4 institutions of higher learning.
I've been a member of 8 local churches, and attended 1 that had a mailing list instead of membership.
I've driven 10 cars that I've called my own.
I've totaled one car in an accident, another in an explosion and another rusted through to the point that I could see the street beneath my feet when I was driving.

I've received God's new mercies for a total of 20,090 mornings in my lifetime.
For the last 249 of those mornings, I've received a daily reminder of those mercies via text message.

The way these days have played out is nothing like what I had planned.

But even though I've sometimes been surprised, taken unawares, shocked, and even devastated -- not one of my days, hours or moments has caught my Lord and my Savior by surprise.

 "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be"

 Psalm139:16.

He knows.
And he cares.
And he does not forget me.
He doesn't grow tired of my sorrow.
When I sleep, and when I don't sleep, he's there for me.

"How precious to me are your thoughts, God!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

They would outnumber the grains of sand --

When I awake, I am still with you"

Psalm 139:17-18

I don't always number my days. I only did it today because it's my birthday. But I don't have to. God has them numbered. God  has thoughtfully planned each and everyone of them. He has my back. He has all of me. He hems me in before and behind, and he's got me covered.

This is comforting to me. It gives me courage to get out of bed in the morning and face my day.

Umbrellas, Eucalyptus and New Songs

I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry.

He drew me up from the pit of destruction, 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 (Psalm 40:1-3).

The door wouldn't close. I tried several times before I noticed that an umbrella in the umbrella stand had tipped over and the handle was blocking the door. I nudged it out of the way, and all was well. It was an easy fix.

But my mind flashed back 30 years to when John and I were setting up house together for the first time. To another new year. To another item placed in just that same spot -- the eight inches of space next to the door. 

I've had a lot of those flashbacks this week.

Callie and Trey and I are moving into 4065 Dement Street, Apartment 8.

Thirty years ago, when John and I started out, it was at 4065 Lipsey Street, Apartment 8.

Twenty years ago, when our family of four sought refuge at the seminary, we found it at 4070 Lipsey Street, Apartment 8.

It seems that God keeps starting me over in almost the exact same seminary apartment -- this 2 bed-1 bath floor plan with a balcony. Apartment 8.

This time around, the balcony overlooks Leavell Chapel -- where John and I attended each other's graduation from seminary, worshipped together on many occasions, and where we held John's memorial service four months ago.

I'm an all-senses kind of person, and in this particular apartment, God is using sight, sound, smell, touch and even taste to recall memories, bring healing and restore my soul. 

This particular memory was of another time when the door wouldn't close.  The offending object back then was a bundle of eucalyptus that I thought added a lovely aroma to our new home. It was a good idea, but putting it right by the door was a bad one. It drove John crazy every time he came in or out of the apartment. One week, when I was out of town, he lost patience with it and tossed it in the garbage. It seems like a much smaller thing to me now than it did back then. Smaller, yet bigger.

Knowing what to toss, what to keep and what to fix seems to be a big part of surviving and even thriving through life's transitions. It's hard. Sometimes we toss what we should keep. Sometimes we keep what we should toss. And we don't always examine, think about, and talk through what could be fixed with a little patient effort.

It's a new year, and the God who has heard the cries of 2015 has lifted me out of the miry clay. My feet don't always feel too steady, but if I listen and follow his directions, he is making my steps secure. 

And there is a new song each day. Sometimes it's a lament. Sometimes it's a song about grace or courage or healing or rest. The other day I found myself resonating with a sort of heavy metal rant. Sometimes it's an old song sung with new insight or perspective. But just about always, no matter how it starts out, the song turns to praise. God puts the song in my mouth and he receives it back as an offering -- a sacrifice of worship.

Any song sung to the Most High God, who is worthy of honor and glory and worship, eventually turns to praise. Don't take my word for it. Read the Psalms.

So 2016 holds a new home, a new life, a new story, and a new song. It also holds some old friends, old memories, and old pain. As I pray through what to hold on to and what to let go of, the main question I ask is, "Does this fit with the new song?" If it doesn't fit, "Can it be fixed?" If it doesn't fit, and it can't be or just isn't worth being fixed, altered, or turned -- it needs to be tossed.

Some of the tossing is happening now. But some of it, I confess, is going to have to happen later. I have a storage unit. I'm wrestling with that.

I'm not tossing the umbrella stand or the umbrellas. I may move them away from the door, though.

And I don't have to rely on dusty, cumbersome bunches of eucalyptus anymore for that lovely aroma in my home. I have plenty of essential oils for that.

Happy New Year. Hope you had your black-eyed peas, cornbread and cabbage. We did.