I don’t know what I was thinking. Mother’s Day was coming up and I wanted to get something really special for Carol, my wonderful bride of only a few years. And now a Mom, with our first little girl. Housework was a big part of her life, her lot in life, you might say. And she often mentioned how poorly the vacuum cleaner was working. So I decided that it was the perfect opportunity. An opportunity to show her the magnitude of my love. Not just something ordinary and mundane. Not something that would wilt and be thrown out onto the compost pile in a week or two. Not some chocolates that would soon be eaten up and have nothing left to remind her of my nice, loving gift. Instead, a new vacuum cleaner. Besides, I could kill two birds with one stone, turning a necessary purchase into a “gift”.
I was sure she would be elated. Her work would be made easier. Her wonderful husband splurging to get her this fine piece of machinery. I could hardly wait until Sunday to give it to her.
Surprise! Oh, not hers, but my own surprise. Dismay. She wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I had anticipated. In fact, there was not even a smile, not even a smirky little fake smile. No big hearted gratitude. Merely a curt, obligatory thank you. I still didn’t get it. Not until a few days later when she had the courage to explain to me how she felt. A vacuum cleaner, as a gift, meant to her that my love was conditioned upon her worth as a housekeeper. There was no love or romance expressed in receiving a vacuum cleaner.
I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got her some belated flowers, or candy, or something. But it wasn’t the same. The damage was done.
Carol is not even my mom. But she is the mother of my children. An incredible mother, I might add. So now I try to give her a gift expressive of my true love. Flowers, for one. My son Jon always gives her flowers, too. He didn’t learn it from me. He’s smarter than his Dad. Not just flowers or chocolates, though, but also a card. Always a card that says, “Love always!”
In the children’s book, Sidney and Norman, by Phil Vischer, two pigs are invited to Elm Street for a meeting with God. The one pig, who is neat, fastidious, and highly disciplined is told by God, “I love you. But you must stop being so critical of everyone else who can’t perform like you do.” The other pig is ashamed to meet God, but musters up courage and overcomes his fear. And this is what God had to say to him. “First of all, I want to tell you that I love you. Secondly, I want to tell you again, I love you. And thirdly," after a long pause, "I love you.”
There is power in love. And vacuum cleaners, I now know, have nothing to do with love!
By love alone God changes our hearts. He told me that one time, and I believe it.
May 7, 2010
May 1, 2010
Grand Canyon
There’s nothing like it. The grandeur, the majesty, the panorama, the colors of the Grand Canyon. Unless, that is, you decide to hike down to the bottom instead of just stand on the rim and take it all in. And that’s exactly what we decided to do.
“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.
We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.
When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.
Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.
We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)
“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.
We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.
When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.
Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.
We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)
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