School started in our area this week. It’s been awhile since I attended school. Officially, decades. As for learning, I’m still curious and teachable. I hope. Although, sometimes strength masks as a know-it-all-stubbornness in me. Like one of my collection of coasters reads: “Sorry!!! I don’t take orders, I barely take suggestions.”
Still, I try to listen and learn. Like yesterday when I had breakfast with Kris, my daughter’s best friend. She grew into an amazing physician, who happens to like old people. Like Heather, my daughter. Both learned a lot during their teen years working at Blueberry Hill nursing home. Which bodes well for me, since I grew up to be old.
Kris and I talked about books, kids, work and Church. Eventually, she asked questions about my health. Left me feeling loved and cared for. Role reversals. Sort of a sacred switcharoo. It’s a form of staying in school for me. Learning to lean on, trust and flex.
Which, thanks to Chad, is why I’m flying tomorrow to North Carolina to see the southern branch of my family. I don’t do last minute well. But, Chad nudged me, did the work to make it happen. I needed that, since I miss my brother Ralph, Chris and family. The pandemic came between us. Nothing else. Remembering helps. You know how some of the best stories begin with, “Remember when…?” And we do remember stories told to, about and now by us to the next generation.
Not surprising, that was God’s idea first. Tell the stories to the children so they learn what God did . And so they and we remember and learn to pay attention to what God’s doing now. Also, we’re to tell the stories that didn’t end well. Like the ones with conseqences. But tell the redemptive stories. We all have both.
And that’s one reason I love and need Church. It’s Sunday school. Helps me bend, stay teachable, connected, accountable. Every Sunday we’re invited to haul our sorry stories to the One who knows how to redeem them. We confess our need of forgiveness and mercy. Then, cup our hands to receive more than bread. And drink in more than wine. We remember God’s love, faithfulnes and trust God’s holy editing of our stories. And an ending we could never dream up on our best days.
Which amazes me for the umpteenth time.
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