Makin' Cookies & Movin' Caskets...
I've just spent the last 25 minutes watching Him make another sunrise, (can He cook or can He cook?!), and now find myself in The Reading Room. The daily offering from "My Utmost for His Highest" talks about being known by Him and the flip side of that, Him being known by me.
Okay. Makes sense.
Exiting The Reading Room, I take a sharp left and enter The Kitchen.
I grab a cup of The Elixir of Knowledge and plod into the Dining/Living/Family/Computer Room where I sink into The Chair. The first swig floats the aforementioned daily offering up where my mind's eye can view it again. The second swig starts to apply said offering to my life which, like the application of sermon notes on a Tuesday morning, makes me kinda uncomfortable.
Being known by Him. Him being known by me.
I know about Him. I even visit Him on a daily basis. OK. Five minutes isn't real long, but still that's all I can usually squeeze in.
Another swig washes away the veneer from that last thought.
Yeah. Knowing about someone is not knowing someone. Reading about Australia isn't like getting a sunburn in the Outback...or having shrimp on the barbie...or racing a kangaroo...if folks do that.
I s'pose it means being more of a Mary and less of a Martha.
I wander back into The Kitchen for a refill of The Elixir. I sip it as I watch a hummingbird working on a refill at the feeder. My mind suddenly takes a sweeping exit ramp off "The Mary and Martha" highway to hurtle onto a road less-traveled with the road sign of"Cookies and Coffins".
I doubt Robert Frost has ever been down this one.
It has to do with two remembered stories. And they just might be true.
The first is about the Taj Mahal. The emperor, Shah Jahan, (not a Star Trek character), loved his wife so much that he made a monument to show the world the depth of his love. The project, however, took on a life of its own, taking over 20 years to complete, covering 42 acres, and costing over $800 million (or over 52 million rupees...if you're curious...or not).
The story goes that the Shah, now years into the project, was talking with his architects when he stumbled over a large box. Angrily, he told workers to move it out of the building.
The large box was his wife's coffin - the reason for the project.
The other story was heard over coffee in-between Sunday School and Church a few years back. It goes like this...
The Husband has been bed-ridden for weeks. The doctor's opinion is that he'll never get out of bed again. The end is near. Days pass as the man drifts in and out of conciousness. One day, the smell of oatmeal-raisin cookies, his favorite, wafts up the stairs into his room.
The aroma nudges him awake and gently pulls him out of bed. He creeps down the hall, the delicious smell calling him. Carefully, cautiously, he goes down the stairs to shuffle slowly into a kitchen he hasn't seen in months.
There on the table are racks of golden-brown cookies. He smiles as he weakly reaches for one...and yelps in pain as the wooden spoon smacks his hand away.
He looks into the angry face of The Wife as she waves the spoon at him.
"Leave 'em alone, Harold! They're for the funeral!"
We can get so fixated on the doing we can miss the being.
Workin' hard. Stayin' busy. All for a good reason...but missing the point.
Like the guy who works 24/7 to provide the best for his family. But he doesn't know his kids' or his wife's pizza preferences. Or their favorite colors. Or their best dreams and deepest fears.
Kinda like Martha.
And kinda like me.
No matter what the consequences, I need to know Him better. No matter where it may take me. Whether it's in a boat or out walking on waves.
And that goes for my family, too.
I just hope The Wife's pizza preference doesn't include anchovies.