Listening to the Voice of Our Clock

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

A soothing sound with a dependable cadence creates a stabilizing backdrop to the vibrant life pulsating throughout our home. Our 45th wedding anniversary approaches, and I give fresh thought to this anniversary gift Larry and I gave each other when we lived in Germany’s Black Forest. With a certificate of authenticity attached to its back, our clock is destined to be an heirloom.

The wooden timepiece first christened a wall when all three children still resided at home. From its place of prominence, the clock reminded us it was time to attend graduation of our firstborn, time to leave for the airport for her to attend university, and then, time for her to come home for that first visit at Christmas.

Later, the clock played its role in letting us know it was time for our family to move from Germany and relocate into the geography of Eastern Europe. The time had come for us to pack up and pull away from an idyllic rural setting with Wanderweg’s, apple orchards, and pastoral hillsides to follow the will of God and the call of God on our lives.

Mounted on the wall of our living room in Budapest, our clock marked the hour for our family’s Sunday Afternoon Tea, the sacrosanct time in our week to stop, savor our relationships, enjoy conversation with each other, and read aloud from a classic. The ticking in the background gave us the sense of “all is well.”  

True to its calling, our clock marked the time for more graduation ceremonies, more trips to the airport, and more good-byes as our next two left for university placing an ocean between us. The clock waited for Larry and me to return and to strike the hour beginning our empty nest. 

Sometimes the gentle rhythm of our faithful friend offered the only sound in this home which once bustled with boisterous laughter, and with voices calling out on the stairway, asking what to wear, what’s for dinner, or who’s joining us for dinner? At acute times of loneliness, Larry and I were grateful for the clock’s comforting balm; it supplied a quiet melody in what would have otherwise been a painfully silent set of empty walls.

Then, still marking the seasons of our family’s journey, this clock struck the hour for our young adults to return home with a special ‘someone’ for us to meet. The time was nigh for them to begin their own homes, to hang their own clocks, and to start their own families.

Today, this faithful friend graces yet another home, and furnishes intrigue for this next generation. With grandchildren snuggled in our arms, we wind its gears, we gaze upon its pendulum, we smile and listen to its chimes. 

I treasure this possession. Standing like a sentinel in one address after another, our clock has announced celebrations, relocations, transitions, holidays, lonliness, and growth. In an odd sort of way, this clock has functioned as a heartbeat, going with us in our multiple moves and making home happen wherever we lived. More than a just keeper of minutes and hours, it has been a steady voice reminding us:

Time never stands still. 

Life moves on.

Relationships remain our greatest joy.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart... 

(Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Teach us to number our days carefully, so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts.

(Psalm 90: 1 HCSB).

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

Living With Eternal Intentionality™

What is one lesson time has taught you?

How are you redeeming the time as you move forward in life?

Feeling Like a Failure

Pulling back the Iron Curtain to view real life behind that Iron Curtain...

[Part One: The Night the Vice President Came to Dinner]

Part Two: An interlude into the account 

Upon entering our home, Mr. Vice President interacted with our three pajama-clad children, and I busied myself putting his lovely bouquet of roses into a vase. Having the entire focus of such a kind man seemed to bring out the best in our munchkins. He held their rapt attention and spoke of his own three children, their dogs, their home in a distant land, and a recent opportunity—of all things—to go scuba diving.

Before the younger Thompsons said goodnight, we invited our dignified guest to read their bedtime devotional to them. This request did not exist in isolation, rather, it stood as a tradition in our family. Living a dual life as undercover missionaries in a Communist nation required us to use our home as command central for most of our clandestine activities. Thus, many of God’s choicest saints walked through our front door, and we believed their influence was a blessing to be harnessed. Typically, we invited the guest to read the Bible and pray with our little people before they shuffled off to bed.

This particular evening fit with our pattern, and Mr. Vice President gladly engaged. While reading the story, he also, simply, clearly and warmly, shared the Gospel, the message of salvation. After prayer, I led them upstairs and tucked each into bed, two in one room, and the oldest in another.  

On this night, I wasted no time in the routine. Hug, hug, kiss, kiss, sweet dreams, sleep tight, night, night. I pulled the door closed behind me, and blithely descended the stairs. Children in bed…guest in living room…Debby in kitchen. All is well.

But not for long.

In Part One, you recall, my entire meal ended up in the garbage. And, between entrée number one and entrée number two of the ghastly concoction, I nervously made an appearance in the living room to assure the pair of gentlemen, my husband, and Mr. Vice President, that all was well.

Now, upon leaving the living room, and before returning to the crisis in the kitchen, I thought it wise to check in on the sleeping angels upstairs.

Oh, my word. Nothing could have prepared me for the naughty behavior playing out behind the door of that bedroom where two of our three children slept. No, the two were not under their covers; they were not even in their bunk beds. Who knows how long they had been at their mischief. 

In partnership, using a small tea strainer, my offspring were having a jolly good time with their own version of "go fishing" as they—one by one—lifted their fish out of the aquarium to study their anatomy. With water around them on the floor, these two were a colossal mess. Yes, they were small children, but they knew better.

Whoa! My circumstances were rolling over me, and I had no plan for backup. Downstairs an international guest sat in my living room waiting for a home cooked meal, which was now tossed out. And Upstairs I had two wet, naughty children standing wide-eyed with a mess of dead fish around them.

Compartmentalizing my horror, I placed motherhood on hold and shoved them back into bed with a promise to deal with this, and with them, in the morning. I closed the door, left the Crisis Upstairs and returned to the Crisis Downstairs.

Tiptoeing past the living room door, too traumatized to go in, I reentered the kitchen, the scene of the original Crisis. Feeling like a failure as a hostess (for good reason), and feeling like a failure as a mother (for good reason), I took a deep breath, and looked at the communist clock on the wall. This was the 1980’s behind the Iron Curtain, and there was no such thing as takeout pizza, or for that matter, takeout anything.

I begged God for composure just to keep going. “Lord help me,” was my fervent and genuine prayer. The angel of the Lord camps around those who fear him, and he delivers them (Psalm 34:7). The Word of God and the Spirit of God worked overtime on my behalf in the kitchen, and as you know from Part One, the evening eventually came to an end.

At least the rice was good.

[Part Three to follow.]

What Is Your Epithet?

Have you given much thought to your epithet?

Ours is a performance oriented, pressure driven world. Do you agree? Calendars, schedules, appointments, commitments, parties, play-off's all compete for focus and rudely crowd out peace.

I recall a particular season of high-octane life where enough was absolutely never enough—not enough hours in a day, not enough days in a week, not enough weeks in a month. Before one meeting ended, the next began. Before the suitcase was unpacked from one journey, I was off on the next. My calendar’s appetite seemed insatiable. You get the picture. This relentless urgency showed no mercy.

Taking my exhaustion and bewilderment to the Lord, I discovered an oasis in Mark 14:8a. She did what she could. Did I read that correctly? She did what she could.

The Voice of Grace penetrated my thinking and permeated my soul with a Word of supernatural refreshment.

She did what she could. Acceptance

She did what she could. Approval

She did what she could. Affirmation

Pleasing the Savior is the supreme priority for any woman; worshipping Him is the ultimate activity for any century and culture.

Wow! What a relief…I want this to be my epithet. She did what she could.

Living With Eternal Intentionality™

How would you like your epithet to read?