Friday, March 26, 2010
Look! Behind you!
I grew up on the largest lake in Minnesota – Lake of the Woods. I mean, excepting Lake Superior. Okay? I KNEW that. It’s on the Canadian border. Every spring something or someone goes through the ice. Our son, Jerem, lives up there with his family and he keeps me posted, as this is of great interest to me. This week he sent this which happened six miles out from shore. (These are my people.) I admit I’ve watched it about ten times. And laughed. Not in a mean-spirited way, but as from someone who dumped a polenta on the floor last night, and recognizes I’m one who in no way should be trusted to drive or fish on ice. Maybe shouldn’t be let in the kitchen, either. Or even use my computer as in, a couple days ago while trying to download a weather program (I LOVE weather) I copied all my applications twice, so now I have three of everything and thought: DRAG the extras to the TRASH. Yes. And in doing so found I had no applications whatsoever. Now luckily, clever me, I dragged them back out. And I think everything will be okay, but mymacman will see to it. But this poor guy, Chris, the owner of the vehicle, wasn’t so lucky. Even though another truck and a bombardier tried to drag him out, it was too late. One less Silverado to drive over the pressure ridge on Lake of the Woods!
There’ve been more sorrows around here (according to my reckoning) than I have time to cry for. Many of them belong to other’s lives, not our own. But then there was a text message recently, from a friend who’s way sweeter than most, well, at least than I - and she always begins “Dearest Margie,” as if there’s no price on texting, and this one she ended with “Isaiah 35.” So, not remembering it exactly I looked it up. It’s a good, good chapter. It reminds us that one day we’re going to look behind us to see “sorrow and sighing flee away,” and “gladness and joy” running us down and finally overtaking us. I could stand that.
Meantime, I look at this pickup (not the same one as in the video) thinking some sorrows are stinkin’ and sure make you glad they’re not your own or at least cause you to evaluate your car insurance. And other sorrows we’re just meant to bear with others, because it’s part of what we do, carry the weight to the cross. It’s like a down-payment on their joy. Some day we’ll get to share theirs with them, maybe even get to eat some of their best chocolate, drink their finest wine. We, some day, might even get the truck back. We’ll see about that.