Hamsters and Sweaters and All Our Earthly Things

My husband used my youngest in a sermon illustration on Sunday.  This isn't abnormal, especially since Lily lends herself quite well to illustrations, mostly because, well, she's Lily.  What was abnormal was that she knew about it.  Lily usually sits with friends because of our various responsibilities Sunday mornings, and she typically leaves for children's church during the sermons.  So, I was surprised when she walked up to her father immediately following the service with her finger pointing and words of reprimand rolling off her tongue.

After listening to her tantrum (i.e., "Why would you tell everyone that I might burn the house down?!" and "This is the worst day of my life..." etc, etc), my husband assured her that he wouldn't use her in sermon illustrations anymore to which she replied, "What?  Dad!  PAALEASE.  I like being in sermons."

Duh, dad.

So, when I asked Lily why she stayed in church for the sermon, she merely replied, "Mom, sometimes a person just needs a sermon."

Tis true, Lily, tis true.  And yesterday, I needed the sermon that my husband preached.  In reflecting on 1 Corinthians 7, he put up the following quote from author and professor, Gordon Fee:

"One lives in the world just as the rest - married, sorrowing, rejoicing, buying, making use of it - but none of these determines one's life...Christians do not buy to possess; that is to let the world govern the reason for buying.  Those who buy are to do so 'as if not' in terms of possessing anything." 

In other words, we don't marry to find eternal happiness.  We don't grieve without hope, and we don't rejoice without remembering who it is that gives us our joy.  And our possessions?  They don't ultimately have eternal value.

While I believe this in my heart, my excruciating, dramatic tantrum over my oldest daughter wearing my brand new sweater the other day might have suggested otherwise.  But we all act like our things have eternal value at one time or another, and kids are sometimes prime examples of this viewpoint.  Aren't they?

I bought my daughter a hamster last week.  There was no question that I walked into PetSmart with the intention of purchasing a goldfish to replace the dead and buried (like, literally buried) "Goldy," but the reality is that I walked out with a hamster.

I'm a sucker for animals.  I just am.  And this little furry ball of cuteness was too much for me to handle, and so he came home with us.  I was overjoyed, my daughter was a blissful pet-owner, my son couldn't wait to get his hands on the creature, but then there's my oldest and her father (they are one in the same).  She had no desire to look at the animal.  Like, not even look at it?  I just do not understand.   And my husband said very little; he simply expressed curiosity about who would win a fight between the hamster and our bearded dragon: Luxe vs. Smaug.  I'm not gonna lie.  I imagined that fight.

And now that my daughter has tasted what it's like to have a pet of her own, she is completely and utterly possessive of it.  There are rules:  No one can touch it without her permission; no one can go near the cage without her permission; you must only say sweet words to it (she prefers us to use higher-pitched voices), and she has already inquired about it's eternal destiny:  "Will Luxe go to heaven with me?" 

And, oh, how I get it.  As a kid, I had my own rules for my younger sisters when it came to holding my baby dolls (Alice and Mary Katherine.  Yes, I still remember their names.  And yes, that's mildly embarrassing to admit).  I posted signs on my door that said "yes," meaning a sister could come in and hold one baby of her choice for a brief time.  The sign that said "no" simply meant stay away from my baby dolls.  Duh.

Now that I'm older, it's less about the things around me (with the exception of new, winter sweaters) and more about the loved ones in my life.   I was struck with the reality that I can be as sinfully possessive of my own family as I can material possessions.  They can easily take the place of Jesus if I let them.  But they are not mine.  I don't own them, control them, and I certainly can't make them into the people I think they should be.  They ultimately belong to him.  As soon as I ache at the thought of something bad happening to any of them, I'm tenderly reminded that they do not belong to me, they belong to Jesus.

And there is so much beauty in this truth.  The beauty is seen in the hands of grace that envelop the constant battle going on in my heart over what exactly determines my life:  Is it my marriage?  My job?  My children?  My talents?  No, grace wraps it's arms around that battle, calms the conflict, and reminds me that Christ's redeeming love determines my life.  Period.

Traveling home the other day, I checked my phone messages before stepping on the plane.  The message that was left nearly took my breath away:  "Katie, your mom's about to meet Jesus." 

She continues to battle, though, and the "end" signs seemed to be related to her medications.  But I sat on the plane for 90 minutes not knowing what news would greet me upon landing and stared out at this beautiful view for the entirety of the flight:

Psalm 121 kept coming to mind:  "I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth."  

Our help doesn't ultimately come in the form of material things, nor does it ultimately come in the people around us.  Our help comes from the Lord.  This is where we find peace; this is where we find our greatest joy.  With tears streaming down my face, I quietly rejoiced in the fact that I know Jesus.  Without Him, as much as I own on this earth, I have nothing.  But with Him, I simply have all that I need.