Saturday Night: A Tale of Two Sisters

My sister's wedding (2011). Picture by Michelle Whitehead Photography.

My sister and I, both in our early thirties, both fun-loving, generally happy people, both went out last night. She had a date night. I went to a dinner party.

She tried on dresses and curled her hair. She wanted to wear something that her husband would really appreciate. I donned a costume, dramatic jewelry, and wrenched my hair into old-fashioned braids, just as certain that the details make all the difference.

She made sure the dogs took care of business, tidied up the house, loaded backpacks with clothes, toys, and (of course) the ipad in the car, before locking up and taking the kids to grandma's. I wrestled a carrying-box with soup and bread and cheese and bowls out the door, down the stairs, into the car, then ran upstairs to close and lock the door, thankful that I no longer have a cat named Frog who would have bolted out that open door or taken advantage of the mess I left in the kitchen.

I tried to figure out how to keep soup from sloshing all over my car while I drove. I just wanted there to be something left in the crock-pot when I arrived. She chatted with her kids and cranked up the tunes.

When she reached her destination, she had waiters eager to fulfill her every wish. My friends and I worked together to put the finishing touches on dinner, set the table, and serve each other the treats we'd so carefully prepared.

We talked about jobs and children and coming adventures.

After dinner we enjoyed some drama. My friends and I solved a murder-mystery set on the doomed Titanic. My sister and her husband went to see "Wrath of the Titans." I'm sure doom and  murder were involved.

I was home, in bed, before midnight. I think she was, too. 

The thing is... we both had a great time.

Yes, sometimes I wish I had her life - the kids, the dog (just one, though), the loving husband. I like to think that sometimes she envies the randomness that is mine. However different our lives are, though, we share a love for celebrating life, making the most of every little thing. I love that about us.

A moment in time

A while back, someone posed the following question as a warm-up to a Bible-study group I'm in: "If you could take one (round) trip on a time machine absolutely anywhen - past or future - when would you visit?"

Think about that for a minute. What would you wish?

The dozen-or-so people in my group had some great answers. One would visit a time of national tragedy as a pair of helping hands. One would visit the past with some tips on sanitation that would save countless lives. One wanted to look back a generation and try to understand her own parents better. A few wanted to peek into the future, to see how things turned out for their children and their children's children. 

So again...what would you wish?

Interestingly, only one of us chose to visit Bible-times. The Garden of Eden, to be exact.
Remember, this is a Bible study group. We're all believers. We all look eagerly toward the day when we'll be face-to-face with the glorified Christ in Heaven. But given the chance to time-travel, none of us wished to visit Him during His ministry here on Earth.

Why?
I can't speak for anyone else, but I have given a lot of thought to my own reluctance.
As usual, for me, there's not one easy answer.

There's the "good" answer. And the more real answer. They both boil down to the same key word: DOUBT.

The good answer is extracted from Jesus' own words to "doubting Thomas." Remember Thomas? He's the apostle who couldn't accept that Jesus was really back from the dead that first Easter until he had put his own fingers into the Lord's wounds. Jesus let Thomas poke away until Tom was satisfied that the man in front of him truly was the One he expected to rule. When Thomas declared "It is you!," Jesus replied, "because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."

So that's the good answer. I believe without seeing, so I am differently blessed than those who touched, saw, and believed. I wouldn't want to loose the sweetness of that absolute faith. Each day, I rely on the Spirit of God in ways the early disciples didn't have to. It is only through God-in-Me that my faith grows, that I understand the universe, that I live with confidence that there is more to life than the "reality" that confronts me each day. That reliance draws me closer to God. I wouldn't jeopardize that for a moment.

Lovely thought, isn't it. And true. And yet... not all there is to my hesitation to step back into His path. After all, I know Jesus didn't love Thomas any less for wondering. I expect to meet him in Heaven. His story is proof, in the Bible, that Jesus understands our need to probe and question.

The more real answer is, of course, far messier and less pious.

I didn't choose to go back to Jesus's time because I was afraid that He wouldn't have time for me. That He wouldn't see me, notice me, hear me, care about me. Throughout His ministry he was surrounded by THRONGS of people. Thousands came to hear him preach. At least 3 times he had to "escape" the crowd. I wasn't willing to take the chance that I'd be just another face in that crowd. If Jesus didn't know me, didn't have time for me, couldn't see me or recognize me, I'd be lost.

I'm glad "God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believe in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." However, sometimes I need to know God cares just about ME, not about the whole world.

This spring I've spent some time re-reading the gospels. Looking at the individuals Jesus did encounter. Mary and Martha. Jairus, the official with the dying daughter. The blind man He healed with spit. Lazarus, for whom He wept. The woman at the well. The adulteress He saved from execution. Zaccheus. The Samaritan leper. The bleeding woman.

I've learned something important. Yes, Jesus did teach the crowd. Because God did send Him for the whole world. But He also made time for the individuals who sought him out. Zaccheus sat in a tree just hoping for a glimpse of the Lord passing by, and Jesus decided to come to his house for dinner. The bleeding woman snuck up on Him, so convinced of her own worthlessness that she didn't even want to ask for help or attention. He praised her for her faith. Jairus was an official at the synagogue - representing the very institutions that would have Jesus killed - yet, the He went into his house and rescued his young daughter.

So... I've learned that Jesus would have noticed me. He would have heard me, and even stopped to talk to me. He would have cared about me. I would not have been just a face in the crowd. The Spirit of God, the divine Comforter my Lord sent when He returned to Heaven, taught me that.
I've never been so glad to be wrong...and right...at the same time.


As for time-travel, maybe I'll visit doubting Thomas - after the Ascension, of course. It seems he and I might have a lot to talk about.