When You Wish You Could Smooth Out Life's Bumps for Everyone

Last week a grader went by our house, smoothing out our dirt road.

And sometimes you wish you could smooth out all the bumps in the road for the people you love.

Like the bumps your daughter is facing in her fifth or sixth week of college

as she tries to juggle classes, work hours, study,

and strange shoulder pain that seems to be related to her meningitis shot.

And bumps like the stroke that Ward French had yesterday after coming to our hayride the night before, leaving him in the ICU today with continued bleeding on the brain, although his speech has returned and he can lift his hand again. And bumps like the ones Ward's wife is facing as she deals with this new burden.

And the bumps another elderly couple is facing--cancer and Alzheimers.

We'd rather not think about it.

And yes, we could run our feet in all this dirt and curse the bumps in the road.

And you could wonder where is the God of love in all this?
Some of it hits you broadside, but some,
like the rooster belonging to the lady Sam works for,
sneaks up and attacks you from behind.
Always behind.

Sometimes you just have to take a few moments while that grader is going by, and walk to a little spot up the path in the field,

and stop under the one lone cottonwood tree,

and look up to the blue of the October sky.

Because there isn't a life without its share of burdens and disappointments.

And so we have to make a choice.

We can choose to join the flock of turkey buzzards that were flying overhead that same day,

just looking for something to claw and pick at.
There are plenty of such things to pick at.

Plenty of disappointments and heartaches we could pick to pieces

to sort of get back at God.

We can pick at the dead stuff, and curse the bumps in the road, 

or we can absorb the pain and trust God's grace,

right in the middle of our pain and tears.

We can remember that just above the clouds and the turkey buzzards, the sun is shining.

As I went outside that morning, quietly, (which isn't usual for me in the middle of the morning duties)

I was facing a painful disappointment.

And I watched these honeybees hovering low over the ground near the beehive.

I don't know what they were collecting, but they were hovering low and landing here and there.

Searching for nectar, perhaps.

Searching for honey.
Searching for something sweet.

We can search for the dirt, 

for the dead carcasses,

for the bumps in the road to scorn and grit at,

or for the sweet purple flowers of 

the fragrant Russian sage up at the park.

We can give up when the going gets tough,
or we can be the tough who keep going. 

We can open our minds to new possibilities and new methods of handling problems

and new tools to deal with the bumps.

Like hiding subtraction flashcards all around the living room for Danny to find

and answer when he is struggling with his math facts.

We can wish God would subtract our trials, but then would He add as many blessings as He does

when He has taught us lessons, chastened us,

and refined us and turned it all around for good?

Not all of life is a swing ride in the park,

but if God subtracted all our troubles,

would we learn to lean on Him?

If he subtracted all our troubles and never made us learn any lessons,

would we experience the joy that comes from the triumph?

The elation of victory over difficulty?

And the peace that only He can give in the middle of the storm?