Little House in the Suburbs

When I was a little kid, I loved reading the Little House on the Prairie books. Even at a young age, I found myself enthralled with a world that was so different from my own. Their lives seemed so simple, so happy, so fun. I wanted to be a part of it. So much so that I wondered whether God had put me in the wrong century. I wanted to chop wood and bake bread and sew my own clothes.

Realistically, I know that if I went back to that period in history I would last about a day. And now that I’m a grown-up, I know better than to long for a place in history different from my own. I was born in the twentieth century and figure I was put in this time and place for a reason. But there are still days when I wish I was Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Last week, I got a little taste of what life would have been like in that time period. No, I wasn’t living in a little house on a barren, windswept plain. But, I was living without power and would for most of the day. It went out early in the morning as I was lying comfortably under our down comforter. The lights flashed and, just like that, our electricity went out. ‘No biggie,’ I thought to myself, ‘It will come back on shortly’. But, after about thirty minutes, it was apparent that the power wasn’t coming on anytime soon.

So at 6:00 in the morning, I scrambled to find a flashlight, which of course was missing from the drawer where it was supposed to be. Ever the resourceful one, my husband found a camping light and hung it from a ceiling fan. It cast a weird, eerie glow but it would have to do until the sun came up.

The second order of business; how were we going to make it through the day without heat?  Thankfully, the switch to our gas fireplace turned the fire on. Pretty soon, we had a warm and cozy spot to contemplate what kind of plans we could make for the day ahead.

We had no TV, I couldn’t do any of the chores on my list without electricity, so the kids and I lay in front of the fire and did something very unusual. We talked. Next, we had game time which didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. Connect Four was a hit for all of two minutes. Then we tried Operation which, even after we’d changed the batteries, didn’t work. Finally, we got out the cards and Jack and I played a viciously competitive game of Go Fish.

When the kids began to get restless, I bundled them up and sent them outside to play. Meanwhile, I tried to figure out how I was going to keep the food in the fridge and freezer from going bad. Buckets of snow seemed like a good way to go, but when I checked the fridge it was barely cool. So I went for option number two; put the fridge food in a Rubbermaid and the freezer goods in a cooler and set them both out in the snow. Worked like a charm. 

After lunch, which was a simple fair, we watched a movie in the car. Since we have a gas range, I was able to cook on the stovetop and made popcorn for a special treat. As the afternoon wore on, I kept hoping that the power would return. Unfortunately, when I listened to the radio, they announced that the power for some would not be turned back on until Saturday morning.

At that point, we were ready to get out of the house. We drove over to the local Godfather’s and commiserated with our fellow neighbors who had also lost power. Again, the reports there confirmed my fears. We would probably not have power for another day.

I headed home determined to make a not-so-good situation into a day of blessing. And, wouldn’t you know it, just as we were preparing a cozy little nest in front of the fireplace, the power came back on. The kids and I did a little happy dance. I turned up the furnace, and, that night, we were able to sleep all snuggled up in our own beds.

While I realize this experience was a far cry from a true little prairie house day, I couldn’t help but feel some kinship with those settlers of old who had none of the modern conveniences we have and seemed to live a full and happy life anyway. All in all, it was a good day. You might even say a great day. So much so, that the next time the power goes out, I’ll be ready, maybe even happy to go without it -  at least for a day. And if that day never comes, I can always make a trip to the basement and cut the power myself. Connect Four, anyone?

those crazy grudges

Hello to all!  I had my 20^th high school reunion this past week.  It was fun and also eye-opening in one important way. But I’ll save that for later.

Have you ever had an internal “fight” with someone?   What I mean is this.  Have you ever been mad at someone or thought someone was mad at you, and in that state of bitterness, anger, or unforgiveness done the one thing you ought not to have done – avoided talking to them.  Confrontation, yup that good old word confrontation.  You may hate the idea, but consider the alternative - living a lifetime without ever clearing up the situation.  Sounds silly I know, but I have a confession to make.  I let twenty years pass holding a grudge against someone - someone I thought I’d forgiven.  Mind you, I consider myself a fairly forgiving person.  In this situation, however, I was anything but.

So here’s what happened.  My junior year of high school I invited a guy in my class to go to our fall formal.  (It was the kind of dance when girls asked out the guys).  I didn’t really know this person very well, but two of my closest friends and I decided to ask three guys who were themselves good friends.  That way we could all have fun together.  Anyway, the guy I asked wasn’t necessarily a friend, more like an acquaintance.  But I asked anyway in accordance with our plan. 

When this particular guy came to pick me up, I was mildly uncomfortable – we just didn’t know each other very well. As we stood barely touching for the pictures my parents took, my face blushed the faintest red.  This was embarrassing. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning of my discomfiture.  Let’s just say picture time turned out to be the highlight of the night.  After that, things went downhill considerably.

 My date and I spent most of the evening barely glancing at each other, let alone talking. The night seemed to drag on and on, and the ending was anything but happy.  You see, I got ditched.  Don’t exactly remember the details.  But somewhere in between the time the official dance ended and the unofficial partying began, the guy split.  Leaving me alone and feeling completely mortified. 

Flash forward

It’s nineteen years later and as I add old high school acquaintances as friends on facebook, I notice that this guy, the one who ditched me, is also on facebook.  Do I friend him, no?  Do I continue to hold a grudge against him, yes.  After all, he left me – how dare he.  When this could have been an opportunity to make things right, I simply let my bitter feelings simmer just a bit more.  Yes, you got it, after twenty years I still felt  resentment against him. No way I was going to friend him after what he did to me. 

Flash forward a year later – My twentieth high school reunion. 

I’m preparing to meet old friends, rivals, even enemies and which “enemy” seems to float across the screen of my brain the most – “James” - the guy who left me.  The moment I saw him I thought, “Good.  Now he’ll see what a great person I turned out to be, and he’ll be embarrassed.”  The funny thing is, that weekend I found out the true story, the real story straight from the horse’s, or in this case James’ mouth.  The reason, the real reason he left me that night?  He thought we were related. Yup, you heard it right – he thought we were related.  Sheds a whole new light on the story doesn’t it? 

Want to hear some more surprising details.  How, you might be thinking, did I figure this out?  Because the night of the reunion he told not only one good friend of mine, but another as well about what had happened that night.  The whole truth and nothing but the truth.  Not only that, but he told them how badly he felt about the whole thing.  After twenty years, he still remembered it.  He still felt badly about it.  He didn’t ditch me because I was a loser or looked horrendous in my dress.  He ditched me because he thought we were related.  Case closed.

Want to know how I felt after I’d learned the “rest of the story”.  Embarrassed and relieved all at the same time.  Mostly embarrassed.  How in the world could I have let things get out of hand like this?  And really, it all boils down to just one problem.  I never asked.  I think if I had, neither of us would have carried this regret around with us for all these years.

So the moral of this story is ask, just ask.  If you think someone’s angry with you, or you harbor a grudge against them, talk to them.  It’s so much easier than carrying around a load of guilt or a bitter heart for twenty years - or what could turn out to potentially be a lifetime. 

Want to know how I know all of this?  Because I’ve started to do something I didn’t have the guts to do in high school, I ask.  Whether I think someone’s upset with me or feel wronged by someone – I ask.  I talk.  I confront.  And you want to know the funniest part?  It works.  Nine times out of ten it’s a miscommunication, or a down-right lie that I’ve believed.  Talking to them is like opening a curtain in a dark and dusty room.  The moment the light shines in, the truth is revealed, and all the lies scatter like dust.  So, if you are harboring a grudge or a load of guilt – talk to that person.  I promise you it works, it really does. 

Matthew 5:23-24 Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar.  First go and be reconciled  to your brother; then come and offer your gift.