Sometimes no equals love, too
I'm going to share a kind of personal spiritual experience here; I hope that's not inappropriate. It has been on my mind lately.
We arrived in New Hampshire 26 years ago, four kids in tow, one on the way. John's salary was meager, but he liked his job. We rented a second-floor apartment for about six months, and then moved into a home across town that was owned by the invalid mother of a family friend. Her family needed someone to stay in the house and look after it, but weren't looking to make a profit. Our rent essentially covered the taxes and water bill. We've lived in this house ever since.
When we first moved in, it was a mess - needed painting, the roof leaked, there was a ton of construction debris and bric-a-brac in the basement. The windows upstairs had no screens nor latches. There was essentially no insulation in the home. The wiring was all knob and tube. It was a handyman special, if ever there was one, but we weren't very handy. Plus, we had zero money to spend on repairs. We cleaned up and painted and stripped wallpaper and did what we could, but it was not in any way the kind of house I had ever imagined I would live in. I was grateful for an affordable roof over my head, but I did not love my home.
To be honest, I had a hard time adjusting to New England in general. The people were not unfriendly, but they had a different attitude and perspective that I didn't always get. They looked different from the people I had lived among in central Missouri, Utah, Texas, and Alabama. Sure, that was small of me, but it was part of the culture shock I was feeling that I had never felt when I had moved around the country, or visited Europe. I just didn't fit in.
I had a hard time making really good friends; there were plenty of nice people around me, but I always felt alone, like no one really got me. In my church family, I was one of a few moms who stayed home with their kids, and I was always being called on to give people rides, babysit children, or take meals in to the sick. Often the requests would begin with, "I know you're home all day, so...." With five kids to raise on a shoe-string budget, most of my time was spent just trying to pull the ends together, making do with what I could. Sometimes I didn't have any energy to spend helping other people have more than I had. Again, it was small of me, but that is how I felt at the time. I was always tired. And I hated my house. And I just wanted to live in a "normal" neighborhood with "normal" friends for me and for my kids.
Then John got a call from a friend at a university in the southwest. There was a job opening that was perfect for John in exactly the subject of his PhD dissertation, and they asked John to apply. He flew out for an interview and returned to tell stories of beautiful neighborhoods with real sidewalks and newly built homes with level floors, and garages. The salary was twice what he was making in NH. We had friends who lived there - people who knew us and loved us and with whom we had a history. I was nearly giddy. It seemed like my dreams were so close!
Things started to go wrong with the job offer, though. Strange, political, prejudicial, irrational things that shouldn't have happened. I got scared and worried and kind of sick to my stomach. One day, in searching for some peace and comfort, I poured my heart out in prayer to God and asked Him if I was hoping for too much. I asked if it was wrong of me to want a comfortable home, close friends for myself and for my kids, and enough money to make ends meet with a tiny bit to spare. As I prayed, I wept in desperation, and finally cried out loud, "Will I ever have these things?"
The answer that came to me was startling. I don't get big answers to my prayers as a rule. Usually it's a small, still voice that whispers so quietly that if I'm distracted or not focused, I'll miss it. Not this time. So powerful that it was almost audible and visceral, the answer was a tremendous, "Yes!" Seriously, I was so surprised by the physical impact of this experience that I nearly fell over. I was amazed, and completely comforted and reassured. When John came home that night with more tales of intrigue and weirdness at the other university, I just told him firmly, "Don't worry about it. We're going."
And here I type, twenty-five years later, still in New Hampshire. I heard the answer, I just didn't stop to ask what that answer meant. I knew what I wanted it to mean, and so I ran with it, sure that my prayer was being answered with, "Yes. Move. Have the nice house and the sidewalks and the friends and the location that makes you feel more comfortable." That's not what the answer was at all. The job fell apart, and the offer was never made. Within a few years the graduate program in that department was eliminated. Had John gotten the job, he would have never gotten tenure and we would have had to move on again.
We live in the same little house on the same little street. After many projects and labor, a fair chunk of money spent a few dollars at a time, our home is comfortable, warm, homey, and a place that I love. Not long after this experience, several families moved into the area with kids the ages of our kids. Our kids finally made friends with kids at school. All these kids grew up together, spending time at school and church, going to the beach, playing music and soccer together, being kids. It was great. The city repaved our street and gave us real, live sidewalks! John's salary continued to increase bit by bit, and eventually our heads lifted above the floodwaters and we were not struggling every day to meet our obligations.
Everything I wanted, I have received, and to spare. Well, okay, not the garage. That's still a bit of a sticking point, but we do have a nice snow-blower! God's "yes" was real, even though it felt very much like He had actually told me "no." I have learned to hear and feel His love when He tells me no, and learned to understand that just because the answer is no doesn't mean the answer isn't filled with His love. There were things I needed to learn here; things about opening my mind to new experiences and new people, things about hard work and sacrifice and unselfishness. Could I have learned those things someplace else? Maybe. Probably. I believe God would have led me to other people and other experiences that would have helped me increase my understanding and compassion, and let go of some of my foolish ideas and selfish motives.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, the scriptures tell us that Christ knelt to pray and that a part of that prayer was the petition, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." The answer to that petition was no. It was not possible. That answer was not an unloving answer. It was simply the answer. We can learn from Christ's willingness to submit his will to God's will, from his ability to feel his Father's love even when the answer was no. My experience is inconsequential by comparison, but it has taught me to listen more completely, to ask further questions when I think I know the answer, and to seek to find the love in the answers I receive, especially when they're not the answers I want. It's easy to believe that God loves us when He tells us yes. The challenge of our faith is to keep seeking when He tells us no.
We arrived in New Hampshire 26 years ago, four kids in tow, one on the way. John's salary was meager, but he liked his job. We rented a second-floor apartment for about six months, and then moved into a home across town that was owned by the invalid mother of a family friend. Her family needed someone to stay in the house and look after it, but weren't looking to make a profit. Our rent essentially covered the taxes and water bill. We've lived in this house ever since.
When we first moved in, it was a mess - needed painting, the roof leaked, there was a ton of construction debris and bric-a-brac in the basement. The windows upstairs had no screens nor latches. There was essentially no insulation in the home. The wiring was all knob and tube. It was a handyman special, if ever there was one, but we weren't very handy. Plus, we had zero money to spend on repairs. We cleaned up and painted and stripped wallpaper and did what we could, but it was not in any way the kind of house I had ever imagined I would live in. I was grateful for an affordable roof over my head, but I did not love my home.
To be honest, I had a hard time adjusting to New England in general. The people were not unfriendly, but they had a different attitude and perspective that I didn't always get. They looked different from the people I had lived among in central Missouri, Utah, Texas, and Alabama. Sure, that was small of me, but it was part of the culture shock I was feeling that I had never felt when I had moved around the country, or visited Europe. I just didn't fit in.
I had a hard time making really good friends; there were plenty of nice people around me, but I always felt alone, like no one really got me. In my church family, I was one of a few moms who stayed home with their kids, and I was always being called on to give people rides, babysit children, or take meals in to the sick. Often the requests would begin with, "I know you're home all day, so...." With five kids to raise on a shoe-string budget, most of my time was spent just trying to pull the ends together, making do with what I could. Sometimes I didn't have any energy to spend helping other people have more than I had. Again, it was small of me, but that is how I felt at the time. I was always tired. And I hated my house. And I just wanted to live in a "normal" neighborhood with "normal" friends for me and for my kids.
Then John got a call from a friend at a university in the southwest. There was a job opening that was perfect for John in exactly the subject of his PhD dissertation, and they asked John to apply. He flew out for an interview and returned to tell stories of beautiful neighborhoods with real sidewalks and newly built homes with level floors, and garages. The salary was twice what he was making in NH. We had friends who lived there - people who knew us and loved us and with whom we had a history. I was nearly giddy. It seemed like my dreams were so close!
Things started to go wrong with the job offer, though. Strange, political, prejudicial, irrational things that shouldn't have happened. I got scared and worried and kind of sick to my stomach. One day, in searching for some peace and comfort, I poured my heart out in prayer to God and asked Him if I was hoping for too much. I asked if it was wrong of me to want a comfortable home, close friends for myself and for my kids, and enough money to make ends meet with a tiny bit to spare. As I prayed, I wept in desperation, and finally cried out loud, "Will I ever have these things?"
The answer that came to me was startling. I don't get big answers to my prayers as a rule. Usually it's a small, still voice that whispers so quietly that if I'm distracted or not focused, I'll miss it. Not this time. So powerful that it was almost audible and visceral, the answer was a tremendous, "Yes!" Seriously, I was so surprised by the physical impact of this experience that I nearly fell over. I was amazed, and completely comforted and reassured. When John came home that night with more tales of intrigue and weirdness at the other university, I just told him firmly, "Don't worry about it. We're going."
And here I type, twenty-five years later, still in New Hampshire. I heard the answer, I just didn't stop to ask what that answer meant. I knew what I wanted it to mean, and so I ran with it, sure that my prayer was being answered with, "Yes. Move. Have the nice house and the sidewalks and the friends and the location that makes you feel more comfortable." That's not what the answer was at all. The job fell apart, and the offer was never made. Within a few years the graduate program in that department was eliminated. Had John gotten the job, he would have never gotten tenure and we would have had to move on again.
We live in the same little house on the same little street. After many projects and labor, a fair chunk of money spent a few dollars at a time, our home is comfortable, warm, homey, and a place that I love. Not long after this experience, several families moved into the area with kids the ages of our kids. Our kids finally made friends with kids at school. All these kids grew up together, spending time at school and church, going to the beach, playing music and soccer together, being kids. It was great. The city repaved our street and gave us real, live sidewalks! John's salary continued to increase bit by bit, and eventually our heads lifted above the floodwaters and we were not struggling every day to meet our obligations.
Everything I wanted, I have received, and to spare. Well, okay, not the garage. That's still a bit of a sticking point, but we do have a nice snow-blower! God's "yes" was real, even though it felt very much like He had actually told me "no." I have learned to hear and feel His love when He tells me no, and learned to understand that just because the answer is no doesn't mean the answer isn't filled with His love. There were things I needed to learn here; things about opening my mind to new experiences and new people, things about hard work and sacrifice and unselfishness. Could I have learned those things someplace else? Maybe. Probably. I believe God would have led me to other people and other experiences that would have helped me increase my understanding and compassion, and let go of some of my foolish ideas and selfish motives.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, the scriptures tell us that Christ knelt to pray and that a part of that prayer was the petition, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." The answer to that petition was no. It was not possible. That answer was not an unloving answer. It was simply the answer. We can learn from Christ's willingness to submit his will to God's will, from his ability to feel his Father's love even when the answer was no. My experience is inconsequential by comparison, but it has taught me to listen more completely, to ask further questions when I think I know the answer, and to seek to find the love in the answers I receive, especially when they're not the answers I want. It's easy to believe that God loves us when He tells us yes. The challenge of our faith is to keep seeking when He tells us no.
I like this story.
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