Who Knew Finding the Library Was So Important?

“Où c'est trouve la bibliothèque?”

With apologies to French-speaking peoples everywhere if this isn’t correct, this is one of the first sentences I remember learning in French 101 in eleventh grade. Literally translated into English, it would be “Where it is found the library?” This is why we don’t waste time doing literal translations from one language into another but just try to capture the general idea . . . in this case, “Where’s the library located?”

I wondered later, why in the world was this one of the first sentences or questions we were taught to ask were we to ever find ourselves in France or French-speaking Quebec? Was the library so very important to French culture that this was somehow the hub to which we would all be gathering for activity and/or security in the event of an emergency?

And yet, forty years later, in the recesses of my mind, I still know how to ask for directions to the library in Paris. I might not understand the response, but I can ask.

And I can ask where other things are . . . “Où c'est trouve un restaurant?” (Restaurant is the same in English and French.) “Où c'est trouve un hôtel?” “Où c'est trouve la salle de bain?” (Perhaps the most important question that we should have been learning before the library directions . . .)

The one thing I will never have to ask anyone: “Où c'est trouve ma vie?” Translation: “Where is my life?”

You don't have to worry
And don't you be afraid;
Joy comes in the morning,
Troubles they don't last always.
For there's a friend named Jesus
Who will wipe your tears away,
And if your heart is broken
Just lift your hands and say,

Oh, I know that I can make it.
I know that I can stand.
No matter what may come my way,
My life is in your hands.

Sunday morning our choir sang this song by Kirk Franklin. It’s one of my very favorites. Filled with one truth after another: No worry. No fear. Joy will come. Troubles are not here to stay. Our friend is named Jesus and he will wipe our tears away and heal broken hearts. In him, we can stand and we will make it.

Monday morning, my mother called and asked me to come take her and my dad to the ER. My dad was having room spins and nausea. The doctor’s office had said to take him straight on to the hospital ER, and that’s what we did. Following an EKG, he was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. Many of you are probably already familiar with this heart condition that basically happens when there is a lack of communication between the upper chambers and lower chambers of the heart. The biggest danger is blood clots, which can lead to strokes.

I thank God for my parents. If you know my parents, you thank God for them too. They are amazing people and they have continued doing awesome work for the Lord the past few years despite their advanced ages of 80 and almost-84.

Driving them to the emergency room, sitting in room number 10 with Dad, gathering there with my mother and my sister and her husband and one of my brothers and his wife, and awaiting the diagnosis and prognosis . . . all of that could have been a time filled with worry and fear and trepidation.

But it wasn’t. I sit here today thinking back over the past 30+ hours, and I don’t remember there being any fear. I remember adrenaline. I remember looking after my dear father and his needs . . . asking the nurse for a glass of water and some lunch for my dad . . . getting him something to prop up his tube-filled arm . . . asking him if he needed a blanket. But no fear.

We have a friend named Jesus. We weren’t ignorant of risks or realities or possibilities. But we were not afraid. And we still aren’t. We know where we stand and we will make it.

All the way home.

And we won’t have to ask where that is located . . . in this language or any other. We’ll just know.

What's Next?

According to John Lennon (or Allen Saunders, depending on whom you ask), “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

I just spent some time visiting with my parents at their house. I’m blessed to still have them around and love stopping by to have chats with them when I’m out running errands. Dan and I are planning to move into a nearby condo in several months, so I was talking with them about the many, many times we’ve moved over the last fifty-plus years. As I was driving home I was thinking about my life, and I thought that I might paraphrase the Lennon/Saunders quote to say, “Life is what happens to you while you’re waiting for the next big milepost to come along.”

That’s how I grew up. We moved an amazing number of times in my childhood (the life of a preacher’s / missionary’s family), but that never really phased me. What I was always looking forward to was the next big milestone: starting primary school in Africa; entering junior high school back in Florida; graduating high school; graduating college; starting my career; getting my first apartment; getting married; having a child. And along the way, I lived for every other first or next step or next achievement. I was always looking ahead at what came next. I was never satisfied with where I was.

Not only have I wasted time looking down the road, but I’ve spent too much emotional energy defining myself by other people’s titles or definitions of me. For example, when my family was meeting someone new, my parents would always introduce me as their “oldest” daughter or child. That registered deeply with me, making me feel a huge responsibility for the rest of the kids in our family. Not a bad thing, but definitely a label that stuck. And through the years I accepted other labels--professional, personal, societal--that defined me, some positively, some negatively.

Likewise, whenever I meet people and they ask, “What do you do?” I have always felt defined by my current job title, whatever that might be. I left my full-time teaching position when my child was three and both of Dan’s children were living at home; I decided that being a full-time mom was the most important thing that I could be doing. But suddenly, answering that question with, “I’m a full-time mom,” began eliciting the most condescending responses from the people asking the question . . . “Good for you; I’m sure you find it rewarding.” “Well, aren’t they lucky to have you there all the time.” As if all I was doing was sitting in the living room, waiting for them to ring a bell to call me to bring their toast. Seriously.

I have a friend who is a full-time mother and homemaker. I was delighted when I heard someone ask her a few years ago, “So what do you do?” She beamed as she responded heartily, “Oh, honey, I do LOTS of things!” And she does! (Don’t we all!?!)

Here’s my point: Life is too short to be waiting for something else to happen or for someone else to approve you for you to find fulfillment in life right where you are.

It’s that simple. There is nothing worth waiting for—no certificate, degree, or title—before making a difference in this world. Every one of us is valuable right this minute, and right this minute is a good time to get started with whatever it is that you want to do.

“If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples” (John 15:7-8).