Thank God for Spring!

Today was beautiful -- it really couldn't have been better. Whenever we get a day like this I dream of moving someplace where the weather is like this all the time. There are two problems with this idea. The first is that if such a place exists at all it is probably in California, and I'm just not a California type of gal. But the other reason is a little harder to explain. I have a sneaking suspicion that if the weather were nice all the time I would lose the joy of the contrast.

Even though it was an easy Winter, it was still a long one, and I was sick of it, and really ready for Spring. So every time I noticed a concrete sign of Spring, my heart lifted, and I was reminded of the goodness of our Creator. The most ordinary places suddenly turned into spots of joy. And each sighting has been catalogued in my mind.

The first crocus of the year was spotted in Long Island City. I had dragged a co-worker around the block, at lunchtime, and he was disconcerted to find me enthusing over this little purple flower. Normally Long Island City looks pretty gray and grubby, but the creative power of God was not deterred. The first blossoming tree showed up during lunchtime one day, while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria. I ran over to the huge windows showcasing the trees, and felt that Spring was really coming. Wow, God visited the cafeteria (who would have thought it? Maybe He can do something about the food). The forsythia bloomed one day when I was getting in my car in the parking lot.

The first azalea showed its face in a tiny park when I was walking from the train to work. When I say tiny you are probably imagining something the size of a large backyard. This park is about half the size of my bedroom, with a few scruffy little bushes. What a surprise to see pink flowers on those dead looking twigs. The resurrection power of God, at work in this pathetic little park.

And yesterday was notable because I was too hot. I knew that the weather report said it would be in the high 70s, but I didn't quite believe it, so I went for a walk wearing jeans and a turtleneck. I walked the length of Hempstead Lake State Park, and was so happy to be too hot, because it is a sign that SPRING IS HERE. Yaaaaaay God!

I wrote all of that last week. Today is gray and rainy, and my windshield wipers left big streaks because they were all clogged up with those frilly little green things that fall from the maple trees. But that made my heart sing, too, because every time I see that yellow-green maple pollen dust, I'm reminded that God has healed some of my allergies this year. The pollen count is worse than usual (11.4 on a scale of 12), and people all over are complaining, and yet I'm a lot better than usual. I still seem to be allergic to cats and dust, but the maple trees aren't really bothering me. This is a far cry from the years when my face would swell up until I just had little pig eyes. So now, even streaky windshield wipers remind me to thank God!

In Memoriam, Jim Toop

My friend, Jim, died last week. We met at work, in 1987. We were a funny pair—I was rather prim and proper, and he was rude and crude. But don't think that I'm talking behind his back now that he's dead -- in recent years he took great delight in describing himself this way. He was a staunch friend, and we treasured each other, even though we sometimes baffled each other, too.

We appreciated each other’s ability to analyze computer software, and enjoyed engaging in intense discussions about the best way to design something. At times, our discussions became very heated, yet we would happily adjourn for lunch together, with mutual respect and good humor. We shared a hobby of reading, although our choices were dramatically different. I read light murder mysteries, interspersed with inspirational Christian non-fiction. He concentrated on military history. He is the only person I know who actually owned a set of the official United States Annals of the Civil war. The volumes covered an entire wall of his apartment.

During that phase of his life when I first met him, he was rather a hermit. One December I foolishly asked “have you finished your Christmas shopping?” I hate this question myself, and felt stupid as soon as I asked. But I felt even worse when he answered: “Yup. I sent my aunt a check, and bought myself a book. I’m all done”. His life basically consisted of going to work, reading, and occasionally attending concerts. He often wore the same shirt all week long. When he spilled food on it (an unfortunately frequent occurrence), he would scrub the food with his tie. By Friday, an archeologist could have figured out the meals for the week.

On Monday mornings, we greeted each other after the weekend. Our conversations fell into a routine.
Jim: What did you do over the weekend?
Ann: I went to church.
Gradually he started asking me specifics, about what the pastor said. It started simply as a means to extend the conversation, so I missed the fact that he was actually becoming interested. I related the sermon to him each week. It was simply our Monday morning routine.

And then one day, out of the blue, he asked if I had any books about Christianity to recommend to him. Knowing his personality and hobby, I made an untraditional choice, and lent him Josh McDowell’s Evidence that Demands a Verdict, in two volumes. I figured that anyone who was so interested in original sources would appreciate a discussion of the Bible from the perspective of the actual documents. I gave the books to him just before a long weekend, and the following Tuesday he handed them back and announced: I’m ready to read the reference manual. Well, I had never heard it called that, but I realized he meant the Bible. I immediately started planning to provide him with a good study Bible, but he headed off my plans at the pass, and insisted:
I don't want one with any opinions, I just want the text.

So the following day I showed up with a plain NIV. No commentary. No notes. No devotions. Just the text. As I handed it to him, I said, "Most people prefer to start with one of the gospels." But he was not interested in doing it that way.
Jim: I start books at the beginning.
Ann: The Bible is actually a collection of 66 books, and it is easiest to understand if you start with one of the gospels.
Jim: I start books at the beginning, and I read them until the end.
Now I was beginning to get a little worried. I wondered what he would think of Genesis.
Ann: Do you have any church background?
Jim: I've been to a wedding, and a couple of funerals.

A few days passed, and I wondered if he was reading it, but I was too afraid to ask. 8 days passed, and I couldn't stand it any longer, so I finally asked.
Ann: Have you been reading the Bible? How is it going?
Jim: It's going pretty good.
Ann: How far have you gotten?
Jim: I'm in Second Samuel.
I didn't see how that was possible. I figured he couldn't possibly be grasping it. After I got saved, it actually took me 6 years to get through Second Chronicles, and he was almost that far after barely over a week.
Ann: Do you understand what you are reading?
Jim: I'm getting it pretty good.
Ann: Really? What do you think it is about?
Jim: The schmucks keep screwing up, and God keeps giving them another chance.
Typical of Jim, it had a crude edge to it, but twenty years have passed, and I still haven't found a better one-sentence description of the Old Testament.

A couple of months passed, and Jim approached me:
Jim: Can I ask you a question?
Ann: Sure, what is it?
Jim: I'm reading Isaiah, and I want to know, is some of this sort of a preview?
Ann: Yes!
I realized that the Spirit had to be inspiring his reading, because there is really no way he would have grasped the prophetic significance on his own -- after all, he hadn't read the end of the book yet, and didn't know how it turns out.

Finally, after 81 days, he came to me and announced that he had finished reading the Bible. In order to understand what came next, I have to tell you about one of the sermons that I had related to him months beforehand. In that sermon, the preacher told about writing a list of things he was going to do for God, signing the bottom, and presenting it to the Lord, to a resounding lack of applause. Upon asking the Lord what was wrong, the Lord said that what he wanted was for him to sign the bottom of an empty piece of paper, letting the Lord write the list.

So before I even knew what was going on, Jim whipped out a piece of paper, signed the bottom of it, and asked:
Do I give this to you?
I was dumbfounded. Did this guy just get saved in front of me? Standing next to my desk in the insurance company? Without coercion? Without pleading. A sovereign act of the Spirit. While I was still standing there speechless, he continued:
I guess the next thing is for me to go to church with you. What train should I take?
Sure enough, he came to church that Sunday, and announced that he would be back the following week, but I encouraged him to get hooked up with the Manhattan Vineyard instead. He lived way uptown, so it didn't make any sense for him to be taking the train all the way out to Long Island.

The next thing I knew, he was not only going to the Sunday service, but also attending a kinship. Then he started going to a weekly prayer meeting, and also joining friends from church at the movies. The hermit was turning into a social butterfly (although he still didn't wash his shirt!) Finally his new church friends taught him how to hug. It's not that he was unwilling, or weird, it's just that he really didn't know how, and the term bear hug doesn't do it justice. We were afraid he would crack someone's ribs. Subtle hints didn't help. What worked better was to yell "that's too hard". Of course, you had to yell before your breath was squeezed out of your body.

Eventually, his job moved to Atlanta, and he moved with it. Ironically, although a computer programmer by profession, he was a Luddite, and resisted getting a PC, or even using email. So we didn't see much of each other or talk much in recent years. A couple of months ago I received a message that he was in the hospital, and I called him there. He had had a knee operation and was having trouble learning to walk again. He was expecting to be released to a rehab unit, and said he'd give me his phone number when he got it. I offered to send him some books, and was momentarily uneasy when he wasn't especially interested -- that really didn't sound like Jim. But I didn't pay too much attention, I just waited for the call to give me his new phone number. And instead, I got the call that he had died. The woman who called me was trying to find out if he had any living relatives, and where he should be buried. And while I know he is in a better place, I miss my friend.