No, this is not a story about sewing, but rather about the buttons of life. I never thought about it in that way until I had a visit from my grandson Mike. And what a precious visit it was. Forty-eight hours of fervent discussion as he tried to change me into a Catholic and I had to remind him I’d been a Protestant 50 years longer than he had been a Catholic.
We eventually called it a draw…but the passion of the discussion was there on both sides. Passion about the Lord, shared with love, respect and a pile of laughter as he explained his Eastern Catholic faith and its difference between the Roman Catholic faith. Finally I said “Does that mean you are a ‘regular’ or an ‘irregular’ Catholic?”
Like a volcanic eruption he dissolved into laughter. For the next two days there was discussion, laughter and hugs. This young man had spent every summer with us from four years old to 14 years old. I love him very much.
Before he left he asked if he could phone home and so I sat as he talked to his wife and kiddies. I could visualize the arguments at the other side of Canada as the three little ones vied for time on the telephone with their Daddy. “Give the phone back to Mom,” I heard Mike say (several times), then with alarm “No Georgia, don’t press the buttons, don’t press the buttons.” Finally order was restored and the phone call terminated.
I wonder sometimes if our calls to our Father in heaven, mimics the one I overheard. God tries to get the message through…He even set up all the means of communication with the death and resurrection of his son…and we want control over the whole conversation. We resort to pleading, crying and sometimes even hogging the phone and end up pressing a bunch of buttons that won’t help and well may hinder what his plans are.
He loves to talk to us and the lines are always open. Maybe we just need a little more patience, less interference and a lot more faith.
Think I’ll give him a call this afternoon. We’ve talked before and there are some things that I need a little help with.
