My husband is from a small town in the eastern part of our state. A small southern town on the river. I call him "River Boy" because he grew up in a stretch of maybe 10 houses. The road to his house is narrow and winds and becomes more narrow and humbly stretches towards the river. Well, his hometown has festivals throughout the year. People have moved in from all over (usually those with a little more dinero wanting a place to dock their boat) and they have these "river tours" held out of the community center.
Well, his mama grew up there. And her mama did too. His grandmother was a bit of a matriarch of the town, making tussie mussies for all the young married ladies. (Google it. It's a southern thing.) She hosted book clubs, held parties, homemade everything. (Read that, everything.) I had a few short years to get to know her and sharp as a tack. Sharp as a tack.
And, did I mention it's a small town? Everyone knows everyone. And all their trash and all their goods. It's wonderful. Except for these transplants, who are clueless to the history and drama, who hear the stories of this town and romantically ask more questions, etc. They've fallen in love with the slow talking, slow moving, one stoplight kinda town with few big box stores and quiet river lapping.
It's the kind of town that when I reached for his town's Arts Council Cookbook the other day, my mother in law instructed me not to look at the recipe, but to look at the contributor. So, I flipped through the cookbook calling out names and she gave me a mini lesson on how appropriate/inappropriate that recipe would be for me depending on their life, who they were, and most importantly, what their cooking reputation was. Amazing. I will treasure this cookbook but definitely need her as my guide through it so it comes out ok. Perhaps even make notes in the margin. I wish I were kidding.
We went to visit his mama and she signed us up for one of these river tours. We went down the river, one man picking a banjo (you read that right) and the guide being an older man just a talking about facts as we drifted along. He pointed to the old mill (where some of my husband's family used to work), the old railway (still in use and scary rusty) and then he got to a row of houses, with a white event tent in the yard. The tour guide said, "Oh look. And event is going on there. Maybe a graduation party?" The yacht owners riding on the boat with us leaned in to take a look and said, "Ooh."
My mother in law kind of scoffed silently but loud enough I could hear her. I whispered to her, "What is really going on there?" (Because I knew she would know. Guaranteed.) She said "Oh, that's my doctor's house. His daughter is getting married. Small wedding. The reception will be there on the lawn." She opened her mouth to talk to the group but decided against, and we turned around and floated back.
When we got back, I said, "Why didn't you speak up? You knew more history, personal and factual, than anyone on that boat. You could do those tours!" She said, "I know. My friend has me convinced we could be a team. I could have told everyone about that wedding. My friend couldn't go shopping with me this week because she was cutting up fruit for that same wedding." She rolled her eyes and I asked what kind of fruit. Inquiring minds wanted to know...
And this whole scenario has played over in my mind the past few days. So I blog...
And I think, how many times do I forget I have the tour guide with me? I float down the river and I forget. Or I have this cookbook of options and don't ask God, which one is the best one?
I ignore the Guide. I fight against what I know is best, asking God to help me.
In my head I know he has the better plan, and I know he is Sovereign in every sense of what I understand of Sovereign. Even Sovereign over what I can't comprehend, which is a lot I admit.
But what I'm missing by not asking for help is the relationship. You see, it's not a rule-based system (even though the "rules" he gives are meant to protect, not to harm). No rules in the sense of a checklist. "Have I done this today? Well, lets win some favor with God because Lord knows he wants me to read the Bible instead of watching TV."
It's a relationship.
Let me tell you it is way more fun to hear the whole story from my mother in law. She has the insider's scoop on pretty much everything her town has to offer. I find it way more interesting to hear about someone's German past and how they've put a new twist on a traditional recipe, weaving their family recipe into their story and how she knows them and probably has taught their children. Or the lady who's recipes I need to skip because she doesn't cook. She probably just needed something to contribute and to "be heard" somehow so she swiped a recipe from Southern Living and submitted it as her own. (It takes all kinds, right? And I'm not sure how self-deceived someone could be. Everyone knows everything in a small town.)
Well, today I'm remembering. I remember you, Jesus. You're my Guide. You're my Friend. And sure I can go through life on my own. But how tragic to miss the beautiful details without you. How sad to go on without hope, encouragement, that the thing I choose is the confirmed one.
God, you are the right thing. You whisper details. I humbly listen with a bent knee. It's a sweet spot indeed.
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