This morning at a doctor's appointment with Thyrza (I know, I know, it does seem like a perpetual occupation), we got to talking about her height (5'11 at her tallest), which is exactly the same as my mother's. She told of how she was once told by a photographer in high school to stand in the back row with the boys, since she was taller than most of them. I could instantly see it, because I've seen a picture exactly like it of Mom from her high school years. Thyrza refused to stand with the boys. Just wouldn't do it. "I may be tall," she told him, "But I'm still a girl." My mother made no such protest. Instead, she slumped her way through life in those days, trying as hard as she could to be blend into the crowd.
Beve's mother, on the other hand, 2 full inches taller than these women, back in the same era, an era where 6'1" was a veritable giant among women, was proud of her size. More than proud. She stood tall and let the light shine on her. As a result, the light shone on her extremely tall children, making them proud as well. I've never met a more confident bunch. Beve? Seriously one of the most confident people you will ever meet. And by confident, I don't mean cocky, don't mean arrogant. Not a step across the dividing line of what makes someone a pleasure to know and associate with to what makes you want to run away from them screaming.
And you know what the difference is? Beve's confidence isn't in himself, but in God. At the cell-level, Beve really, truly believes that God is in control. And he trusts that more fully than anyone else I know. Without fanfare or high-falutin' words. Sometimes without many words at all. You wouldn't talk to Beve and think, "there's one of those 'religious fanatics'." Not by a long shot. He has his feet to earth, my Beve does, but maybe he can trust the way he does because his head is so far above the crowd.
The thing is, Beve's certainty sometimes gets to me. It really does. I'm a whirl of emotions, a whole kaleidoscope of feelings about every event and possibility. Take, for instance, a recent circumstance in our lives. When the Grands (as our kids have taken to calling Grampie and Thyrza) moved to our town and we had to start transporting them daily, it became apparent that our small vehicles were not going to accomodate their extra-large frames + their extra-deluxe walkers. For a while, we drove two cars everywhere we went, one for the people, and one for the accoutrements. But this was neither practical nor always possible--particularly when I was the lone driver! Smile! So, with their quite vocal encouragement, we began looking at larger vehicles. Found a Toyota Highlander.
Bought the Toyota Highlander. Over my misgivings, I admit. I was in favor of us selling one of our other vehicles first. I blush to admit just how many 'other' I'm talking about. But I meant a specific one. The one we'd decided we'd sell to buy this car. (Even Chinese water torture (whatever that is) wouldn't make me admit how many cars we currently insure. It's beyond embarrassing.)
Anyway, I made my misgivings known to the Beve. And his response? "It'll work out." I've heard those words from him before. A calm, quiet, certain phrase. Uttered when I worried about how we'd live if we left our home, jobs, life for me to go to seminary. Uttered when I worried how we'd pay for a child to go to a private university. "It's God's problem," Beve will say. See, Beve believes--wholly--that if we've answered God's call in obedience--to bring the Grands to this city, to move because He intended me to go to seminary, because our child was meant to go that that university--then it's up to God to take care of the details.
Steady on, then. We bought that car. With my doubt and Beve's certainty. And a looming date of mid-April when the pick-up had to be sold in order to make all the finances work smoothly. Yes. Mid-April. And I've been sweating blood reminding God about it. You can bet your bottom dollar about that. Beve? Not so much. He's a confident man.
And he "knows Who he has believed in." Mid April, like I said. I suppose you know where this story is going, don't you? Don't you? That's right. This morning, Beve (who has Spring Break this week) sold that pick-up. Exactly when he needed to. Before mid-April. With plenty of time to spare.
It's a lesson I have to learn over and over and over. About things large and small and large and small. It doesn't matter the size of the matter, what matters is the size of our trust in Him to accomplish on our behalf, what we have asked of Him. Especially when we're following after Him. Obedience. Trust. And then watch what will happen.
We don't live big lives, the Beve and me. But we have repeatedly been privileged to see big things happen--not by manipulating or controlling or pushing. But by trusting. And I'm just lucky enough--and by lucky, I mean that truly spiritual quality of blessing--of living with a man whose confidence is as large as his heart.