62: In God’s Hands

The year was 1950, and the December issue of McCall’s magazine was released. It included a recipe and design template for a gingerbread house inspired by the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel. That year, my grandmother got her copy and decided to give it a try.

What she didn’t know at the time was that that very gingerbread house design would soon become a Shirek family tradition, and that over the years and decades later, she would help her daughter, daughter-in-law, and three granddaughters make their very own.

I’ll never forget when it was my turn. I don’t quite remember how old I was, probably late elementary school. But each day for a couple of weeks, I would head over to my grandparents’ house to work on my gingerbread house. We started with a large round wooden base with holes cut for the electric cord, because the design eventually evolved, with my grandmother getting quite innovative and adding interior lighting to the house, as you do. This light illuminated a wicked witch and a friendly mouse tucked inside the living room. Over the years, it was this feature that drew all the neighborhood kids over to check out such a clever, whimsical design. And I also thought it was the coolest.

Once the base was ready to go, we then made the gingerbread, using it to cut out the frame of the house, along with several different figurines. We built the chimney using a special toffee with peppermint stick smoke coming out. Then came the roof of candied lime slices, candy canes for a fence, and homemade whipped icing for snow. My favorite part was adding thousands and thousands of tiny colorful sprinkles to make a gravel path leading up to the front door. 

And then there were the even tinier details, the things that are difficult to remember all these years later: a candied wreath on the front door, round peppermints lining the roof, gummy ivy and flowers spreading along the front of the house, dollops of icing strategically lining tree branches. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but what I do remember is that, for my grandmother, every detail mattered.

I remember feeling that many of the details were too tedious to complete, too small to even notice. But again, my grandmother knew that they mattered, that they added to and embellished the overall design. It wouldn’t have been the same with out them, and through observing my grandmother in her element with the special care she took, I discovered a newfound appreciation for them.

Those details didn’t stop with the gingerbread house. You could say Christmas was my grandmother’s time to shine. She made delicate, hand-crafted ornaments, sewed intricate, detailed tree skirts, designed elegant flower arrangements, and baked dozens and dozens of tasty treats. Her gift-wrapping skills were impeccable (you could always save the paper!), and I’ll never forget her year-round gorgeous, picture perfect handwriting.

Really, that’s something I remember most about her - her hands. Or rather, the work of her hands. The time, energy, skill, care and patience that it took to create so many beautiful things. She never just randomly threw something together. There was always thoughtful, loving intention behind everything she made. Even her signature on a birthday card took time.

She was a reminder to me of many things, but the way she created, the way she so carefully and lovingly handled the details, showed me a little bit of who God is, too. She helped me remember that God is very much in the details.

It’s easy for me to think of God and search for God in broad strokes, that God is present in generalities or big movements. But I’m learning that God is also intimately acquainted with the details of who we each uniquely are, and even in the details of our daily lives.

In her book, Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren describes it this way:

“A sign hangs on the wall in a New Monastic Christian community house: [It reads],“Everyone wants a revolution. No one wants to do the dishes.” I was, and remain, a Christian who longs for revolution, for things to be made new and whole in beautiful and big ways. But what I am slowly seeing is that you can’t get to the revolution without learning to do the dishes. The kind of spiritual life and disciplines needed to sustain the Christian life are quiet, repetitive, and ordinary. I often want to skip the boring, daily stuff to get to the thrill of an edgy faith. But it’s in the dailiness of the Christian faith—the making the bed, the doing the dishes, the praying for our enemies, the reading the Bible, the quiet, the small—that God’s transformation takes root and grows.” 

In a way, what Tish shares here reminds me of God’s people waiting for the promised Messiah during a 400 year Advent. They probably wanted the thrill of a Savior, the loud drum of a revolution. They expected God to show up in big, broad strokes, in what was obvious and noticeable.

But instead, what they got was God working in the quiet details. In an ordinary teenage girl and in the integrity of her husband. In an obscure town called Bethlehem. In a humble stable. In faithful shepherds. In studying the stars. In three small gifts. In a tiny, helpless, baby boy. All details that were easy to overlook. But details that were significant and details that mattered.

God was in the details then and I believe God is in the details now. 

In Ephesians 2:10, we read:

10 For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.

Some translations put it this way: For we are God’s handiwork, or God’s masterpiece. The details of who we each uniquely are, matter. We were lovingly created with intention and purpose and nuance. We are not mass-produced carbon copies of what we think we’re supposed to be. Who we are matters.

And the details of who we are, who we were created to be in Christ Jesus also work together with the details of our way of life as followers of Jesus. In the details of our stories and our trajectories, but also in the day-in-day-out mundanities of ordinary life. It’s those details, those regular rhythms, that make us who we are and help us become the people we were created to be. Maybe even the smallest detail can remind us of the presence of God.

When my grandmother died just a couple months ago, I was gifted a ring of hers that I remember her wearing nearly every day. She told me that my grandfather had it custom-made. Now, when I wear it, I’m reminded of her, but it also serves as a tangible reminder of a much larger truth. When I’m doing the dishes, making a cup of coffee, writing a note, typing these episodes, or sitting in traffic, and I glance at this ring, I remember that God is in the details. Present in the details. Active in the details. God is careful and patient, creative and thoughtful. And God uses those details to help us remember who God is and who we’re called to be in the middle of it all. 

Today, if you feel overwhelmed by the broad strokes of life, in the middle of it all, remember that the details are in God’s hands. God is detail-oriented. God is in both the details of who we are and in the details of our everyday lives. May we seek to notice and pay attention, trusting that those very details are significant, helping us become who we were lovingly created to be.