The Pain of Grief, When Does it End?

It’s been raining a lot lately. Not outside in the heatwave warning of Kansas City weather, but inside. Inside me, inside as the tears spill over again and again. I can’t seem to stop them from falling. You’d think I would have grieved sufficiently for my deceased mother, but I can’t stop the crying sometimes, I miss her so much. She’s in no pain, has seen my father again after a long time, and other loved ones who have preceded her. Best of all she in the presence of the Lord, who I know with absolute certainty, told her, “Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.” I hope I don’t muff it so badly that I miss out on those words, missing all the joy and love and peace of the next life, seeing loved ones again.

Then the tears morph into what if I lost my only child, my beloved son. It’s irrational in some ways, but in other ways it’s not. I don’t know if I could survive that kind of pain and loss. He is at the command of the U.S. Army, and has to go and do as he is ordered. My pride in him is beyond measure, but while I always told him the military was a noble profession when he was young, I didn’t think he would go through with West Point and become an officer in the Army.

He is no longer my baby, my toddler, my school-ager, and teen that I can protect. He is standing on his own two feet, 25 years old. A safe Subaru car, a MG Midget sports car, and a motorcycle being rebuilt slowly in his garage. I guess he’s got to get it out of his system before he settles down, if he does. I am no longer holding my breath for grandchildren. Will is 67 and I am 59. He seems far away from marriage and children.

But this grief and fear grips my heart and will not let go. Both parents gone, I am parentless. But my son, who I have poured my life into since the day he was born he, is still with us. Perhaps I am projecting the wildness, stupidity, and addictions of my life. Will keeps reminding me how level-headed our son is. But Just like Cat Stevens sang, “It’s a wild world out there.”

So where is God in all this? Where is the comfort of the Holy Spirit, where is the intercession of Jesus? I have been in and out of the hospital three times this past year with the Bipolar Disorder. Where is the break? New meds, new doctor, repeated ECT’s. Yet, I cry, a lot. I fear. I grieve. There is only one verse that says Jesus wept. I am not becoming very Christ-like very quickly in that area. Something needs to happen to me. Grief comes in cycles. I grieved off and on for my dad for years, but my mom hasn’t eased up at all. It’s almost constant and it’s been nine months.

Went to their house today, for the last time that I would be able to look around, but it was empty. I visualized furniture and my parents sitting in the easy chair and on the couch. I saw my bedroom, the posters on the walls, the lava lamp. I was such a difficult child. I pictured the office and their bedroom, and all the things that filled the basement and garage.  Empty, of all that had made it a home. And I cried. It’s been closed on, keys handed over. It’s done.

I wish I could say I was cried out, but even as I asked where God is in all this, He is surely near me, holding my hand. I just can’t feel it right now through my emotions, but the intellect, battered about as it is, tells me the Trinity has not left me bereft of all comfort. I feel it from my family, my husband, and close friends who rally around me. I want to feel his touch and his words directly, but I hear what he has to say through loved ones, the bible, and church. It’s all I have for now. God says his grace is sufficient for me. Even through the pain, it’s there upholding me. I am just not aware of it. Hasten the day that I am once again joy filled.

The Christian Response to Mental Illness

This is a touchy subject. Opinions are as numerous as denominations. I have personally experienced a few faith approaches that made things worse. I can't say for sure when I first began exhibiting mental  illness. I became suicidal in high school. I kept my mouth shut except for one friend (and it was because she feared for my life. We would all do well with such friends.) and it got back to my parents. I played it off as a joke and stayed out of the psychiatrist's office. But it wasn't a joke. I felt that way.

I got got caught up in a bible study group apart from my childhood church in which I never heard a sermon on the topic. This bible study group  was lead by young 20-year-old somethings with no formal training and a pastor of  large charismatic church who came to help get it up and running. I don't remember who invited me, but it was very different from what I was used to and as a sort of rebellious teen I decided to stick around.

The pastor was totally into demonology. Something  new and crazy sounding. I knew nothing about it so I stuck around to learn what it was all about. Basically  there was a Devil's henchman (demon) for  everything bad in the world when it came to people. He pulled out a few bible  verses to back his theology  and began telling us we should come forward for deliverance for the sins he began listing. Among them was depression. No faithful Christian was ever depressed. So, I went up to have the demon of depression kicked out. The only problem, I felt the same. Then he said if you weren't free, then you wanted whatever you had. The deepening despondency drove  me to leave. Obviously that wasn't the answer. If it was, I was toast.

I tried another church. I stayed a couple of years before I admitted I had a mental illness, though I did not call it that at the time. I just knew something was wrong and I figured God was not pleased. The prescriptions were to read the bible more  and pray harder. There was the demon thing by a couple, but the main thing I heard was that I was sinning by being depressed and those who committed suicide went straight to hell. I tried the "cures" but I ended up faking it for a while, then another pastor came who was so condemning of many things, even Christmas trees were evil. I proudly announced that I had one and left the church.

If I hadn't had a child, I would have never gone to church again. But I needed to find a sane church that would help and accept me, and I finally found it at South-Broadland Presbyterian Church. By then I had finally gone to see a psychiatrist because I was suicidal and the thought of doing that and leaving behind a four-year-old with that legacy was too much to bear. That is when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It was that because I would have times of the opposite feelings. High energy, extreme irritability, hearing voices and other symptoms. Then I would crash into deep depression.

I began with the pastor who showed compassion and wanted to help anyway he could. The pastor we have now gets it entirely and is a stalwart source of help and mercy. No demons, no extra prayer assignments, though some scriptures designed to help lift me have been suggested. No accusations of not having enough faith, no sinning because of it.  In fact the last  hospital stay, she came twice to visit me and brought comfort, encouragement, understanding, hope, acceptance, and prayer.

I am still battling but with an understanding and loving family, a church that is sensible and sane, and a pastor who doesn't make up theology, but teaches based on the bible and who has been to seminary for a foundation to pastor a church. I  have hope  even when things don't look or feel good.

At the end of each service she says, "God is good all the time." And the congregants respond, "And all the time  God is good." And he is. I am here alive despite all the odds against me and all the condemnation over the years. I honestly know some meant well, but for some their right is wrong. God is good. He  kept me safe and guarded me during some of the darkest times of my life. I can praise him even when low because of his many unlisted blessings to me over the years.

I hope the whole of Christendom will one day treat those with mental illness as God would have them treat them, with love, compassion, understanding, and peaceful, gentle words of hope. And an invitation to have dinner with Jesus in his heavenly kingdom, where there will be many mentally ill who were left to fend for themselves on the mean streets. Find a way to help at least one person, if only to be a steadfast friend  who has the patience and compassion to go the distance. The reward is worth it.

Reaching out to the Suicidal

I would have written this entry sooner, but was on a wonderful vacation. Got to spend time with my son and see some of the most beautiful places I have been: Washington State. Mt, Rainier  in all its massive snow peaked glory. Water falls everywhere, and the tallest trees I have ever seen. I was able to let go of some of my anxiety and seeing my son helped lift my depression. I felt a sense of peace.

But it didn't last. I came home to another ECT treatment the very next day and a session with my shrink. The depression isn't going away and the insomnia is worsening. He asks me each time he sees me if I am suicidal. Last year I was in the hospital for a week and took the full 12 FMLA weeks off work. I had enough sick leave to stay paid. But this last time I spent 10 days in the hospital and began ECT treatments again while going to work. I don't have the money to stay home this time. Now comes  the medicine merry-go-round. Changing the medications to find a combination that might work.

Then I also came home to the news that a famous person who struggled with addiction, as I did until I went to AA 30 years ago,  but the Bipolar ups and downs were ever present. And right now it is the depressive side that is tormenting me. I want to says I have been in his shoes, but I am not faced with an un-treatable disease on top of it.

But I  do know the pain of deep depression. People often use that word when they are just blue over something for a few days or a week. But clinical depression is way beyond having the blues or just feeling down for  a couple days  because something went wrong or didn't work out as had hoped, or any other many reasons.

If you use that word, then go see a psychiatrist. It is a life  altering disorder and has the potential to lead to suicide. And  even if it does n't go that far, it colors your whole world and the people in  your life are affected by it, too. Deep depression can disable a person to the point that they can no longer work, maintain hygiene, be unable to carry on conversations, or even leave the house, isolating completely.

Those are the most severe cases, but many feel that way, but have, with all their energy been able to hide the depression and function.  But inside they are slowly crumbling and no one seems to notice. Still there are signs. Self put-downs, lack of a higher level of normal energy, poor  appetite or gaining rapid weight. Less creativity, and a level of isolating. When you see these things, it's time to  attempt to be a friend who tries to draw out feelings and listen carefully. If the word suicide is ever  mentioned, it's time to take it  not as a joke, but a cry for help. Encourage that person to go to see a psychiatrist, or even offer to take them to an ER. Plans for how to do it may already been made.

Clinical depression is a serious disorder that can be treated if you can provide a trusting friendship where the truth can come out and going to the safety of a hospital. There are medications, ECT, therapy and support groups. Suicide doesn't have to  be the final step in dealing with depression. So pay attention to those who exhibit those signs and get them to the help they need. It  may take some effort, some convincing conversations. Educate yourself so you can be the difference  between a person's suffering and their getting help. You  may turn out to be the only one who makes the difference.

Fear of the Water, Fear of the deep

Here I am hurtling through the air at who knows what speed a 737 does.  We've just taken off for Seattle on our way to see our son. It will be a three hour flight. The longest non-stop flight I've ever been on. I am feeling rather relaxed because that’s what Ativan does. Two pills and my fear of flying eases. But three hours is a long time to me. I don’t know how people are able to fly across the Atlantic. I would have to be knocked out.

Flying for me is fearful in and of itself, but crossing the ocean is beyond fearful. It is terrifying. I have respect for water, and I can swim, but a pool is a far cry from the tempestuous, never still ocean. It is full of swells and when it storms, ships are tossed about like rag dolls. The largest ones weather it better, but still, the oceans can break ships and send them to the deep.

It is that awful power and darkest depths from where no one is ever found or returns that terrifies me. One can only tread water for so long. Then there is becoming a meal for a shark. But the vastness and unforgiving power to destroy is what makes me refuse to cross any ocean. For some it is a source of fascination, but for people like me, it overwhelms and melts the courage of even the normally steadfast.

The ocean makes me think of the Lord. He is vast, powerful, endless in motion in the affairs of men, and for those who have been taught incorrectly, just as the ocean so, too, he can instill great fear. In my past I had a distorted concept of God. He was like the hound of heaven, busily seeking those he could destroy by tossing them into hell. No mercy for those of us who had wandered too far from religion and faith. My actions put me high on the list for eternal torment. At one point in the bible, Kind David felt as if God had turned away from him and he said God’s waves and billows had washed over him.

In a foolish and twisted mind, I knew I was going to hell, so what I did mattered not. Yet, at the same time, I kept running from him as fast as I could. Somehow I thought I could keep out of his reach, I could go on living as I was, staying far away from him as I could. The restricted space of a blog keeps me from telling my whole story, so I shall just say that I finally was cornered, and the relentless hound of heaven had me right where he wanted me. I expected the worst, but what I got was mercy, grace, faith and forgiveness. I was utterly changed. Some things right away, some things took some time, but I did a 180, and the understanding I had of God would never be the same.

He is like the ocean he created. Vast, deep, and awesome. Like how the ocean beckons sailors, so he beckons us. He seeks those who will go into the spiritual waters where we cannot touch bottom. He bids to go well beyond the visible shore; deeper and deeper. If we desire an intimacy with God unlike any other, then we must go beyond wading in ankle deep water.  The Holy Spirit will cause us to walk where only one man walked, and that is Peter when Jesus called to him to come out of the boat. But Peter, seeing the swells from the storm and feeling the wind the churned the water, sank like a rock and Jesus had to rescue him.

God wants us to follow where Jesus walked, defying natural fear and get out of the boat. The wind and high foaming waves are not to be our focus. Our gaze needs to always be on Jesus. He will lead us in safety. That doesn't mean there will be no storms, but he will keep us safe. That is a promise.

I haven’t convinced myself that I want to cross the ocean by plane or ship, but I will get out of the boat that I have been clinging to. God has others yet to be rescued in the deep waters and those of us who have been graciously set free and forgiven must follow where the Spirit leads and reach out to those drowning in their sin and self-imposed bondage, the chains that are dragging them under.

Are you afraid to get out of the safety of the boat? I am. But get out is the command and I must obey, Not because I will be punished if I don’t, but because I will miss out on the wonderful and great exploits of reaching out to the drowning and through the power and grace of God, bring them to Jesus who will take it from  there and turn another life around.

In the book of Psalms, at one point there is a verse that has always been mysterious to me. It is “deep calls unto deep.” As I rack my brain trying to remember where it is, I think it might be in the Psalm I referenced earlier. There is no depth deeper than the mind of God. His thoughts are above our thoughts and his ways above our ways. He doesn't call the wise of the world, nor the strong and naturally brave.

He calls ordinary people, like me, and perhaps you, the reader. He calls the timid, and weak. He calls those the world calls foolish. He calls those who know they need a Savior. They recognize they are calling one last time in desperation for someone to save them as they sink. It is Jesus through us who grabs their hand and pulls them to the safety of salvation. Deep calls unto deep: The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. And as we grow, we begin to know the mind of God, and listen for the deep calling the deep.

We are on our downward descent into Seattle. I have made it three hours in an airplane. I spent the time writing this. It may not be one of my better ones, but a couple of anxiety pills and two screaming babies next to and behind me…the entire flight hasn't helped my concentration. I could have complained, but I've been told I was just as bad if not worse. There’s grace in that.

Sweet Sorrows

I have sat here for a while trying to figure out a very famous saying. I went through “Loss is such sweet sorrow”, “Goodbye is such sweet sorrow”, and others. Finally, thanks to Google, I found the quote written centuries ago by William Shakespeare: “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

I have never fully understood that sentiment. The only partings to which I could apply that are ones in which there was a sense of sarcasm. Not recommending that as I do believe the Lord takes a dim view of sarcasm. If you take time to read the book of Proverbs, you see he doesn’t like twisted barbs that harm others or hardens the heart. I have actually contemplated Shakespeare’s oft quoted line at times, albeit sometimes with incorrect words, but nonetheless mean the same and I have wondered what to make of these words that do not come from the bible, yet are so well known.

If I dug further, I suppose it was a romantic moment in which this quote was framed. But setting that aside, the words make little sense when the one you love and care about is taking leave of you. Where is the sweetness in that? Sorrow I understand. People I have loved have exited my life down through the years and there was only a sense of sorrow and loss.

This is where we do turn to the bible, because in it we find quite a few partings of sweet sorrows. Paul sending Timothy and Silas to other cities in faraway lands, and though there was much weeping at the parting, there was a sweetness knowing they were going with God’s blessing. If we stand in the way of those whom God wants to send and convince them to stay, that really isn’t love. And it’s not hearing from the Holy Spirit, and obeying. The parting of sweet sorrow is avoided, but at a cost that may be very dear.

The most profound parting of sweet sorrow came when Jesus left his followers and returned to his father. He made it clear that his ministry on earth was over and it was a difficult case of “parting is such sweet sorrow.” Without his departure, the Holy Spirit could not come. Our Comforter, our Counselor, our Strength and Wisdom that comes directly from the Lord. I have no doubt that tears were shed, and questions abounded, maybe there was even turmoil in the hearts and minds of some who saw him leave. But two angels appeared and asked why they kept looking up toward heaven. They said, “This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” (Acts 1:11) And that is where the sweetness is found.

Brothers and sisters in Christ are never really apart. Oh yes, perhaps in body, but heart and spirits stay intertwined in God’s love. And the parting of sweet sorrow may hurt for a season, but sending out those set apart by God for missions, makes it all the sweeter as we contemplate the countless lives that will be touched with the ever present and ever drawing grace of God.

I write all this in an effort to comfort, not just the reader, but also myself, for there is much sorrow when we lose loved ones, either by distance or death. But the sweetness as we contemplate the reunions that will take place with great joy. I could be way wrong, but I can’t help but doubt Shakespeare implied a spiritual lesson when he penned those words. It’s just in me that I find God in all things, even if only the slightest glimmer in the darkest dungeons of the human heart.

Right now I hurt for a variety of reasons. I said goodbye to a beloved family in church today. And other burdens are causing pain. But at least there is a sweet, sweet Spirit who comforts, and reminds us of what Jesus has given. And that sweet sorrow is actually a means which drives us onward and upward. Thank you, William Shakespeare. You left behind more than you think.

America, God Shed His Grace on Thee

This is a repost from the past. I guess it says what I want to say and doesn't need to be improved upon.

It’s Independence Day and to be honest, I’m not all that excited. As a child, the 4^th of July was next to Christmas and birthdays in terms of anticipation. I could barely contain my enthusiasm for firecrackers, bottle rockets and sparklers. Every year I’d get burned a bit by careless handling of punks and sparks from the sparklers inevitably caught some skin, but nothing that a wild tomboy couldn’t deal with. I was too engrossed with blowing up things to care about a burn or two.

Though my “adultness” keeps me from too much excitement, the fact is if handed some firecrackers, I’d be looking for an empty tin can to blow into the air. There is something about blowing things up that appeals to some lower nature in me. I don’t know whether or not that is something I should confess, but it’s on paper now. So as I sip a cup of coffee and listen to the sounds of fireworks going off in my neighborhood, I cannot help but remember the Independence Days of my childhood.

As a kid, I knew the hoopla was a celebration of the day the Declaration of Independence was signed. I had to know that much to make it through school. There was always rousing band music and flags waving, and of course, fireworks. It was a time when I was in awe of uniforms and ceremony and very proud that I could say my dad was in the Air Force. It was a childish patriotism, but everyone felt that way. I was surrounded by people who revered the flag and all the protocol that is entailed when handling it. The flag was almost holy. Each school morning, we’d face the flag, put our right hands over our hearts and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I could recite it along with the Lord’s Prayer. The two may have been the same in my understanding. Somehow, God seemed American to me and the USA was the best country in the world.

A lot has changed in the world from the years when I was busily blowing up things. I’ve learned that the flag is not sacred, the Pledge of Allegiance causes controversy, and the USA is not liked by many. And God is not an American. Never was. I am though. In spite of questionable leadership and corrupt government, injustice and inequality, racism and violence, there is still something that causes me to choke back tears when I hear the national anthem. Maybe it’s just a conditioned response, but I doubt it. I can see that with all its many flaws, America is still blessed with much good: abundant resources, wealth, opportunity, and countless generous and caring people. I may not always like how my government acts, but I live in a nation where I can say that and not fear.

So maybe I was wrong to say I’m not too excited today. I am an American. I am proud that I was an Air Force brat, that my father served his country for 25 years. I am proud that my son is a First Lieutenant and serves his country in the Army. I am proud that my husband is a Vietnam veteran. I am proud of the young men and women serving overseas in harm’s way. But I am also proud to be in a land where people serve others everyday in soup kitchens and missions; of those who work for justice and equality; of teachers in classrooms; police officers and firefighters; honest government employees; and all the ordinary folks who get up, go to work, pay taxes, give to their churches and drop money in the Salvation Army buckets each December. I live in a nation where creativity is allowed to flourish and dissension is permitted. I live in a country where people from all walks of faith may gather and worship freely. I live in America and I’m proud of it. And it’s all because some very brave people put pen to paper two hundred thirty –eight years ago and began a grand experiment in democracy and freedom.

I guess I am excited after all.

The Inheritance We Leave for our Children

I woke up much earlier than I wanted to this morning, but in the quiet place of aloneness, I started looking through my son’s West Point graduation photos, and soon tears were running down my cheeks. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was taking him to his first day of kindergarten. He is a grown man now, an officer in the U.S. Army.

The photos reminded me once again of how proud I am of him, and the joy I have in his successes.  From the time he was born, I knew he was destined for good things. And indeed, God has been good to him. With the abundant grace of God, my husband and I have never fought or yelled, threatened divorce, or any number of things that leave children scarred and unsteady when it comes to loving another person. All they know is what has been modeled, and God gave me a man who has endless patience and who loves me in spite of all the craziness I have brought to our marriage.

My son, my precious son, was a true gift from God to us. The intensity of my love for him cannot be put in words other than I would lay down my life for him. We chose his name because it means “Gift of Jehovah.”  My pride in his work ethic, his honesty, his striving to do his best always, and his determination to make a difference in the world that surrounds him, overflows and I wonder how he managed to turn out the way he did in spite of living with a bipolar mother. I cannot remember what and when the assignment was, but he said his hero was his father. That didn’t surprise me because he has been a rock in our family, showing what being a man of God looks like.

I know without a doubt he also loves me. I quit a good paying job to rear him myself. I didn’t want strangers with differing ideals taking care of him. It was a huge financial step backwards for us, but I knew that was what God wanted and my husband agreed. Somehow we made it, even though on paper it looked impossible. Yes, between that and keeping our son in private parochial schools throughout his primary and secondary schooling gave him a shot at his dream of going to West Point. He had a very good education, and though we spent money that could have been set aside for retirement, it was worth every penny to make sure he got the best education he we could provide for him. Because we willingly sacrificed for him, we have faith God will somehow help us make it through our retirement years.

Our children are gifts and to be treasured and loved unconditionally to demonstrate God’s love toward his people. So, I cling to the promise from Proverbs that says if we train up a child in the ways of God, when he is old, he will not depart from him. Love your children and grandchildren while they are within your reach to show them the ways of God. They listen and hide away those words and actions in their hearts. Pray fervently for them should they stray. They will come back. I strayed for fifteen years, and my parents prayed for me daily. God heard and answered their prayers and I returned to the fold. Now I can never go back to life without faith. I recognize how much I need the Lord. That is the best inheritance we could possibly leave to our son. It was the inheritance I received from my parents. There is no greater gift we can leave to our children.

Faith, hope and love, but the greatest of these is love. Give all three to your children, but remember that love will make faith and hope firmly rooted in their hearts. The baby I bore 25 years ago is no longer under my direct care, but my love never wavers, nor do my prayers. God is faithful to his children’s children, and no matter how far they may drift, God will draw them back. You should find comfort in that, for God loves them far more than we possibly can, and in his hand where no one can snatch them they will remain. And the model of faith and love you have shown them will be the same they give to their children. God had declared that he is faithful to the generations of those who fear him. What an incredible promise. Hang on to it. He showers the children of his children with love and grace, for he demonstrated his love and mercy to us when his only Son endured the cross of death for us. What more can be said?

Step into the Light

About seven years ago, inspiration struck and I wrote a children’s book. So far, it’s had favorable reviews from those I have shown it to. Its intended audience is preschool, two-four or five years in age. In that time, I pitched it to one publisher who sent a very nice rejection letter. I’ve done nothing with it since then.

I purchased a Writer’s Market book as well as a Children’s Writer’s book to help me get it published. But I haven’t worked on a gripping cover letter and the book stays on the computer. I think I have an issue with rejection. The fact is that most writers get far more rejection letters than contracts to publish. I should take that to heart and not let the rejections stop me. Someone out there will surely like it and I’ll finally be a published author. But it is a daunting task.

Rejection hurts, and I am not talking about baring your writing to strangers who do the rejecting. Rejection comes in all forms and has enormous power to destroy lives. If my book is never published, I will get to work on another and try to get published again. But, that really is small potatoes when compared to rejection of the whole person. The entire world is filled with rejection. It’s littered with broken relationships, agonizing pain from rejection that comes in the form of bullying, and fearful hearts hiding behind carefully constructed facades to keep from being hurt.

We all hide to some extent, not wanting some secrets to be discovered, impure thoughts, addictions to mind altering drugs and alcohol, or pornography; such a small list. Jealousy, embezzling, and cheating now and then, the list is endless. And we justify it to ourselves in vain, because deep down we know it is wrong and fear exposure more than anything. Christians still live in a body of weak flesh and need the strength only the Holy Spirit can provide to overcome sinful desires. But there is one requirement, it must be confessed and in doing so brought into the light. Do I hear shaking knees yet?

In my past, I wasted fifteen years caught up in alcoholism, drug abuse, promiscuity and a host of other sins I will not go into. I stepped into the brightness of God’s searching eyes, and held nothing back to the person I chose to disclose all the sordid details. I chose carefully, because I knew the wrong person could cast judgment on me and leave me to suffer the painful rejection I feared more than anything. But she was a woman of God and she made no judgments. Her response was to embrace me and help me pray for forgiveness. She was literally God’s stand-in extending his mercy and grace and declaring I was now a new child of God. All was forgiven and though I might struggle occasionally, I knew where I could go to confess and be restored in relationship to God. I basked in the light of heaven and knew I would never be the same again, regardless of stumbling and times of failure. Such relief washed over me. I was clean!

God’s grace, mercy, and love are there for all humanity. Not all are going to take the offer of free salvation. But those who do must walk in the light, as the Lord is light and in him there is no darkness at all. Scripture says to confess your sins to one another that you might be healed. That demands stepping into the light and being exposed. Risky business. But God expects no less and he also holds accountable those who hurt other Christians by casting stones in judgment. Unless they repent of the sin of judgment and rejection, it will be shown in God’s light when they see him.  I am not saying salvation is lost, but there will be a consequence of some kind.  That is up to our Creator.

If, like me you sometimes hide things that are sinful, God wants to set you free. Find a faithful and mature grace-filled Christian and get it out into the light, confessing and receiving cleansing and forgiveness. God does not reject those who are his, and neither should we. No child of God should suffer rejection at the hands of believers. As the old song goes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

Pay it Forward, God does

Today, I am very tired. Not enough sleep and a little juggling of my meds was a mistake. I just thought I would see if I could take less now and still sleep. The correct response to that is, “No, I cannot.” I must take more to sleep through the night. It’s only my second full day home, and yet I had to be at the hospital at 5:00 AM for more ECT treatments. Tonight I will not skimp on sleep meds. I paid a high price for doing so.

I don’t even want to know how much this is going to cost me. Of course I have insurance, but there will be some bills to pay. All the time off with no pay, the restricted hours of work, and the tendency to feel useless could creep back in quickly. I need to be busy and to be here sitting in “recovery” mode is not something I like. I know I am probably not ready to go back just yet, but I feel like I make a difference in the lives of others, helping them when I am working. I get a total charge out of finding information for people that is exactly what they are looking for. Awesome feeling.

But I am sitting at home and writing this. I could write about some of the interesting patients I encountered while there, but as funny as some of the anecdotes might be, I don’t like using mental illness as a joke. I will laugh about my own stuff, well, maybe not yet the recent bout. But too many people laugh at the actions and words of mentally ill people, who cannot help it. No one decides as a child that they are going to have sick mind when they grow up. No one says they want to grow up to be a crack head or an alcoholic. But some indeed become slaves to addictions. And some people develop mental illness.

The stigma and stereotypes of those who are mentally ill break my heart. Yes, some are dangerous who have reached a point of total disconnect with other people and reality. But even then, they are more likely to be just be wandering the streets, homeless, nameless people. I had chosen to keep my struggle for a constant hold on reality a secret from my family. Only my husband and a few very close people knew for years. My church has even been in the dark, those not long before I went back into the hospital. I finally said something, and no one came up to me after church, with the exception of one woman who also has Bipolar Disorder, which was good. Now she knows she’s not alone and might count me as a possible sounding board.

But the fact that among a room full of people, no one else said one word to me after prayers and church was over. I am very grateful for those who did gather around me and prayed for me, but others stayed away. No hugs, no questions or comments, no one saying they would continue the prayer for me. Two weeks later I was falling apart. (This blog has meandered to the point that the first couple paragraphs seem out of place, but I shall leave them nevertheless. Felt I had to say that so no one thought I was on too many drugs.)

I guess I am writing to say my mental illness doesn’t define who I am. It does shape my life in some ways, but I am a perfectly acceptable soul in the sight of God, who knows what I go through and doesn’t label me as defective. Unless God, in his plan for my life chooses to heal me, I will go through occasional bouts of mania or depression. In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “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.” (2:10)

God doesn’t make mistakes. I cannot say in all honesty that he made me like this, but here I am, formed in the image of God and good works are everywhere if I will just open my eyes to them. Maybe my hamstrings have been cut, but I can still make a difference in the life of another weary traveler on the narrow path.

In some ways, I am grateful for the creativity and passion that are hallmarks of this disorder. Maybe I wouldn’t be writing the way I do if I had my head on straight. I don’t know, and probably never will. I am 59 years old, and this disorder has progressed some. But God can be counted on to carry me and lead me. He is utterly trustworthy. And I want to go on record as saying I love him.

Well, I thought I had another entry in mind, but this is how it has turned out. To the reader, God loves you more than you can possibly understand. He is thrilled you are his, through Christ Jesus. He dances over you with delight. His joy cannot be contained, and I truly hope you are feeling it as it overflows and rains down on you.  We are his children and he will lead us and care for us more than our earthly fathers ever could. Praise be to God, our rock and our Redeemer.

Turn Us, O God

I got home yesterday from another stay at the mental health hotel where it sort of reminds me of the old Eagles song, Hotel California (“You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.”). This time it took me ten days to get it back together enough to be released, but I am still convalescing. My mother’s death really triggered a bipolar depression crash and I was becoming dangerous to myself. It was harder this time to pull it together this time. My former psychiatrist told me that episodes can become increasingly worse as you age. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Medications can help prevent brain damage from mania, but I don’t know about the depression side. A new set of medications and time to adjust is what the doctor has ordered. Plus a temporarily reduced work schedule.

I am tired of the Bipolar Disorder roller coaster. It seems to be a never ending ride. And it not only affects me, but those near me. It really is Hotel California of the mind. One hope I find is that this life is short in comparison to the promised eternal life I am looking forward to without pain or tears.

I took my bible with me to the hospital and read the Psalms and other scriptures during my stay. What is so wonderful about the Psalms is that many of them are actually laments and cries for help. I prayed them as I read them. I fervently prayed Psalm 139. God has never left me throughout my life. As someone wise once told me, I have taken the Holy Spirit places that he’d rather I had not gone, but he was there with me nevertheless.

I also had my Grandmother’s Book of Common Prayer which moves me to tears in some of the confessional prayers. One says, “Turn us, O God, turn us and we shall be turned.” Turned back to him in our sinful wanderings, our fears, our sorrows.  There is no limit on what the Holy Spirit can do within the heart of the believer if it is laid bare and open. The soil of the heart can be rocky and hard, but with the work of the Spirit, albeit painful at times, the ground can be cleared, plowed and made ready for the seed of the living Word to take root, grow and yield a bountiful harvest. Our part is to ask for it and then go with the flow, withholding nothing.

So what does that have to do with mental illness? Plenty. There are trials and tribulations in this life. Mine is Bipolar. Others may face other daunting struggles, but the scripture assures us that God never forsakes us, never gives us more than we can handle, and provides all we need to turn our tears into springs of living water. I can use my past addictions and current mental state to help others in similar struggles, of any struggles, really, keeping in mind that not all burdens are self-imposed, they are sometimes the result of living in this fallen world. I would rather be a bit crazy and trust in God for the grace to carry me through, than to live problem free, without needing the Lord.

My pastor gave me a scripture to hold onto while I was in this acute flare. Habakkuk 3:17-19:

Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; although the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food; although the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer and makes me tread upon the heights.

I read it every day. At some point I will find myself on the mountain top again, and I will know how I got there: the unrelenting, unsurpassable, undying grace of God, mingled with his sweet, tender mercies. Until then, I must wait. Just as all creation groans, so will we, but always tinged with hope of better things to come. 

Fairly Tales and Truth

Hey diddle the cat and the fiddle

The cow jumped over the moon

The little dog laughed to see such sport

And the dish ran away with the spoon

I still don’t know what that childhood ditty means. But whomever thought of it should have received some sort of prize for creative writing. A Pulitzer for children’s limericks. There are many children’s stories written in the middle-ages through the present that aren't so lighthearted. Witches, goblins, evil kings and queens, wolves that eat grandmothers, poisoned apples. The list of evils awaiting unsuspecting children is boundless and no doubt there was a lot of lost sleep from hearing such stories. I have heard it said the stories were written to teach young children to watch their ways or evil awaited them.

There are grown up stories, too, that offer good or bad choices and the consequences that go with the moral of the story. Some are known as urban myths. Generally untrue. But there are true stories that should and do stir the hearts of those with open minds. The first that comes to mind is the very real story of Adam and Eve. Given paradise in which to dwell eternally, they instead chose to seek beyond what God intended and the consequences were terrible. No longer would they have paradise, but they lost eternal life, and now had to live with the destructiveness of sin. Innocence forever lost.

The bible is filled with true tales of our sinful nature and the pain we and others experience as a result of acting on sinful desires is real and lowers ourselves in our own eyes, and often in the eyes of others. Thank God he has sent a Redeemer to break the chains that kept us trapped in the lifestyle of sin. We had no power to overcome the great power of sin. We were slaves and the first covenant God made with his people failed to break sin’s power. Rules to follow that could have made a real difference could not be followed. The people of God and all humanity were ensnared and powerless to stop sinning.

But our Redeemer, Jesus Christ, took all the weight of our sins and sinful nature and died with them covering him. God raised him from the dead to make it possible for us to be resurrected, too. The power of sin is broken forever and those who believe Jesus is our Savior and confess it openly will be saved, even if we stumble and sin, which we will do from time to time. We are works in progress, being molded into the likeness of Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit.

So rejoice that sin is no longer our taskmaster making us do whatever it wants, but rather now we have freedom to flee to the one who forgives when we fail and sin. We now have a power to not sin, though we sometimes will. All is a learning process, just like those fairy tales of so long ago. It’s just that the stories in the bible are true and teach us how to live in freedom and not fear. All is being made ready for us is heaven to be with him.  The cloud of witnesses who have already made it there are cheering us on. Read the promises of God of rejoice in them. He is not a man that he should lie. He is our creator and longs for all to be saved. You are his children, and your Daddy awaits you.

Here is a verse that is true, and unlike the silly children’s limerick, does make sense.

Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens

 and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle

 and humble in your heart,

and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.

The Pain of Grief

There are down days, blue days, sad days, but then there are days of unrelenting grief. Some days when we are just blue they only last a day or two. There are a myriad of reasons for days when we feel down, some of which we can’t define. We just have the blues.

But grief is a whole other thing. It’s a process, one that can take months, and for some even years. Today I had to leave work early because the grief was too strong. Today my parents would have celebrated 63 years of marriage. But my father and mother are gone. My mother only a few months and I cry some each day. I grieved when my father died, but there is something different about a mother. You hear her voice while in the womb. You feel her hand as she strokes her swollen belly.

A mother’s love is ferocious. Unless there is something wrong with the mother or child, there is a bond that takes place early and mom becomes nurse, play partner, sleeps with you so the closet monsters creepy things under the bed don’t get you. She fixes your favorite meal on your birthday, attends all plays, concerts, games, and claps the loudest for you. She is your biggest fan and helps you get ready for your first prom. And nothing can hold back the tears of when you say, “I do.”

As much as I grieve her death, I also grieve times when I didn’t call or visit as much as I should have and the times when I disappointed her, and caused fear to grip her. Before she passed away I leaned down to whisper to her that I was so sorry for the years I wandered caught up in addictions. And she told me to shush, that she loved me through it all. This causes me to cry when I think of it. The pain I caused her didn’t matter, all that mattered was love. Still it hurts, and no doubt will for a season, or two.

Today I am deeply grieved. We skipped Mother’s Day. It didn’t matter. Without Mom, it really wasn’t Mother’s Day. She was the glue that held us together. Hopefully, that glue is long lasting even in her absence. I need my remaining family, I need my friends. I need non-judgmental love. I need God, yet he feels so far away. Sadness that could lead to another bout of depression is not inconceivable. I have been there and felt the chill, and tasted the bitterness.  

Still, I know in my heart that she and my father are no longer in pain. And though I miss her terribly, the day will come when God calls me home and I will see them again. But for now, I will have to travel the road of the grief process. At some point the memories won’t hurt anymore. And I will laugh at some of the stories I have stored in my heart. Until that day, tears fall and pain is palatable. Somehow God will get me though this. I don’t know how and I don’t know when. But his grace is amazing even when we don’t sense it. And right now I need that grace.

Connections

Today we went to the Vietnam War Memorial, but there was a large ceremony that included politicians. Will said what I was thinking, to come back later when the crowd was gone. So after a couple hours we went back and there were just a few people milling about. I took photos of the name I knew and the one Will knew, and general photos of the memorial. We brought yellow roses, a symbol of peace, and placed them at the wall.

I noted a man sitting on a bench and I asked him if he were a veteran and he said he was. I said so was my husband and the two began conversing. I moved to another bench and stared at all the names carved into the wall. Each had lives cut short, leaving behind grieving families and untold pain. Then out of nowhere a man in jeans and scruffy shirt marched to the wall stopped and saluted in a perfect motion. Then with perfect military precision, he did an about face, and walked quietly to the bench next to me and sat down.

The introvert in me wanted to ignore him, but I couldn’t. I leaned over to see his face and said, “Excuse me sir, but are you a veteran?” He answered yes. I said I was very sorry for his loss. He looked my way and said a simple thank you. Then I thanked him for his service to our nation, and for that he also thanked me, and then looked back toward the wall. I wasn’t willing to talk further because I was already out of my comfort zone and it was obvious he wanted to be left alone. And yet, in that small exchange I felt a connection had been made. Humans bond over the simplest things and the momentous; over shared joy and heart rending pain.

For a brief moment I felt a connection to that man in his obvious pain. I am not comparing the pain I sometimes suffer to that of a person who has been through the horrid experience of war. Or the pain of losing a son or daughter in armed conflict. No, the connection came because for a brief moment, two introverted people shared a common bond through the simplest communication. I extended sympathy and gratitude. His response was brief, but I cannot help but wonder if there was a moment of pain followed by pride. Not a bad pride but rather the kind that lifts people out of self-pity, and makes the heart feel a beat of joy when it has harbored bitter pain.

Who really knows what goes on in the human heart? I have just offered pure conjecture about what was going on inside that man. But God knows all things and knows what lurks in the deepest recesses of the heart. No love, joy, pain, impurity, hate, peace and a host of other feelings and motives are hidden from him. On one level that is a frightening thought. But to me and other believers, it is a source of comfort. When I have joy, he rejoices. When I sin, his grace is there to forgive. When pain tears at my heart, he comforts in ways no one else can. He has suffered far more than I have.

There is a disconnect between people because we all have something to hide. There was a disconnect between us and God because we first hid and then openly behaved in profane and idolatrous ways. But the connection was regained through the grace of God demonstrated on the cross. We no longer have to hide, but hiding is ingrained and it takes the Spirit to gradually uncover those tender places we want so desperately to keep in darkness.

That vet may be a believer, or not. I’ll never know, but in that short exchange, I hope he felt I cared with God’s care slipping through the cracks in my heart from past and present pain. That’s all I want. God’s love, grace, and care flowing through the broken places in my heart, knowing full well the day is coming when all pain and tears will end. Till that day, thank a vet, pay it forward, help carry a load, turn the other cheek, forgive, and—I say this as much to me—don’t hide. God is light and nothing can hide in it. We deceive ourselves to think otherwise. So, be open to any opportunity to show kindness, and don’t worry about the results. That’s up to God. 

Never Forget

It’s two days before Memorial Day and I am pleased to say I lost no relatives in the wars America has fought. Uncles, cousins, nephew, brother-in-law, father, and my husband all survived. And their wives, mothers and daughters worked on the home front to support them. They and my son’s service will be honored on Veteran’s Day.

I am writing to honor one, though, who served 25 years in the military, rising to the rank of Captain, and was engaged in top secret missions. I remember well his leaving us for months at a time and how hard it was for me to see him leave. My mother ran the ship in his absence, and ran a tight one.

He served as a bombardier initially during WWII. His unit received a presidential citation for sinking so many U-boats. Then he trained to service the extremely secret Norden bombsite. It was so secret that bombardiers were to destroy them if going down so they wouldn’t fall into enemy hands. His job was so important he had two body guards accompany him everywhere he went. He served in Europe, Italy, Africa, and in the Pacific theater. Join the army, see the world.

You couldn’t tell he had been through a horrid war he was such a mellow man. He kept his temper in check and was always upbeat. He loved my mother very much as we discovered in the love letters she kept for her whole married life. Even a few before they married. And he loved us, despite typical childhood antics. When I wandered from the faith and became a hopeless addict, he never stopped praying every night that I would return to the fold. He prayed that prayer for 15 years before he saw it answered. But God heard his pleas and answered his faithfulness and trust. Throughout my rebellion, he never stopped loving me or wrote me off, disowning me as some parents do with their difficult children.

He was a good airman throughout his service and was proud he was able to serve his country. He could have had to have been called back to action any time throughout the cold war. The terrible and terrorizing nuclear bombs placed in Cuba almost triggered what would have been a catastrophic war. He was ready.

My father is buried in a national cemetery and had a full honor military funeral, with a 21 one gun salute, the folding of the flag over his remains and presented to my mother with the words, “On behalf of the president and a grateful nation I present this to you.” Then Taps was played. In my estimation, he was not just a good man, but a great one. His example of living a life of faith and service has been passed down to his children and also his grandchildren. Before he passed away I had the last chance to say I loved him and that he was the best father I could have had.

I know there are plenty of people out there who could share similar stories about their fathers, and I salute their relatives who served honorably and bravely. The generation of WWII is quickly passing away and before it’s too late, we need to honor them and declare their greatness and be solemn in thought of the thousands who never made it home to the arms of loved ones.

My immediate and extended family served America in the military and some still do. I sometimes wonder if it’s passed down genetically. Probably not. What is there is love of our country and the freedoms we enjoy. Countless lives have been lost defending the life we would not have were it not for them. As the saying goes, “All gave some, some gave all.” Don’t let this Memorial Day be just a day to cookout.

In my city, there is a wall of local names of those who died in Vietnam. My husband is a Vietnam veteran. I think we will go there because I am just not ready to visit my father and mother’s grave yet. But I will fly my flag Monday and save time to quietly remember those who died in all our wars. They deserve at least that much. May their sacrifices never be forgotten. 

Seize the Day

Today I posted a youtube video of Christian singer/songwriter, Carolyn Arends, a favorite of mine on Facebook. The song I posted is “Seize the Day.” Whenever I hear the song I have one of two responses. I will feel empowered to step out of my comfort zone and not give a rip about what anyone thinks of how I serve the Lord. The other is deep regret over lost days, which in my life have been many.

The chorus is “Seize the day, seize whatever you can, ‘cause life slips away just like hourglass sand. Seize the day, pray for grace from God’s hand then nothing will stand in your way, seize the day.” I drowned in alcohol and was wasted on drugs for fifteen years. Not one day of those years was lived for anyone but me. Remorse overwhelms the present and I get derailed, unable to function. I don’t lose faith in God, I lose faith in myself. Suddenly the bright future of living for the Lord and being a conduit of his grace gets clogged and I isolate from my brothers and sisters in Christ. Worse, I isolate from my Redeemer, keenly aware of years misspent and irretrievable.

Seize the day. King David asked the Lord to teach him to number his days, knowing God had allotted only so much time for humans to live. I think what David meant was teach him how not to waste his days. He understood the average lifespan was miniscule in relation to eternity and what we do and how we live have eternal consequences.

Those who have been washed clean in the Blood of the Lamb and believe they are forgiven and made righteous by the grace of God should have no fear. The apostle Paul said perfect love casts out fear for fear implies punishment. If we fear we have not yet reached perfection in love. Can anyone claim to have absolutely no fear? I don’t think so. There are things in life that cause us to tremble, not the least of which is keeping our eyes fixed on our sins instead of fixed upon our Savior.

If anyone demonstrated a lifestyle of seizing each day, it was Jesus. He wasted no words, actions or prayers. He wasted no time or pity on those, such as the Pharisees, who willingly closed their ears to his words of life, and lavished it all on sinners who knew they had no chance of gaining heaven. Those who longed for hope and forgiveness, who prayed to see the day of the Messiah.

After his death and resurrection, misconceptions about what the Messiah’s true purpose was became clear and literally thousands came to believe unto salvation in just one day by the working of the Holy Spirit. The early believers possessed a zeal and fervor that would make some Christians today uncomfortable. And they seized the days they were granted, carrying the message of salvation to the known world. Persecuted and doomed to horrible deaths, they faced down fear and praised the Lord for allowing them to be martyrs.

For those like me, who have a shameful past, seizing the day becomes all the more necessary to move beyond fear and to break the shackles that bind us to wasted time. The key is in finding the ways in which sin-ridden pasts can work for the increasing of the kingdom of God. In his kingdom, nothing is wasted, not even sin. All works together in ways we cannot fathom now, but will be revealed at the right time. So seize the day and all that comes your way. The past is paid for. The future is yet to unfold, but one day at a time, with God’s grace we can overcome all that stands in our way, as long as we fix our gaze on Jesus, and not on ourselves.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lmqtYR5tJo

Mother's Day

Mother’s Day is tomorrow and I will not be celebrating with family. Without my mother, my sister and I cannot bring ourselves to have a gathering. We are both mothers, but Mom was the real focus of the day. I am having a hard time keeping tears from blocking my vision as I type.

I’ve been told grief is a process and all the first holidays without a loved one’s presence are the hardest. Mom’s birthday was April 29^th and she wasn’t there for me to call and wish her a Happy 94^th Birthday. We had a big bash for her 90^th birthday and told her we’d be having another one when she hit 100. But God only granted her three more years with us, and right before Christmas she silently slipped into the waiting arms of her Lord and Savior. She had often talked about seeing Dad again and now they are sharing the joy of the Lord.

To say I miss her is an understatement. Every holiday was made special by her presence. When someone reaches 90 and up, it’s pretty difficult to come up with gifts. But I managed to always surprise her. I think the thing that meant the most to her is when we invited her to come to New York with us to see Matthew graduate from West Point. Her still living siblings demanded photographic evidence that a 91-one-year old grandmother was actually able to make the journey. It was sheer grit and determination that made it happen. She wanted to see all her grandchildren graduate from college, and Matthew was the last. Her dream was fulfilled.

Being married to a serviceman meant moving frequently and having to manage a household often without his help because of missions he would be on. I didn’t see my father a lot in my younger childhood, but that wasn’t his fault. Because of his frequent absences, my mother became a stronger woman. She pretty much raised us. And by the time I came along she was 35 and having to keep up with the demands of a toddler while keeping tabs on my older siblings. I have always felt I was the one who turned her hair gray. If Ritalin had been available, I would have been on it.

My mother could be gentle and caring, but there was the ferocity of a bear that could arise if anyone slighted her children. I have a memory of being sent into a store to get some thread. I was around 8. I stood at the counter for the longest time because the cashier was waiting on adults and ignoring me. When I finally gave up and came back to the car empty-handed, my mother took my hand and marched me into the store and proceeded to ream that woman out about not taking care of me. She was hot! I was not embarrassed, I was in awe of this person who I called Mom. It was pretty impressive. She taught me by that incident that children are important. In my job today, I never ignore children who come for help.

But the upshot of this meandering blog entry is that I miss my mother and it hurts. No more hugs, no more motherly advice and the wisdom that comes from such a long and well-lived life. And hardest of all is not hearing her voice telling me she loves me, and grieving all the years I wandered from the faith, breaking her heart. No amount of wishing can turn back time.

What comfort I do have is knowing my parents are in heaven. And the promises of God that “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you…” (Isaiah 66:13). “Can a woman forget her nursing child or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands…” (Isaiah 49:15-16a).

But my mother never forgot me or forsook me. She modeled the tender love of the Lord. That is the inheritance of a God loving woman who bore me and nurtured me in the faith. And true to God’s word, when I grew older I did not depart from the faith, I returned to it. I feel raw with grief for I have no mother to honor tomorrow. But I knew her for 58 years. Some don’t get that much time, and some don’t even care. That is their terrible loss.

I wish all the mothers I know a very happy Mother’s Day. I have my precious son and we love each other. I tried to instill in him the same faith I was taught. I have loved him without fail. I have done my best to bring him up to be a good man. Perhaps in this I can still honor my mother, though she is no longer with us. To see my son, her grandson, live life as she did. Never giving up, never losing faith, and never stop loving. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I still love you more than I can say.

It Is Finished

It is the day before Easter. Two millennia ago, Jesus was lying dead in a tomb. But in the church, it is not a time of hopelessness like it was to his followers at the time. There is a sense of anticipation. Easter is a day of celebration unlike any other in the church year. It is a day of joy, knowing death has been overcome once for all. Christian singer/songwriter Michael Card wrote, “Love crucified arose, and the grave became a place of hope, for the heart that sin and sorrow broke is beating once again.” In the midst of holy day preparations, his words remind us that before we can rejoice in the Resurrection, we must first visit Gethsemane and Golgotha. We must first remember the passion and death of Christ, recognizing his suffering on our behalf.

We began preparing our hearts for Easter with Ash Wednesday, and throughout the Lenten season each day has brought us closer to the day of the final and everlasting Atonement. If we allow it, the same Holy Spirit that inspires us to sing for joy at Easter, will also lead us along the spiritual path Jesus walked on his way to an agonizing death on Good Friday. Though we do not suffer as he did, our hearts can and should experience the pain of knowing he paid the penalty that is justly ours. Our sorrow and penitence over our sin is a sacrifice as well. As the Psalmist wrote, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51).

By entering into his suffering, we experience greater joy in his resurrection. As we partake of communion on Maundy Thursday, we reflect on the sorrow Jesus felt, knowing what he was facing, and knowing he would be deserted by those who had just spent three years in close fellowship with him. Walk with him to Gethsemane and feel the fear and anxiety. It won’t be easy. His closest disciples fell asleep when he needed them most. In the same way, we also can be guilty of complacency when it comes to comprehending the cost of our salvation. But Gethsemane and Golgotha must come before Easter. They are inseparable. Suffering, death, and resurrection—all were necessary to secure an everlasting salvation for those who believe.

God’s love led Jesus to the cross of condemnation and suffering. He bore the terrible weight of the sin of the world, of our sin. His body broken, his blood spilled, all for us. But the tomb that held the lifeless body is empty. The price was paid in full and God raised him from the dead. His pain for our healing, his sorrow for our joy, his death for our life. In Jesus’ words, “It is finished.”

This Easter, when you speak and hear the words, “He is risen. He is risen indeed,” may your joy truly be made complete because, thanks to Jesus, your salvation is. 

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. Fifty-nine years on earth. Fifty-nine years of ups and downs, pain and pleasure, joy and sadness, setbacks and success. I have been a victim and I have been a fighter. In short, I am a survivor and an over-comer of odds stacked against me, but in this I do not brag in the least. For all my life I have been beset by sin and error, both deliberate and simply because I am a fallen being descended from Adam and Eve, whose rebellion has been handed down through the ages to all who have lived.

I feel like I have vied for Paul’s claim to be the chief of sinners. My past is littered with a whirlwind of destruction in the lives of others and in mine. Responding in terrible ways to those who sinned against me, and in the sins I have committed against innocent people who had the misfortune to have encountered me before I gave my heart to the Lord.

I have lived a life of loss and gain since I made a 180 degree turn around thirty years ago. Two steps forward and one step back has marked my progress. I have wrestled with shame, guilt, self-loathing, failure, and hopelessness. Living with Bipolar Disorder has caused turmoil within and without. The mental illness has adversely affected those who love me and brought unbearable despair to me often. But it has also made me a humbler and more compassionate person. I have heard the condition referred to as wounded healer. I bear scars from my past, and not all has been healed, but much of the crushing load has been lifted. There are times when I can hold my head high because of the redemption and soul cleansing bought with the blood of my Savior. It is he who declares me righteous even if there are times when I don’t act like it.

My life has not been a total loss, though I rue the lost years of my teens and twenties. I am being transformed however slowly into the likeness of Jesus. Memories that still haunt compel me to press harder into the loving and accepting arms of the Lord. If I lift my face toward him, I see glimpses of the potential still waiting to unfold in my life. But so many times my eyes are cast down and I cannot cling to the truth that I am no longer the person I once was. I need the gentle reminders from my sisters and brothers in Christ to remind me of that. Though I still fear rejection if I let my guard down, I oftentimes feel the comforts of acceptance and tender mercies of Jesus that flow through other Christians. In all, I know I am loved by both God and his people. If I focus on that, the burdens I shoulder are not so heavy.

This feels like a very risky blog entry, but I started it to journal my walk of faith in this life in the hope that readers may be encouraged as well as challenged. I have been chronicling my progress and because I am slowly growing in faith, I have discovered there can be joy in the journey in spite of the sorrow that visits from time to time.

When I look back on my life, I can see the changes that have been wrought in me by the Holy Spirit. There is still frustration and shame at times that I have not come as far as I think I ought to have by now; that I haven’t come as far as I should have. The should haves, would haves, and could haves dog my steps. But as David wrote, who else can I turn to but the Lord? I am wholly dependent on him to mold me into a vessel that reflects his glory.

In his time, in due season, I will appear before him face to face and the transformation will be made complete. Like those believers who have proceeded me in death in this life, it is my fervent hope to hear the words, “Well done good and faithful servant. Welcome into the joy of the Lord.” The tears will be wiped away and there will be no more suffering, no more stumbling, and no more straying. My joy and the joy of the Lord will be overflowing and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Today is Good Friday. It is only fitting to compare my sufferings to his and allow that to put all things into perspective. In two days we will celebrate the resurrection of the Lord and take heart in our promised resurrection to new life forever in the presence of the Lord who has saved us by the free gift of grace. I live because he has made it so, and nothing can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus. I can rejoice in this truth and do.

 Jesus loves me, this I know.

My Mother's Legacy

Today we laid my mother’s ashes to rest with my father’s at Fort Leavenworth, KS. There are still matters of estate to wrap up, but today is a final step in many ways. I have kept her ashes since December waiting for the time when most of us could get together for the burial. I have deliberately not looked at the wooden container as much as possible. To do so brings grief. I carry enough as it is.

My mother was a strong, independent woman of deep faith. With my father in the Air Force for much of my childhood, she had to run the house, corral three kids, and take care of finances. My father would come home on leaves, but he would be gone months at a time. She was comforter, nurse, disciplinarian, room mother, and more. I don’t remember a milestone or special event of mine that she wasn't a part of.

Going through her cedar chest, we found all manner of memorabilia of the three of us. She even kept my grade cards from elementary school. Photos, baby clothes and shoes, and records that were special in piecing together her life. Grade cards, baptism record, high school diploma (she was the top of her class), photos, and even records pertaining to her parents. It was a rich treasure trove of a life well spent.

My mother grew up and matured during the Depression years and nothing was wasted in our household. She kept meticulous financial records, recording every purchase no matter how small. Living on military pay wasn't easy. I remember when we would sometimes have pancakes for dinner and thought it was a treat. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized it was the end of the month and money was tight.

My mother did not have the means to go to college, but seemed content being an at home mom. My father dropped out of high school and joined the Army. He finally got his GED, a source of pride, and rose to the rank of Captain in the U.S. Air Force. They both wanted better for us and worked hard and sacrificed much to give the three of us a college education. My inheritance wasn't money as much as it was the skill and love of lifetime learning and better jobs. They believed it would be a better inheritance for us, and it was.

My mother lived long enough to see our son, her last grandchild, graduate from college. At 91, she flew to New York with us to see him graduate from West Point. She was thrilled. Even more, she was grateful to the Lord that he had given her enough years to see it. She had a great sense of satisfaction that she had seen all nine of her grandchildren graduate from college. And all her grandchildren loved her dearly and many tears were shed at her memorial service. Every one of them had the chance to speak last words to her in the final week of her life. I remember her telling my son to be good and always do his best. He promised her he would, and I know he will.

As I proofread this, I see the phrase, “My mother” is everywhere. Normally, I would make sure my writing would not be so repetitious, but this is about her and not my writing skills. My mother was a Godly, loving person who gave life to me and even during my years of wandering and rejection, never stopped loving me. My final words to her were a heartfelt apology and she shushed me saying it never changed her love for me. I told her it was okay to let go, read her favorite scriptures to her and told her that I loved her. She lapsed into a coma the last two days of her life and passed away quietly, gently carried off to her Savior, and my waiting father.

I am crying as I close this blog entry. I miss her. But she bequeathed an inheritance of faith to me, faith in a loving, merciful God. She left me sweet childhood memories, lessons in how to have a successful marriage, and how to raise a child so he will live in relationship to God.

Mom, I will see you again. I hope to see my future grandchildren graduate from college, too; to see my son live as you and Dad did, humbly, faithfully, and to love mercy more than judgment. If I can look back on my life at the end of it and see the same as you did, then I will count it a blessed success. I owe so much to you. I pray I will always honor you and your memory.

Death and Resurrection

As I write this, I am in flight on my way to Florida for my son’s graduation from Explosive Ordnance Disposal School. He now knows all there is to know about disarming bombs and blowing up IEDs. We don’t know much about what he does because it is top secret.  To say we are proud of him is insufficient. We have been blessed to have had him in our lives. It’s like God just dropped him into our hands and commanded us to protect, love unconditionally, and to raise him in the faith. We have done our best to do those things.

My son is so precious to me. I would lay down my life for him if it ever came to that. Mothers love their children with a passion unlike any other, at least most mothers do. Fathers love their children, too, doing all they can humanly do to protect them. God intended for families to bond with a love and strength that is a reflection of his love for his people. Like a father and a mother, he graciously and carefully protects us from the evil one. And his love is more fierce and unshakable than any human parent’s.

My son has chosen a path wrought with dangers. I pray every day he will be kept from all harm. But he is a man, not a child and my influence has waned. He must make his own decisions and it is my fervent hope that his upbringing will always be with him.

The Father of all believers took another way. Instead of being overly protective of his child, instead of being fearful, he sent his Son into the world to be a living sacrifice on behalf all sinners. ALL sinners, regardless of how far down they have sunk. The drunk in the gutter to the drunk in the penthouse. The prostitute and the philandering husband. The murderer and the drug addict. They all can be saved, because when God’s grace mingles with our faith, we gain eternal life; all because of the sacrifice on the terrible cross of his Son, Jesus Christ, the Lord.

Believing in his death and resurrection, promises the same will happen to us. Our hope is of  leaving this fallen world and resurrecting in the newness of eternity. Dying as the Lord did to this life, this world, the sting of death is removed for us, but add to that truth is the new body awaiting us; a body for eternity all because he loves us with an undying passion. His love goes way beyond the kind of often conditional love we offer as demonstrated by the soaring divorce rate, infanticide, and war between nations.

 God’s love is described in I Corinthians chapter 13. It’s our benchmark. We stumble and fail many times to love as God loves. It’s his gracious and undying love for us that makes us not thrown in the towel. Yes, it is true that some do give up, but God’s enduring faithfulness doesn't boot us out of the “program”. He pours out grace to those who have given up trying. If we are sentient and breathing, chances to grown in love abounds. He desires all his children to grow up and live as mature Christians in every facet of their lives.

Why He doesn't give up on us is due to the love we read in scripture:  “We love because he first loved us." When my son was born, I didn't think I could love so intensely. It was a deeper love than I ever had. And I shed many tears due to pain and fear, but sheer joy was mixed in to make my time with my son worth everything. For most of his life he wanted to be a soldier. His dream of getting into West Point came true. It’s like he knew he was destined for something, but it wasn't until later in college that he decided for Ordnance. A choice fraught with danger, yet there really wasn't anything I could say. I let go of my boy and now he is a man. My job now is to encourage and take pride in the man he has become. I pray desperately that his life spared, that he not be maimed in any way, emotionally or physically.

When God sent his Son, the clear understanding was he would be turned over to us to do what we would, and eventually it led to his death. When I sent my son into the military, I was not too keen to hand him over to those who could lead him to the ultimate sacrifice. God’s plan for Jesus’ death would lead to the greatest victory of all time; the destruction of sin and death. Wars in this world are often fuzzy with soldiers asking why they are being put in harm’s way. But Jesus didn't question God’s plan. Yes, he asked that if there were another way to accomplish the plan then perhaps he could bypass the cross. But there wasn't and his loyalty and love for the Father led to the ultimate sacrifice, yet his death brought life and light into the world. And while the body he had, just like ours, was dead, three days later he rose from the dead with a new body, unlike the one he was born with.

His sacrifice was the greatest ever paid. Billions upon billions are in God’s presence even now, praising his unconditional love, his matchless grace, and his stunningly secure faithfulness. Those of us now would do well to read the scripture stories of the fathers of faith, to see how their weak faith could be, their sins galore, and how disloyal they were sometimes. In doing so, you will find much of yourself there. But you will also see how they became giants of faith and how nations rose and fell based on faith, love, and hope in God’s mercy and grace.

My precious son is unlikely to change the world. He is not Jesus, but the line of work he has chosen will save lives. And maybe one of those saved will have an epiphany moment, a crisis of faith turning into the recognition that God exists, God loves and just maybe they will pray and be given answers, from the Father who seeks those who will believe when they get touched by his grace.

                                    

Sobering Thoughts

Last night I had an unpleasant dream, a drinking dream. I have had them before, but it’s been some time since I last had one. It is not uncommon for alcoholics to experience such dreams after sobering up, but I think it’s especially troublesome for those in Alcoholics Anonymous because of the accountability. On March 26, I will celebrate 30 years of continuous sobriety, something completely incomprehensible when I first went to AA meetings. I couldn’t imagine going that long. On my first anniversary I thought I had done pretty well, but still, I couldn’t imagine how I would make it the rest of my life.

Drinking dreams are an expression of anxiety over stumbling back into active alcoholism. They can also signal a warning of self-sabotage. This year feels very significant. Thirty years IS a long time and the thought of drinking again and losing all the ground I have gained is fearsome. I don’t crave alcohol, but the fear of stumbling before my anniversary is palpable. In my dream, I knew I had blown it and there was no hiding it. I knew people would know.

In my sobriety I recognize how much I stand to lose if I should ever drink again. And I know it would be nearly impossible to face people who have known me over the long haul. Worst of all, I feel I would be letting everyone down, including God, whose grace has kept me from stumbling thus far. Like King David, I know from where my hope and strength comes, and I know without God in my life, I would be hopelessly drowning in drink.

The 12 steps of AA are a means of restoring a lost relationship that isn’t even recognized. God reaches out to the hopeless alcoholic and makes known the truth of the pitiable condition the drunk is in. The truth of scripture is shown in that faith and hope are gifts of grace for the alcoholic. Indeed, grace brings awareness of the need for strength and willingness to even want to try to get sober. The last few months of my active alcoholism were a nightmare. The whole of my drinking years came down to the thought that I had to find a way to stop drinking or simply end my wrecked life.

Then the miracle occurred. Awakening the morning of March 26, 1984, my first thought was, “I don’t want to live like this anymore. Today I will not drink." That thought was not my own, it was planted in me by the Holy Spirit. It was active grace at work within me. Before my eyes ever saw the light of day, God planned my rescue. I was led to AA where I found help and hope, and returned to the Christian God of my childhood. He had never let go. I just took him places he didn't want me to go, but he never let go of my hand.

I owe all to the Lord. He knew me before I was born and my life is his masterpiece, just as is true for every believer. God’s grace is not magical. It is grounded in the reality of this life and the next. For 30 years he has kept me from stumbling. His gift of sobriety has put my feet on a well-lighted and even path. As I have said on many occasions, I would not trade my worst day now for the best of the life I once knew.

For the past thirty years I have tried to live one day at a time. There have been times I have glanced backward and all I gained in doing so was shame and regret. And projecting into the unknown future only brings fear and anxiety. But this I do know, the ultimate end of my life in the present world will usher me into an eternity of freedom from the fear of failure. Jesus has guaranteed it. 

For now, I am grateful for the life God has granted me. To the extent I am able to hold his grace within me, I will continue to live sober. The wounds that have fractured me are not a hindrance to God. They are the means of sharing his grace with others. And that I will do for the allotted time I have left.

I love because he first loved me. God condescended to humanity and willingly gave his Son for our redemption. I will revel in the freedom he has made possible by breaking the chains that once bound me to a worthless existence. And I will ever praise him for my sobriety.