In The Bleak Midwinter, Hope

 Winter only began yesterday, but the longest night of the year makes it feel like the bleak midwinter. At least it does to me. Christmas has been a struggle for me for years. The demanded happiness of the season doesn't resonate in me. In past churches I've attended, the expected attendance of all Advent activities made sanctuary for hurting people go missing. Somewhere the humble entrance of the Christ child was lost.

The monetary demands made keeping the budget impossible. Years ago I finally got the nerve to tell my extended family I could not afford the gift exchanges. I felt I was spoiling things. The required presence at work parties and their gift exchanges felt coerced. The lengthening of the season for merchants to make more money, while people spend themselves into deepening debt, makes me feel out of sync with the world around me. Even traditional Christmas music playing everywhere reminds me I am not in the holiday spirit.

Some years back, my mother passed away a week before Christmas. It deepened the bleakness. I still feel some emotional confusion remembering how I whispered to her it was okay to let go. She thanked me and passed away the following day after I stepped away from her bedside. Maybe she would have held on longer. She was in pain, though. But it haunts me to this day and every Christmas reminds me of it.

My church has an annual Longest Night Blue Christmas service every December 21st, and I always attend. Last night I felt the presence of God. The candlelight and times of silence, the carefully chosen quiet music granting permission to be who I am. There were no expectations, no exhorting sermon. Just quiet contemplation and a growing sense of acceptance. I can greet the Christ child just as I am with all the emotions I do or do not feel. The Light has come into the world and the darkness cannot overcome it. 

I don't know if I'll ever have the holly jolly merry Christmas so many people have. But I can kneel before the manager and worship in wonder that I am welcome, no strings attached.

The Providence of God

 A great deal has transpired since my last post. The major event being my husband's bypass and valve replacement open heart surgery. It's no small thing to have your sternum sawn through and ribs pried apart. The recovery is slow and painful. He was in the hospital for five days and basically so was I. I've been caring for him, but now he's able to get around and in another week he'll be cleared to lift more than ten pounds. Wired closed, it takes roughly six weeks for the sternum to fuse back together. I understand how difficult recovery can be after shattering my leg last year. 

My son came home and helped for a couple weeks which was a Godsend. He walked with his dad and worked on projects around the house to help out. My church family provided meals for several weeks. I was exhausted and stressed, but through it all was greatly blessed by those who stepped up to help. Will's color and energy level are slowly improving. It takes three to six months to recoup from such a major surgery, but he will feel so much better soon with the improved circulation.

To do bypass surgery and valve replacement, they stop the heart and the patient is utterly dependent on a machine to stay alive. The risk is the heart may not restart. Will made an advanced directive and I and my son were to carry out his wishes should he be left on life support. It was a long three-and-a-half-hour surgery, but it went textbook perfect. 

Many prayers were sent up by friends, family, and church members. It was a comfort knowing it was in God's hands no matter what the outcome. Of course, I wanted him to live. My life would be upended with his death, but I have the sure faith God is with me through all life presents. I don't always understand circumstances, but I know God is love, God is faithful, and God is gracious, rich in tender mercies. 

I can rejoice in the outcome, but had it turned out differently, though it would have been so very hard, I would have trusted in God's plan. I and my family are in his care and keeping. I will leave us in his hands. There is safety there and assurance of a future hope beyond our present. And for that, I am so very grateful. 

 

You Are Watched Over

I have a bible app on my phone that I use daily. Yes, I still have an actual bible, but this I can carry with me everywhere. Bible Gateway is the app and I highly recommend it. I use the free version and it's a powerful tool that gives many versions of the bible, old and new. Each day I am greeted with a verse for the day, as well as the daily bible reading plan I have set up. 

Today's bible verse comes from the Book of Psalms: The Lord will keep you from all harm--he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. 121:7-8. NIV. When I read it, I immediately wanted to share the good news of God's providential care for us. Most us of know the verse or the at least the gist of it. But do we really believe it when so many bad things happen to people. 

I don't pretend to understand the evil that befalls us sometimes. To this day, I don't understand why I was victimized in a terrifying home invasion. I still suffer some PTSD from it though years have passed. I still occasionally feel a sense of not being safe in my home behind locked doors. But the verse that was chosen for today reminds me that God protects. I survived the ordeal. It could have been deadly. It left me shaken, but not knocked out for the count. 

I have peace more often than not. God has me hemmed in. He goes before me and brings up the rear. He's to my right and to my left. He's above me and below. I am encased in his loving embrace and nothing can tear me out of his arms. That's encouraging when darkness appears to rule. 

I have no idea what is in my future nor the futures of those whom I love and care about. There could be tragedy. I hope not. But God's care is with us throughout our lives. Whatever we face, we do not stand alone. The omnipresent God of hope is watching over us and keeps our souls safe no matter what may happen. Bad things happen sometimes. Such is our current state but take heart. You are held in the hands of the Almighty. You cannot be snatched away and that is a comforting thought.

 

Father's Day and Loss

 Again, I offer a personal essay for my blog. Yesterday was Father's Day. I rejoiced in my husband's fathering an amazing son, but I felt that peculiar sense of loss orphans do, at least as I think they may do. I was not a child when both my parents passed away, but I clearly remember the words, "Well now I am an orphan," pass through my mind. A grownup who will never again be able to get sage advice and parental love. This is for my father who I missed keenly yesterday.

I buried my father today.

 

It was a long silent drive to the Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. I had hoped the weather would cooperate, and it did, though there is something unsettling about placing a loved one in the cold ground while the sun beams on.

 

An Air Force Honor Guard stood in formation as we took our places. With much solemnity they carefully folded a flag over the small wooden box that held the ashes of a man who had lived eighty-four years, twenty-five of which were in uniform. Those ashes were the only physical remains of a man who kept covenant with one woman for fifty-seven years, reared three children, and delighted in the exploits and successes of nine grandchildren. It was hard to imagine his 5’9” two hundred pound frame in a box that was smaller than a laptop.

 

Each motion of the flag ceremony was executed with precision. When the final fold was neatly tucked into place, the guard marched in line to a row of rifles. I knew what was coming, but I could not help the involuntary jerk that came with each report. The twenty-one gun salute: An honor reserved for those who have honorably served. Slowly, the head of the Honor Guard approached my mother with the flag and spoke quiet words no one wants to hear: “On behalf of a grateful nation…”

 

I don’t know what the Airmen in the Honor Guard thought. They do this routinely. It’s their job. Another World War II veteran dies, another ceremony. Maybe they think it’s just another old codger to bury. I only know that afterward, when I went to thank them, and told them, with tears, how much it meant to our family that they had come to honor my father, one of them reached out and shook my hand. It was a simple offer of sympathy and regard for our loss. I walked away hoping they understood that what they do matters very much.

 

A small box doesn’t require a large hole. The hole for my father was much like the hole one would dig for a fence post, only rectangular. An attendant of the cemetery placed the box gently in the grave. My mother laid a single rose, my father’s favorite flower, atop the box. She then tossed in some dirt. My sister and I chose to do the same. As the hole was filled, my mother, sister, brother, and I stood together watching the last of a lifelong relationship being buried. My father’s resting place is under a tree. As I lifted my eyes, I could see he was not alone. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of white markers surround him, each representing a soldier, marine, sailor, or airman. It was at once breathtaking and grieving.

 

The pain will come and go in waves. That’s the professional stance on the grief process. Gradually, it will get better. I believe that. But even with the intellectual foreknowledge we had of his impending death, the heart is still shocked to believe he is never coming home from the hospital. In my heart, I thought my parents would always be there. That childish hope has been shattered by the blunt reality of a marker in a cemetery.

 

As I write this, I feel the loss keenly, and it makes me want to shut out the world. I can’t begin to fathom what my mother must feel. Yet, I know, as does she, that this is how it must be. God said to Adam, “From dust you were taken and to dust you shall return.” Those words would instill utter hopelessness, were it not for the hope of the resurrection; were it not for the Cross and the Blood of the Lamb that was poured out for my father, my mother, my family, for me—for everyone who trusts in the gift of the Lord’s salvation.

 

The pain goes with the territory of living in a fallen world. Perhaps that is one of the motivators for seeking meaning and a Something greater outside ourselves and this world. For now, in the pain of loss, I can rejoice because I know the sum of one man’s life does not reside in a small box of ashes buried in the ground. The sum of my father’s life is in the countless people he touched, the lives he enriched. The Lord has kept an account, and I know he heard the words everyone wants to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant…”

 

 

DeShawntae

 I'm going to depart from my usual blog entries now and then to write of other things. I have written pieces over the years that do not directly focus on my faith per se but nevertheless address issues that are informed by my faith and are written from my core being that loves God. There are lessons to be learned from them. 

I find God everywhere. In nature, people, the news, even movies, and commercials. If you're looking for God, he really can be seen in nonreligious settings. I find that encouraging because there is a lot of darkness and it's easy to think, "Where is God in all this?" His light is found even in the darkest places. You carry it with you if you have faith. 

This entry is about a tragic young teen. It's a sad lesson I learned about myself and how I have judged people. I think I do better now. I have changed over the span of my life. His name has been changed, but the account is true. Originally written in 2009, it was a journal entry.

DeShawntae died Saturday from a gunshot wound to the head. He was fifteen. 

I didn’t know DeShawntae well. I confess I learned his name because he was a troublemaker. He was taken aback the first time I called him by name. He didn’t understand I made a point of knowing names for incident reports. I really don’t think he was a bad person. But I could see he looked up to the older teens who were disruptive. I think he thought they were being cool and had begun to emulate them.   

DeShawntae lived with his grandmother. When he was suspended, she called. She explained she had told him to stay away because he had internet access at home. She didn’t understand why he would go to the library and be disruptive. She said he had bipolar disorder and was a difficult child who wouldn’t always take his medication. That explained a lot of his erratic behavior.  She also said his father was shot and killed over drugs when he was only 28 years old. That was DeShawntae’s childhood. 

My last encounter with DeShawntae was the day I had him arrested for trespassing. His suspension was for throwing library property and cussing at the staff. He was not to be in or on library property for 90 days. He came in a week later and I had to have him arrested. I was doing my job but hated this aspect of it. It was unnerving to have to stand there and swear out a complaint while he sat in the police car. I was aware all the teens had emptied the library and were watching me. Part of me was angry with him because he had just acted stupidly by coming back to the library. Now he was being arrested. And selfishly, it was me stuck having to do it. 

There was also a part of me that was relieved he would not be back for awhile. One less headache. One less stressor. But now I’m devastated because someone I had kind of written off died senselessly and suddenly, and my only imprint on his life was to ride him for his behavior. I don’t think I could have rescued him, but I could have tried talking to him more. I might have come to know him as more a boy and less a difficulty. 

The police think he was playing with a revolver and accidentally shot himself. Or perhaps he said or did something that made someone else think he should die for it. God only knows. The police closed the case quickly; his grandmother left behind to grieve him. 

I can’t help but wonder what DeShawntae’s thoughts were. What hopes and dreams, if any, did he have? I’ll never know because I never really knew him. Regardless of his behavior, the world is diminished without DeShawntae. This I know.

Go With Your Gifts

It's been several months since I posted an entry. I took a much needed break. Writing comes somewhat easy for me yet my brain needs to rest occasionally to recharge the creative process. 

I belong to a writer's critique group that meets monthly and have been writing for that for the past couple of years, but writing about the faith I live by is not as simple. There's a fine line between sharing and preaching and I sometimes cross it. I'm not a theologian nor a seminary-trained pastor. Still, the Christian faith requires an understanding of scripture and I share insights I have gleaned because I know I am not unique to faith's challenges.

It's somewhat cathartic for me as I write, so I will press on with my blogging and put it out there for folks to read or skip over. It's important I use the gifts I have been given while I am able-bodied and mentally capable.

Using the gifts God gives us is both a joy and a vital part of the Christian faith. Indeed other faith traditions incorporate that concept as well. Every person is created in the image of God and has been given qualities that are intended to be used for the betterment of humanity. I never discount someone's help just because we don't share the same faith. I'll go so far as to say some Christians aren't all that eager to get their hands dirty in the Lord's work.

I hesitate to use the word "requirement" as a compelling reason to use your gifts. Yet we should consider the truth that the Church is made up of individuals who should be working toward the same goal: Reconciling people. Broken relationships litter the world's landscape and we are called to go and bring healing through our own relationship with God. It is a terrible loss for the ones who don't see the need to sacrifice for others. Yes, boundaries are needed to ensure we are not unduly drained, but Jesus drew the circle wide. His servant heart demonstrated to those who claim him as their own how we are to make the most of our days in this world, this temporal fleeting life. 

King David prayed God would teach him to number his days and I'm confident that is a prayer we can all pray and believe it will be answered. Our days count. What we do for others counts. Scripture says we will all give an account to God. It doesn't matter if you think your gift is small. Use it fully. It was given to share with a hurting world. It matters not if we are wealthy or poor. Male or female. It doesn't matter where we call home. Jesus said to go into the world. So go we must.

I will use, to the best of my ability, the gifts I have been given in the days I have left, fervently hoping to hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I pray that is the only reward I truly seek.

Don't Let Freezing Cold Chill Your Heart

 As I write this, it's 9 degrees outside with a wind chill of 15 below. The highs over the weekend will be 0-2 degrees. Welcome to February in northern Missouri. I have lived through colder weather in my area. I clearly remember a morning in 1989 and having to go to work when it was 23 below, and that wasn't the wind chill temperature. Winters are rough around here when arctic blasts come down our way.

The city has opened extra shelters for overnights and non-profits as well as some churches are doing their best to offer warm places for the homeless. That population includes women and children. There are fewer shelters for them.  Individuals and families are living in cars. Then there are the unfortunate addicts and the mentally ill who don't have the capacity to seek available shelter from the extreme weather. The city has already recorded one death due to freezing. I have no doubt there will be others.

I don't assign fault to those who cannot work due to disabilities, even the addicts. I know what is to be under the control of substances. If you hold the mistaken idea it's just a matter of saying no, then you need a wake-up call. Walk in the shoes of the addicted and experience the horrors. 

Homelessness is a societal illness. Some have been evicted due to lost jobs through no fault. Others are so mentally ill they are unable to make rational decisions. Again, I know what it is like to lose all connection to reality. Many aren't even able to realize their dire straits. I know there have been a few times I have been totally incapable of caring for myself due to Bipolar Disorder. 

There used to be taxpayer-funded treatment shelters, but the government decided churches, non-profits and local communities could take care of the need. Unfortunately, the money hasn't been there to replace tax dollars, so the severely mentally ill have fallen off the radar, living in the shadows of overpasses and makeshift camps, and yes, freezing to death.

I support the Salvation Army as well as a Native American school for children who need basic life-saving items, like coats. The Pine Ridge Reservation is in South Dakota, where it gets desperately cold. It is one of the poorest communities in the U.S. My church has also has a "Brown Bag" ministry, assembling items a homeless person could use living on the streets. We have them for men and women. I keep some in my car to give to those I see on street corners. And if I have cash on me I give some. I don't think it's for me to decide how it will be spent. I am not a mind reader. I answer to the Lord and he said what you do to the least of people you have done to him. That little bit of cash might buy a sandwich in a warm diner, a cup of hot coffee. And this is not about tooting my horn. 

All this to say, we are called out from being Cain. We are our brothers and sisters keepers. God holds the blood of those we ignore or harm accountable. In scripture, it says if we know what is right and do not do it, it is a sin. Jesus said the poor will always be with us. They cannot be ignored. We cannot close our eyes and stop our ears to their cries and wish them away. They are uncomfortable. They are inconvenient. And they can be scary. But we who are the haves are to help the have nots. Yes, we pay taxes, but the hurdles and hoops to jump through for public assistance are difficult. 

If you don't think you can afford to give, you can decide to sacrifice something for Lent, then keep on after Easter. Make it a lifestyle of sacrifice to give to the poor and downcast. Then you will hear, "Well done good and faithful servant."

Servants of All

 The dust has settled on the new year. Some things have changed, some things have remained the same. New government, same divisions. New vaccines, same resistance. New mutations, same pandemic. It can cause mental and emotional whiplash. Not exactly a clean slate to begin with.

I held off writing a new year's blog. I was too distressed and felt it would be a downer. I didn't want to reinforce my state of mind, nor anyone else's who was struggling with events. I had to settle and think. I still follow current news, but not with the same outlook. I'm looking for hope in the midst of what is bleak.

Psalm 23, which I memorized as a child in what was then the required King James Version, says, "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me." I lost sight of that toward the end of 2020. I focused on everything that seemed evil and dark. To be frank, there is a lot of evil and darkness out there, but while Christians need to be wise as serpents, as Jesus said, we are called to be gentle as doves. It requires due diligence and walking in tandem with the Lord.

My mother's favorite verse, which she could quote easily, was Micah 6:8: "He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." I see now why she loved it so much. It sums up the bible and the message of Jesus as to how we should conduct ourselves in this world. That is my new year's resolution, though I don't care so much for that terminology. I guess it would be better to say that is my hope. With the grace of God, I will live those words. 

This world appears to be spiraling out of control, but we don't have to be a part of the irrationality that seems to be gripping so many people. We have the Holy Spirit and the fruit that comes from living in humility, counting ourselves as servants. Not just of God, but of fallen people who we may perceive as unworthy or truly unloveable. The unjust, the greedy, the haters. Jesus came as a servant and he said we were to be the same. 

It is not an easy accomplishment. It will require rigorous honesty and accountability. To trust God and not what our eyes see, or even what our hearts lead us to believe. Jesus saw the hearts of the people and knew they could not be trusted. The human heart is tainted in many ways. I know from experience how mine has led me astray at times, even in matters of faith, and I am not unique. Emotions are not how we follow God. We walk by faith regardless of how we feel. 

Let the word guide you. Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with God, and fear no evil, for God is with us.