Relational Love

Relationships can be so messy. People fall in and out of love, riding the wave of passions and promises, sometimes keeping them, sometimes breaking them. Marriages, friendships, parents and children, coworkers, neighbors, relationships wax and all too often wane, never neatly and rarely do they do so without someone being hurt. It seems to be the way of people who form attachments, appearing inevitable, but that’s cold comfort to those who have been hurt.

How we view relationships and their stability or instability depends a lot on experience, often those from childhood. I won’t go into statistics or speculations about broken marriages and influences on developing children. I’m not really qualified to speak to it. I can only speak to the string of broken relationships I have had down through the years. Some I thought would never end because love seemed a sure thing, but where are those people now? Some I ended, having used a person up and just moved on. No apologies, just walked away.

What harm I have caused in my life, a tornado damaging all in its path. I have much to grieve and regret. But regardless of which end I was on, I suffered loss, and that is how it is for all of us. Whether we are left, or whether we do the leaving, there is loss. Even in relationships that really do need to end, abusive, extramarital, unhealthily codependent, there is still loss; loss of peace of mind, of hopes and dreams, of futures, of self image and sense of worth. Loss hurts.

To be honest, I’m not really sure why I am writing this. As far as I know, relationships in my life are intact, though some have been altered in the past year and that has affected me. Perhaps that is what has prompted this particular piece. I feel deeply for those I love. I don’t make statements of love lightly anymore. What I had called love for a long time was infatuation, sexual attraction, or need, none of which has a thing to do with love.

The simple truth is, I did not know what love was until I experienced the love of God. Faithfulness, concern, affection, constant, and endless are just a few attributes I only paid lip service to in my human definition of love. My expression had more to do with convenience and need, knowing I could always end a relationship that was no longer easy to maintain. Working to make something flourish was foreign. But that is exactly what God’s love does. In the light of his love, my own seems infantile because it is.

What relationships need is an infusion of the love of God that is beyond words, yet the bible does attempt to describe it in 1 Corinthians 13:

“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

This is longer than what I usually post, but for some reason I needed to say it. Maybe the simple message is that with God's kind of love, relationships can endure, and the pain of loss will no longer be suffered. Though it won't necessarily be easy, in fact, it will be work, all it takes is prayer and the love we need, God's love, is ours.

Simple Gifts, Boundless Blessings

Sometimes, it’s the small things that bless me the most. Oh, I have had some biggies this past year and I rejoiced greatly over them. But it’s wrong to overlook the simpler gifts God gives us. How easy it is to regard the very things we consider ordinary as just the way things are.

I went to the grocery store yesterday and bought everything on my list. But as I was paying for it, it never occurred to me to thank God that I had access to so much food, as well as the means to purchase it. Most of the world does not have such abundance, and even in our own country, there are many who would love to buy say, fresh fruit, and cannot because it’s too expensive.

I brought it all home and put it in a cold refrigerator, in an air conditioned house, filled with every kind of convenience. Did I think to thank God? No, the thought never crossed my mind. I have a good education, a great job that pays reasonably well, the means to buy most clothing and shoes I want, along with many other desires, above and beyond the basic needs of life. Yet, I thoughtlessly take them as commonplace things I acquire through my own efforts.

If I stop and truly think about it, the majority of people in the world do not even have access to the things we consider as ordinary, let alone the means to buy them. My middle class income and possessions are beyond their wildest dreams. My house is a small two bedroom “cracker box” house built 50 years ago. Certainly humble, but it’s a house, while thousands upon thousands of refugees do not even have tents. I turn on lights, I can shower daily and have all the clean water I want, I have transportation with a new car, things that the majority of people in the world can barely imagine.

My mother has prayed the same prayer of grace before eating for more years than I have lived: “Gracious heavenly Father, we thank you for this food. Teach us to be ever mindful of all the good things that come from your hands, and let us always have grateful hearts. In your name we pray, amen.” It is a simple prayer, but it is a prayer of thanksgiving that is certainly sweet to God’s ears.

I pray that I, too, will be taught to be mindful of all the good things, the simple things that God has blessed me with. And I pray for forgiveness that I have taken all I’ve been given for granted. The words from an old Shaker hymn sums it up: “Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free, 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be…” Where we ought to be is in the place of continual gratitude. I’m going to find my way there and hopefully stay there.

The Promise of Peace

I sit here fighting fatigue, ready to call it quits. I’ve had only three hours of sleep in the past twenty-seven, and I feel it. In fact, writing this is proving to be a difficult challenge, but I’m doing it anyway, hoping that something worthwhile will magically spring forth.

King David experienced extreme fatigue also from the efforts to survive the murderous actions of Saul as he pursued David for years. On the run, David endured deprivations, assaults, treachery, and rejections. God had promised David the kingdom of Israel, yet here he was an outcast running for his life. The promise of God seemed to be a hopeless dream. So, too, the promises of God for today sometimes seem to be out of our reach for any number of reasons.

Number one on my list for promises in this life is peace; peace of mind and of heart. That is what I desire more than anything, yet it seems to be lacking at times. I have often wondered why it comes and goes without external pressures and events. I could blame it all on the bipolar disorder, and that may be true sometimes. But I think there are others reasons why I sometimes have anxious feelings, even panic.

All too often, my thought life is the real culprit. I start dwelling on fears, real and imagined and peace flies out the window. I worry about events that may not even have a basis in reality, fretting over projected tragedies. My son is in the Army and my greatest fear is his dying at the hands of those who hate him and what he represents. It violently tears away any peace of mind I might have had up to that point. I worry about what might happen to my husband or friends and family. I latch onto unfounded fears and lose the peace of God instantly, and if I continue thinking along those lines, I become agitated and emotionally distraught. All because I began to doubt that God is always there, and regardless of what might happen or not, his promise of peace that passes all understanding is temporarily lost.

Is because he has failed to keep his promise to me? No, nothing has changed on his end. It’s there, I know because I have experienced it many times. It’s just that I step away from it and what I want the most in life slips from my grasp. Peace that abides no matter what life throws at me. Peace that remains if the worst really should happen. Peace that keeps my heart and mind through all things, and peace I can share as I live in it and with it, even in the fog of fatigue.

David did become king. God kept his promise. Peace is mine, though at times I might lose its wonderful presence. This I pray, that the peace of God, the promise he gives, would guard hearts and minds even in the most stressful circumstances. It’s a promise God keeps, this deep down I truly know.

The High Price of Shame

I’m not sure there is anything that tears at the heart and soul like shame. According to the bible, the first thing Adam and Eve felt after eating the forbidden fruit was shame. In other words, it has always been a part of the human condition and it is one of the most terrible of emotions, one that has the power to destroy those who live with it.

I’ve heard it said that feelings are neutral, it’s how we express or not express them that matters. But I have to say shame is definitely an exception. It slowly consumes joy and peace, distorts the personality, and cuts us off from others, and ultimately, God. Shame drives us to hide because we fear rejection and judgment. It is a devastating pain that aches deep within the mind. The terrible truth is suicides have been attempted or successfully committed because of the despair of shame.

I have lived in the grip of shame at times. For years I lived with regret and shame over past sins, ones that I believed were worse than those of others. Somehow, my actions, thoughts and words were unforgivable. And even when I finally understood I was forgiven, the shame lingered on, eating away at my peace of mind like a cancer. I only had brief respites from the anguish that is shame. Just when I felt I had shaken off its chains, I would be shackled again by some sort of trigger, reminding me of a checkered past I am powerless to change.

This was not God’s intent when he created within us a conscience. And the most treasured all written moral codes, the Ten Commandments, was never intended to cause shame. The intent was to prevent shame by laying down the ground rules that, when followed, causes us to live in peace with all, including God. But we fail and in doing so, either seek forgiveness or hide in shame. God’s amazing grace is showered in the former, and grieves over the latter.

I still wrestle with shame on occasion. For me, it’s a conditioned response from years of unfortunate practice. It’s like a heavy, mildewed overcoat that I will slip into now and then. I’ll wear it around inhaling the vile odor, but leave it on because I feel I deserve it because of my past. Jesus came to take the coat off me, and really has done so, it’s just that I dig around for it and when I find it, I put it back on. He hasn’t failed me at all. He did remove it, but it’s still around so I can make a choice: trust God’s forgiveness or live tormented by false shame. Slowly, I am learning to trust. The coat just doesn’t fit anymore.

Diary of a Mad Woman

I don’t normally write in a diary entry fashion, but today I will because the past two weeks have been hellish for me. Manic then depressed, back and forth. Panic, anxiety, it’s been a horrid time and I frankly have come close to just giving up on ever being stable again. A hopelessness that was becoming stronger as each day passed. In spite of the medications I take, I was getting very little sleep.

I finally had a meltdown at work and got extremely angry at a coworker for a minor incident. I left work early and was given permission to take off a day for my mental health. I had hoped to regroup, but I was still anxious and like a powder keg that could explode if not handled carefully. I snapped at a patron and was generally miserable. I called my psychiatrist and she decided to make a change in dosage of a particular medication I take that she felt was triggering the mania and the subsequent downward spiral that happens after an episode. Fortunately, this change appears to be working because I am feeling more stable, just in time for my son’s week at home.

I have been unable to go to church the whole time because I simply would not be able to lie and say I was fine when asked, and I do not wish for the general members to know I am bipolar. What would I say, “I feel hopeless and crazy”? So, I have just been in my survival mindset. It’s all I have been able to do.

Although many times I cannot pray for myself when I get into a place like this, I did. It’s probably the main reason why I kept putting one foot in front of the other, when all I wanted to do was simply give up; that and the faithful prayers of those who knew how much I was struggling. It seems when I am at my lowest, God feels nowhere to be found. Yet, he is a constant presence in my life. I accept this by faith because I have been keenly aware of him at other times. By faith, I believe I have not been abandoned. If I did, the urge to give up would become unbearable and I would act on it. I have before, just without success. But I believe that failure was God’s intervention as well.

I still do not understand mental illness in my life. The why goes unanswered—for now. Like Job, I am humbled by God and his incredible vastness. But it’s mind boggling that the Creator even considers me. Though I may in the dark for now, I know I am loved beyond all capacity to receive. Maybe it isn’t hopeless after all.

Emotional Expressions

I am amazed at how easily I can get off track. Then again, it doesn’t surprise me at all. I have always been a yo-yo type person; up and down, hot and cold, on and off. I ride a roller coaster of emotions from peak to valley and back again in short order as I speed along. Today has been a day of uncertainty. Something as simple as going to the grocery store has sparked an anxiety attack. So I have stayed inside all day. It’s hard for a lot of people to understand something like that. It defies explanation.

Unfortunately, this hot and cold emotional life spills over into my spiritual life as well. While I pray daily for people, some days it just doesn’t come as easy as others. Prayer becomes a homework assignment I drag my feet to get started. It shouldn’t be like that, but it simply is sometimes. In some circles that would be a bad thing to admit, but Christianity that is not authentic is worthless in my book.

God sees it all and understands. I don’t need to explain myself to him. I know he wants better for me, but as I move that direction, it is in fits and starts that I go. It’s not that I don’t want to get to the place where he is leading; it’s that feelings sometimes get in the way. Yet, I was crafted with emotional capacity and though broken by the harsh experiences life can bring, I still have the gift of expression through those very emotions that seem to get in the way.

But then again, maybe they are not the roadblock they seem. If I was created in God’s image, then I have a glimpse of who he is, though I cannot see him clearly in this life. He has endued me with the same emotions he has, to give expression to them as he does. There is no right or wrong to emotions, only in how we choose to act on them. My emotions may be affected by the bipolar disorder I live with, but they are still holy because they are a gift from God. They are essential to who I am. They define me in ways that are unique, just as they are to all.

Rather than wishing they didn’t get in the way, I should be thankful that they sometimes do. It means I am still a work in progress and someday, he will finish with what I hope will be something pure and lovely. The roller coaster ride will come to an end and the emotions will no longer demand my attention, but will be used to express gratitude for the grace that makes them a gift to be cherished.

Independence Day Thoughts

It’s Independence Day and to be honest, I’m not all that excited. As a child, the 4th 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 cadet at West Point and serves his country in the military. 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 over two hundred thirty years ago and began a grand experiment in democracy and freedom.

I guess I am excited after all.

Peace, Be Still

The past month has been a bit of a roller coaster for me. The bipolar disorder I live with has been in control in spite of the medications I take. I recently changed one drug I’ve been on for the past year because of a 60 pound gain in weight. I switched to another antipsychotic that is equally effective but at a fairly low dose because the initial dosage gave side effects I couldn’t handle. Right after that, things quickly deteriorated and I began experiencing symptoms that had been kept at bay.

I had originally been diagnosed as having Bipolar II which is a milder version of the disorder, known as Bipolar I, with the primary distinction being the absence of hallucinations or psychosis during mania. In BPD II it’s called hypomania, but as it turns out, my diagnosis was apparently incorrect because of what followed the change of medication.

For a few days after starting the medication, I was fine, but soon the roller coaster took off and I began to experience the familiar signs of hypomania, restlessness, irritability, difficulty sleeping, abundant energy, to name a few. What began as the expected episode soon accelerated into something beyond what I have had this past year. The symptoms of hypomania became exaggerated. I had to increase the medication I take to manage the anger and rage I can experience. It normally puts me to sleep, but failed to. It became very difficult to think clearly because my thoughts raced and I struggled at work. I couldn’t keep still, pacing instead of sitting. Add to that a nighttime cough and I soon was going without sleep for days. Finally, it culminated in hallucinations and I began hearing voices that were not there. That’s when I knew I was really in trouble.

A call to my psychiatrist and I was put back on the old medication at a high dose for a couple days and the symptoms subsided. That is when she told me that I had been misdiagnosed, that I had Bipolar I and my symptoms were worsening for some unknown reason. The new antipsychotic was gradually increased so I could adjust to it and I am now at a fairly high dose and stabilized again.

It was a frightening experience, one I hope to never have again, but there is no guarantee. I must admit that I wonder where God was when this was happening and why I even have this mental illness. I used to pray continually for it to be taken away, but my prayers and those of others seemed to go unanswered. I felt angry, betrayed, abandoned, and unloved. If God is so great, then how hard would it be to just make the bipolar go away? Like Job, I tried to praise God in spite of the adversity I face. And I have.

I still don’t have the answer to my question, but I do have something better: peace. Not the kind of peace that keeps me from mania or extreme depression. That is kept in check by medications. But the kind of peace that comes from God, the abiding peace that can only come from a divine source. It is the peace that says, “Be still and know that I am God.” I know there is a plan for my life and it includes mental illness. Not that he made me to be bipolar, but that he uses it to help others even as I struggle to learn how to live with it. In the end, it will only matter that I lived as best I could for him and loved along the way. He speaks peace to me and I hear it. I hear it.

Remodeling Within

My husband and I recently decided to get new siding and windows for our house. It's all installed now and looks great. I know our neighbors appreciate the upgrade and some of them are now sprucing up their houses. It's amazing how what people see on the outside has an impact on them. That's one of the main reasons Christians need to be careful in their walk through this world. People are watching and judging Christ by what they see. Paul said to do nothing to discredit the name of Jesus.

But once we got the outside of the house looking great, we looked at the inside and realized just how rundown it looks. Paint is needed badly and new linoleum in the kitchen. The inside needs cleaning up even more than the outside. That's how it is with Christians. Sometimes the outside looks great, but inside we aren't very Christ-like at all. Thoughts that are not loving, lust, greed, resentments, all these and more can deaden the spirit and affect the soul.

God calls us to look within and consider our inner lives carefully, to use Scripture and the light of the Holy Spirit to enlighten us, to give us eyes to see what lies within. And lest we feel hopeless when we see the true condition of our hearts, he reminds us gently that Jesus bore all those weaknesses and sins on the cross of crucifixion. He died so we could be forgiven. He was raised from the dead so we, too, could have new lives. Lives that are continually being transformed by the inner working of the Holy Spirit.

The outside counts for much, but while God wants us to reflect his grace to the world, he looks inside to our hearts--to innermost core of our being. We cannot escape his gaze. But his search is not to condemn, it is to bring light so we can yearn for more, to seek to be as him in this world. I say this because I know he is looking inside me and showing me what needs to change. Though it may make me uncomfortable at times, I truly want to be like Jesus. With that desire, I welcome his searching gaze, because I know it means he loves me. I am after all my Father's daughter.

Loving All

I have been doing some soul searching. As a Christian I am called to love everyone from the easy to like to the unlovable. I encounter both most days at my job. I work with the public and believe me, some are really a royal pain. We have the chronic complainers, the ones you simply cannot please. The unpleasant odors of the homeless who will not or cannot bathe. The loud and obnoxious. The insolent teens. The argumentative and the yellers. I am supposed to love them the way God does, but my buttons can only be pushed so many times and then I lose the love that I should have for those who are made in God's image no matter how they appear or present themselves. It's so easy to love with God's love the pleasant people who greet me kindly. But the pushy are a challenge and frankly, all too often I fail.

Everyday on my way to work, I pray for those I will encounter. I pray for the strength I need to love all I will see. If I fail, it's not because God failed me. He loves unconditionally, and he loves me even when I don't measure up. For that I am grateful. It reminds me that I can be unlovable, too; yet I am loved. Next Monday when I get back to work, I will once again pray and learn to love as I ought: God's way. I have faith that by the power of the Holy Spirit, I will, little by little, learn to love those who are difficult, to pray for them, to be kind to them no matter how they treat me. God will give me what I need to accomplish this if I draw on his love. It's there. I just need to tap into it.

The day will come when I will always love unconditionally because I am my Father’s daughter and have inherited his character—it’s just not completely evident yet. Until then, I will continue to press forward to grasp what is his nature, the all consuming love that he pours out. May it flow through me to all I encounter. As scripture says, I love because he first loved me. Let this be so in my life today and all days.

Proclaiming Communion

Today we had communion at church. It is a sacrament that I look forward to. Ever since I was young, I have always known that it was something very special, significant in the lives of Christians. I remember as a child not being allowed to take it, it was only for those who embraced the mystery of it, because it is a holy sign of God’s grace given freely for and to us. I understand that now. I also understand the gift of salvation represented in the elements. The shed blood and broken body of Christ for our benefit. Though we do not deserve it, yet we are of inestimable value to God and he gave all to bring us back into fellowship with him.

I cannot approach communion lightly. It is not just a rite we perform once a month. It represents the suffering and death of Jesus Christ on our behalf. Scripture says as we partake of the Lord’s Supper, we proclaim the death of Christ until he returns. I believe that truth, that fundamental tenet of the faith I embrace. What we need to grasp as we eat the bread and drink the wine is that without death there can be no resurrection. That’s why proclaiming Christ’s death is so fundamental. His resurrection is our hope and our joy; the promise of our own resurrection, even in this life as we are gradually transformed into his likeness.

Remember this as you next take communion. Remember the price Jesus paid as he went to the cross as ransom for us. Death has been conquered and the promise of a life everlasting is ours even now. Darkness and death have been overcome by the light and life of God. We have that light within us now. We are alive in Christ and we will experience that light and life throughout eternity. Communion reminds us of that. It is a sure promise we can stake our lives on, now and forever.

Sadness Endures for the Night, but Joy Comes with the Morning

Today I am sad. There's no other word for it, just sad. This morning I put my son on a plane back to West Point after a week of spring break. The time flew by. Life is like that--good times rush past while dark days crawl. My sadness is a response to life's circumstances. It's not depression. Sadness, feeling blue, heartbroken, these are temporary states of mind that are based on things we cannot control. Depression is a mental condition that has no connection with external situations. It just happens. It is a physical condition of the brain. It also is long term. It's important for me to know the difference.

There are many things in life that can sadden us, just as there are those things that give us joy. I've heard it said that without the tough times, the painful times, joy is diminished. I don't like the sound of that, but there may be some truth to it. David experienced great upheavals in his life and his emotions went along for the ride. While I do not make the comparison between his life and mine, the lessons are the same. God is present no matter the circumstances, be they life threatening or far less in scope. As David sang, His rod and His staff comfort me. He leads me beside the still waters and makes me lie down in green pastures. He did for David and he does it for me.

So this time of sadness will hurt for a while. I may feel blue all week, or after hearing his voice when he calls to let us know he has made back safely, I may perk up. Regardless, the Shepherd of my soul is quietly comforting me and holding me near. He gently wipes away the tears and patiently leads me on. The still waters beckon and I will go lie down and listen for Him.

Midweek Meditation

I had occasion today to revisit the past while sharing my story with someone. It was an opportunity to give a “testimony” as they say in some churches. I felt I was supposed to tell where I had come from and the life I once led, sharing a brief history of my journey, and the stops along the way, that led to the life I now embrace.

It is always with trepidation that I tell the truth. It’s not that I lie about my past. I just choose to omit much of it for many valid reasons, and perhaps not so valid reasons. What was different today is that I came away from the experience minus the burden that often follows such a revelation: The burden of shame. Regardless of how much I have changed, and how much I understand of the power of Christ’s blood to cleanse and restore, there has always been a sense of shame that clings to me whenever I talk of my past. The level of intensity has greatly diminished over the years, yet it lingers.

Of all emotions or feelings, nothing is as deadly as shame. It is a corrosive poison that kills. It steals faith, hope, joy and peace. It destroys the spirit, soul, and even body. I cannot prove it, but I am convinced most suicides are prompted by unremitting shame. There is no burden harder to bear. Unlike the conviction of the Holy Spirit, shame does not lead to Christ-like transformation. It leads to condemnation and death.

I Peter 2:4-6, 9-10 says, “As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God though Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says: See, I have laid in Zion, a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trust in him will never be put to shame…But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.”

What a marvelous promise, but it comes with a condition. To embrace the promise, you must trust—trust in the efficacy of Jesus’ blood and sacrifice, his atonement on our behalf. It is either true or we are totally without hope. At least, I am. But I do trust. I choose to trust even though at times my head tells me otherwise. I do believe that Jesus’ death and resurrection, the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, and the incomprehensible love and grace of the Father are all I need to be free, not only from sin, but also guilt and shame.

This afternoon, my heart has been singing the refrain of an old hymn:

Grace, grace, God’s grace
Grace that will pardon and cleanse within
Grace, grace, God’s grace
Grace that is greater than all our sin

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

In His Image

It’s been a while since I last posted. I’ve just had a hard time conjuring up the words to share. A blog is a journal that is shared with the world, but when I blog I try to write about the things that touch all who share faith in Christ—the things that matter most in our faith walk, the way our lives are touched by the Holy Spirit and our relations with others.

One of the things he cares about the most is how we interact with the world around us, the people whom he made in his image. The attractive as well as those who make us want to turn away, the ones who make us want to distance ourselves. I encounter both on a daily basis in the job I do. The polite and the impolite. The pleasant and those who are surly. Those who bathe regularly and those whose body odor is offensive to smell. Some are easy to offer service to while others are a challenge. But all are reflections of their creator, because all are made in his image: The rich, the poverty stricken, the healthy and those with terminal illness, the gentle and the obnoxious, those who have answered God’s call and those still wandering in darkness. And God calls us to treat all with the love of Christ. Not always an easy task.

Jesus ate with sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors; the very people who were rejected as unclean by the religious leaders of that time. He also loved those who were wealthy and enjoyed the good things of life. All were being called to salvation, and it is to all now that he extends his mercy and grace as a free gift, but we have to share that good news in how we live out our lives in the presence of all people we encounter on a daily basis. It’s a task that is demanding and daunting, yet he prepares the way before us through the working of the Holy Spirit.

We must all remember that every person we see, whether they are rich and powerful or stumbling with drunkenness, are made in the image of God and have intrinsic value—value that God confers. Enough value to call for Christ’s death on the cross. I know I sometimes struggle to carry out the Great Commission, yet that is what he has called me to do. With the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit I will do what on my own I could never do, love the unlovable as well as the lovable. May he transform me even more in his image as I live out his high calling.

God Provides

Got home from church a little while ago. It was a very good service and I am glad I went. In the midst of it I noticed my mental state. I was very calm, at peace. It’s been a while since I have really felt that way. The medications I take are supposed to make me feel this way, and they seem to be working for now. But it’s more than drugs that keep me from going from one emotional extreme to another. It’s the Holy Spirit who dwells within me that is the real source of joy and peace. He is the one who strengthens me and gives me wisdom to know that I need to take my medications daily so I will be balanced.

God has seen to every need of his children’s. His provision is sure. Just as he is aware of the sparrows, just as he has the hairs of our heads counted, he knows our needs even before we are aware of them. Indeed some of them we are never aware of. We won’t know about them until we see him face to face. His grace is extended to us in countless ways and through that grace he provides for us.

I am amazed by the surprises of grace that come my way, even on the dark days. I may not always recognize them, or even be ungrateful at times in my ignorance, but it doesn’t stop them from coming into my life. The Lord of love delights in his children and he showers us with spiritual gifts each day. We just don’t always notice the blessings. We are sometimes blind to them. But grace wins out in the end, with or without our participation. He desires that we join in and receive all he gives, but he still pours out the grace even if we don’t recognize what he is doing.

My prayer is that I would become more aware of the Spirit’s presence in my life. That I would know it is he who is moving behind the scenes, orchestrating the work in progress that is my life. All of us are being regenerated and recreated in the image of the one who crafted us in our mother’s womb. He planned for us from the beginning of time and the plan included all we will ever need. Gifts of grace brought to us by the Spirit of God who transforms us each day, providing salvation, hope and peace. May his grace open our eyes to see him in at work in our lives this day.

We All Need Somebody to Lean On

I recently joined an online support group for those with bipolar disorder. It’s been a blessing. I have met a lot of people who experience the same mental illness and they offer much insight and collective wisdom. But most of all, they are not crazy, which means I am not crazy. I know that may sound weird, but I wasn’t sure about it. Hearing their stories and their current struggles has given me hope that all will be okay if I just keep on doing what I am doing and stay on the medications.

I am also a part of a world wide support group known as the people of God. They, too, have much insight and collective wisdom, and I find fellowship with them. I rub elbows with them daily and even keep in contact by email and websites, just like my new found support site.

Just like I have been unsure at times about my sanity, there also have been times when I have wondered about my faith, my salvation. And just as I find support at the mental health website I have found, so too, I find support and encouragement among other Christians. None of us are meant to go it alone. We need each other’s support as we walk in this world. We are family joined together by the Spirit who makes us one with Christ.

One of the Psalms says how good it is for the people of God to dwell peacefully together. We were crafted for relationship with God and with each other. We are a band of brothers and sisters who pray for one another, and love unconditionally just as Christ loves us, no matter what. The old song, “we are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord” rings true.

Whatever your burden, there are willing hands to help carry the load. We walk the same path. And even though we may have different struggles, we share the same weaknesses that required Jesus to bear the cross. That oneness before the cross makes us inseparable in this life and the next.

Bill Withers sang a song years ago: “Just call on me brother when you need a hand; we all need somebody to lean on. I just might have a problem that you’ll understand; we all need somebody to lean on.” As I lean on Christ, I also lean on my brothers and sisters, and they lean on me. We are there for each other. There is no better support group.

His Grace is Sufficient for Me

The holidays are past and the dreariness of winter is setting in. I know for many people, winter sometimes induces depression. Short days, cold temperatures, weak sunlight. I know it is hard for me to avoid the feeling of depression. But it is more than that for me. I am bipolar and depression and I are intimately acquainted. I also exhibit symptoms of hypomania at times—uncontrolled thoughts, inappropriate speech, anxiety, rage, spiked energy that robs me of sleep and keeps me unable to focus. I feel great for a little while, then the edginess sets in and I get highly irritable, angry and unable to control my emotions. I take medications that help. If it weren’t for them, I’d have a hard time writing this.

I have asked the question for the past several years: where is God in all this? Indeed, I would imagine that others ask that same question about circumstances that affect them as well. We all suffer at times. For me, it’s mental illness, and it will be a lifelong condition. I will be on medication the rest of my life to control it. So where is God? Why do I have to live with this condition?

When I get to the place of despair, I am reminded of Paul. He, too, had a besetting problem that he sought God to take away. He asked multiple times. But God did not, effectively saying “no” to his request. In fact, he got an answer from God: “My grace is sufficient for you.” What that looked like for Paul, we do not know. But one thing is for sure, Paul was able to carry on.

What that tells me is that God has said the same to me, because as many times as I have asked, nothing has changed. He is telling me that his grace will suffice. But he has not left me to fend for myself. His grace has made a way for me in the medicines I take. That is his answer to my need.

I will always grapple with mental illness. It has affected me all my life. But God’s grace overcomes and though I exhibit symptoms now and then, I can continue to lean on Jesus for the strength I need to live life to the fullest. I can experience God’s grace and strength in my weakness. For that I am grateful. I may not fully understand God’s plan for me, but I can follow the path he has laid out for me and rest assured he will walk with me through the journey.

A New Year's Resolution

Christmas is over and a new year is soon arriving. This coming week is one in which many traditionally take stock of the past year, making an assessment and setting goals for the new year. I’ve never been very good at that. It’s a process that I find daunting, yet I know there are things I could resolve to do:

I need to eat better and shed some pounds. I need to read my bible daily and pray more throughout the day. I need to say “I love you” more often to those I do. I need to be more generous with my time and talent. I need to be a better witness for the Lord. The list could go on, but I already feel like I will probably fail to follow through with just the ones I've mentioned. Good intentions are not enough.

Truth is no goals are attainable without the power of the Holy Spirit. And no goals should be set without the direction of the Spirit. Too often in the past, I have set goals that were not of God and I failed miserably. It’s not that God was unwilling to help, but he knows me well and has better plans for my well-being than I can come up with. It might just be that he wants me to focus on one thing that is the most needful and to work toward that goal without the distraction of goals that although good, yet are not as urgent as the one thing he wants me to work on.

So, New Year’s number one resolution: seek the Lord for what I need to work on this coming year, a goal that is attainable even if it proves difficult. To prayerfully consider what is the most needful to please God and work out his plan for me. Whatever the goal, the outcome will be the result of a joint collaboration between us; his strength, his grace, his wisdom and my willingness and perseverance.

For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord. (Jeremiah 29: 11-14a). A promise for the new year that all can take to heart.

Those words give me hope that his desire is to see his children succeed so they will hear from Jesus the words, Well done my good and faithful servant. I cannot think of a better goal than that.

The Good News

Two days until Christmas and for once, I am prepared for the festivities of the day. We waited until my son came home to buy a tree and decorate it. It is perfect even if I do have to water daily. I could maybe forgo a real tree, but my son has always wanted to have the real thing, so as long as he comes home for Christmas, we’ll stick with a live tree. I don’t know; perhaps we’ll still have a live tree even after he has moved on. It’s hard to replace that pine aroma. And somehow it does seem to make the day more real, at least in my mind. There is a certain “rusticness” to it that lends itself toward the meanness of the first Christmas in a stable. Nothing artificial there.

This is not a commentary about the merits of live trees versus artificial. I do not intend to slam store bought trees. The convenience is perfectly fine. But I think I choose live trees as a way to resist the season of retail frenzy, the artificial and material observance of a holy day that has become a holiday, sanitized and repackaged by our secular culture to be more acceptable to those who choose not to recognize a King born 2,000 year ago. They have shut their eyes and cannot see the stable, the angels, the Babe in swaddling clothes. The day no longer means anything other than gift giving and a special dinner.

I have sorrow over those who will not see, who will not hear the truth of I AM having come down from heaven to walk among those he formed with his own hands. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. John 1:10. His humble entry into the world is folly to those who do not believe. It confounds the worldly wise and challenges those who do believe. It demands a choice: embrace or walk away.

This Christmas season, we as Christians celebrate what we do embrace, the beginning of the unfolding of God’s plan for salvation. We have waited patiently through Advent for the coming of the King of kings. His birth draws nigh and our anticipation grows as the day approaches. The challenge to believers is to carry the truth of Christmas to those who have yet to believe. As we welcome the Lordly Baby into our hearts and lives, let us remember the world that so desperately needs to hear the good news; from Darfur and Zimbabwe to next door neighbors, Christ has come for all.

May your Christmas be rich with the Spirit's presence and joy-filled. The King has come!

The Christmas Gift

The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.

It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?

I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate a hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”

I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.

Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.

The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?

Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?

I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.

In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a rat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that rats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.

We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and rat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and rats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.

It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.

The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane, it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:

“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”

The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.

In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:

Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.


He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?

I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.

Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.

It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation—and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.

Now Thank We all Our God

It’s Thanksgiving and I will be doing all the Thanksgiving family traditions, going to my sister’s house bringing along a variety of foods I’ve prepared for dinner. We meet there every year because she has the room to feed all of us. I slept in, taking advantage of the day off. But this day is set aside for more than sleeping, eating and football. It’s a day to gather together and remember all the goodness we have been blessed with throughout the past year.

We can all tick off the ways we’ve been blessed, but in doing so, we’d forget some of the gifts God has bestowed on us, there being so many, and we’d miss some entirely because we never knew of them. God’s blessings are sometimes unseen. The unknown accident that might have befallen us were it not for divine intervention, the chance meeting of an old friend, the illness we did not contract because of God’s protection. But I will attempt to name just a few of things I am grateful for today:

I am thankful for the love of family; for a loving husband and the blessing of a godly son; for love of faithful friends who have loved me through tough times and laughed with me in the good. I am blessed with good health and a good job. I have a house, that though humble, is nevertheless more than most people in the world have. I am not wealthy, yet I am able to pay my bills and have a little extra after they are paid. I am able to pay for medicines because I am able to afford health insurance. I live in a land with abundant food. I have clean water to drink. Countless people do not. I live in a nation that is free of civil strife and armed warfare. I have been gifted by God to do his will with writing and music, for that I am thankful. I did nothing to earn it, he just gave it.

And what I think most other Christians would say, I am most thankful for the love of God that caused him to send his Son into the world that we might be saved and have eternal life. I rejoice this day that I have had my spiritual debt paid in full, not of my own doing, but by the blood of Jesus. All other blessings are icing on the cake, so to speak.

I pray that your Thanksgiving be a day of rejoicing as you recall to mind all the goodness the Lord has poured out on you. The list is endless, but we have eternity to praise him for each one. Amen!

All is Not Lost

It sometimes seems like I am a loser. Not in a game sense, or in a worthwhile sense. I mean there are times when I experience loss and it hurts. We all face losses throughout life. Loss of jobs, finances, health, and most painful of all, relationships with those we love most. Lately, it feels as though I have been the loser, and it’s painful.

In the past few months I’ve had to deal with loss as my only child went off to college on the east coast and that means very rarely ever seeing him. It’s not been easy to live without his presence, his laughter, and yes, even his grumblings, though they were few. Although I knew he would grow up and move out, I still wasn’t prepared for the sense of loss I have felt.

I am facing the potential loss of my longtime canine companion. He’s quite old now and his health is rapidly deteriorating. I know there are those who do not understand how people can get so wrapped up in their pets, but I will feel the loss keenly when he breathes his last which may be sooner than I had hoped. I will be expecting a wagging tail and wet nose to greet me when I come home, and he will not be there, and yes, I will cry.

But another painful loss is that of a dear friend. She is moving to the southeast and like the circumstance with my son I will rarely have the opportunity to see her now. It will feel like she’s a million miles away, and though I know we will continue to communicate, I will miss her being nearby. I already feel the loss of her presence, and it hurts.

I have to stop and ask myself where God is in all the loss we experience. To be honest, I question him at times because of it. I know we are just sojourners in this world, and we have been warned that all things of this life are temporary, but that impermanence can break hearts and leave us grieving. It seems to be the human condition. We have lived with loss ever since the first one in the garden.

I forget that God feels loss as well, more than we can understand. The paradox of knowing he doesn’t need us, yet he doesn’t want to be without us. A sense of loss that compelled him to send his Son to reclaim those lost to him. It’s what causes him to extend grace so we can know what we, too, have lost relationally with God, to comprehend in our limited capacity how great the loss was when we sinned. Without grace, we can never understand how much we stand to lose if we neglect the free gift of salvation.

He understands our other losses, too, and although I am no theologian, I can’t help but think he redraws the lines of our lives to keep us moving closer to him. He takes no pleasure in our sorrows and losses, but he will use them to transform us. He will use brokenness to strengthen us, and will turn our losses into gains.

As I write this, it doesn’t make the pain of loss lessen. And the old adage of “time heals all wounds” is a crock. Loss hurts and it always will until Jesus returns and all tears are wiped away. But even though knowing all things are temporary is painful, knowing all things are temporary is also a gift of grace. For Paul says he counts all things as loss save the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

One day, I will be forever with those I love. There no distance will impede presence and joy. Until then, I will live with the losses and the tears and know that God will restore all to what he had envisioned for us at creation. I will thank him for the love I have experienced through those he has placed in my life, those near and those far. And I will try to remember that losses are only for a season, even though they might be painful. God’s restoration will make all things new.

While we await the fullness of the promise, God will hold our hearts, minds and spirits close to him, and grieve our losses with us. And the Spirit will remind us once again that Christ lost all for us so we could gain all in him.

The Times are in God's Hands

Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists authority resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment…For the same reason you also pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, busy with this very thing. Pay to all what is due them—taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, honor to whom honor is due. (Romans 13:1-2; 6-7)

First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. (1Tim. 2:1-2)

The election process is finally over. It has been a long, strange journey, filled with ground-breaking surprises, highs and lows. We have awakened this morning to a new president-elect and I know I am not alone in wondering what this means for our nation. Things were going change regardless of who was elected. Now we wait to see what will come of this decision by the citizens who voted.

Scripture makes clear that all authority is from God. We have as our president the one appointed for this time. For those who supported the candidate who lost, it might be a time of disappointment and concern for the direction of our country. But God is in control and we are to entrust all things to his keeping, including our leaders and nation. Scripture says we are to pray for our leaders so we can go freely about kingdom business. This is what I will do. My pastor often says, “It will be what it will be.” Wise words. Not fatalistic, just true. We do not always understand what God is doing. He chooses to keep things veiled from us sometimes. Our job as believers is to trust and obey as the old hymn says. We are to pray for our leaders and render to them what is due. Regardless of how you voted, this is what God commands.

Pray for our new President. Pray for our Congress. Pray for our Governor, and for all who are in positions of authority. Pray for our nation, that godly men and women would work for justice and peace. And pray that as believers, we would seize every opportunity to spread the gospel whether circumstances are favorable or not (2 Tim. 4:2). And be thankful that we live in a nation where power changes hands in a peaceful, orderly manner and that we can exercise our faith openly. We are doubly blessed.

Regardless of how you voted, the times are in God’s hands. Leave to him what the future holds and be faithful to do as he commands: trust and pray. This is the will of God for all who are called. It is our witness.

Discipline of Prayer

It’s been a long time since I last posted. My goal had been to post once a week. I managed that the first couple months, but have had a case of writer’s block for an extended period. It’s frustrating to sit down in front of the computer, hands poised over the keyboard and nothing happen. The fact is writing is as much a discipline as it is an art. I have not been faithful to write something daily, anything.

Prayer and reading the Bible can be like that, at least for me. Please tell me I am not alone in this. I have periods of zeal, reading daily, praying frequently throughout the day. Then, for inexplicable reasons, I fall off the wagon and go into a time of drought and the temptation is to just stop. But prayer and reading God’s word is as much a discipline as it is a joy. We go through dry spells for reasons that only God knows, but I will venture a guess that it is sometimes a period of testing to see if we will be faithful even when we don’t feel like it.

I am a person of passion. My emotions are often quite near the surface and I will go up and down without the ability to put on the brakes at times even with medication. It’s the bipolar disorder. God knows that and extends grace to me so that even when my mind is racing with the hypomania or is overwhelmed with feelings associated with depression, he can hear my broken efforts to connect with him, the whispered prayers of only a couple words. The Holy Spirit takes them to the throne and makes them acceptable before the Father. And I know Jesus is my Advocate and prays for me when I cannot. God has it all under control. Knowing that is a reminder that I need to pray no matter what, that I need to pick up the Bible and read something, anything.

Whatever your feelings on any given day, God understands and waits for you to come before him. He is compassionate in the times of drought, the valleys, and he delights in the times of mountain top passion and zeal. But through it all, he loves you, no matter what. The simplest prayers are just as important to him as the lengthier times spent praying for the world. Dry times come, but they also don’t last. The discipline of continuing to pray for others and ourselves, of picking up the Bible and reading perhaps a Psalm to give comfort and direction can make all the difference when the zeal is simply not there.

Whether you feel like it or not, take a moment right now to thank God for something, anything and pray for at least one person you know has a need. Then ask him for the grace to develop the discipline of prayer and reading the Word, no matter your emotional state, no matter where you are on your spiritual journey. It is a request he will answer with a yes.

Time for Everything Under the Sun

The last two weeks of my life have been some of the roughest weeks I’ve ever had. Since my son left for West Point, I have been through the wringer. The whole “my baby is leaving home” thing is very, very hard. But add to that the whole military thing and I’ve been a basket case. Not knowing how he is doing has been one of the hardest times as a mom I have ever experienced.

A letter finally came, written a week after he got there. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t reasonable for me to expect something sooner from an 18 year old, but I was sick with worry and the blackout was unbearable. My greatest fears have been temporarily allayed somewhat by the news that he is doing fine, all things considered. But I know the next four years, should he decide to stay, will be up and down for him, for his father, for me.

The letter is like gold. It is a simple, quick one page note that gives a brief outline of how his days are going, and asking for things that he needs. I have read it over and over. I don’t know if I think I’ll find something else in it, but I read as though it were new each time. The part that moves me the most is near the end of the letter. Just one sentence:“I found a new faith home here, and I might try to join the Praise Team for the Protestant service.”

God is at work in his heart and mind. Away from home, on his own and he goes to chapel without being dragged out of bed. He could just sleep in Sunday mornings. They allow that for those who choose not to go to Sunday services, but he has chosen to seek out other Christians and to feed on the Word. The only book he took with him was his bible. In it, when he has a moment or two, he will find the strength and courage he needs to succeed in the task that lies before him.

He believes in what he is doing. How could I believe any differently? I believe in his abilities, his drive and his passions, just as I believe in God’s. My son is becoming a man, if not right before my eyes, at least in his letters that will follow and the phone calls that will be made. There will be rough times, times of questioning, but God is faithful and in the end he will make his plan come to fruition, whatever that may be. As the bible says, there is a time for everything. This is a time of change, of upheaval. God is in it when all is said and done. In that truth is comfort.

Time Marches On

I want to say up front that this is not an uplifting bit of writing. Blogs are just public journals, so I write what I know and it may or may not strike a chord in the reader. What I write might make you laugh or cry, become angry or be contemplative. It is what it is.

I looked at myself in the mirror a bit closer this morning. I was dismayed by what I saw. Time has marched on all over my face. Crows feet extending out from my eyes, laugh/frown lines around my mouth, and sagging cheeks. My neck is lined and loose.

It’s strange how we really don’t notice the signs of aging. I don’t understand the whole aging process. It creeps up slowly until one day we wake up and realize we can’t do the things we did when we were younger. Parts sag, joints complain, eyes strain, backs hurt. But today it’s as though this were a flash news item: “Susan is older!”

There is a sadness to it. Somehow, as my son was growing up, youth was slipping away from me and I simply ignored the signs. He kept me young, or at least kept me lively. I had to keep up with his endless energy, the little legs that ran from one place to another. As he grew, his energy turned to other endeavors, but I still kept pace. Now that he has left for college, I find my energy has flagged. There isn’t the needed drive to keep running with him. I’ve hit a wall.

It’s always been a shock to me when I watch old movies, seeing actors in their prime, then see them as they are today. I see it when I look at my mother. She just got old. I wonder how it happened and wonder why it’s happening to me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’ve always known that people get old and die, but somehow I guess I thought I would escape. I grew up in the generation that said you should not trust anyone over 30, the generation that would stay young forever. Well, I’m way over 50 so I guess am not trustworthy anymore and the prospect of endless youth has turned out to be a bust.

The old newsreels that once played in movie theaters were entitled “Time Marches On.” Indeed it does. It waits for no one. I wonder what my sons thinks when he looks at me, as he remembers me from his childhood. It’s been a gradual process so it may not have been that noticeable, but when he comes home for break, he may notice for the first time that his father and I look older than he remembers.

It would be painfully, deeply and endlessly depressing were it not for the God factor. He said we would return to dust, but added a promise to it, that we would be resurrected with new bodies that would never age and break down again. I don’t claim to understand his plan. It is what it is. He knows what he’s doing, and allowing us to grow older and weaker is what makes us yearn for something more, something better—the something that he has planned for us.

Life gives and takes. But God is in the midst of all of it. There is a plan for every stage and age. Though our steps may falter as we grow older and circumstances change, he guides us and prepares us for what is yet to come, the better life, the life spent with him, forever young and forever loved.

Though I have a body that is slowly dying, I also am aware of the hope that is eternal. I know that I have a future, that all who put their faith in Christ have a future that is beyond our comprehension. Getting older is not a hopeless and futile end, it is just another phase of this temporary time in our existence. God has something better in store and that is what I will try to remember when I next look in the mirror.

Learning It's Okay

This past week I’ve been sick. Nothing major, but enough to make me feel really crummy and drive me to my bed. It took me several days of being ill to finally get bed rest, and I got there only after the worst had passed and I was talked into it. In the meantime, while I was feeling the brunt of the symptoms, I was at work, trying to do my job because I could not give myself permission to stay home.

I don’t know if anyone else feels like I do, but taking sick days is almost impossible for me. Not because my job or boss makes it difficult, but because I make it hard on myself. I always feel guilty that I am sick, as though I had anything to do with making it happen. Rather than seeing it as an unfortunate occurrence that temporarily interrupts my life and being grateful that I have sick leave as a part of my job benefits package, I feel I have to make excuses for my behavior. Some will think that weird, but there it is. It’s as though my being sick is a sin.

In truth, I consider using sick days as a sign of weakness on my part. I should be able to muscle through anything and continue to do my job well. So if I cannot carry on, I come under a boatload of guilt—guilt because I have failed.

I’m not completely sure how those guilty feelings developed, but I do know that my father rarely stayed home due to illness and I almost never saw my mother sick. They kept going. My father was a military man and my mother had to run a household, corralling three children on her own while he was away on various missions. There was no time to be sick. Lest anyone misconstrue, I am not blaming, just making an observation and trying to work through possibilities.

A good and honest friend pointed out to me that I really am not indispensable (ouch!) and that it was up to my employer to figure out how to carry on at the job without me. That I am not indispensable to the praise team I am a part of at my church and they would figure out how to do without me if I was sick. I have a harder time with that one.

Somehow I’ve got to get past the guilty feelings and give myself permission to rest when I need to and not see myself as weak for it. Jesus had to rest from time to time and he recognized that his disciples did too. When Peter’s mother was ill she was in bed, not trying to carry on. It wasn’t until Jesus healed her that she was able to get up and go about her chores. She must have given herself permission to rest even though Peter had brought the disciples over for dinner.

I need to take myself less seriously and relax a bit more. I would imagine there are a lot of Christians who need to do that as well. I don’t want to be a slacker, but I do need to learn to recognize the symptoms of overdoing it (and working sick is overdoing it), and take a break. Believe me, I have built up a lot of sick leave.

Remind me about this next time I am sick.

Always Remember

Today is Memorial Day. A day our country sets aside to honor those who have served our country in the military who are no longer with us. Grave sites across the US have been decorated with the flag to recognize the final resting places of servicemen and women.

My father is buried in the national cemetery at Fort Leavenworth. I remember the interment like it was yesterday. In honor of him and all those who have served our nation, I am repeating a tribute that I wrote after his burial. This is for all who served our nation, and for loved ones who rest in the Lord:


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 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 unfolded and refolded 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 5’10” two hundred pound frame in a box that was smaller than most laptops.

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 served with distinction. 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 don’t know. I only know that afterwards, 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 markers surround him, each representing a soldier, sailor, or airman. It was at once breath-taking 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 deeply, 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 life 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…”

Milestones

My son is graduating from high school tomorrow. It is a huge milestone, but there have been milestones all along. There was kindergarten, when I first had to learn to let him go and trust that others would treat him well, knowing that he would have to learn how manage and to make friends in a strange place where he knew no one. I had to trust that God would take care of him in my absence. We survived that together.

Then there was grade school graduation, when all we had known for the past eight years was about to change radically. We had lived in a safe comfortable cocoon and now we were facing high school where, once again, my son would have to learn how to manage in a new and different setting and make friends where he knew no one. I had to learn to trust again that others would treat him well, and I had to trust God would take care of him in my absence.

Then came the driver’s license. That meant trusting him to make good and safe decisions, to not speed and drive recklessly. And to trust that those he rode with would also be good drivers. The overnights, the dates, the road trips—I had to trust God would take of him in my absence.

Four years have flown by and now my son is leaving the familiar halls of high school. He is leaving behind good friends, great teachers and experiences that have shaped his teenaged years. He will soon be heading off to West Point where all he has known will change dramatically. Once again, he will have to learn how to manage in a strange place and make friends where he knows no one. He will be challenged in ways he has never experienced, and no matter how much he has tried to prepare, it will be difficult.

To say I have mixed emotions is to understate how I feel. I have pride in his achievements throughout his elementary and secondary schooling. He has worked hard and reached goals that reflect his God given gifts. But like at every milestone in his life, I harbor a mother’s anxious thoughts. Will he be safe? Will he find good and godly friends? Will those who exercise authority over him be mindful of his well being? To put it in basic mother terms: who will take care of my little boy, the one I hugged and kissed; the one who I held when he cried from a skinned knee; the one I applauded at school plays and at every Christmas program, every concert; the one I prayed with, and played with.

He is a man now, but although I understand that, there is the part of me that says he will always be my baby, the one I labored to bring into this world, the one who was and is a gift from God.

Throughout his formative years, his father and I have done our best to teach him faith, to lead him to the relationship with Jesus he needs for salvation. I know he has faith and that is a source of comfort and assurance. But my mother’s heart aches knowing he will soon be beyond my care and protection. People talk about the benefits of an empty nest, but right now it rings hollow.

The day will be here faster than I want it to when we watch him board the plane that will take him to West Point leaving us for longer than he has ever been gone, even adding up all his time away from home up to this point. It will be through tears that I hug him before he goes, tears mixed with pride for who he is and hope for who he will become. I will encourage him in his effort to follow where God is leading, even as I ache for his leaving home. And, once again I will have to trust God to take care of him in my absence. It will be a milestone for me as well.

Words That Wound

“You always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn’t hurt at all” so an old song goes. How true those words are. I can be kind and patient with total strangers but sharp and irritable with loved ones. I can choose words carefully with my customers, yet be careless and thoughtless with the ones closest to me. It’s frustrating for me, and too often hurtful to the ones I love most.

Scripture makes it clear that God is love and those who love him will love others. The bible also says that if we cannot love the person we see, how can we love God whom we do not see? God wants me to love consistently, to behave in loving ways consistently. It’s not that I don’t love those I sometimes hurt, it’s that my actions and words do not always reflect God’s way of loving. So what do I do about that?

I can start with prayer. Taking my short fuse and hasty tendency with words to God in prayer can help me recognize the problem and allow the Holy Spirit to work in me. God’s grace leads to gracious words even when I am tired or stressed. Just becoming aware that I am acting less than loving with those closest to me will help me stop before I go too far.

The Book of Proverbs is filled with wisdom and warnings about our words and their impact on others. We reap what we speak. That is serious stuff. Yet I still too often fall short of living by that. I doubt that I am alone. James in his letter said the tongue was like a fire out of control and that the one who can master it is truly mature as a believer.

Words have power to wound or heal. To have that kind of power at my disposal is an awesome thing and not to be taken lightly. My hope is to learn to master my words and to own my speech as one who is mature in the faith, to respect and have grace in my language given freely to the ones I love most. To always keep a reserve of kind words for the people God has given me as family and friends. I don’t want to hurt the ones I love, the ones I shouldn’t hurt at all. If I live by that goal then God will make it happen in spite of my weaknesses.