The Inheritance We Leave for our Children

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step into the Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pay it Forward, God does

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

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

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

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

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

I guess I am writing to say my mental illness doesn’t define who I am. It does shape my life in some ways, but I am a perfectly acceptable soul in the sight of God, who knows what I go through and doesn’t label me as defective. Unless God, in his plan for my life chooses to heal me, I will go through occasional bouts of mania or depression. In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.” (2:10)

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

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

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

Turn Us, O God

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fairly Tales and Truth

Hey diddle the cat and the fiddle

The cow jumped over the moon

The little dog laughed to see such sport

And the dish ran away with the spoon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 and I will give you rest.

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

 and humble in your heart,

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

The Pain of Grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never Forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seize the Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother's Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Is Finished

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Jesus loves me, this I know.

My Mother's Legacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death and Resurrection

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                    

Sobering Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Revelation of Ourselves

“They” say confession is good for the soul. “They” are speaking the truth, but for the most part, I think those who say that don’t have many skeletons haunting their closets, especially ones that some do not wish to be brought into the light. I live a lifestyle I pray conforms to that of Christ Jesus, but years ago I was dead in my sins and they weren't very nice. I have a closet full of skeletons rattling around in my heart and mind that I don’t readily reveal. The cost could be too high to bear. Rejection is one of the hardest things to endure. The pain inflicted on our hearts and minds has the power to break us and leave hopelessness in its wake.  That is why great caution should be taken when revealing past sins as well as ones of the present. Even in writing this blog entry I feel some anxiety.

I encountered the Savior when I stepped into an AA hall nearly thirty years ago. AA is not a Christian organization. In fact, the twelve steps and traditions of AA go to great length to not align the program with any particular religion. AA’s Higher Power allows everyone to come in and feel at home whatever their beliefs or un-beliefs. But the only Higher Power I could turn to was the Christian God of my childhood. I was not disappointed. When I asked Jesus to take me as I was and help me, I knew I connected with the one true God, and I was utterly shaken to the core of my being. His response was not a list of rules to follow and hoops to jump through. Instead I found freedom from the bondages that had held me captive for the better part of my life.

Confession is good for the soul. The steps of AA lead the alcoholic through the process of finding a Higher Power, cleaning up the past and making a new life for the future. The particular steps I am referring to are the ones that require us to make a list of all persons we have harmed and a true evaluation of our lives. The kicker is that you not only have to confess those things to God, but you must also confess to another person “the exact nature of our wrongs.” (AA Big Book).

I was so reluctant to share my sins with anyone that I balked for a while, but the truth is anyone who refuses to do that will eventually drink again, or for non-alcoholics, fall back into the sins they are so easily beset by. I found a sponsor who seemed like she had lived fully in the world and wasn't easily shocked. She was also a Christian. I made my list and spilled out my insides to this person with great fear and trepidation. But my fears were met with grace and acceptance. She was in short, a life saver. When I finally finished, she assured me of her acceptance and of the acceptance and forgiveness of God. She was the face of Jesus acting on his behalf to help me feel as forgiven as I was. Confession is indeed good for the soul.

There are sins from my past that I will share openly, and there are sins I do not. The revelations of those past sins are reserved for people I sense will not reject me. Yet every time I decide to risk rejection, I am terrified, because I have felt the sting of it and want to avoid it at all cost.  So why talk about things of the past that have been forgiven? Because those I tell my story to can give glory to God and perhaps find an open door for confession for them if they trust me as I have trusted them.

I do not confess to keep condemning myself and repeatedly seeking absolution for things for which I have already received forgiveness. I did a complete 180 when I turned to the Lord and was set free through confession, forgiveness and grace. My story might just be what the person needed to hear. I don’t often reveal that I have Bipolar Disorder because of the stigma attached to mental illness, but in doing so when it feels safe--an anonymous blog--or with people I know to be trustworthy, I have found many times there are questions I can answer because someone they know has a mental illness.

The confessions brought to God in repentance never result in punitive actions or rejection; they are designed to bring a greater freedom for the heart, soul and mind, and an awareness of the brokenness we all live with so our hearts will grow more tender toward one another.

There are those who reject the light of Jesus so their deeds can remain hidden in darkness. Those who have received salvation through grace bring their deeds in his light so they can be seen for what they are: chains of bondage forged by our own hands, the machinations of the Liar, and the lure of the flesh. If you are wrestling with past or present sins, find someone with whom you can share and in doing so be released to experience the love and forgiveness of God in a tangible life-changing way.

Confession is good for the soul.

Testing Our Thoughts

This past week I have had a reoccurring thought, the origin of which is a bit murky. There is risk involved in acting on it. It’s something I am taking it very seriously because if it is coming from the Holy Spirit, then I face risking much stepping out in faith or I can disobey God which carries its own consequences. I am reminded by the life of Jesus that obeying God carries a great deal of risk. Christians in the past and present have suffered much for sharing how Jesus saved them. Living by faith can prove very difficult and the Lord doesn’t promise we will come through unscathed in this life.

My dilemma is keen. Ideas that sound good may come from the father of all lies. Scripture says he masquerades as an angel of light. He salts his planted thoughts with enough truth to make it plausible that the Lord could be the author of them. That is why we are told to test the spirits and we do so by asking ourselves if it’s scriptural, does it bring glory to God and what do mature Christians and spiritual leaders think. In other words, we should only step out boldly if we are certain we have heard from God. Jesus didn’t say or do anything that the Father didn’t model for him. He spent much time in prayer seeking direction from the Father.

Then there is the danger of running ahead of God’s plan for us by stepping out on ice he didn’t tell us to test. It may seem like a good idea, but our own thoughts, however holy they may seem, can be just as dangerous as those of the Liar. When we act on thoughts without testing them, we can set ourselves back in our faith walk. I could easily point to people who have told me they’ve been called to preach and running out to start a church with no backing or plan. Many crashed and burned. God hadn’t called them to be pastors; they took a thought and ran with it when it hadn’t come from God. Or it was a premature move that caused them to step out too early before they and their path had been made ready.  

Now that I have made everyone question all their plans, the good news is that if we just follow those three precepts: is it scriptural, does it glorify God, and what do other more mature believers and leaders think, we will then be able to more clearly discern what God’s will is for us and from where the source of the thoughts originate.

I am applying those questions to the thought that is insistently pressing on me. Frankly, it scares me, but I am trying to come to a place of peace that can only come from knowing from whom this idea has come. I can either walk away or step out on the limb of faith, even if it’s with trepidation. I pray I will do the right thing. 

The Enduring Love of God

As I have walked through a long dark night of the soul, I am re-experiencing God’s love anew. His love is unlike the love of humans, even that of Christians many times. The bible says it is steadfast, that God’s ways are not our ways, his thoughts not as ours. God’s love is unrelenting, without conditions, and fiercely faithful. I recall once hearing that he was the hound of heaven, able to track our footsteps and never lose sight of our travels through this life even if they be convoluted.

The book of 1Corinthians, chapter 13 describes what perfect love looks like. I must admit, I fall short many times of the kind of love God wants us to live by. Human love is shot through with conditions and self-interest. While unbelievers have a capacity to love, their love is completely corrupt in comparison with God’s.  But even we believers often fail to love as we ought. How many times have we loved someone only to grow weary of their neediness and withdraw our love and care? And what about all the times we have convinced ourselves that those beset by sin are unworthy or untouchable? Even the promise to love our spouses faithfully through sickness and want ends in broken vows all too often. We fail to love others as the Lord loves us. I am not pointing a finger. I am well aware of my lack of perfect love.

The painful reality is that while we withhold our love from those can be difficult to love, we either deceive ourselves that we are in the right, or we condemn ourselves before God rather than asking for forgiveness and grace to love as we ought. The result of condemning ourselves is the painful feeling we have failed God and his love is being withheld from us until we meet expectations, biblical or self-imposed. Our fear leads to guilt and self –loathing, robbing us of faith in the redeeming, endless love of God.

The truth is God’s love never condemns, nor is it meted out in small doses based on our performance as Christians. His love is summed up in 1 John: he first loved us. His love compelled him to provide for our redemption when we were ignorant of needing it. His passion for us was clearly shown by the death and resurrection of the Son of God and Man, guaranteeing eternal life in the presence of perfect love. The unconditional love showered on us frees us to love him and others as he loves us. Do we always hit the mark? No, but the learning curve is no longer impossible with the presence of the Holy Spirit indwelling our hearts.

Our effort to love God’s way is a process. Opportunities abound and whether or not we succeed in each instance doesn’t lessen God’s love toward us. It calls unto us to keep pressing on and not give up and lose sight of the truth. His forgiveness and abundant grace will slowly transform us to become more Christ-like in the here and now. And when we meet him face to face, our eyes will behold what pure love looks like and ours will be purified completely so we may finally love our Redeemer and Father with the same love.

God’s love never fails and that truth should comfort us and give us peace. I am still trying and at times failing, but as I continue to be lifted out of the pit I am in, my love for God is growing. His faithfulness towards me compels me to not lose heart. Paul said he would forget past failures and press on to the high calling in Christ Jesus. May we all have the same heart.

There is Light

I know my blog entries have been downers lately, but I have to be honest. As the old saying goes, “To thine own self be true.” The reason my blog exists is to journal my journey in faith and I do not believe for one minute that other Christians have not been through similar challenges and setbacks. As much as I expect perfection in myself, I must acknowledge that perfection in this life does not exist for anyone. Christians are people who are being made into the likeness of Jesus, but the total transformation will not be complete until we see him face-to-face. That is where our hope and attention should lie and not on our failures.

Having said that, it is much easier to say than to do. It means nothing less than total surrender to the Lord of all areas of our lives; to hand over all our doubts, fears, and shortcomings, entrusting them to the keeper of our souls. I have been through one of the worst periods of my life this past year and I think I may see a tiny pinpoint of light in the far distance. The blackest tunnel I am walking through may have a positive ending after all. I hope that light signals the end of the darkness I have wandered in for a long time.

We are broken vessels of clay. Formed in perfection and beauty, Adam and Eve chose rebellion and we, their descendants have followed in their footsteps. As John wrote, if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the light is not in us. Well, I announce to the world that I am a sinner. That I am shot through with sins of commission and omission, and all my struggles to absolve myself through wasted efforts to do better on my own are in vain. Broken down and bleeding self-righteous efforts, Jesus calls to me, saying there is a balm for my many self-inflicted wounds, as well as those perpetrated on me by others throughout my life. Wounds that I am discovering I have no power to heal on my own; wounds that I just can’t ignore or forget.

What can I do? Paul wrote, “Woe is me. Who can save me from this body of shame?” He then provided the answer: Christ can do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. There is a longing in my heart for the life changing and saving grace that comes only from God. Life may have shattered me over the years with many evils done and done to me, but he can use me broken as I am. I will not be perfectly healed in this life, none of us will be. We are left redeemed, broken vessels in order that we may extend grace and mercy to those we encounter who may also be struggling in similar ways.

There was darkness throughout the land before Jesus died. He had to walk through his own black tunnel for the salvation that came afterward with his resurrection in light. His brokenness frightened his followers until they understood the reason for it. This is what every believer must learn: their own brokenness is not the end. There is light ahead and a journey in which we will experience growing pains, but also one in which we will encounter wounded souls we can offer healing balm to. The old hymn chorus rings in my mind, “There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin sick soul. There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.” The balm we can give others is our love and humility born out of the pain we have lived through, and that gives hope that nothing lasts forever in this life. Suffering begets peace, and peace begets hope, and hope begets joy that leads to deeper faith in the one who claims us just as we are, where we are, and who we are, with no strings attached.

Paul wrote that this present suffering is nothing compared to what awaits us in the presence of the Lord of all. While I may have struggles in this life, I will, through his word, hope in his ever abundant grace. As Psalm 119 says, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” And the Word and Light is Jesus Christ.

The Companion

As I am slowly working my way through things at my late mother’s home, I have recovered lost childhood memories I hadn’t thought about for decades. Old family photographs, baby shoes, a multicolored knitted scarf and hat that my mother made for me when I was about five-years-old, and a photo of me with Pretty, my beloved teddy bear, washed many times over because I wouldn’t part with it for anything. In fact, I still have Pretty, but he isn’t so pretty anymore. The pink has turned into a faded tan and one of his eyes no longer shuts right. But he went everywhere with me, a cuddly companion for a small child. And like the Velveteen Rabbit, he was loved to the point of his fur becoming sparse.

Right now, I need a companion that goes everywhere with me like Pretty did. Not a cuddly childhood toy, but someone who knows who I am and what I’ve been through in my life. I feel like a grown up orphan. I no longer have any parents to lean on and turn to for the wisdom only age can bring. A companion to come alongside me and love without measure is a position only the Lord can fill. He is not an insentient childhood friend. He is the living God and he gives wisdom, love, acceptance, and understanding beyond what any human can offer. And he cannot be loved too much. I am ashamed to say I know I do not harbor enough love for him. Yet, he never stops loving me.

Psalm 139 says, “O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways…You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me…Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and you right hand shall hold me fast.”

The Lord is the companion I seek, and indeed, throughout the past months, he has faithfully carried me in the darkest of times. Again, Psalm 139: “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.” My Father’s eyes missed nothing in the darkness that descended in my life, and Jesus is forever interceding on my behalf. He sends his Holy Spirit to comfort and console the brokenhearted, the downtrodden, to become strength for the weak and fearful, and a source of true joy that turns tears into praise.

In chapter 43, Isaiah writes, “But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;  when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,  your Savior…”

There is much work to be done on my mother’s estate. I am in charge of setting up an estate sale. It’s going to be extremely hard to watch strangers cart off my mother’s belongings, but furniture and other items are not the sum total of a person. Our essential being is found only in relationship with Jesus, and our love for him and for others.

We have the Comforter, the Intercessor, the Advocate to be our companion in life’s journeys. To carry us when we are faint, to bind up the broken places, and to comfort us in our sorrows. The Holy Spirit is God’s down payment on his promise to us of the gift of eternal life. We do not wander aimlessly in this life. We have a guide and companion to walk with us. No matter how weak we are, his grip is strong and we will not slip from his hands. And that is a matter of God’s limitless grace. 

Hoping in God

I found the Lee Ann Womack song “Dance” on youtube and posted it on my Facebook page. The lyrics were hard to listen to. It was as if she wrote the song just for me. I am not going to quote all the lyrics here, but as the chorus comes around she writes that “when the choice comes to sit it out or to dance, I hope you dance. I hope you dance.”

I used to be a dancer, not in a literal sense. I have two left feet and do not dance in public. But in my heart I danced like David did before the Ark of the Covenant. His sorrow turned to dancing; his pain to joy. But I haven’t danced in a long time. My legs feel rubbery and my heart broken. Relief from sorrow and pain does not seem forthcoming. Right now, I couldn’t dance even if Yosemite Sam started shooting at my feet.

Psalm 6:1-4

“Hear my cry, O God; from the end of the earth I call to you, when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I; for you are my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. Let me abide in your tent forever, find refuge under the shelter of your wings. Selah”

The whole of Psalm 42 is also a place where I felt led to read.

“As the deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God…My tears have been my food day and night…Why are you cast down O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.”

One is the plea for salvation from the bitter taste of death and brokenness. A lament to God most High. The other a lament as well, but with David grabbing at a sliver of hope. I am not able to dance and I feel no hope, but I can look into the face of God in his word for us and feel that he does indeed care, even if he appears to be far away in another galaxy.

I have lived a hard life, granted with fairly long periods of joy, but the times of sins, failures, faults, upheavals from painful consequences, and great loss of loved ones, years wasted with addictions, and loss of mental health and peace of mind. These things leave me shaken to the very core of my being.

Sometime in the future, maybe near, maybe far, “I shall again praise him, my help and my God.” One promise that is keeping me from going under completely again are the words Jesus spoke to his disciples in John 10:28-30.

“My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

Deep in my heart, I am looking for that sliver of hope to praise him once again. He won’t leave me in this place forever. In the future I will be able to look back and be grateful for his work in my heart and mind. I’m just not there yet. But Jesus says, “Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest for your souls.” Now it’s just a matter of when I will see him again.