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. 

A Lament

As we teeter on the edge of a new year today, I feel fairly certain many people are looking back on 2013 and considering whether or not it was a good year. I have been. I will say it was a rough year for me. I wanted this New Year’s message to be different than the one I am going to write, but my heart hurts and I am finding it very hard to “count it all joy…” as Peter instructed the early Christians.

This year began so promising. Work was going well, the family was healthy, and I was stable. Every Sunday I looked forward to helping lead worship at church as a part of the praise team. Daily I could look at the blessings God poured out on me and lift up a grateful heart in prayer and praise. There were some bumps in the road, but they were minor.

But then I lost a friend and coworker to a fast moving rare cancer. She died within eight weeks of her diagnosis. It was a blow to me and to my work place. I really wrestled over it. She was young, and left behind a grieving husband and three children under 14 years of age. For reasons only God knows, not more than two months later, I began a slow downward spiral into deep depression.

Medication adjustments did little to help as each day my mental health deteriorated. By August, I was suicidal and with prompting, admitted myself to the hospital my psychiatrist directed me to. I was so demoralized by that point and I felt defeated, hopeless, and helpless. More medication changes, a week of intensive therapy and the start-up of ECT treatments (Electro Convulsive Therapy) and I was released feeling I was on steadier ground. The strong suicidal feelings abated and I felt like I still had a place in the world. But I was off work for thirteen weeks and it took every one of them to climb back up to where I felt I was strong enough to return.

Then my mother fell and broke her upper arm, requiring surgery. Within the month she fell again and broke her hip, requiring more surgery. At 93, it was just too much to take and she began to lose ground. She was three hours away where I could not just drive to the hospital and visit daily. Not being there was difficult.

I went to be with her for a weekend and then made arrangements to get off work and went back down for what would be her final week on earth. We moved her to my brother’s home where she could be surrounded by family and a vigil was kept around the clock. What time was left I spent telling her how much I loved her, and watched and waited with my brother and sister as she slipped first into a coma, and then into eternity. Her memorial service was four days before Christmas.

Stable, healthy, sorrowful, depressed, suicidal, heartbroken, and now it’s New Year’s Eve. The year is over and I am looking back too weary to even ask why. My only prayer is Psalm 61:1-4a.

“Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. 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.”

I suppose this blog entry would be aptly called a lament. I have poured out my soul and complaints in the presence of God and his people. There isn’t much more to say. If anything can be pulled out of this that may be uplifting perhaps it is that God has not abandoned me and I do know that. But I feel raw, broken on the wheel and hurt too much to say more than that.

This is longer than I generally write and if anyone has read it completely, I thank you. You have given me a gift to begin the New Year: friendship, care, and a sense of not being left alone in this maze of pain. You are the face of God toward me that I can see and touch. I earnestly hope when I get back on my feet, I will be the same toward you.

A Time of Tears

There is a wonder about Christmas. The anticipation of Christmas Day causes children to hope to find that desired gift under the tree, whose lists for Santa parents hope they can afford. It’s a time for family to gather for sharing joy. For Christians, the Advent season is a time of remembering the true reason for the celebration. The Son of God, Jesus, the Eternal One, stepped into time in the incarnation. Gathering together in worship just adds to the joy of the coming of Christ, the Messiah.

But for some, the time of Advent is a time of sadness and depression. They are the ones who have suffered the death of a loved one. It’s hard to celebrate when the heart is broken, especially if the loss has come during the Christmas season. There is a pall cast over the day and instead of celebration, there is sorrow and grief. The empty place at the dinner table is a source of pain. The “Merry Christmas” greeting hurts and rings hollow.

Jesus came into the world to save sinners, but he also came to bring joy and hope that only God can bestow. Paul said believers do not grieve as the world grieves because we have the hope of resurrection and eternal life. When a Christian dies, it is merely a transition to another life in the presence of God. If we truly believe Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life, then we know the separation is only temporary. But while there is a joy in the journey, the truth is death is a part of our experience.

I lost my mother just a week ago and right now I am numb. It is the only way I will make it through the season. There will be a family gathering and we will share in a common loss. But I also know my mother would want to us to celebrate the coming of Jesus, to care for one another and share fond memories rather than gather to weep. There will be a time to grieve, but my mother is seeing the face of God and that is reason to celebrate. As Ecclesiastes 3:4 says, there is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.

I am straddling the fence between grief and joy, trying to find a balance that honors the Lord. He understands my grief. I am neither scolded nor expected to be pain-free. I am only asked to remain faithful and trust in the promises of a loving and merciful God. Grace is not meted out in small doses; it flows abundantly from the bottomless vessel that is the heart of the Father. I do have hope of seeing both my parents again. I said goodbye to my dying mother, but knew she was only a shell of what she is now.

All I ask is to be allowed to grieve in my own way, to be prayed over and to be loved in this place. God meets us where we are. He is near us in our pain and our joy. The day will come when loved ones will say goodbye to me. I don’t want them to lose sight of what is true, that though our vessels of clay will break down, the resurrection will bring life again, a life that will never end. I will remember that when the tears fall. 

The Legacy

Two days ago, my mother quietly slipped into eternity. It wasn’t a surprise.  We knew she was nearing the end of her life on earth. More importantly, she knew she was dying and was at peace about it. She was ready to go home. She was longing to go to her life in heaven and to be with my father who preceded her in death eight years ago. 

My mother lived ninety-three years, and I had the great blessing of knowing her for fifty-eight of them. She was a kind and loving mother, who loved her three children, her nine grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren.  She treated her sons-in-law and daughter-in-law like they were her own children. Indeed, my husband called her Mom because she was so accepting.

My mother was a rock throughout her life. Strong and intelligent, she was someone to emulate. I learned much from her about how life should be lived. She was not a complainer, even during the times of recovery for multiple broken hips and an arm in her later years. She kept her sense of humor and showed our family how to live through hardships without losing faith in a gracious and merciful heavenly Father.

My mother will be richly rewarded in her new life because of the way she lived life while in her earthly vessel. She served the Lord faithfully throughout her years and loved him. She was genuinely grateful for the blessings God showered on her, and remained faithful even in the hardest of times. It is her legacy to me and the rest of my family. There is an estate left behind, but my true inheritance is the gift of faith she instilled in me. I was reared in the church and have believed in the Savior of my soul throughout my life, thanks to my mother and my father.

She honored God and trusted him for everything. And during my years of wandering, she loved me and prayed every day for God to bring me back into the fold. God answered her prayers and I returned to the faith I had been raised in.

Her very favorite scripture verse was Micah 6:8. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” My mother lived by that verse. Her walk of humble faith with God taught me the same. It is what I strive for.

In her last lucid moments, I read that verse to her, along with two other favorites, Psalm 23, and John 3:16. My mother knew she was going to see the Lord face to face and had no fear of death. I believed that about her, too. Some of my final words to her included asking for forgiveness for all I had done to hurt, and to tell her how much I loved her. And the most difficult thing I whispered to her was also the most loving gift I could give. I told her it was okay to let go. She said, “Thank you”, and passed away soon after.

My heart aches and my grief is in the beginning stages of a process I will have to live through. But I take solace in the truth that I will see her again someday. We will rejoice in the presence of the Lord forever, because a shared faith and that is my mother’s legacy to me. 

The Valley of Darkness

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me”, so King David proclaimed in Psalm 23. I understand his feelings. I, too, recently walked through the valley of darkness, and if the Lord had not been with me, I honestly think it would have all been over. I was in too much pain to maintain any semblance of desire to continue living.

It began in the summer; a gradual decline into a deep depression. First it was the Melanoma scare, then the rapid death of a coworker from a rare form of cancer. The straw that broke the camel’s back was being told I had the beginnings of Macular Degeneration. The possibility of going blind was too much to bear. I got a second opinion and received a temporary reprieve, but I am in limbo for a few more months to see if there is any progression. It runs in the family and it isn’t a stretch to think I am developing it.

My psychiatrist insisted that I needed to go to outpatient intensive therapy at a hospital she recommended. With little hope I went there and found myself owning up to being suicidal. I went three times and the group and the therapist pushed me to go inpatient. I was interviewed by a hospital psychiatrist and she thought I was truly in a dangerous place and made arrangements for me to go to the mental health ward.

For a week, they adjusted my medications hoping that my mental state would improve, but it didn’t. All is could feel is that the end was near and I simply could not take another step. Finally they suggested what my psychiatrist had talked to me about: ECT treatments. That stands for Electro Convulsive Therapy. They put you out and send electrical currents into the brain and cause it to have a seizure. It is supposed to work by causing chemicals in the brain to redistribute and be more effective in fending off depression. There is short term memory loss, but I had no hope, I was profoundly depressed, so I consented.

It only took about three sessions to begin to feel less depressed, and a glimmer of hope set in. All the while, I knew people were praying for me when I could not pray, and their prayers were heard. Ten sessions completed and two more to go and I am completely restored and am feeling like a new person and for that I praise the Lord. He stayed by my side and whispered to me that I needed to take the drastic step of going into treatment. I would have sunk further had he not held onto me. The evil one wanted me dead, but God is the giver of life and light and for the believer, that is the source of hope when darkness settles in and threatens to overwhelm.

Bipolar depression is manageable with the right medications and treatment, and I am grateful God planned for me to be born in an age where modern medicine and prayer can work together to restore what was lost: peace of mind, hope, joy, and unrelenting faith in God’s abiding presence.

Today I feel like life has begun once again. I am out of the woods and on firm ground. God is truly good to me. He grabbed me as I was standing on the brink and pulled me back to safety, and my joy is overflowing. He is leading me beside still waters and has restored my soul. Nothing in our lives is wasted in the end. We can be witnesses to God’s great love and grace no matter how low we have sunk. We have a testimony to share and others who are standing where we have trod will gain hope that what he has done for us, he will do for those who cry out to him for salvation and rescue.

I praise him for his goodness toward me. Regardless of your state of mind and soul, you can have hope and can testify with full confidence that your life and the lives of others matter very much. When you think of when you have been in the valley of darkness, remember that someone else needs to hear your story, because you are a living witness of God’s enduring love. Amen.

The Suffering of God's Own

“Just curse God and die.”  That was the advice to Job from his wife.  Not very encouraging or helpful when he was making an effort in his pain to remain faithful to the Lord. But it did not last long. Job was visited by three friends who proceeded to tell him why God had done this to him. God would rebuke them later for their distorted idea of God’s ways and character.  In reality, Satan was responsible, but God permitted him to cause Job to suffer in terrible ways.

I have often wondered why God permits suffering to come to his own children. Those who have been faithful, who love God, and have tried to live their lives as Jesus did while he walked among humankind. I suspect I am not alone in pondering this question. And like Job, some people seem to suffer more than their share in comparison to others. Some sail through life while others suffer, and sometimes terribly.

God gives clues as to why he permits suffering to his own. In I Peter 1: 3-7. To give background, in verses 1:3 Peter refers to the hope of resurrection of God’s people. In verse 4, he says this resurrection is imperishable, and being kept in heaven for, “you who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation revealed in the last time.” Verse 6-7, “In this you rejoice, even if for now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

The underlined words speak of being protected for salvation, and suffering reveals our faith. That is not the only place in the New Testament that speaks along those lines. But it always doesn't answer the “Why me God?” question.

When Job and his three friends got through their extended discourses, of Job arguing that his righteousness should have prevented all his suffering and that God was being unfair, then a fourth comes along and tells Job straight forward that he isn’t as righteous as he thinks he is. At this point God finally speaks and never answers the question directly, he tells Job to get ready to answer some questions God had for him, and proceeded to say to Job, 40:1-2 “And the Lord said to Job: Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? Anyone who argues with God must respond.”

God then launched into the questions he had for Job, which was, were you there when I created the huge and powerful beasts of the earth? Are you or any other man able to contend with them? Their power is beyond that of a man. Then Job says, 42:5-6, “I heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”

God still didn’t say why Job suffered, he just told him that he was the Almighty and no one can thwart him. We get a better glimpse of suffering now because the New Testament reveals more. But in the midst of our suffering, despite clear reasons, many still ask why me. In a way we are still told the same by God to Job.  When he repented of his complaining, accusations of God’s character, and self- deceptions of his own righteousness, God restored all he had lost and more.

The old saying count your blessings is the best advice there is for suffering. You need to be gentle and careful as how to say it. Those exact words can be received badly, but all of us who have suffered should find things in our lives for which we can call blessings. And remember that our suffering is to purify our faith in preparation for the salvation which is ours even now. God is on his throne and has your best at heart. And now we have Jesus who intercedes on our behalf, who defends when the children of God are accused. But there are simply some things we won’t understand in this temporary life on earth. But the day will come when all is made known.  In the meantime, always remember God’s goodness to you, for your faith is being tested, and not in vain.

The Pain of Depression

Stable. That's what I have been for several years. A few minor bumps in the road along the way, but medicine tweaks have put me back on track. It's been eight years since I finally went to a psychiatrist to see what was wrong with me and  was told it was Bipolar Disorder. It took five years to find the right “cocktail” of meds to get me stable, but I had no choice but to hang in there, the other option was not good. And I contemplated it with strong feelings at times.


Stable. Everything was going along smoothly until several unexpected, scary, and painful events occurred. Then suddenly the bottom dropped out from under me and I have been in a severe depression for over a month now. My psychiatrist is doing all she can. But I've already been off work for a month, unable to do my job like this. The straw that broke the camel's back was being told I had the beginning of Macular Degeneration, meaning, I was going to go blind. Another doctor isn't so sure, so now I hang in limbo. After the Melanoma scare, and the death of a close colleague at work, it was too much and I have fallen into a severe depression.


In all this I wonder where God went. I feel like Job. I want to simply say,“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”and try to cope. But I still wonder why all this has happened and all I can pray is, “Jesus save me.” I love God . That hasn't changed, but I feel like He is busy in another galaxy and I am on my own. Yet the words I have told people many times come back to me. “It will get better., you will come through this with God's grace.” “There is light at the end of the tunnel. You just can't always see it because tunnels sometimes have curves that block the light.” Now I fight to believe the very things I have tried to encourage others with.


I don't find God in this. Yet, He has promised to never forsake us. Scripture is in my head, but it is often drowned out by words that tell me otherwise. Words that can only be whispered in my ear by the enemy of my soul. Right now there is a war which rages within me. I can thank God that I live in an age of medical advancements that have replaced the days when people like me would be locked up in prisons, sometimes with people allowed to come in to see the crazy people and make fun of them. Yet the stigma is still firmly rooted in the minds of the majority, and shame for having a mental illness lingers in my mind.


God's grace has got to be there. His answer to Job as to why all the trouble had happened to him wasn't an explanation, it was to tell him of His power and that questioning Him was often pointless, and Job repented of doubting. I don't want platitudes. I want to hide, but God even in His seeming abandonment is still on His throne and somehow that gives me a little hope that things can't get worse.


I do believe in spite of my feelings, that my simple prayer is heard and it is sufficient. I don't know when things will turn around. I don't know when God will finally lift me up again. But down in the deepest recesses of my heart and soul I haven't lost faith. I just can't bring it to the surface where I need it the most.


At the end of each church service we say “God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good.” Sometimes I can't say it, I just can't say the words out loud, because I don't understand. But where else have I to go? Psalm 139:9-10 says, .”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 Your right hand shall hold me fast.”


I have the slightest glimmer of hope that the very hopelessness I feel, will be lifted and once again, I will be able to say along with my brothers and sisters that “God is good all the time.” He has to be.