Sometimes I engage in wishful thinking. Everybody does at one time or another. It can be simple and harmless, such as I wish I had a bowl of ice cream. Actually, right now I do, but I am trying hard not to eat dairy. Other wishful thinking is not so innocuous. Wishing harm on others, wishing to be rich without any effort on your part, wishing to have an easy life, which often comes at the expense of others and can lead to selfish slothfulness.
But lately, I really have been wishing for an easier life. I still have daily struggles due to inadequate sleep. I weigh far too much, yet I am not exercising as I truly need to. I have far too much stress from work that's affecting me physically and emotionally, yet I have dragged my feet about therapy (though I did finally make an appointment and have seen a therapist for one session so far). I wish I did not have bipolar disorder and so much anxiety. I want to be able to retire now, but I'm only 64. I have to work for at least two more years. There are debts to be paid off first. And I have to have medical insurance.
Yet, I am making changes. I found a new psychiatrist who really listens and is addressing the anxiety which my prior one did not. I have made an appointment with a sleep specialist to see if I can have a sleep study done. I saw the therapist and have another appointment in a week. I am going to go on a daily walk after work, weather permitting, and I may try Tai chi.
I am trying to cope with arthritic pain. Giving up playing guitar after 54 years wasn't an easy decision. And I actually listed my beautiful guitar for sale on Craigslist, but thought better of it and pulled the ad. I asked my son if it had any sentimental value to him, and it does, so he will keep it in the family. I cried when he said that. My son was immersed in music growing up. Music has been such a huge part of my life. It was a form of prayer. So, I have a lap dulcimer and I am going to teach myself how to play it. It will be easier on my joints. Joni Mitchell played lap dulcimer on many of her recordings, so I have set the bar high.
Where is God in all this? He has hemmed me in. Christ before me, Christ behind me. Christ above me, Christ beneath me and Christ at my side. I cannot flee from his presence. Wherever I go, he is there. He is as near as the very air I breathe. Life is always evolving. I don't know what lies in the future other than glory at the end. But the journey to glory is filled with detours and sometimes dangers. The only map I have is scripture and the still small voice of God.
All this to say I have reached radical acceptance. By that I mean I accept I may never be free of psychiatry and medications. Arthritis could progress and worsen. Maybe I'll never know the bliss of a full night's sleep. I have spent many years arguing, pleading, bargaining, and at times angry with my back turned to God because of various trials. But radical acceptance leads me to kneel before my maker and bless him for making me and learning to be content, whatever my lot. All told, God has blessed me beyond measure. I admit I have wasted years complaining to him, all for naught. I may not have much, but for what I have I will be grateful.
There is an old gospel song that goes, "God has smiled on me, he has set me free. God has smiled on me, he's been good to me." It's true. God looks at me and smiles. His face shines upon me. More than ever, I want to dare to look at him and smile back. It's all good. It really is. May you also see God's smile and taste his goodness. Because it really is all good.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Life's Adversities
I'm sitting in a hospital room, by my husband's side. His alarming symptoms yesterday prompted a call for an ambulance and a visit to the ER.
For the record, he's going to be okay. A bad case of vertigo from an inner ear issue. Completely fixable. But he's been miserable and I know exactly what he's going through because I had the same thing happen to me about thirty years ago. I feel bad for him.
Being here takes me back to the bedside visits to my dad and mom. I can't count the number of hospitalizations my father had. So many things went wrong after his heart attack. But the five years they gave him turned into thirty. He was a fighter.
He didn't sit around until near the end. He and my mom delivered food for Meals on Wheels for twenty-five years. Same with working in a food pantry. My father did his best to help get utilities paid and give groceries for a week to desperate people. He judged no one. He just took people at face value and tried to help.
When my son was little, we'd go once a week to help at the food pantry. My son would put donations on the shelves and help put food sacks together. It was a good lesson for both of us. We didn't have much money, but seeing the needs of others gave us compassion and appreciation for the little we did have.
My father's faith fed people and the spiritual lives of both my parents are my heritage. It's also the heritage my son was left with. We both took their deaths hard. They were so alive and served the Lord to the end. The hole that's been left in our hearts is still there.
My father showed my son what honesty, fairness, strength, love and faith looked like in ways only a grandparent can. And my son reflects it. He was with my father that day he died. It was a hard death and I know my son grieved deeply. But my father accepted his manner of going and was brave.
My husband is just like my father in so many ways. They say women marry men like their fathers. Might be some truth to that. He's taking this health issue as well as can be expected. I want my son to know that. And he will. Even more, I see the same attitudes in my son with his health. He lives with pain daily and yet goes on with life with zest and drive.
What a fortunate woman I am to have lived a life surrounded by men of integrity, whose strength is shown in love. My father, my husband, and my son. I am blessed beyond measure for I have seen the face of Jesus in each of them.
For the record, he's going to be okay. A bad case of vertigo from an inner ear issue. Completely fixable. But he's been miserable and I know exactly what he's going through because I had the same thing happen to me about thirty years ago. I feel bad for him.
Being here takes me back to the bedside visits to my dad and mom. I can't count the number of hospitalizations my father had. So many things went wrong after his heart attack. But the five years they gave him turned into thirty. He was a fighter.
He didn't sit around until near the end. He and my mom delivered food for Meals on Wheels for twenty-five years. Same with working in a food pantry. My father did his best to help get utilities paid and give groceries for a week to desperate people. He judged no one. He just took people at face value and tried to help.
When my son was little, we'd go once a week to help at the food pantry. My son would put donations on the shelves and help put food sacks together. It was a good lesson for both of us. We didn't have much money, but seeing the needs of others gave us compassion and appreciation for the little we did have.
My father's faith fed people and the spiritual lives of both my parents are my heritage. It's also the heritage my son was left with. We both took their deaths hard. They were so alive and served the Lord to the end. The hole that's been left in our hearts is still there.
My father showed my son what honesty, fairness, strength, love and faith looked like in ways only a grandparent can. And my son reflects it. He was with my father that day he died. It was a hard death and I know my son grieved deeply. But my father accepted his manner of going and was brave.
My husband is just like my father in so many ways. They say women marry men like their fathers. Might be some truth to that. He's taking this health issue as well as can be expected. I want my son to know that. And he will. Even more, I see the same attitudes in my son with his health. He lives with pain daily and yet goes on with life with zest and drive.
What a fortunate woman I am to have lived a life surrounded by men of integrity, whose strength is shown in love. My father, my husband, and my son. I am blessed beyond measure for I have seen the face of Jesus in each of them.
Sunday, January 6, 2019
New Beginnings
Today, the Lord and I had a conversation at church, my first Sunday not playing with the praise team. I cried through the music. Couldn't sing a word. It was painful. I'd glance up at the music stand I had sat at and just cry. Something was being taken away, and even though I was willing for it to happen, it hurt.
Yet, today something else happened. I answered God's call to take back the mantle of being an active elder in the church. It requires the same commitment I gave to help lead worship. As I answered the required questions about my faith and commitment I felt earnest, yet not overwhelmed. But when the time came for other elders to lay hands on me and pray, I felt a burden lift. By the end of the service I was smiling. There is a weight of responsibility in being an elder actively serving, but I didn't feel that. I distinctly felt a burden lifted. I was at a fork in the road, and made the decision to walk the path leading in a different direction.
My Pastor's sermon was about new beginnings, the dawning of God's light illuminating a new thing. I felt it was for me. God talking to me as though I was the only one there. Then we had communion, and nothing so moves me as that. I cannot take communion without tears. It's a visible manifestation of God's grace poured out fresh. I get very real with the Lord with communion. Maybe it's my Lutheran roots, but I take communion very seriously. It's not just a symbol, a reenactment. I meet God practically face-to-face in the bread and cup. My soul is laid bare and I can only pray for mercy. It always comes. God has never passed me by. In remembering his death, I experience the depth of his love all over again.
This blog entry is a little disjointed, I think, but a lot happened in the service. I'm being called to a new thing and God will give me all the grace I need to do what he wants. Just as he has down through the past nearly forty years of playing guitar in worship for churches. I know I can always sit in with the praise team. Another guitar player may show up and that would be awesome, but they'd still welcome me to play on a Sunday. But I know there has been an internal shift. My focus is being redirected and I will embrace what God has planned and be open. And part of that is the desire to write even more.
So, as I just toss these thoughts down on digital paper, I'm looking at the guitar I have played for the past forty plus years and understand my way of serving is changing and arthritic fingers can manage to type easier than play steel strings. God never ceases to amaze me, and he always will.
Yet, today something else happened. I answered God's call to take back the mantle of being an active elder in the church. It requires the same commitment I gave to help lead worship. As I answered the required questions about my faith and commitment I felt earnest, yet not overwhelmed. But when the time came for other elders to lay hands on me and pray, I felt a burden lift. By the end of the service I was smiling. There is a weight of responsibility in being an elder actively serving, but I didn't feel that. I distinctly felt a burden lifted. I was at a fork in the road, and made the decision to walk the path leading in a different direction.
My Pastor's sermon was about new beginnings, the dawning of God's light illuminating a new thing. I felt it was for me. God talking to me as though I was the only one there. Then we had communion, and nothing so moves me as that. I cannot take communion without tears. It's a visible manifestation of God's grace poured out fresh. I get very real with the Lord with communion. Maybe it's my Lutheran roots, but I take communion very seriously. It's not just a symbol, a reenactment. I meet God practically face-to-face in the bread and cup. My soul is laid bare and I can only pray for mercy. It always comes. God has never passed me by. In remembering his death, I experience the depth of his love all over again.
This blog entry is a little disjointed, I think, but a lot happened in the service. I'm being called to a new thing and God will give me all the grace I need to do what he wants. Just as he has down through the past nearly forty years of playing guitar in worship for churches. I know I can always sit in with the praise team. Another guitar player may show up and that would be awesome, but they'd still welcome me to play on a Sunday. But I know there has been an internal shift. My focus is being redirected and I will embrace what God has planned and be open. And part of that is the desire to write even more.
So, as I just toss these thoughts down on digital paper, I'm looking at the guitar I have played for the past forty plus years and understand my way of serving is changing and arthritic fingers can manage to type easier than play steel strings. God never ceases to amaze me, and he always will.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Count Your Blessings
It's the first day of 2019 and it a dreary, overcast cold blustery day. I woke up in pain as usual and found all we had was decaf coffee. I was counting down to the moment my headache was going to kick in. But something shifted and I drank the decaf while reading about a positive challenge. Set a timer for fifteen minutes and write down all the blessings you can think of from 2018 in that time frame. Sounded like a good writing exercise, but more than that, a perfect way to start 2019. If I received blessings in 2018, chances are really high I will receive them in 2019. Some might be the same, But there is hope for a surprise or two.
So what was my blessings list? I will insert the fact that I m a two finger typist. At 40-60 words a minute, I would have recorded more, for I just opened my mind and kind of went stream of consciousness. I was still typing when the timer went off.
1. My husband
2. My beautiful son
3. Clean drinking water anytime I want it.
4. Family
5. A job
6. A house that's paid for.
7. A working car, soon to be paid for
8. Loving friends
9. Modern medicine
10. A church home.
11. A great pastor
12. Shoes to keep my feet warm and dry
13. Decent clothes
14. Supermarkets with an abundance of all kinds of foods
15. Bug-free house
16. My dog, Zed
17. My cat, Wild Thing
18. A smartphone
19. A new laptop
20. My first published book.
21. My guitar
22. Health
23. Living in a democracy
24. Jesus. should have been number one.
25. People who have prayed for me.
26. Freedom of speech
27. Being able to help others in accordance with how God has blessed us.
28. Flowers
29. Nature's beauty
30. The Christian heritage my parents left me.
31. Not having to worry where my next meal is coming from.
32. Imagination and creativity
33. No hospitalizations this past year
34. Having had second chances
35. The surprise visit from my son on my birthday. It was a BIG blessing.
That's what came to my mind in fifteen minutes. 2018 had a few bad moments, but gratitude for the past year's blessings outweighs all the down time. What about you? It seems like a good way to begin a new year.
So what was my blessings list? I will insert the fact that I m a two finger typist. At 40-60 words a minute, I would have recorded more, for I just opened my mind and kind of went stream of consciousness. I was still typing when the timer went off.
1. My husband
2. My beautiful son
3. Clean drinking water anytime I want it.
4. Family
5. A job
6. A house that's paid for.
7. A working car, soon to be paid for
8. Loving friends
9. Modern medicine
10. A church home.
11. A great pastor
12. Shoes to keep my feet warm and dry
13. Decent clothes
14. Supermarkets with an abundance of all kinds of foods
15. Bug-free house
16. My dog, Zed
17. My cat, Wild Thing
18. A smartphone
19. A new laptop
20. My first published book.
21. My guitar
22. Health
23. Living in a democracy
24. Jesus. should have been number one.
25. People who have prayed for me.
26. Freedom of speech
27. Being able to help others in accordance with how God has blessed us.
28. Flowers
29. Nature's beauty
30. The Christian heritage my parents left me.
31. Not having to worry where my next meal is coming from.
32. Imagination and creativity
33. No hospitalizations this past year
34. Having had second chances
35. The surprise visit from my son on my birthday. It was a BIG blessing.
That's what came to my mind in fifteen minutes. 2018 had a few bad moments, but gratitude for the past year's blessings outweighs all the down time. What about you? It seems like a good way to begin a new year.
Sunday, December 30, 2018
A New Year, a New Path
Today is a huge day for me. I just took a step in a new direction. I played my last time with my church's praise team. I've sat on the podium for eighteen years playing guitar. That adds up to a lot of Sundays. Before 2000, I was a worship leader and played guitar for two other churches beginning in 1984. And before that, played some for the church of my youth and a Christian band in high school. I've played guitar for over fifty years, having taken my first attempted strums at the age of ten.
I threw my hat in the ring in my early twenties for some all female folk rock bands. Played around town a little, but nothing came of it. It wasn't meant to be. Tried going solo, recording an album of my own Christian compositions in Nashville. Wanted to be the next big star. The producer took it around and pitched it, but no record label picked it up. It wasn't meant to be.
Serving God doesn't mean big tent revival meetings and giant ministries traveling the world or performing on the big stage. There are people called to that, but that's not what God had in mind for me. My service has been limited to churches numbering maybe 125 or so. And now, the numbers have dwindled down to maybe 30-40. But I've been where God wanted me for different seasons. God counts lives touched by us one at a time. It's my true heart's desire that these past years have born fruit for his glory. I have sought no recognition, just showing up Sunday mornings to sit on a stool off to the side not entirely visible, a preference. Just to offer my guitar playing to the Lord. Sometimes feeling overwhelmed spiritually, other times struggling just to play. My emotions sometimes raw and bleeding, and at times dull. But I was doing what God wanted me to do. He gave me a gift and I used it. Now he's leading me a new direction.
I feel strangely numb at the moment. Which is odd. Playing guitar in church has been my identity for my entire adult life. I am now 63. I have accompanied many singers and played with many different musicians over the years. I expected tears as I was packing up my guitar for the last time this morning. I felt numb. Maybe the Lord is doing me a kindness. Now I have to learn a whole new identity as a servant of God. I know I have been released to write beyond blogging. And I know some part of past experience or innate knowledge will now come into play, but what it's going to look like I haven't a clue.
It will be a new year in two days, and my new ministry begins. Using my mind and words instead of holy emotions and hands. I must remember one is not superior to the other and God given talents can be used in a multitude of ways. I am still a part of the Body. Not sure what part I am now, but God will make that known. There will be a time of adjustment, and not just for me.
My prayer is I hold tightly to the Lord's hand as he leads me. Life is changing. Like the Godly women of old who followed their nomad husbands to unknown lands and futures as they followed the Lord's leading, so too, I will follow where God is leading. It's a little scary. Well, a lot scary. But my life is in God's hands and I want to please him. So, here I am, just as I am, and waiting and watching for him to lead me down a new path to an unknown future. May I have the heart of Mary and let it be done.
I threw my hat in the ring in my early twenties for some all female folk rock bands. Played around town a little, but nothing came of it. It wasn't meant to be. Tried going solo, recording an album of my own Christian compositions in Nashville. Wanted to be the next big star. The producer took it around and pitched it, but no record label picked it up. It wasn't meant to be.
Serving God doesn't mean big tent revival meetings and giant ministries traveling the world or performing on the big stage. There are people called to that, but that's not what God had in mind for me. My service has been limited to churches numbering maybe 125 or so. And now, the numbers have dwindled down to maybe 30-40. But I've been where God wanted me for different seasons. God counts lives touched by us one at a time. It's my true heart's desire that these past years have born fruit for his glory. I have sought no recognition, just showing up Sunday mornings to sit on a stool off to the side not entirely visible, a preference. Just to offer my guitar playing to the Lord. Sometimes feeling overwhelmed spiritually, other times struggling just to play. My emotions sometimes raw and bleeding, and at times dull. But I was doing what God wanted me to do. He gave me a gift and I used it. Now he's leading me a new direction.
I feel strangely numb at the moment. Which is odd. Playing guitar in church has been my identity for my entire adult life. I am now 63. I have accompanied many singers and played with many different musicians over the years. I expected tears as I was packing up my guitar for the last time this morning. I felt numb. Maybe the Lord is doing me a kindness. Now I have to learn a whole new identity as a servant of God. I know I have been released to write beyond blogging. And I know some part of past experience or innate knowledge will now come into play, but what it's going to look like I haven't a clue.
It will be a new year in two days, and my new ministry begins. Using my mind and words instead of holy emotions and hands. I must remember one is not superior to the other and God given talents can be used in a multitude of ways. I am still a part of the Body. Not sure what part I am now, but God will make that known. There will be a time of adjustment, and not just for me.
My prayer is I hold tightly to the Lord's hand as he leads me. Life is changing. Like the Godly women of old who followed their nomad husbands to unknown lands and futures as they followed the Lord's leading, so too, I will follow where God is leading. It's a little scary. Well, a lot scary. But my life is in God's hands and I want to please him. So, here I am, just as I am, and waiting and watching for him to lead me down a new path to an unknown future. May I have the heart of Mary and let it be done.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Waiting
Today I awakened with a migraine. It’s Saturday and my hopes of catching up on sleep were dashed. I did what I normally do. Got up, took a double dose of Motrin and drank coffee. After about two hours the pain eased up and I felt like not having to cry. It was a rough Friday at work and I think the stress wasn’t relieved by sleep, hence the headache.
I have been home sick twice this month. I rarely ever get sick, but now I take a medication for my rheumatoid arthritis that suppresses the immune system a bit. It’s frustrating. But I don’t want RA spreading, so I take it. We live in fragile shells and have to cope with whatever happens in them. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I have the ability to put things in perspective when I look at how others suffer far worse. My ailments are miniscule.
But I am struggling with Christmas. It’s always been a struggle in my adulthood. Americans make it such a spectacle. Both magical and commercial. Even the church can get caught up in the hype. My senses get bombarded by commercials and Christmas music that drones on endlessly. And all the while I wonder when Jesus will show up.
My church is low key in a good way. There is a tree and an empty manger, but the decorations are restrained. In the past it was covered with red and green and lights. I feel far more comfortable with less. It’s like Jesus isn’t going to get missed. He’ll be front and center when his time comes. I don’t want to lose what anticipation I have mustered.
This may seem a poor blog entry, but there are people just like me who are brokenhearted at Christmas. I think of being with my mother when she passed away during the Advent season. I still cry and it’s been five years. She was longing to go home and I whispered in her ear that it was okay to let go. She looked at me and said thank you. I did it knowing full well I would soon be kissing her for the last time. She passed away the next morning. I sobbed when I realized she was no longer breathing. It was a hard Christmas. But I am grateful I had the chance to say I was sorry for hurts and disappointments I had caused. And to say I loved her one last time. I have a peace about that.
Jesus is the reason for the season. Somehow my joy needs to be rekindled by him. I owe all to him. I was so lost. And he has given me a life beyond what I could have ever imagined. Challenges yes, but without him I’d be dead. No drama, just fact. I’m ready for his coming into the world. I won’t mind the Christmas music of the angels because they won’t detract from the King in the manger. They’ll announce his birth, then leave behind a silent night of wonder and mystery.
I can’t make myself be sociable for holiday parties. I just want to be in his presence. Worshipping the way he has taught me. Not like anyone’s expectations of how worship should look. But between the Lord and me. In the church we stand together. But we kneel alone before him. I might be struggling this Christmas season, but Jesus is near. And he is not judging. That was done at the cross. He is a sympathetic high priest. In the midst of pain, I will adore him. And he will love me.
I have been home sick twice this month. I rarely ever get sick, but now I take a medication for my rheumatoid arthritis that suppresses the immune system a bit. It’s frustrating. But I don’t want RA spreading, so I take it. We live in fragile shells and have to cope with whatever happens in them. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I have the ability to put things in perspective when I look at how others suffer far worse. My ailments are miniscule.
But I am struggling with Christmas. It’s always been a struggle in my adulthood. Americans make it such a spectacle. Both magical and commercial. Even the church can get caught up in the hype. My senses get bombarded by commercials and Christmas music that drones on endlessly. And all the while I wonder when Jesus will show up.
My church is low key in a good way. There is a tree and an empty manger, but the decorations are restrained. In the past it was covered with red and green and lights. I feel far more comfortable with less. It’s like Jesus isn’t going to get missed. He’ll be front and center when his time comes. I don’t want to lose what anticipation I have mustered.
This may seem a poor blog entry, but there are people just like me who are brokenhearted at Christmas. I think of being with my mother when she passed away during the Advent season. I still cry and it’s been five years. She was longing to go home and I whispered in her ear that it was okay to let go. She looked at me and said thank you. I did it knowing full well I would soon be kissing her for the last time. She passed away the next morning. I sobbed when I realized she was no longer breathing. It was a hard Christmas. But I am grateful I had the chance to say I was sorry for hurts and disappointments I had caused. And to say I loved her one last time. I have a peace about that.
Jesus is the reason for the season. Somehow my joy needs to be rekindled by him. I owe all to him. I was so lost. And he has given me a life beyond what I could have ever imagined. Challenges yes, but without him I’d be dead. No drama, just fact. I’m ready for his coming into the world. I won’t mind the Christmas music of the angels because they won’t detract from the King in the manger. They’ll announce his birth, then leave behind a silent night of wonder and mystery.
I can’t make myself be sociable for holiday parties. I just want to be in his presence. Worshipping the way he has taught me. Not like anyone’s expectations of how worship should look. But between the Lord and me. In the church we stand together. But we kneel alone before him. I might be struggling this Christmas season, but Jesus is near. And he is not judging. That was done at the cross. He is a sympathetic high priest. In the midst of pain, I will adore him. And he will love me.
Sunday, December 2, 2018
Advent Hope
For a child has been born for us, a son is given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish it and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this. Isaiah 9:6-7 NRSV
It's been a long time since I last posted. Many things have come together to form a perfect storm of sorts to hinder my walk with the Lord. Physical and mental ills have conspired to keep me from turning daily to the One who loves me and keeps me. I have been cold, which is bad, but at least according to Jesus is preferable to lukewarm. My years long daily routine of morning prayer and bible reading just fell by the wayside as depression began to rear it's frightful head. I have been battling an increasingly deepening depression and adding to that the holiday blues I've generally fought for years that has been exacerbated by the anniversary of my mother's death at Christmas, and the fact that son will not be home for the holidays has all added up to a downward spiral.
A decision by my doctor to drop one med and double another turned out to be fatefully bad. Changes have been made, but medications take time to work. Weeks, sometimes as long as six, which leaves me on shaky ground this Advent season.
I opened with a well known quote from Isaiah about our blessed Redeemer. Our most precious gift from our Creator, given to us who did not deserve it. As a child I remember being told Santa was watching to see if I was good or bad. A gift depended entirely on my merit. But the Father gave his only Son to us who had no merit due to good behavior. The gift of eternal salvation was bestowed on a wayward and blind people, who walked in ignorance of truth. Beauty distorted, promises broken, lies passed for truth and no one could even begin to comprehend what true love and forgiveness was. Yet here, centuries before the birth of Christ, hidden among some heavy prophecy, is a promise spoken to bring hope to a world in short supply of it.
Advent hope is a universal gift, yet it spreads one heart at a time. Hearts that long for something more that just a day to day existence. Hearts hungry for a love that will never fade or leave. Broken hearts that see only through a veil of tears. Disturbed hearts, torn by violence and deprivations. And lonely hearts that see no companion to share the journey.
Advent hope comes into a sin weary world. Some announce it from the roof tops, loudly proclaiming the coming of the King. But I see Advent hope speaking gently and with carefully chosen words to individuals who are stumbling along the path, promising to come alongside and stay for the journey. I see Advent hope starting small and unassuming in the heart that cries out for hope and just as a spark kindles a flame that burns brightly, the Light of the world begins to shine in the dark hidden places and soon his light and warmth spreads to all corners of the heart and that renewed heart in turn brings the good news to the one nearby. One by one, Advent hope spreads. The Long awaited Prince of Peace enters in and at his coming and sorrow gives way to joy. Confusion turns to wonder, and the broken are bound up for the healing process.
I feel worn and broken at the beginning of this Advent season. I know I am not alone. But I will not shut my mind to the promise. If I've learned anything at all in my life, it is Jesus appears unexpectedly and never empty-handed. Just when you feel another step isn't possible, an arm braces you up and you keep walking.
Join with me this advent season in looking forward to what God has planned from before the foundation of the world. Let's wait to hear what he will speak in his still small voice. And let's reach out to one another in Christian love, bearing the weak, speaking words of grace to one another, singing hymns to the Savior and praying for the hope than cannot die.
It's been a long time since I last posted. Many things have come together to form a perfect storm of sorts to hinder my walk with the Lord. Physical and mental ills have conspired to keep me from turning daily to the One who loves me and keeps me. I have been cold, which is bad, but at least according to Jesus is preferable to lukewarm. My years long daily routine of morning prayer and bible reading just fell by the wayside as depression began to rear it's frightful head. I have been battling an increasingly deepening depression and adding to that the holiday blues I've generally fought for years that has been exacerbated by the anniversary of my mother's death at Christmas, and the fact that son will not be home for the holidays has all added up to a downward spiral.
A decision by my doctor to drop one med and double another turned out to be fatefully bad. Changes have been made, but medications take time to work. Weeks, sometimes as long as six, which leaves me on shaky ground this Advent season.
I opened with a well known quote from Isaiah about our blessed Redeemer. Our most precious gift from our Creator, given to us who did not deserve it. As a child I remember being told Santa was watching to see if I was good or bad. A gift depended entirely on my merit. But the Father gave his only Son to us who had no merit due to good behavior. The gift of eternal salvation was bestowed on a wayward and blind people, who walked in ignorance of truth. Beauty distorted, promises broken, lies passed for truth and no one could even begin to comprehend what true love and forgiveness was. Yet here, centuries before the birth of Christ, hidden among some heavy prophecy, is a promise spoken to bring hope to a world in short supply of it.
Advent hope is a universal gift, yet it spreads one heart at a time. Hearts that long for something more that just a day to day existence. Hearts hungry for a love that will never fade or leave. Broken hearts that see only through a veil of tears. Disturbed hearts, torn by violence and deprivations. And lonely hearts that see no companion to share the journey.
Advent hope comes into a sin weary world. Some announce it from the roof tops, loudly proclaiming the coming of the King. But I see Advent hope speaking gently and with carefully chosen words to individuals who are stumbling along the path, promising to come alongside and stay for the journey. I see Advent hope starting small and unassuming in the heart that cries out for hope and just as a spark kindles a flame that burns brightly, the Light of the world begins to shine in the dark hidden places and soon his light and warmth spreads to all corners of the heart and that renewed heart in turn brings the good news to the one nearby. One by one, Advent hope spreads. The Long awaited Prince of Peace enters in and at his coming and sorrow gives way to joy. Confusion turns to wonder, and the broken are bound up for the healing process.
I feel worn and broken at the beginning of this Advent season. I know I am not alone. But I will not shut my mind to the promise. If I've learned anything at all in my life, it is Jesus appears unexpectedly and never empty-handed. Just when you feel another step isn't possible, an arm braces you up and you keep walking.
Join with me this advent season in looking forward to what God has planned from before the foundation of the world. Let's wait to hear what he will speak in his still small voice. And let's reach out to one another in Christian love, bearing the weak, speaking words of grace to one another, singing hymns to the Savior and praying for the hope than cannot die.
Sunday, December 17, 2017
The Gift of the Incarnation
Many years ago when I was a child, there was a newspaper columnist named Bill Vaughn. One year he wrote a Christmas column about his little girl getting in his lap and wanting him to tell her a Christmas story. I don't remember the exact order they were suggested, but I know he started to tell her about a snowman. She stopped him and said, "No, not that one." So he launched into Santa Claus, and again she stopped him. He tried one more, when she said, "no. Tell me the story about Christmas." He ended his column with the opening words to Luke chapter 2, the gospel account of Jesus birth.
Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.
Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.
The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.
It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?
I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate an AA hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”
I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.
Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God
The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?
Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?
I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.
In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a cat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that cats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.
We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and cat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and cats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.
It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.
The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane , it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:
“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”
The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.
In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.
He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?
I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.
Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse of his back. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention on and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.
It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love, to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation, and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.
Monday, May 29, 2017
Memorial Day Meditation
Today we take time to remember those who served our nation in the military who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of our freedoms and security. Without their willingness to fight for our liberty, who knows what kind of country we would be living in. We owe a debt of gratitude and these men and women who should never be forgotten. As the years have passed, Memorial Day has evolved into remembering all dead and picnics, but that wasn't what the originators intended. It should be wholly devoted to our war dead.
I decided to not go visit my father and mother's graves today at Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. We went last year on Memorial Day and it was very crowded. We will go next week. The flags will be gone, but I will take red roses to place on their graves. My father's favorite color rose was red. I will take pictures and talk to them, and probably cry. I always do.
My father served our nation for almost twenty-five years. On his headstone the inscription reads "He served God and his country." They got the order of the words right. My father loved the Lord and, along with my mother, raised us in the church, doing his best to instill faith in my brother and sister and me. He took his faith seriously and lived a life worthy of God's call on him. His favorite verse in the bible was John 14:6-7 "Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'" He believed it and I know he received a warm welcome in heaven when he went home to be with his Lord and Savior. My mother joined him seven years later, and by faith I know I will be greeted by them when my time has come.
Growing up in a military family meant there were missions my father was sent on throughout my childhood until his retirement. They were somewhat secret. He was deeply involved with the testing of atomic bombs as a meteorologist after the war ended. During the war he also had a top secret mission working on the Norden bombsite that made for more accurate bombing. He even had bodyguards to keep him safe from kidnapping or death. He was also a bombardier sinking Nazi submarines in the Northern Atlantic. His crew was awarded the Presidential Citation for their successes. I never knew these things fully until getting copies of his military records. In my eyes he is a hero for his service, but even more of a hero in the faith.
His faithfulness led me to a saving faith in the Lord. I am his legacy in the Lord. I am the fruit of his labor, my siblings as well. He received several good conduct medals and ribbons while serving in the Air Force. As far as I am concerned, he has received a good conduct crown in heaven.
I do not confuse God and country. God isn't American, although there are many who seem to think so. He has blessed our nation greatly, but our society has become increasingly secular and cracks are forming. Israel forgot God and worshiped idols. They paid a stiff price for it. Our nation will not be excluded from the penalty of forgetting God and worshiping the idols of money, power, wanton sexual debauchery, and selfishness. It's time for Christians to be even more faithful to reach out to a people who are lost and wandering.
My father is a hero in my eyes, but Jesus even more. He paid the ultimate sacrifice for not only Americans, but for the world. Today is a day to honor and give those who died in combat their just due. But every day we need to honor our Redeemer and give him his just due.
I am proud to be an American in spite of all that is wrong. My heart swells when I hear the national anthem and we display a flag on days like today. But I am more moved by songs of praise and worship to our Lord and King. Saying I am proud to be a Christian doesn't sound right. But I am more a citizen of heaven than I am of the United States. I have freedoms and responsibilities to my heavenly citizenship just as I do to my American citizenship. Sometimes they are in tandem, but also sometimes at odds. I will take up my citizenship in heaven and fulfill those responsibility with greater determination than my earthly one.
I remain grateful to have been born an American. I could have been born a North Korean or worse a denying Christ as Son of God and the only way to eternal life Islamic religion. Since God planned for my life to be an American one, all the more should I not squander my freedom to worship and witness. Remember this day for what it is, but make every day one pleasing to the Lord until he returns or calls you home. We are his before we are Americans. Never forget.
I decided to not go visit my father and mother's graves today at Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. We went last year on Memorial Day and it was very crowded. We will go next week. The flags will be gone, but I will take red roses to place on their graves. My father's favorite color rose was red. I will take pictures and talk to them, and probably cry. I always do.
My father served our nation for almost twenty-five years. On his headstone the inscription reads "He served God and his country." They got the order of the words right. My father loved the Lord and, along with my mother, raised us in the church, doing his best to instill faith in my brother and sister and me. He took his faith seriously and lived a life worthy of God's call on him. His favorite verse in the bible was John 14:6-7 "Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'" He believed it and I know he received a warm welcome in heaven when he went home to be with his Lord and Savior. My mother joined him seven years later, and by faith I know I will be greeted by them when my time has come.
Growing up in a military family meant there were missions my father was sent on throughout my childhood until his retirement. They were somewhat secret. He was deeply involved with the testing of atomic bombs as a meteorologist after the war ended. During the war he also had a top secret mission working on the Norden bombsite that made for more accurate bombing. He even had bodyguards to keep him safe from kidnapping or death. He was also a bombardier sinking Nazi submarines in the Northern Atlantic. His crew was awarded the Presidential Citation for their successes. I never knew these things fully until getting copies of his military records. In my eyes he is a hero for his service, but even more of a hero in the faith.
His faithfulness led me to a saving faith in the Lord. I am his legacy in the Lord. I am the fruit of his labor, my siblings as well. He received several good conduct medals and ribbons while serving in the Air Force. As far as I am concerned, he has received a good conduct crown in heaven.
I do not confuse God and country. God isn't American, although there are many who seem to think so. He has blessed our nation greatly, but our society has become increasingly secular and cracks are forming. Israel forgot God and worshiped idols. They paid a stiff price for it. Our nation will not be excluded from the penalty of forgetting God and worshiping the idols of money, power, wanton sexual debauchery, and selfishness. It's time for Christians to be even more faithful to reach out to a people who are lost and wandering.
My father is a hero in my eyes, but Jesus even more. He paid the ultimate sacrifice for not only Americans, but for the world. Today is a day to honor and give those who died in combat their just due. But every day we need to honor our Redeemer and give him his just due.
I am proud to be an American in spite of all that is wrong. My heart swells when I hear the national anthem and we display a flag on days like today. But I am more moved by songs of praise and worship to our Lord and King. Saying I am proud to be a Christian doesn't sound right. But I am more a citizen of heaven than I am of the United States. I have freedoms and responsibilities to my heavenly citizenship just as I do to my American citizenship. Sometimes they are in tandem, but also sometimes at odds. I will take up my citizenship in heaven and fulfill those responsibility with greater determination than my earthly one.
I remain grateful to have been born an American. I could have been born a North Korean or worse a denying Christ as Son of God and the only way to eternal life Islamic religion. Since God planned for my life to be an American one, all the more should I not squander my freedom to worship and witness. Remember this day for what it is, but make every day one pleasing to the Lord until he returns or calls you home. We are his before we are Americans. Never forget.
Friday, May 12, 2017
A Prayer for this day or for a Lifetime.
Lord, do not let me be an ill-prepared foolish virgin, but
let me be a wise one, fully prepared to meet my Bridegroom and Lord. Please do
not find me wandering on my own and then facing you with un-repented sin. Don’t let my
building in this life go up in smoke and ashes as one whose works are in vain
because they were not done for you and through you. Don’t let me be found a
stranger, not having spent more time in prayer and seeking your face daily.
Holy, merciful King, give me a grateful heart to always be
thankful for all you have freely bestowed on me. Clean, accessible water, so
much food that I never hunger, a warm house filled with things to make my life
easier and being able to read and write as well as having a level of health that keeps me fit. There are literally billions on the
planet who do not have these things. I do not live in a war-torn country, while
millions flee for refuge, with just the clothes on their backs, to lands where
they do not know the language or customs. I do not struggle with persecution
for my faith beyond being laughed at sometimes or being harangued by someone
who wants to debate to show me as ignorant. No one threatens me with torture or prison, or
even death for my faith in you, Lord. Forgive me for my sense of ease as I enjoy
all my blessings, which you gave me, but not before I am prepared to be a giver
as you are. You gave up all for me. Shall I not do the same?
I don’t feel as though you are telling me to sell all my
possessions and go where you lead, but am I clinging too tightly to my material
wealth, however meager it may be compared to the wealth of others? Am I too afraid
to go talk to that elderly gentleman sitting by himself hanging his head in the
café. Should his loneliness and hunger matter to me? If I quiet the racing thoughts and
grow still within me I know it matters.
My feet should obey and lead me over to his table to share a cup of
coffee, a plate of food, and gentle words with him.
You were not blind to injustice when you walked on earth.
You exposed it everywhere you went. Yet America is rife with injustice, inequality,
racism and a new democracy run by the love of mammon, and what you clearly said
about money is we cannot serve two masters. Mammon says take, not give. You, O
Lord, tell me to give just as the widow with two tiny coins did, all she had
for the day.
“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?” Micah 6:8.
Lord, you know this was my mother’s favorite verse in the
whole bible. Memories surface now and then that show she lived by that verse. I have many
verses that speak deeply to my heart, but something tells me to take this verse
as her scriptural legacy. To counter injustice
with justice, to love kindness and extend it especially to those who don’t
appear to deserve it. They need it. Then as painful as it may be, strip away
all pretense toward you and cause me to see me as you do. My eyes will run
with tears for the many failures and sins; yet you seem to see something entirely different: a diamond in the rough. Take me, mold me, use me. Help me to walk freely knowing
you have made me holy just as you are, but even more, help me to walk humbly,
not just anywhere I head, but to walk humbly with you. To place my tiny hand in
yours and walk your direction, to follow your lead.
So, this day and each day to come, let me be a pure vessel for your use, however you see fit. In my submission and obedience will you find your honor and glory. For all who are called by you are made clean through the blood of the crucified King, who lives again and is able to give life and forgive sins. To him alone is the Name above all names, Lord of lords, King of kings, and the great
I AM.
I AM.
Amen and amen.
Saturday, May 6, 2017
God is Good, All the Time
I warn ahead of time this is a long entry. I just got out of the hospital mental health unit after a nine day stay. Came home two days ago. I was so exhausted from lack of sleep I was hallucinating and feeling close to being suicidal. I wasn't going to make it much longer. It was the best decision I could have made. It took awhile, but a lot of changes in medications were made and I began to get a solid six hours sleep, which is all I really need to function at a high level. But it did not happen right away.
Sleep has consumed me for months. I have been insomniac for years, but not like this. This was extremely severe and no matter how much prayer was offered, God did nothing, or so it seemed. While I was hospitalized, I went to most of the daily classes offered for those in emotional and mental distress. It was difficult. Not only was I sleep deprived, I was an emotional mess and just wanted to isolate. The staff kept after me to attend them. The classes ranged from dealing with anxiety and grief to yoga and music/art/pet therapy.
Every day I had to make a goal and then at the last group meeting in the evening, say whether or not I achieved it. I'm sure you can guess the goal I made for the first six days. Sleep. But inside I had another goal: to hear God tell me why, just like Job. I have felt so beaten down for so long, I felt like God didn't really care. I stilled loved him and always will, but why was he being silent?
I asked my husband to bring my bible to me. The Gideon's bible is King James and while I understand it, I just prefer my version. I had a lot of time to think and read and pray. Soon, I was having scriptures come to mind. I am just going to list them and ask you, the reader, to look them up. But I will expand on one in particular. All of them were exactly directed to me and my condition. Psalm 38:9; Psalm 42: 5,11; Psalm 43:5; Psalm 3:8; Psalm 66:20; Psalm 46:10; Psalm 62:1-2;Psalm 121, all; Psalm 123, all; Psalm 127:2; Psalm 131, all; Psalm 81:1-3. All in the order I read them over the course of several days.
On the fourth day, I attended a class on coping with anxiety. I have had severe anxiety about sleep. The specialist said anxiety was good to the extent it alarms us to something wrong, but anxiety left alone caused a wealth of problems, and that I knew very well. She taught how we had to change our negative thoughts by replacing them with the opposite positive. All well and good, but then she came to the point that there are some things we just have to accept as well as their consequences. She called it Radical Acceptance. It struck a deep nerve and my initial reaction was "No way." But it left me thinking.
I got back to my room and immediately Psalm 139 came to mind. This I will do my best to tell. As I read through one of my very favorites, certain verses jumped out at me. Verse 5 and 10 said God had me hemmed in and was holding fast to me, guiding me. That brought a measure of comfort, Then I came to verse 14. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My whole being, spirit, soul, and body are not accidental, nor are they broken in the sense my condition is a done for deal. But verse 16 gripped my heart tightly and I was shaken deeply. "In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed." Everything has been preordained for me, including my sleep issues and bipolar disorder.
Radical acceptance meant never getting enough sleep, losing my job and probable bankruptcy. I didn't want to think it true, but there it was, and I was left with no option but to surrender and like Job, be told who am I to argue with my Creator? He is the potter and I am nothing but clay in his mighty hands. I cried as I came to that realization. What has happened is a hard lesson in trust, patience, and endurance. Psalm 131:2 washed over me. Like a weaned child I have quieted my soul within me. Radical acceptance.
It was no mistake that all the scriptures I read were from Psalms. David was a haunted man at times. He faced years of struggles and wrestled with God many times, and many of the latter Psalms were written in exile and times of Israel's tribulations.
That night I slept. The next two nights before my discharge I slept. I am in humble awe of God. He opens doors that cannot be shut and closes doors that cannot be opened. Every week at my church we end the service the same way, closing with, "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good." I won't be saying it by rote anymore.
I don't know if the sleep will continue or the future of my job, but God is merciful and gracious and does not lead us into more than we can bear. If once again I am deprived of sleep, I will praise him still. Jesus is all I really need.
Sleep has consumed me for months. I have been insomniac for years, but not like this. This was extremely severe and no matter how much prayer was offered, God did nothing, or so it seemed. While I was hospitalized, I went to most of the daily classes offered for those in emotional and mental distress. It was difficult. Not only was I sleep deprived, I was an emotional mess and just wanted to isolate. The staff kept after me to attend them. The classes ranged from dealing with anxiety and grief to yoga and music/art/pet therapy.
Every day I had to make a goal and then at the last group meeting in the evening, say whether or not I achieved it. I'm sure you can guess the goal I made for the first six days. Sleep. But inside I had another goal: to hear God tell me why, just like Job. I have felt so beaten down for so long, I felt like God didn't really care. I stilled loved him and always will, but why was he being silent?
I asked my husband to bring my bible to me. The Gideon's bible is King James and while I understand it, I just prefer my version. I had a lot of time to think and read and pray. Soon, I was having scriptures come to mind. I am just going to list them and ask you, the reader, to look them up. But I will expand on one in particular. All of them were exactly directed to me and my condition. Psalm 38:9; Psalm 42: 5,11; Psalm 43:5; Psalm 3:8; Psalm 66:20; Psalm 46:10; Psalm 62:1-2;Psalm 121, all; Psalm 123, all; Psalm 127:2; Psalm 131, all; Psalm 81:1-3. All in the order I read them over the course of several days.
On the fourth day, I attended a class on coping with anxiety. I have had severe anxiety about sleep. The specialist said anxiety was good to the extent it alarms us to something wrong, but anxiety left alone caused a wealth of problems, and that I knew very well. She taught how we had to change our negative thoughts by replacing them with the opposite positive. All well and good, but then she came to the point that there are some things we just have to accept as well as their consequences. She called it Radical Acceptance. It struck a deep nerve and my initial reaction was "No way." But it left me thinking.
I got back to my room and immediately Psalm 139 came to mind. This I will do my best to tell. As I read through one of my very favorites, certain verses jumped out at me. Verse 5 and 10 said God had me hemmed in and was holding fast to me, guiding me. That brought a measure of comfort, Then I came to verse 14. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My whole being, spirit, soul, and body are not accidental, nor are they broken in the sense my condition is a done for deal. But verse 16 gripped my heart tightly and I was shaken deeply. "In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed." Everything has been preordained for me, including my sleep issues and bipolar disorder.
Radical acceptance meant never getting enough sleep, losing my job and probable bankruptcy. I didn't want to think it true, but there it was, and I was left with no option but to surrender and like Job, be told who am I to argue with my Creator? He is the potter and I am nothing but clay in his mighty hands. I cried as I came to that realization. What has happened is a hard lesson in trust, patience, and endurance. Psalm 131:2 washed over me. Like a weaned child I have quieted my soul within me. Radical acceptance.
It was no mistake that all the scriptures I read were from Psalms. David was a haunted man at times. He faced years of struggles and wrestled with God many times, and many of the latter Psalms were written in exile and times of Israel's tribulations.
That night I slept. The next two nights before my discharge I slept. I am in humble awe of God. He opens doors that cannot be shut and closes doors that cannot be opened. Every week at my church we end the service the same way, closing with, "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good." I won't be saying it by rote anymore.
I don't know if the sleep will continue or the future of my job, but God is merciful and gracious and does not lead us into more than we can bear. If once again I am deprived of sleep, I will praise him still. Jesus is all I really need.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Sleeping Beauty...Not
So much for New Year resolutions. My plan to write at least one blog a month hasn't panned out. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. If I may beg off, it has been mostly due to a circumstance beyond my control. As many of my readers know, I have Bipolar Disorder. For the past twelve years in particular, it's been very difficult at times to function at a level of competence expected of most people without mental illness. I can say that because, thankfully, due to medications, I can and have been living a "normal" life for the most part. Sometimes, however, medications start to get ineffective, then the search begins for suitable replacements, and it can be a crapshoot. I become a guinea pig, and the roller coaster ride takes off.
So it has been. The medication I was taking for mania really hadn't stopped working, but I was always in a semi-daze at work because of it, and I can't count how many times I was pulled into my boss's office and given verbal warnings about my performance. But I couldn't help it. Finally, I just decided to quit taking it and I told my psychiatrist I wanted to take a medication I had taken years ago that worked but didn't have the same side effects. He agreed and now I am much brighter, or would be but for the insomnia.
If you've tossed and turned for a sleepless night or two, you have an inkling of what I have been living with for the last month. Only it hasn't been a night or two, it's been night after night after night endlessly. If I am fortunate, I get two hours, but for the majority of the past month I have gone entire nights without sleep sometimes for five days in a row. Then a couple hours, then back to no sleep again. None of the sleep aids I have taken are working. Somehow, I have managed to keep going. It's a testament to my new antipsychotic that I haven't become manic or at the very least, hallucinating from sleep deprivation.
I am now on a four week leave of absence from my job in order to preserve it. I have been told in no uncertain terms that I had better be sleeping by the time I get back. No pressure. I am trying a new one that seems promising. I slept better last night than I can remember. Maybe this will be my salvation.
I will be frank and admit I have wondered at times what God is doing while I spend sleepless nights begging him. Goodness knows there are a plethora of people praying for me. I will say each morning I thank God for every moment of sleep, and for sleepless nights, I thank him anyway knowing he will give me strength to make it through another day. But my thankfulness is often overwhelmed by the feeling of abandonment. The question of why cannot be ignored. I have also been angry with him, but thankfully he is able to handle my emotions. After all, he created them.
Still, I am left bereft of hope and peace. Every day I make a promise to keep faith and hope and every day deep down I feel like God is not listening. Before you judge, if at all possible, walk in my exhausted shoes for a week. Then maybe you can understand how hard it is.
I know in the big picture loss of sleep isn't a lot. Really. But it's all overwhelming for me right now. I find solace at church, but I leave and know what I will face at bedtime. I feel like this blog entry is a total loss because I am not testifying about God's majesty and mercy. But after all I have said about my insomnia and the unanswered why, the song Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) comes to mind. As deep as the feeling of where is God runs, deeper still is the unshakable foundation built on Christ. At some point what seems too difficult now, will be overcome through the limitless power and compassion of God. As hard as it is to grasp that truth, I do continue to cling to Jesus. As Peter said to the Lord, where else would we go? I am boxed in on every side, but when it's finally over, I will realize the walls were padded and that Jesus has been with me the whole time, though he seems light years away right now.
I love him still. Haven't a clue about this trial, but in it all I cannot help but love him. I may never understand why things like this happen, but I will never fail to love him. And tomorrow morning, once again I will thank him, and as each day passes, mean it a little more.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
The Hope of the Incarnation
Many years ago when I was a child, there was a newspaper columnist named Bill Vaughn. One year he wrote a Christmas column about his little girl getting in his lap and wanting him to tell her a Christmas story. I don't remember the exact order they were suggested, but I know he started to tell her about a snowman. She stopped him and said, "No, not that one." So he launched into Santa Claus, and again she stopped him. He tried one more, when she said, "no. Tell me the story about Christmas." He ended his column with the opening words to Luke chapter 2, the gospel account of Jesus birth.
Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.
Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.
The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.
It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?
I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate an AA hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”
I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.
Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God
The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?
Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?
I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.
In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a cat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that cats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.
We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and cat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and cats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.
It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.
The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane , it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:
“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”
The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.
In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.
He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?
I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.
Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse of his back. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention on and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.
It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love, to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation, and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.
Friday, December 9, 2016
Joy in Grief
Christmas cannot go by without emotions. Whether you are in a celebratory mood or
depressed, Christmas is a holy day, one all those who are of the faith mark
each year. But since 2013, every
Christmas has been a bit empty from the death of my mother just before the
holiday. I miss her and I feel a sense of sadness when she is not present at
our family gathering. Every Christmas
since her death has been marked by hidden tears.
But God has a message for those who grieve at Christmas. It’s
discovered in a manger with a helpless baby of promise. The birth of Jesus was
miraculous, yet undetected by everyone save some shepherds who were fearfully
amazed at the sight of angels proclaiming his coming into the world. God chose
to begin the plan of salvation in a humble way. Mary
and Joseph barely understood that the baby they were now to care for was
destined to be the Savior of all humanity; the King of kings and Lord of lords.
It was not yet revealed.
All human history is marked by the Incarnation, the hope of
nations and the Light of the world. What
was hidden for centuries was made known that night two millennia ago: God made
man in the birth of a child. All we really know about the Father was made known
by Jesus. He said to the questioning disciples that he and the Father were one.
If you knew him, you knew the Father and Jesus would live out his years on
earth in miracles and preaching that the kingdom of God had come to those who believed.
He was sent to serve, not be served, and serve he did. As the sacrifice for the
sins of the world, the doors of heaven were thrown open and the invitation to
enter in was made. All through the death and resurrection of Christ.
What has this to do with grief? Paul summed it up when he
said we do not grieve as the world grieves. Christians have the hope of
salvation through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. All who die in
the faith are promised a life beyond our years on earth. Jesus birth, death and
resurrection means every believer will see again all who have gone before.
Those in the faith who we grieve are only absent in the body, they are not
dead. And neither we will die. There is no death for those who believe, only
resurrection to a new body clothed in righteousness.
Grief is to be expected in this world, yet it is mitigated by
the promise of eternal life. Both my mother and my father are near just beyond
my reach. But the real hope is that God is not beyond my reach. Jesus said what
is impossible for us is possible for God and he condescended to us. He is present in us through the Holy Spirit and
he confirms in our hearts that we have eternal life.
I may feel some grief at Christmas by the absence of my
mother, but it’s overcome by the joy found in swaddling clothes lying in a
manger, the Prince of Peace.
Monday, November 21, 2016
Holding On
It’s been a long time since I last posted an entry. It’s not
because I have had nothing to write about. It’s because my bipolar disorder has
me so firmly in its grip that I have been unable to write. I am at a loss for
words to describe what I am going through right now, but much of it is due, I
believe, to a medication fog. I am over medicated and it’s affecting me
terribly. I can’t remember things within minutes of their occurrence. This and
a considerable state of general confusion has affected my work performance
drastically. I am now on a leave of absence to keep my job. And it’s not just
work, my husband tells me I am the same way at home.
I cannot fully describe what it’s like to live with this
disorder. Imagine waking up each day and
not knowing if you will be safe driving. Or not sure if you put mascara on both
eyes. Wondering if people can tell if you are cracking apart on the inside
while trying desperately not to crack apart on the outside. Feeling like people
are staring at you because it shows and they are afraid of you or just don’t
want you near them, and thinking they are talking behind your back because you
are paranoid. Bipolar disorder is life sentence in the prison of a brain that
functions all wrong. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
I cried in the office of my boss today when she laid out all
the things I wasn’t doing regarding my job duties. As she told me all the details
of my behavior at work I was crushed. I have always worked hard at my job and
in the past had excellent evaluations. Now I am totally incompetent and even
insubordinate. She wasn’t being unkind about it, just direct so I would
understand the seriousness of it. I got it. Now I am coming back around to the “Why
Lord?’ I don’t understand. I don’t.
I have been reading
through the bible by reading one chapter a day from the Old Testament and one
from the New Testament. I recently went through the book of Job. I can
understand his angst. It’s always been a difficult book to understand. Why God
permitted Satan to harm him is hard to take in. I’m not sure whether I will
ever grasp it until I see him face to face, but I do understand one thing from
it, that God is amazing and almighty and we are very small. There is no
comparison. Job came to that realization in the end and came to a place of humility
and peace.
I am not there yet. I
am not at peace. But God is amazing to me, he truly is, and there is comfort in
Psalm 139 where it says he hems me in before and behind. I will find peace. Not
today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will be at rest in Abba’s arms.
Friday, July 15, 2016
The Odds are Really Pretty Good
I’m sitting in my son’s kitchen in Washington state. I’m here this week on vacation. No one else is around. Will took the dog for a walk and poor Matthew has an upset stomach. So I am just putzing around the house for the day. It’s okay. I’d rather be here at loose ends than at home. Here there is a backyard filled with wild flowers and vines of blackberries. Tall Douglas fir trees, and I do mean tall, that you can step out on the porch and admire. There are plenty of things to do this week and we have kind of mapped out a schedule of sorts. But what matters most is spending time with my son.
It’s finally hit me he’s never coming home. He has a life that does not include us. Home is a place visit if he can maybe once a year, but it isn’t “home” anymore. He’s made a life for himself and even though I know he loves us, we do not place very high in his list of priorities anymore. To say it’s okay is a little bit of a lie. He has always been such a high priority in my heart that to know I am no longer in that place in his hurts a little. And yet, I know this is how it works. I can only be on the periphery now. And that really is healthy. But my mother’s heart still stings when I think about it very long.
Lest this be a real downer blog, Matthew planned for our first two days to have meals with some of his friends. How many grown kids would do that? He wanted us to meet his friends. And two of them remarked they wanted to meet his parents because Matthew is so likeable they wanted to know what his parents were like. Talk about uplifting. Now I am worried whether or not I made a good impression!
Life is ever changing. Nothing is static. It can go from great to fantastic, from awful to worse, or bad to better. The odds are fifty/ fifty things will get better or worse. I used to be the Eeyore of Christians and I figured the odds were never in my favor. But what if things are just as likely to improve? I choose to try to look toward the Jesus side. You know, the one where he always wins. That’s how I am going to have to view my changing relationship with my adult son. I have good chance our relationship will continue to grow, but just in a different way. An appropriate way. He no longer needs me as he did even five years ago. And I have to not need him to need me like that. Mom, he can do it now, and so can you.
It’s finally hit me he’s never coming home. He has a life that does not include us. Home is a place visit if he can maybe once a year, but it isn’t “home” anymore. He’s made a life for himself and even though I know he loves us, we do not place very high in his list of priorities anymore. To say it’s okay is a little bit of a lie. He has always been such a high priority in my heart that to know I am no longer in that place in his hurts a little. And yet, I know this is how it works. I can only be on the periphery now. And that really is healthy. But my mother’s heart still stings when I think about it very long.
Lest this be a real downer blog, Matthew planned for our first two days to have meals with some of his friends. How many grown kids would do that? He wanted us to meet his friends. And two of them remarked they wanted to meet his parents because Matthew is so likeable they wanted to know what his parents were like. Talk about uplifting. Now I am worried whether or not I made a good impression!
Life is ever changing. Nothing is static. It can go from great to fantastic, from awful to worse, or bad to better. The odds are fifty/ fifty things will get better or worse. I used to be the Eeyore of Christians and I figured the odds were never in my favor. But what if things are just as likely to improve? I choose to try to look toward the Jesus side. You know, the one where he always wins. That’s how I am going to have to view my changing relationship with my adult son. I have good chance our relationship will continue to grow, but just in a different way. An appropriate way. He no longer needs me as he did even five years ago. And I have to not need him to need me like that. Mom, he can do it now, and so can you.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Climbing Out Again
It’s been awhile since I last posted. I have been in a dark
place for an extended period. There is no on/off switch for my depressive episodes,
I just slowly slide down into a pit that is too deep to crawl out of. I rewrote
that last sentence several times. I wanted to make certain it would clearly convey
the reality I face, the reality all who suffer major depressive episodes face.
I started to say I slowly slide down into a pit that seems to be too deep to crawl out of. The truth is there is no seems about it. The depths to which
depression can pull a person is frightening, and once in that downward spiral,
there is little the depressed person can do to get out of the pit.
The descent into depression began toward the end of last year
and it deepened as the months passed. What is so insidious about the depression
I experience is the slow decline. I don’t sleep well, so I blame my low mood on
fatigue. Depression can cause insomnia so it’s self-perpetuating. But it became
apparent that it was more than lack of sleep and then began the medication
merry-go-round. I took time off work to try to find the right medications that
would improve my mood and help me sleep.
Through it all, I have been in my bible and in prayer. Every
morning I read a chapter from the old testament (up to Exodus), a Psalm, a
chapter of Proverbs and a chapter in the new testament (up to Revelation). I
will start all over again as I come to the end of each section. I am learning
so much and much of what I have been reading has been feeding my downcast spirit.
As medication attempts and failures have been going on, I have kept to my
reading and morning time with the Lord. Sometimes my prayers haven’t been all
that prayerful. They’ve been distracted, disjointed and sometimes mixed with
tears. But I know I am heard, and ultimately that is the point: to be heard.
And in being heard, to hear. I have heard the still small voice of God whisper
to me and I have been given hope.
Though I have hope of getting well, I am looking back and
see months of loss to depression, but he looks back and sees something
different. The brokenness isn’t something to be ashamed of or dismayed about.
God uses broken vessels to allow his grace and mercy to pour through to others who
hurt. God has need of wounded healers in his kingdom. I know as this depression
is easing up I will once again be in a position to help others who struggle
with mental illness.
Throughout these past dark months, God has been at work in
me. What looked like utter darkness at times were my own hands covering my eyes
in despair. There was light all along. The Light of the world in every believer
cannot be extinguished. I can hope this will be the last episode I will
experience. I don’t really want to go through this again. But one thing I do
know, the Lord is with me and will be with me regardless of where this life
takes me, and that thought brings peace that passes all understanding.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Keeping Hope
Déjà vu. That’s what it is. I feel like, no, I know I
have been here before. Coming full circle, once again I am visiting depression,
a dark place I would never wish on anyone. It’s been some time since I found myself
in this place. I have been hiding it for some time now. Faking the smile while
inside feeling like I am coming apart. I
don’t like being here, but at least know what to expect, if that makes any
sense.
I didn’t arrive here overnight. It’s been a gradual
decline and now it’s deeper than it has been for quite awhile. I haven’t been
sleeping and I have reached a point of sheer exhaustion. Perhaps the depression
is the outcome. I don’t know. Or the sleep disturbance is the result of the
depression. All I know is now I have taken three week’s unpaid leave from work
to try medications to see if I can find something that will help me sleep and
help consistently. And then just maybe the depression will lift.
While I was still working, I still turned out of bed with
the alarm set a half hour earlier than necessary to spend my early mornings in
prayer and reading the bible. I will admit, my prayers often drifted with
sleepiness and my comprehension of what I was reading wasn’t so great, but I
went through the motions out of discipline, whether or not I felt I could. Sometimes
in a fog I could only manage, “Bless them all.” But at times it was the best I
could possibly do.
The alarm isn’t set now; there is no reason for it. But I
am still starting my day with bible reading and prayer. It’s pretty much the
same struggle until we find something that works. If I don’t keep up with doing
this I fear losing hope of getting better, which happens in depression.
So what happens if I start sleeping and the depression
lingers. I don’t know. I suppose a medication change, ECT maybe. I hope it will
lift like the exhaustion. I just want to be well again. Depression is not a small
thing. It affects all of you, body and emotions. It’s like having a heavy leaden
ball and chain tied around your neck and trying to walk with it hung there. Forward
progress is nigh impossible and standing in one place is painful from the sheer
weight of it pulling on you. In other words, you hurt no matter what.
Psalm 61:1-4 says, “Hear my cry, O God; listen to my
prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, when my heart is faint. Lead
me to 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.” The Lord will keep me. The Lord will lead me to where I need to
be. He is my refuge. I will wait upon him and in him I will trust. To whom else
can I go? I know where my hope lies and it’s in the Lord, my Savior.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Wrestling With God
I have been through much in my walk with God. He has led me
to places I would have never gone left on my own. I have had mountain top
experiences where I never wanted to come down, and fearful, difficult walks
through valleys that seemed endless. In all, He has been with me, though at
times I have certainly doubted.
Throughout my faith journey, I have had “Jacob times” and
“Jonah times.” Every Christian goes through these experiences, some more than
others, depending on the condition of their heart. Some of us are just more
strong-willed than others. Jacob and Jonah were both such men. The story of
their lives as recorded in Scripture gives us hope that God is graceful in
dealing with our restless, willfully wandering hearts.
Jacob was a self-made man. If the song had been written
then, he would have been singing, “I did it my way.” Given the choice, he was
willing to connive and manipulate to get his way. Yet, he is considered a man
of great faith and God’s favor rested on him. His descendents referred to God
as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Whatever his faults, Jacob knew God and
worshipped Him. More importantly, God knew and loved Jacob.
Jacob’s knowledge of and reverence for God was frequently
punctuated with his self-directed ways. He wanted God, but he wanted Him on his
own terms. It took a crisis to bring Jacob to a place of surrender, but not
without a fight. Genesis 32 records the story of Jacob wrestling with an angel
of God-some believe it was the Lord himself. He was in essence wrestling with
God over his future. This struggle we go through is our “Jacob time.” Wanting
God’s will, blessing, and presence, but fearful of the future, of where He is
leading, the consequences that may follow.
In the struggle, Jacob would not surrender and finally the
angel touched him in a way that left him with a limp. In the end, Jacob
received God’s blessing, but the limp remained—a reminder of God’s ultimate
authority over our lives—and Jacob was transformed and given a new name that
reflected his true status before God.
Jonah was also strong-willed, as well as fearful and angry.
While he reverenced God, he was unwilling to surrender to God’s will because he
didn’t want the certain outcome of obeying. Unlike Jacob, he did not wrestle
with God, rather, he ran from Him. Turbulent circumstances and three days in
the belly of a whale brought him to the place of surrender. Even then, it was
not with complete willingness. Yet, God loved him too. Scripture does not
record Jonah’s ultimate transformation, but I cannot help but believe he was
changed by his obedience to God, seeing things from His perspective.
Jacob and Jonah fought God each in their own way, but in the
end, were transformed through the experience by surrender. I, too, seem to
bounce between the two, sometimes experiencing both simultaneously. Jacob was
left with a limp, a reminder of his struggle. Anyone who has wrestled with God
is limping in some fashion. Jonah had to learn to accept God’s will and
understand the intentions of God’s heart, His mercy and grace.
I don’t pretend to understand why God permits Jacob and
Jonah times, but I believe it is because we were fashioned for intimate
relationship with Him. We are born with the heart of Adam, and through these
times, slowly but surely, our hearts are being transformed into the heart of
Jesus, who was willing to do all His Father’s will. For some of us, it takes
more wrestling and running than others, but the promise is we will all get
there together as we bear one another in fellowship through the church.
Love, grace, and prayer are what we offer to those who are
going through those times. And as each of us emerges from our struggles, we
know God more intimately and have more compassion to extend to others in the
faith community, and to those who have yet to come to faith. The Jacob and
Jonah times are not in vain, they are a part of the journey of faith, the fire
we must all pass through to reach the promise that calls us upward. By God’s
grace, we will all arrive.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Paid in Full
Today is Maundy Thursday. The day Christians remember the last supper of Jesus and his disciples. His anguished prayers in the garden of Gethsemane, the kiss of his betrayer and the beginning of the horrors that followed. It was the beginning of the end of his redemptive mission on earth.
Tonight we had a communion service at my church. It was a solemn service. Subdued and rightly so. In remembering what Jesus was going through that last night with his disciples, it's not a time of joyful fanfare. His soul was in turmoil as he broke the bread and shared the cup at that last Passover meal. Indeed, as he agonized in prayer at the garden, he was bereft of the support of his closest companions who could not even stay awake for him. And Peter, who would rashly draw his sword and cut off a servant's ear when the soldiers came, would just as quickly deny knowing him three times before the night was over. All the disciples would be scattered in fear, except for John, who remained at crucifixion.
At our church service we were each given a small piece of paper and instructed to spend a quiet moment reflecting and to write down a sin or sins we were dealing with. There was a wooden cross at the front of the church sanctuary. One by one, we went forward, pinned our sins onto the cross and received communion, the physical manifestation of God's grace in holy sacrament.
I did not partake of the bread and juice right there, I took them back to my pew, which is my way of doing it if I am able. Communion is not something I take lightly. It's the presence of God in a tangible way. When I take communion, I know God has spoken to me, that my sins are forgiven. If I truly am settled and not rushed through the process, I can feel him sitting next to me, just as I did tonight. When I got back to my pew, I bowed my head and began to weep. All I could think was, "You died for me." In the darkened sanctuary, in the stillness with the gentle music, I met once again with my Redeemer. I partook of the communion with him, and I knew I was forgiven.
There really are no words able to express how great the love God has for us. We are unable to comprehend the depth, the height, the length and breadth of his vast and endless love and grace. Paul told the Ephesians he prayed they would be able to do just that. I need that prayer. We all do.
In Isaiah 53, the suffering servant is Jesus. and the prophecy graphically depicted his sufferings. "He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." (verse 5) I have been reading that chapter daily for the past month and will read it for the last time tomorrow on Good Friday. I have personalized it and maybe that is why I was so moved tonight at the service. I don't know. But this I do know, Christ came, he lived among us, did miracles and taught with authority. He was crucified for the sins of the world, descended into hell and on the third day rose again from the dead. He's paid it all. No more is required. Let that enter your hearts and minds as you consider the overarching love of God. Nothing can ever separate you from him now.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
And by His Stripes We Are Healed
In this Lenten season, my pastor has been preaching a series of how we are healed by the specific wounds of the suffering Christ. So far she has covered our wounded self image and negative thoughts, taking on the weight of the world, and relational brokenness. The scriptural base for the sermons is Isaiah 53.
After the very first sermon I felt a desire to read the Isaiah chapter daily. I am already going through the New Testament one chapter a day along with one Psalm. I just added it to my morning routine, but it has been anything but routine. I find it a difficult read some mornings. Isaiah painted a very graphic prophecy of Jesus' suffering on the cross at our expense, at my expense. I cannot help but take it personally, as I feel it ought to be. Yes, it does say people, but I am a member of humanity for which he suffered in order to secure my salvation, our salvation.
As I read, I keep finding myself emphasizing the words "his wounds", "his bruises", "he was oppressed", "he was afflicted", "he was despised", "he was rejected." And instead of just reading through to better understand the sermons, I am being pulled into a place of deep awareness of how much the Father laid on our Lord because of my transgressions. In this place I have felt an emotional response; a feeling of how high a price was paid. Two verses stand out: (5a) But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole..." (10) "Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain."
Crushed. The word is so heavy-handed, and it tears at my heart to know God the Father had to do that to a willing Son in order to pay the just penalty for sin. "It was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain." I cannot read that verse some mornings without tears. How terrible his suffering must have been. I cannot begin to imagine.
It would overwhelm me if God did not include a verse to bring hope. (11) "After he has suffered, he will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities." Jesus was not left to suffer endlessly on the cross. It was declared finished after a period of time had passed. He was not left to the rotted state of a mortal body in the tomb. He saw the light of life on the third day when he was resurrected from the dead. He bore our iniquities, he who knew no sin, suffering the ultimate price on our behalf. He is righteous, and now that righteousness has been endued in us. We have been justified. No longer are we outcasts. We have been drawn into the presence of God our creator and there we no longer have to cringe and crawl. We can stand confident of our acceptance.
If you have time in your schedule, or rather, make time in your schedule to prayerfully read Isaiah 53 daily between now and Easter. Get up ten minutes earlier if you have to or go to bed a little earlier and spend that time with the Lord reading. Expect the Lord to show up as you seek him in your reading of the word. He's been waiting patiently for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
After the very first sermon I felt a desire to read the Isaiah chapter daily. I am already going through the New Testament one chapter a day along with one Psalm. I just added it to my morning routine, but it has been anything but routine. I find it a difficult read some mornings. Isaiah painted a very graphic prophecy of Jesus' suffering on the cross at our expense, at my expense. I cannot help but take it personally, as I feel it ought to be. Yes, it does say people, but I am a member of humanity for which he suffered in order to secure my salvation, our salvation.
As I read, I keep finding myself emphasizing the words "his wounds", "his bruises", "he was oppressed", "he was afflicted", "he was despised", "he was rejected." And instead of just reading through to better understand the sermons, I am being pulled into a place of deep awareness of how much the Father laid on our Lord because of my transgressions. In this place I have felt an emotional response; a feeling of how high a price was paid. Two verses stand out: (5a) But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole..." (10) "Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain."
Crushed. The word is so heavy-handed, and it tears at my heart to know God the Father had to do that to a willing Son in order to pay the just penalty for sin. "It was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain." I cannot read that verse some mornings without tears. How terrible his suffering must have been. I cannot begin to imagine.
It would overwhelm me if God did not include a verse to bring hope. (11) "After he has suffered, he will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities." Jesus was not left to suffer endlessly on the cross. It was declared finished after a period of time had passed. He was not left to the rotted state of a mortal body in the tomb. He saw the light of life on the third day when he was resurrected from the dead. He bore our iniquities, he who knew no sin, suffering the ultimate price on our behalf. He is righteous, and now that righteousness has been endued in us. We have been justified. No longer are we outcasts. We have been drawn into the presence of God our creator and there we no longer have to cringe and crawl. We can stand confident of our acceptance.
If you have time in your schedule, or rather, make time in your schedule to prayerfully read Isaiah 53 daily between now and Easter. Get up ten minutes earlier if you have to or go to bed a little earlier and spend that time with the Lord reading. Expect the Lord to show up as you seek him in your reading of the word. He's been waiting patiently for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Monday, February 15, 2016
When God Doesn't Heal
I have an app on my smartphone that feeds me all kinds of
news, not just headlines. It includes editorials from a variety of newspapers across
the nation. One that caught my eye recently was written by a woman entitled “When
God Did Not Heal Me.” That resonated with me and I clicked the link to read it.
I have to say, I could relate to much of what she wrote.
As most of my readers know, I live with mental illness that
has been crippling at times. I have been on the brink of an abyss that has
threatened to swallow me but have managed to crawl back away from each time. I
cannot count the number of prayers I have said asking to be healed. God still heals
people today. It didn’t end with Jesus when he walked this earth. If he can
heal cancer, Bipolar Disorder is not too difficult. Since I still have it, my
prayers have either gone unanswered or have been answered with a no. Either
way, God has not healed me.
I admit to having gone through a whole gamut of emotional
responses. Sorrow, anger, hopelessness and worst of all, losing faith in God’s
goodness toward me. All of which causes the added burden of shame that as a
Christian I would feel that way. After all, shouldn’t I just accept it as God’s
will and be at peace, even joyful in the midst of it? Paul was in far worse
situations and took it all in stride. I should be able to do the same. Have I? Have I at least made some progress?
A year ago I had just suffered a complete mental breakdown.
I was left unable to work and function to the point of having to take a leave of
absence for five months. In the first few months I was a mess and consulted a
lawyer to discuss disability because it appeared I was going to be unable to
hold down a job. And during that time, I felt estranged from God. I couldn’t understand
why this was happening to me. Why I had struggled off and on with suicidal
thoughts for years and then became psychotic. At times when I prayed I felt like
a faithless lover speaking lies.
Slowly, I regained sanity and strength and I am fully back
to as normal as I think what normal is supposed to look like. Yet, when I am in
a place of relative stability, I always have the fear in the back of my mind of
the other shoe dropping. How can I live with God not healing me?
Romans 8, a remarkable read, teaches that all things work
together for good for those who are called in Christ Jesus. Though I find it a
bitter pill to swallow at times, the truth of it is I have a deeper compassion
for those who wrestle with the same question of why God does not always heal.
Sometimes when I want to cut that verse out of my bible and throw it away, I
remember that. All the bad, all the tragic and the failure, even the sin (yes,
even that can be used) has a purpose in God’s plan for me. I don’t have to understand in order for God to
use me. Like Peter said to Jesus after he taught a particularly difficult
lesson to the crowds and many left, and Jesus asked if the disciples were going
to leave as well, “To whom else would we go?” I don’t understand why God doesn’t
heal me, but I can’t leave him. Where else would I go? He alone is my salvation
and my strength. My Rock and my Redeemer.
God isn’t afraid of my vacillating emotions. He isn’t taken
by surprise when I feel some fear or question him. And as time goes by, I find
myself less inclined to doubt his goodness toward me in spite of “No” answers
to prayers. Romans 8 also says nothing can separate us from the love of God
which is in Christ Jesus. My mental illness cannot cause me to fall away from
grace. It’s grace that keeps me in spite of it. My future is secure. I may
still struggle in this life, but nothing can snatch me from the hand of God,
not even myself.
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