It's been nine days since I shattered my leg and I have to tell you, this rivals labor pain sometimes. The sudden stabbing pains take my breath away, and the slow throbbing is constant. It's wearing. Today is a good day. Sponge bath, clean clothes, and washed hair. I have never taken showers for granted. Clean running water is a luxury for a select few in our world. But now, even more, I appreciate the ease with which I jumped in and out of the shower daily. I will be even more grateful when I can take my next shower in three months.
My shoulders are tender from pulled muscles as I carry my weight on the walker. I have to kind of scoot it, then jump one-legged holding my weight with my arms. But I am getting around. It's dicey getting through the bathroom door, but I am managing to negotiate it in the middle of the night. Twisting and turning and hopping, I make my way through the house. What I can't do, which is really almost everything, my husband does for me. I am utterly dependent. It's a little scary. If it weren't for his loving care, I'd be in a longterm care facility during a pandemic. And it's frustrating. I've always been an independent person. Now I find myself asking for help constantly.
I'm not a quitter, but this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. High levels of pain, utter dependence, and fear of unresolved pain for the rest of my life from the injury make me feel a little down. I've battled depression off and on most of my life. I have done my best for the past thirty years to seek professional help and not give up. Willing myself to cling to the hope God gives, or in some extreme times, just letting him hold onto me in my utter weakness. I don't believe for one moment this was sent as a trial. This was an unfortunate accident. Life happens and I have to learn to cope with the Lord's grace and love.
But for those inclined to say this is a test, well, God willing, I'll pass. I'll cry sometimes and suffer some. I'll thank the Lord for his provision and tender care. I'll learn greater gratitude and humility, and in suffering, patience and perseverance. And I'll keep hopping forward, one-footed until I can put one foot in front of another as my life continues to unfold before me.
On a side note, I have chosen to go ahead and retire from my job. I can't work for three months and between pension and social security, I will be fine. I had planned on working for one more year, but after much thought and prayer, this seemed like the right time to venture into a new normal. Maybe I'll work part-time somewhere down the road, but for now, my job is to heal and strengthen. I'll try not to cuss too much.
Thursday, May 14, 2020
Friday, May 8, 2020
Angels in Disguise
I’m nursing a damaged leg. Splintered tibia, fibula,
fractured ankle and ligament damage, all the result of a misstep. All it took
was one moment of taking my eyes off the road I was walking on. I stepped into
a pothole and in the next instant was crumpled in the middle of the street in
agonizing pain.
I knew it was broken, though not the extent of the damage.
The next moment an angel appeared at my side in the form of a letter carrier
who I had just waved to and saw it happen. She came over and pulled out her phone
calling for an ambulance. Then she sat down beside me and held my hand. She
spoke comforting words and stayed with me while the paramedics splinted my leg.
Then she disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.
My leg is pretty much toast. During an hour and a half
long surgery, they inserted a rod into my tibia, fixed the fibula, and put
screws in my ankle to repair the break and torn ligaments. Now I am left with a
high level of pain and three months of hopping with a walker. I cannot let my
leg touch the floor.
While I was in the hospital the angel came by our
house to see how I was. She never works our street, was just filling in that
day. I may never see her again, but I wanted to thank her for her act of
kindness. I stayed calmer with her and my husband’s calmness. The burden of
pain is easier when shared.
I’m going to be housebound for three months. I had
just recovered from a prior broken fibula in my other leg. But that stress fracture
was a piece of cake compared to this. I wish this on no one. A leg full of
metal and stitches. Thank goodness for pain medications. And thank God for
unexpected angels who appear in our times of need. I can only hope I will be
just as much an angel when I see a person in pain.
Saturday, April 4, 2020
I Will Praise Him Still
Sunday marks three weeks since my employer shut down due to Covid-19. I've been sheltering in place since then and have been okay for the most part. Down a little lately, but trying to not let the daily news get to me. I could stop watching it and binge watch The Crown again, but I've always been diligent to keep up on the news and it's a hard habit to break.
I've also been kept from doing a lot because my leg still requires me to stay off it. Just for another week, though, and then I can try going without the boot. There are housecleaning needs I will attend to immediately, but while that will make me feel a little better, it won't make up for not feeling productive. I've lost all sense of routine. The only thing I do regularly is tune into church over the internet and that is a lifeline to sanity in a time when life has been upended.
Mental health isn't just taking the right pills. It's built on emotional, spiritual and physical well being. My physical is undermined by the leg. I can't go for walks, which would help immensely. Being at loose ends undermines my emotional health. I'm used to doing a daily job in which I help people. I'm cut off from that. Spiritually, I'm hanging onto the zoom services which connect me to my church family. I'm praying and doing daily bible reading, but I still find depression creeping in.
Fatigue, inactivity, and not being out among other humans is taking its toll. I'm battling in a way I haven't for awhile. God is nearby, I believe. He hasn't abandoned me or any of his people. I have a bedrock of faith to stand on, but David had times of despair. His many laments bring home the truth that even people of faith sometimes lose the sense of joy. I could quote entire chapters of the Psalms that portray a man who was broken and sorrow-filled. Some of it from his own doing, some from the doings of others.
Yet, in the midst of trials and pain, he would remind himself God was faithful to his many promises. God would yet comfort and restore. And he chose to praise him even when he was bent low. His eyes, though sometimes swimming with tears, would remain fixed on God. He was a man after God's own heart. I will take my cues from him. Cry if I need to and hold fast to the faithfulness of God. As the Fernando Ortega song says "And he gave us life in his perfect will, and by his good grace I will praise him still."
Amen.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
The God of My Understanding
On March 26, 1984, I awoke with the thought, "I don't want to live like this anymore. Today I will not drink." It was a revolutionary thought. For fifteen years I had drunk myself to into stupors, blacking out and needing the next drink to stop the shaking, the fear of facing life without it. My life was in tatters and I contemplated suicide daily.
The thought of not drinking was terrifying. I didn't remember what life looked like without drinking. I surrounded myself with drinkers so it seemed normal to the extent any addiction can seem normal. But Divine intervention had come that morning in a simple thought. That day, I did not drink.
By the following day, I was shaking and hurting badly. But that one thought kept going through my mind. Several years earlier I had been hospitalized due to drinking. There I had been introduced to AA. Now my back was against the wall and all I could remember was AA. I looked in the phone book and found the nearest AA group and called them.
That evening, I went to an AA meeting. It was terrorizing to go. I had rejected AA before because they talked about surrendering to God as we understood him. The God of my understanding was vindictive, demanded perfection and looked for ways to trip you up and send you straight to Hell. I couldn't fathom trying to please an angry God. Yet, the God they presented was keeping them sober. They seemed to be somewhat happy and sane. There were different understandings, but somehow, the message got through that God would help me if I surrendered my life and will to him.
I remember clearly the day a week later that I drove home and prayed, "Jesus, I don't deserve anything but hell, but if you'll take me I'd be grateful." That very moment I was flooded with peace unlike I had ever experienced. I knew I was going to be okay. I knew I would live. And even though navigating life now without a drink was difficult, I knew I could do it. Every morning I prayed to not drink, and every night I thanked God for another day of sobriety and for a new life that made sense.
It's been thirty-six sometimes tumultuous years, but through some very trying times, I've never wanted a drink. The thought is anathema to me. And throughout the years, the God of my understanding has transformed into the Lord of Love and Peace and reconciliation. I can't imagine where I would be without him. I owe him my all. My love and my adoration.
Thank you, Lord, for another day of sobriety.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Love Your Neighbor
It's a one news item world right now. Crime, the Middle East, natural disasters, and human interest stories are all taking a back seat to the coronavirus sweeping the globe. While it's not reached plague level deaths, the death rate is quite high compared to influenza that has up to this point killed more people. But right now, it's okay that it takes front and center. We need to live in love more than ever.
What do I mean? Jesus said one of the two greatest commandments was to love your neighbor as yourself. It's often expressed as the golden rule: Do unto others as you would have done unto you. There are those who are arguing this whole thing is being blown out of proportion. But as I mentioned before, the death rate is higher than influenza and it strikes the elderly disproportionally, as well as those with compromised immune systems. Those who are less likely to become severely ill must think about those who could.
Please think about buying everything on the store shelves before you do it. Everyone needs extra. We don't need to stockpile unnecessarily for months. Just weeks. If we follow the requests for social distancing, we will be less likely to get sick or be an unknown carrier. I work with the public daily, and frankly, I'm getting uncomfortable. My employer is taking steps to minimize risks, yet I'm 64 and taking a medication that suppresses my immune system. I'm not losing sleep over it, but I'm vigilant and thoughtful. And God understands canceled church services. My congregation is on the older side. We need to think about them interacting with younger people who could be asymptomatic.
Some are saying it's the end times. Could be, though they thought it was the end times in Paul's era. God is not missing in action. He's near his children throughout the world. And I'm always hesitant to declare Divine judgment. I don't pretend to know God's thoughts and ways. They are above mine. He said so. But I do believe this can be a time to show charity to the world by Christians stepping up to think of others more than they think of themselves. To remember food banks and to check on their elderly neighbors. To not think I don't need to worry, forgetting the vulnerable.
Love your neighbor as yourself and show God's face to the world. What you do to the least of these you do to Jesus.
What do I mean? Jesus said one of the two greatest commandments was to love your neighbor as yourself. It's often expressed as the golden rule: Do unto others as you would have done unto you. There are those who are arguing this whole thing is being blown out of proportion. But as I mentioned before, the death rate is higher than influenza and it strikes the elderly disproportionally, as well as those with compromised immune systems. Those who are less likely to become severely ill must think about those who could.
Please think about buying everything on the store shelves before you do it. Everyone needs extra. We don't need to stockpile unnecessarily for months. Just weeks. If we follow the requests for social distancing, we will be less likely to get sick or be an unknown carrier. I work with the public daily, and frankly, I'm getting uncomfortable. My employer is taking steps to minimize risks, yet I'm 64 and taking a medication that suppresses my immune system. I'm not losing sleep over it, but I'm vigilant and thoughtful. And God understands canceled church services. My congregation is on the older side. We need to think about them interacting with younger people who could be asymptomatic.
Some are saying it's the end times. Could be, though they thought it was the end times in Paul's era. God is not missing in action. He's near his children throughout the world. And I'm always hesitant to declare Divine judgment. I don't pretend to know God's thoughts and ways. They are above mine. He said so. But I do believe this can be a time to show charity to the world by Christians stepping up to think of others more than they think of themselves. To remember food banks and to check on their elderly neighbors. To not think I don't need to worry, forgetting the vulnerable.
Love your neighbor as yourself and show God's face to the world. What you do to the least of these you do to Jesus.
Saturday, March 7, 2020
Pain's Lesson
I’ve been on a hiatus from blogging for the past several
months. Life sometimes gets in the way, but right now I’m sitting on the couch
with my laptop nursing a broken leg. Good time as any to write.
I broke it ten days ago, and I don’t know what I did. I
walked on it for over a week, in excruciating pain thinking it was an arthritis
flare in my ankle. Never broke a bone before and the thought never entered my
mind of that possibility. I finally sought medical help and the x-ray showed a
clear break above the ankle. One friend called me a bad-ass and my son said I
was hardcore to have gone that long before seeking help. But pain eventually gets
you where you need to go.
Pain is a great motivator. Whether it’s physical or mental,
it can only be ignored for so long. Even the most hardened people will
eventually respond to pain’s insistent prodding. How we respond reveals our
true emotional state. Some people waste no time when they hurt and seek help
right away. Their emotional I.Q. is high. They realize when they are in high
water and seek out what they need to not only survive, but to thrive in their
circumstances.
Some take much longer and respond in unhealthy ways to pain.
I fall into that category at times. Since I’m being totally honest, I can say I’ve
come a long way from the days of self-destructive behaviors. My response to
pain is more often to look for the cause than to cover up. Alcoholics drink to minimize
pain. It works for awhile, until the pain of over consumption brings its own suffering:
Broken relationships, lost jobs, lost self-esteem, jail, loss of health and
even death.
Alcohol, drugs, risky behaviors, violence, and suicide are
all ways to deal, albeit unhealthy, with pain. But pain is supposed to motivate
us to seek help. It’s an alarm system to warn us something is not right. Whether
it’s emotional, spiritual or physical, pain is an unavoidable part of our lives.
And while it’s unpleasant, it’s ultimately a good thing. It brings awareness to
our true condition. Life without pain might sound good, but like the
butterfly that gains strength through struggle, so do we. I look back over the
years and see good coming out of turmoil. My broken places leak mercy.
So, this bad-ass, hardcore lady is staying off her leg and
letting people take care of her. I’m having to learn not to feel guilty about
it. I can also say with absolute conviction, if this ever happens again, I will
let pain guide me to seek help sooner than later.
Thursday, September 12, 2019
Trading My Sorrows
I'm home today. Came home from work early yesterday. The pain of arthritis has been overwhelming, along with fatigue. I was able to get in the same day to see my rheumatologist and my pain level was so high my blood pressure was 169/100. I think he's a good doctor, but conservative. He admitted the pain medication was a low dose. So he doubled it and added a steroid, which I have mixed feelings about, but I'm a desperate woman. Steroids can interfere with sleep, trigger mania, and cause weight gain. I'm already overweight. I asked for and got a cortisone shot for good measure. Pain is still there, but he said with the steroid I should notice a difference by Monday.
I'm off work the rest of the week. I slept better last night. The sleep apnea is getting under control. God is good. I trust him for the strength and grace to work through the pain and to help me keep my job. I have two more years before I can retire. The job is high stress and it's wearing me down. But I have hope things will work out. Paul said he had learned to live the life of faith under all circumstances. Good times and not so good times. Times of plenty and times of lean. At least I have yet to be stoned to death.
Paul is a role model for living victoriously in all manner of suffering, and his life continues to inspire and place things in perspective. King David's mood swings and times of depression give me the grace to know God is not disappointed in me. David would always come around to praising God after his tears. Paul, though, seemed to keep his emotions in check, though there are references to his being sorrowful and angry. Still, mostly he persevered in holding onto joy in spite of suffering. It's a lesson for me and no doubt for other Christians suffering trials.
There was a popular praise song about 20 years ago that said, "I'm trading my sorrows, I'm trading my shame. I'm laying them down for the joy of the Lord. I'm trading my sickness, I'm trading my pain. I'm laying them down for the joy of the Lord." "Though sorrow may last for the night, joy comes with the morning." My fingers hurt as I type this. I no longer play guitar, which was never in my plans for my life. Guitar playing was always going to be. But life doesn't always go according to our plans and dreams. But the constancy of the Lord is ever there. His love, mercy, and grace don't depend on us, it's all about Jesus and God's character.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if my pain will be better by Monday. I don't know if my sleep will continue to improve. I don't know my work future. But I know my Redeemer. He will guide, provide, and comfort. He will defend and bless. He goes before me and shields me from behind. Whom shall I fear? Truly.
I'm off work the rest of the week. I slept better last night. The sleep apnea is getting under control. God is good. I trust him for the strength and grace to work through the pain and to help me keep my job. I have two more years before I can retire. The job is high stress and it's wearing me down. But I have hope things will work out. Paul said he had learned to live the life of faith under all circumstances. Good times and not so good times. Times of plenty and times of lean. At least I have yet to be stoned to death.
Paul is a role model for living victoriously in all manner of suffering, and his life continues to inspire and place things in perspective. King David's mood swings and times of depression give me the grace to know God is not disappointed in me. David would always come around to praising God after his tears. Paul, though, seemed to keep his emotions in check, though there are references to his being sorrowful and angry. Still, mostly he persevered in holding onto joy in spite of suffering. It's a lesson for me and no doubt for other Christians suffering trials.
There was a popular praise song about 20 years ago that said, "I'm trading my sorrows, I'm trading my shame. I'm laying them down for the joy of the Lord. I'm trading my sickness, I'm trading my pain. I'm laying them down for the joy of the Lord." "Though sorrow may last for the night, joy comes with the morning." My fingers hurt as I type this. I no longer play guitar, which was never in my plans for my life. Guitar playing was always going to be. But life doesn't always go according to our plans and dreams. But the constancy of the Lord is ever there. His love, mercy, and grace don't depend on us, it's all about Jesus and God's character.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if my pain will be better by Monday. I don't know if my sleep will continue to improve. I don't know my work future. But I know my Redeemer. He will guide, provide, and comfort. He will defend and bless. He goes before me and shields me from behind. Whom shall I fear? Truly.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
New Hope
I should maybe preface this with a statement to the effect
that it’s been awhile since my last post. And it has been. My last entry may
have been read as a downer, but it wasn’t. During one hospital outpatient
program that I was placed in after a nine-day inpatient stay, we covered a lot
of territory about the suffering that accompanies mental illness. Coping skills
were taught, but the most amazing lesson came toward the end of my three weeks.
It was called “Radical Acceptance.” Deconstructed down to its fundamental
meaning, radical acceptance is accepting you have a mental illness, that it
causes suffering and sometimes, nothing can be done to change that fact.
There was a collective gasp among the participants, and some
wasted no time in saying it wasn’t fair. Others like me, sat in silence. Radical
acceptance was a radical concept. My mind flipped to the story of Job and
understood he had traveled an arduous journey through unbearable suffering, and
God’s response was this: accept it. I thought of Jesus and his radical
acceptance of the crucifixion. God had decreed there was no other option for the
redemption of humanity. Radical. Acceptance.
My last blog entry was, in fact, radical acceptance of chronic
sleep deprivation. I was no longer going to fight God. I was no longer going to
pray about it. It is what it is. In that place, something unexpected occurred. My
new psychiatrist insisted that I see a sleep specialist. I had undergone a
sleep study some twenty-five or so years ago and they found nothing to keep me
from sleeping. But she felt it needed to be looked at again. I’ll skip all the
steps and go straight to the point. The study concluded I had sleep apnea and
my oxygen level had actually dropped into the ’80s for a bit. Alarm bells went
off in the heads of the doctors. When I was given that diagnosis, I broke down
and cried. It meant something besides multiple sleeping pills could be done.
They were failing me anyway. Maybe there was a reason to hope.
In four days I am getting a CPAP machine. I had resisted
writing about this because what if it really doesn’t keep me asleep through the
night? I’m off work on FMLA again because things were moving. When I become so
sleep deprived stationary things start moving, then I’m in real trouble. I
shouldn’t be driving, and my job’s professional expectations are not being met.
I can’t do my job. I was told to go home and do not return until I am under
control again. So, I am at least not facing the public bleary-eyed and sluggish
of mind.
I still have radical acceptance. God is in charge and
whatever he wills, I accept. But I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to having
renewed hope that something will happen. That I might get even six hours of uninterrupted
sleep. I am also humbly asking for prayers. I will write again when I have
tried out this medical marvel. People who have used them said it was life-changing. Well, I’m all about life-changing and morphing into Christlikeness.
I will be still and know he is God.
Thursday, June 20, 2019
Sometimes, the Answer is No
So, is it a sin? I stopped praying for sleep sometime back.
I think others are still praying for me, but I don’t ask anymore. It’s been
years of pleas, groveling, demanding, begging, and “if it’s your will” prayers.
I have just stopped. For as many years as I have sent prayers up for sleep,
I’ve concluded his answer is simply, no. And there is no argument against God’s
no. He said, “I open doors that cannot be shut, and shut doors that cannot be
opened.” That’s pretty much the end of any effort to sway God.
That hasn’t stopped me from seeking human medical
intervention. Maybe there is still another drug to try, or maybe a condition
that can be corrected. I’m going to be monitored for three nights to see if I
have sleep apnea. I’m not hopeful. Not anymore. I was told if it’s not sleep
apnea, then I would see a chronic insomnia specialist. Definitely no hope
there. I’ll go, but unless the person has a magic elixir, I’ve tried it all. I
will hold the line on animal sacrifice and voodoo, but anything else I’ll try
at least once.
So, the question. Is it a sin to stop asking for something
and no longer hope for it when you're seeking something from God? I feel some would answer yes.
They’d quote Jesus’ words to pray and not stop praying in his parable about the
unjust judge and the poor woman, because she prevailed. But some would say no
and quote Paul’s prayers to have a thorn in his flesh removed. God told him no.
No. God said his grace would be sufficient for him. So, two sides to one
question.
But it doesn’t stop there. I can sense judgment from some
readers. It would be easy to twist the words of Jesus and use them to condemn
me for a number of things: lack of faith, not believing God enough, giving up.
But those who would lean that direction assume God always says yes, when
clearly Paul was told no. Those are the ones who must walk in the shoes of the
sufferer before rushing to judgment. The answer lies in grace. Always grace.
Maybe I’m totally off base, but any response that does not extend grace is the
wrong response. Always.
So, may I be extended grace in no longer asking God for
sleep. I believe he’s answered me. No, Susan. My grace is sufficient for you. Perhaps
his no is no I won’t do a miracle, but maybe medical intervention will still
come through. But I must somehow live with this condition and its consequences.
I may not be able to work sometimes. I may be too tired to think straight
sometimes. I may not be able to drive sometimes and miss out on somethings
because of utter fatigue. I was hospitalized once from an extended lack of any
sleep to the point of hallucinating. Life expectancy is shortened from lack of
sufficient sleep. Weight gain, early onset dementia, other health issues as
well. I’ll need all the grace God will give to live like this.
And in case you’re wondering, I still love God. I still
trust him. I still need him in every imaginable way. I hope in his promise of
salvation. I will never fully understand until the day I meet with him face to
face. There are believers who suffer much greater than I do, so I will never
stop loving and hoping in God for my final deliverance from this body of
corruptible flesh. And holding onto the grace he gives to live in a fallen
world, weak in the flesh and tired.
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
The Language of Love
I have slept approximately six to seven hours over the past three days. I went to work Monday after two hours of sleep and had a miserable day. I made it through the day, but told my boss I was taking a sick day Tuesday, which was wise. I slept no better. My sleep has become a fugitive. I had a scheduled psychiatric appointment Tuesday and I went. She seemed alarmed at me. I gradually told her how sleep has been diminishing and she strongly urged I take a week or two FMLA. I was too tired to argue and set it up with my HR department.
I've been a troubled sleeper for years and have taken just about every drug under the sun. Every suggested herbal, change of bedtime behaviors. and exercise has failed. I was sleeping about five hours a night the past couple months on higher sleep medication, but no longer. About four years ago I went ten days without any sleep and ended up in the hospital, hallucinating and begging help. I was finally put back on an antipsychotic that made me sleep, but also gained 60 pounds. I stopped taking it, but now I am sleepless and fat. To be honest, if they suggest going back on it, I will balloon up to 300 pounds, but if I sleep, I'll live with it.
I can't think straight right now and this is probably messy, but at times of sheer hopelessness and helplessness, I turn to my paternal grandmother's old Episcopal Book of Common Prayer from the 1940s. I was given it when she passed away and I treasure it. I know some Christians think the archaic language of her generation is dead and useless, but it resonates within me. She and many other believers whispered the prayers of this small book and found great comfort therein. I have several bookmarked and pray them when I am empty and have no power to create my own.
Let me share one. "Turn Thou us, O good Lord, and so shall we be turned. Be favorable, O Lord, Be favorable to Thy people, Who turn to Thee in weeping, fasting, and praying. For Thou art a merciful God, Full of compassion. Long-suffering, and of great pity. Thou sparest when we deserve punishment, And in Thy wrath thinkest upon mercy. Spare Thy people, good Lord, spare them, And let not Thine heritage be brought to confusion. Hear us, O Lord, for Thy mercy is great, And after the multitude of Thy mercies look upon us; Through the merits and mediation of Thy blessed Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
Turn Thou us, O good Lord, and so shall we be turned. What a most marvelous prayer request. I am weak these days, and my bipolar disorder could flare from lack of sleep. I'm truly bereft of hope for sustainable sleep from the specialist I meet with next week. But, even with an empty and troubled mind, I have words lovingly crafted to use long before I was born. A spiritual heritage handed down to me. I will cling to the cross which led to such petitions. And wait upon the Lord.
I've been a troubled sleeper for years and have taken just about every drug under the sun. Every suggested herbal, change of bedtime behaviors. and exercise has failed. I was sleeping about five hours a night the past couple months on higher sleep medication, but no longer. About four years ago I went ten days without any sleep and ended up in the hospital, hallucinating and begging help. I was finally put back on an antipsychotic that made me sleep, but also gained 60 pounds. I stopped taking it, but now I am sleepless and fat. To be honest, if they suggest going back on it, I will balloon up to 300 pounds, but if I sleep, I'll live with it.
I can't think straight right now and this is probably messy, but at times of sheer hopelessness and helplessness, I turn to my paternal grandmother's old Episcopal Book of Common Prayer from the 1940s. I was given it when she passed away and I treasure it. I know some Christians think the archaic language of her generation is dead and useless, but it resonates within me. She and many other believers whispered the prayers of this small book and found great comfort therein. I have several bookmarked and pray them when I am empty and have no power to create my own.
Let me share one. "Turn Thou us, O good Lord, and so shall we be turned. Be favorable, O Lord, Be favorable to Thy people, Who turn to Thee in weeping, fasting, and praying. For Thou art a merciful God, Full of compassion. Long-suffering, and of great pity. Thou sparest when we deserve punishment, And in Thy wrath thinkest upon mercy. Spare Thy people, good Lord, spare them, And let not Thine heritage be brought to confusion. Hear us, O Lord, for Thy mercy is great, And after the multitude of Thy mercies look upon us; Through the merits and mediation of Thy blessed Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
Turn Thou us, O good Lord, and so shall we be turned. What a most marvelous prayer request. I am weak these days, and my bipolar disorder could flare from lack of sleep. I'm truly bereft of hope for sustainable sleep from the specialist I meet with next week. But, even with an empty and troubled mind, I have words lovingly crafted to use long before I was born. A spiritual heritage handed down to me. I will cling to the cross which led to such petitions. And wait upon the Lord.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
It's All Good
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.
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, 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.
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