Lord Let Me Never Outlive My Love For You

 O sacred Head now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns Thine only crown
How art Thou pale with anguish with sore abuse and scorn

How does that visage languish which once was bright as morn

What Thou my Lord hast suffered was all for sinners' gain

Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain

Lo here I fall my Savior, 'tis I deserve Thy place

Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee dearest friend

For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end

O make me Thine forever and should I fainting be

Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for Thee

As Good Friday approaches, I am reminded of this hymn I grew up singing every year. There are more verses, but these first three always hit my heart the deepest. It's rarely sung anymore. The old 12th century Latin translated into King James English, and set to somber Bach music, is foreign to modern ears. If you've never heard it YouTube it. It's moving in its worshipful remembrance of Jesus' death on the cross for sinners such as me.

I have found myself as I age feeling a greater need to be near the Lord. The sense of my mortality is pressing in on me. David asked God to teach him to number his days. He, too, had a growing awareness of his limited time on earth and the closer he was coming to seeing God face-to-face. I look back with a degree of sorrow for wasted opportunities, wasted years of dissipation, and needless self-inflicted pain and sorrow that sidelined me when I should have been about my Father's work. But I cannot change a single day of my past as much as I long to have a redo. My past is indeed written in concrete.

But the present and future are wide open for opportunities to write a life worthy of the high calling. There is joy, wonder, and thankfulness that the blood of Jesus covers my sins and failures. But I want the days I have left to be worthy of Jesus' sacrifice for me. I won't be perfect, no one can make that claim. I may be weary some days from circumstances, but my heart and actions can reflect a Christlikeness that comes from the deepest parts of my very being joined in relationship with the Lord. It's grace that makes this possible. 

Lo here I fall my Savior, 'tis I deserve Thy place

Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace

O make me Thine forever and should I fainting be

Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for Thee

 

All Things Change, but One

 Something I've sometimes told people in emotional and suicidal distress is life is not static. It changes and there is just as much of a chance things will improve as opposed to never getting better. Those odds are worth staying around for. It's not a simplistic viewpoint. And it doesn't minimize pain. It's a simple truth. I have self-talked my way through a few tough times with that mindset. When we are going through a series of losses it's difficult to see beyond the wall of pain in front of us. Tragically, some people never give life another chance believing the lie that what they feel now is what they will experience the rest of their lives. 

While the concept of an ever-changing emotional landscape is true, there is another truth that coexists with it. There is a bedrock that cannot be shaken. It is immutable. What's built on it will not fail in any way. Emotional turmoil cannot forestall it. Doubt and fear cannot overcome it. Darkness cannot hide it. This bedrock is the Lord. Scripture says there is no shadow caused by his turning. David called him his Rock. And while rocks in this world erode or shatter, God our Rock doesn't. He is the one constant in life that will be with us in our changing mental and physical conditions. Whether we are on the upside or down, he is there.

I firmly believe life does get better depending on our outlook. I have had journeys through darkness so black I haven't been able to see light. But there is Light and Life in the Lord and in my worst nights of soul turmoil, I know he's been guiding my steps on the path he's laid out for me. I've had suicidal ideations on multiple occasions. Yet, God, my Rock has kept my feet firmly planted while I waited for my emotions to change, which almost always precedes situational improvements. 

When I said I firmly believe life does get better according to our outlook, that doesn't mean conditions will always change. Am I contradicting myself? No. Life isn't static. We can change. Our emotions may be up or down, but God's constancy in recreating us in the image of Christ Jesus means we can always have hope no matter our circumstances. Stories of unbelievable suffering have been handed down through the church and in history studies. The people are all worthy of pity, but some stand out for their faithfulness and lives of purpose in the face of extreme deprivations, loss of loved ones, or horrid living conditions. Their situations persisted, but their inner lives were not static. They were ever-growing, ever transforming, ever believing in a future and a hope. 

 We change either into Christlikeness or into black bitterness. But praise God, our destiny is to be like Jesus. Life is not static.

War and an Old World Order

 I didn’t experience World War II, but I was born only nine years after the surrender of the Axis powers. My childhood friends and I often played games of war. No one wanted to be a Nazi, but we'd divide ourselves up and throw dirt-clod grenades and shoot toys guns to kill our foes. The war was still close in the consciousness of adult Americans and unsurprisingly it spilled over to my generation. It was on TV in shows like Combat!, Rat Patrol, and 12 O’clock High. War movies were still being made and were popular. The horrors were still fresh and long before the collective trauma of the war slipped into the fading recollections of my aging parent's generation.

My war was the Cold War. Spy shows and movies replaced WWII fare. I knew as a child the world teetered on the brink of disaster. Adults did their best to make life seem like Leave it to Beaver and the bucolic town life of Mayberry, but I was raised in a military family and my father was involved in the Pacific nuclear bomb testing of the early 1960s. I knew the Duck and Cover taught in school meant more than tornadoes. The later protests of the Vietnam War were the result of my generation growing up with instant annihilation hanging over us. Any war could be a precursor to another global conflict. Only this time, vast oceans would not keep us insulated and safe.

Trillions were spent in the East and West in an arms race to keep each other from gaining an upper hand. But we were able to outspend the Soviets and the empire behind the Iron Curtain collapsed. Nations that had been oppressed by Russia following WWII were freed to decide their own national identities and futures. There was a new world order. The Cold War with its nuclear threats ended with western democracy and capitalism appearing the winner.

That is why the rise of former Soviet era officials taking over Russia’s government has been so frightening. The threatening return to the old world order is brewing. The President, Vladimir Putin, a former KGB agent is increasingly autocratic, persecuting the press, using violence and a corrupt legal system to silence opposition. His need to reclaim the glory days of Russia’s power and domination of former Soviet bloc countries is playing out with the unprovoked invasion of Ukraine, a peaceful democracy. Like Hitler and the claiming of the Sudetenland, there will be no appeasement. It won’t be enough. If we don’t sacrifice now to prevent Putin from taking Ukraine, more deadly territorial land grabs will follow. It’s why my heart sinks and breaks for the people of Ukraine. It’s why fervent prayers are being lifted heavenward, here and in Ukraine.

There are things I never thought I would live to see. The fall of the Berlin Wall. The collapse of the Soviet Union. The mass terrorist murder on American soil on 9/11. And the utterly terrifying sight of U.S. citizens storming their own Capitol Building, threatening to undo the centuries old constitutional peaceful transfer of power, as the world watched with a mix of horror and delight.

As I watch the situation in Ukraine play out on the daily news, I remind myself I am but a sojourner, yet I’m here to make a difference in this earthly life, defending the rights of the downtrodden. To hate injustice and violence. To work for the good of people everywhere. Even those on the other side of the world. While I cannot be there in person, I can donate to the needs of people fleeing the Russians. I can demand our government do everything within its power to stop the war. I can pray fervently for Ukraine’s people, and for the Russian people who are bravely protesting the war against Ukraine. They are being violently attacked and detained by the authorities. And yes, to pray for the oppressors to stop inflicting pain, to encounter the life-changing Prince of Peace.

As I strive to live as a peacemaker, I await the return of the Lord to put an end to all wars and death, sickness and tears, oppression and injustice, and the darkest evils of the human heart. I watch and I pray.

Come Lord Jesus, come.

 

 

 

In The Bleak Midwinter, Hope

 Winter only began yesterday, but the longest night of the year makes it feel like the bleak midwinter. At least it does to me. Christmas has been a struggle for me for years. The demanded happiness of the season doesn't resonate in me. In past churches I've attended, the expected attendance of all Advent activities made sanctuary for hurting people go missing. Somewhere the humble entrance of the Christ child was lost.

The monetary demands made keeping the budget impossible. Years ago I finally got the nerve to tell my extended family I could not afford the gift exchanges. I felt I was spoiling things. The required presence at work parties and their gift exchanges felt coerced. The lengthening of the season for merchants to make more money, while people spend themselves into deepening debt, makes me feel out of sync with the world around me. Even traditional Christmas music playing everywhere reminds me I am not in the holiday spirit.

Some years back, my mother passed away a week before Christmas. It deepened the bleakness. I still feel some emotional confusion remembering how I whispered to her it was okay to let go. She thanked me and passed away the following day after I stepped away from her bedside. Maybe she would have held on longer. She was in pain, though. But it haunts me to this day and every Christmas reminds me of it.

My church has an annual Longest Night Blue Christmas service every December 21st, and I always attend. Last night I felt the presence of God. The candlelight and times of silence, the carefully chosen quiet music granting permission to be who I am. There were no expectations, no exhorting sermon. Just quiet contemplation and a growing sense of acceptance. I can greet the Christ child just as I am with all the emotions I do or do not feel. The Light has come into the world and the darkness cannot overcome it. 

I don't know if I'll ever have the holly jolly merry Christmas so many people have. But I can kneel before the manager and worship in wonder that I am welcome, no strings attached.

The Providence of God

 A great deal has transpired since my last post. The major event being my husband's bypass and valve replacement open heart surgery. It's no small thing to have your sternum sawn through and ribs pried apart. The recovery is slow and painful. He was in the hospital for five days and basically so was I. I've been caring for him, but now he's able to get around and in another week he'll be cleared to lift more than ten pounds. Wired closed, it takes roughly six weeks for the sternum to fuse back together. I understand how difficult recovery can be after shattering my leg last year. 

My son came home and helped for a couple weeks which was a Godsend. He walked with his dad and worked on projects around the house to help out. My church family provided meals for several weeks. I was exhausted and stressed, but through it all was greatly blessed by those who stepped up to help. Will's color and energy level are slowly improving. It takes three to six months to recoup from such a major surgery, but he will feel so much better soon with the improved circulation.

To do bypass surgery and valve replacement, they stop the heart and the patient is utterly dependent on a machine to stay alive. The risk is the heart may not restart. Will made an advanced directive and I and my son were to carry out his wishes should he be left on life support. It was a long three-and-a-half-hour surgery, but it went textbook perfect. 

Many prayers were sent up by friends, family, and church members. It was a comfort knowing it was in God's hands no matter what the outcome. Of course, I wanted him to live. My life would be upended with his death, but I have the sure faith God is with me through all life presents. I don't always understand circumstances, but I know God is love, God is faithful, and God is gracious, rich in tender mercies. 

I can rejoice in the outcome, but had it turned out differently, though it would have been so very hard, I would have trusted in God's plan. I and my family are in his care and keeping. I will leave us in his hands. There is safety there and assurance of a future hope beyond our present. And for that, I am so very grateful. 

 

You Are Watched Over

I have a bible app on my phone that I use daily. Yes, I still have an actual bible, but this I can carry with me everywhere. Bible Gateway is the app and I highly recommend it. I use the free version and it's a powerful tool that gives many versions of the bible, old and new. Each day I am greeted with a verse for the day, as well as the daily bible reading plan I have set up. 

Today's bible verse comes from the Book of Psalms: The Lord will keep you from all harm--he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. 121:7-8. NIV. When I read it, I immediately wanted to share the good news of God's providential care for us. Most us of know the verse or the at least the gist of it. But do we really believe it when so many bad things happen to people. 

I don't pretend to understand the evil that befalls us sometimes. To this day, I don't understand why I was victimized in a terrifying home invasion. I still suffer some PTSD from it though years have passed. I still occasionally feel a sense of not being safe in my home behind locked doors. But the verse that was chosen for today reminds me that God protects. I survived the ordeal. It could have been deadly. It left me shaken, but not knocked out for the count. 

I have peace more often than not. God has me hemmed in. He goes before me and brings up the rear. He's to my right and to my left. He's above me and below. I am encased in his loving embrace and nothing can tear me out of his arms. That's encouraging when darkness appears to rule. 

I have no idea what is in my future nor the futures of those whom I love and care about. There could be tragedy. I hope not. But God's care is with us throughout our lives. Whatever we face, we do not stand alone. The omnipresent God of hope is watching over us and keeps our souls safe no matter what may happen. Bad things happen sometimes. Such is our current state but take heart. You are held in the hands of the Almighty. You cannot be snatched away and that is a comforting thought.

 

Father's Day and Loss

 Again, I offer a personal essay for my blog. Yesterday was Father's Day. I rejoiced in my husband's fathering an amazing son, but I felt that peculiar sense of loss orphans do, at least as I think they may do. I was not a child when both my parents passed away, but I clearly remember the words, "Well now I am an orphan," pass through my mind. A grownup who will never again be able to get sage advice and parental love. This is for my father who I missed keenly yesterday.

I buried my father today.

 

It was a long silent drive to the Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. I had hoped the weather would cooperate, and it did, though there is something unsettling about placing a loved one in the cold ground while the sun beams on.

 

An Air Force Honor Guard stood in formation as we took our places. With much solemnity they carefully folded a flag over the small wooden box that held the ashes of a man who had lived eighty-four years, twenty-five of which were in uniform. Those ashes were the only physical remains of a man who kept covenant with one woman for fifty-seven years, reared three children, and delighted in the exploits and successes of nine grandchildren. It was hard to imagine his 5’9” two hundred pound frame in a box that was smaller than a laptop.

 

Each motion of the flag ceremony was executed with precision. When the final fold was neatly tucked into place, the guard marched in line to a row of rifles. I knew what was coming, but I could not help the involuntary jerk that came with each report. The twenty-one gun salute: An honor reserved for those who have honorably served. Slowly, the head of the Honor Guard approached my mother with the flag and spoke quiet words no one wants to hear: “On behalf of a grateful nation…”

 

I don’t know what the Airmen in the Honor Guard thought. They do this routinely. It’s their job. Another World War II veteran dies, another ceremony. Maybe they think it’s just another old codger to bury. I only know that afterward, when I went to thank them, and told them, with tears, how much it meant to our family that they had come to honor my father, one of them reached out and shook my hand. It was a simple offer of sympathy and regard for our loss. I walked away hoping they understood that what they do matters very much.

 

A small box doesn’t require a large hole. The hole for my father was much like the hole one would dig for a fence post, only rectangular. An attendant of the cemetery placed the box gently in the grave. My mother laid a single rose, my father’s favorite flower, atop the box. She then tossed in some dirt. My sister and I chose to do the same. As the hole was filled, my mother, sister, brother, and I stood together watching the last of a lifelong relationship being buried. My father’s resting place is under a tree. As I lifted my eyes, I could see he was not alone. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of white markers surround him, each representing a soldier, marine, sailor, or airman. It was at once breathtaking and grieving.

 

The pain will come and go in waves. That’s the professional stance on the grief process. Gradually, it will get better. I believe that. But even with the intellectual foreknowledge we had of his impending death, the heart is still shocked to believe he is never coming home from the hospital. In my heart, I thought my parents would always be there. That childish hope has been shattered by the blunt reality of a marker in a cemetery.

 

As I write this, I feel the loss keenly, and it makes me want to shut out the world. I can’t begin to fathom what my mother must feel. Yet, I know, as does she, that this is how it must be. God said to Adam, “From dust you were taken and to dust you shall return.” Those words would instill utter hopelessness, were it not for the hope of the resurrection; were it not for the Cross and the Blood of the Lamb that was poured out for my father, my mother, my family, for me—for everyone who trusts in the gift of the Lord’s salvation.

 

The pain goes with the territory of living in a fallen world. Perhaps that is one of the motivators for seeking meaning and a Something greater outside ourselves and this world. For now, in the pain of loss, I can rejoice because I know the sum of one man’s life does not reside in a small box of ashes buried in the ground. The sum of my father’s life is in the countless people he touched, the lives he enriched. The Lord has kept an account, and I know he heard the words everyone wants to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant…”

 

 

DeShawntae

 I'm going to depart from my usual blog entries now and then to write of other things. I have written pieces over the years that do not directly focus on my faith per se but nevertheless address issues that are informed by my faith and are written from my core being that loves God. There are lessons to be learned from them. 

I find God everywhere. In nature, people, the news, even movies, and commercials. If you're looking for God, he really can be seen in nonreligious settings. I find that encouraging because there is a lot of darkness and it's easy to think, "Where is God in all this?" His light is found even in the darkest places. You carry it with you if you have faith. 

This entry is about a tragic young teen. It's a sad lesson I learned about myself and how I have judged people. I think I do better now. I have changed over the span of my life. His name has been changed, but the account is true. Originally written in 2009, it was a journal entry.

DeShawntae died Saturday from a gunshot wound to the head. He was fifteen. 

I didn’t know DeShawntae well. I confess I learned his name because he was a troublemaker. He was taken aback the first time I called him by name. He didn’t understand I made a point of knowing names for incident reports. I really don’t think he was a bad person. But I could see he looked up to the older teens who were disruptive. I think he thought they were being cool and had begun to emulate them.   

DeShawntae lived with his grandmother. When he was suspended, she called. She explained she had told him to stay away because he had internet access at home. She didn’t understand why he would go to the library and be disruptive. She said he had bipolar disorder and was a difficult child who wouldn’t always take his medication. That explained a lot of his erratic behavior.  She also said his father was shot and killed over drugs when he was only 28 years old. That was DeShawntae’s childhood. 

My last encounter with DeShawntae was the day I had him arrested for trespassing. His suspension was for throwing library property and cussing at the staff. He was not to be in or on library property for 90 days. He came in a week later and I had to have him arrested. I was doing my job but hated this aspect of it. It was unnerving to have to stand there and swear out a complaint while he sat in the police car. I was aware all the teens had emptied the library and were watching me. Part of me was angry with him because he had just acted stupidly by coming back to the library. Now he was being arrested. And selfishly, it was me stuck having to do it. 

There was also a part of me that was relieved he would not be back for awhile. One less headache. One less stressor. But now I’m devastated because someone I had kind of written off died senselessly and suddenly, and my only imprint on his life was to ride him for his behavior. I don’t think I could have rescued him, but I could have tried talking to him more. I might have come to know him as more a boy and less a difficulty. 

The police think he was playing with a revolver and accidentally shot himself. Or perhaps he said or did something that made someone else think he should die for it. God only knows. The police closed the case quickly; his grandmother left behind to grieve him. 

I can’t help but wonder what DeShawntae’s thoughts were. What hopes and dreams, if any, did he have? I’ll never know because I never really knew him. Regardless of his behavior, the world is diminished without DeShawntae. This I know.

Go With Your Gifts

It's been several months since I posted an entry. I took a much needed break. Writing comes somewhat easy for me yet my brain needs to rest occasionally to recharge the creative process. 

I belong to a writer's critique group that meets monthly and have been writing for that for the past couple of years, but writing about the faith I live by is not as simple. There's a fine line between sharing and preaching and I sometimes cross it. I'm not a theologian nor a seminary-trained pastor. Still, the Christian faith requires an understanding of scripture and I share insights I have gleaned because I know I am not unique to faith's challenges.

It's somewhat cathartic for me as I write, so I will press on with my blogging and put it out there for folks to read or skip over. It's important I use the gifts I have been given while I am able-bodied and mentally capable.

Using the gifts God gives us is both a joy and a vital part of the Christian faith. Indeed other faith traditions incorporate that concept as well. Every person is created in the image of God and has been given qualities that are intended to be used for the betterment of humanity. I never discount someone's help just because we don't share the same faith. I'll go so far as to say some Christians aren't all that eager to get their hands dirty in the Lord's work.

I hesitate to use the word "requirement" as a compelling reason to use your gifts. Yet we should consider the truth that the Church is made up of individuals who should be working toward the same goal: Reconciling people. Broken relationships litter the world's landscape and we are called to go and bring healing through our own relationship with God. It is a terrible loss for the ones who don't see the need to sacrifice for others. Yes, boundaries are needed to ensure we are not unduly drained, but Jesus drew the circle wide. His servant heart demonstrated to those who claim him as their own how we are to make the most of our days in this world, this temporal fleeting life. 

King David prayed God would teach him to number his days and I'm confident that is a prayer we can all pray and believe it will be answered. Our days count. What we do for others counts. Scripture says we will all give an account to God. It doesn't matter if you think your gift is small. Use it fully. It was given to share with a hurting world. It matters not if we are wealthy or poor. Male or female. It doesn't matter where we call home. Jesus said to go into the world. So go we must.

I will use, to the best of my ability, the gifts I have been given in the days I have left, fervently hoping to hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." I pray that is the only reward I truly seek.

Don't Let Freezing Cold Chill Your Heart

 As I write this, it's 9 degrees outside with a wind chill of 15 below. The highs over the weekend will be 0-2 degrees. Welcome to February in northern Missouri. I have lived through colder weather in my area. I clearly remember a morning in 1989 and having to go to work when it was 23 below, and that wasn't the wind chill temperature. Winters are rough around here when arctic blasts come down our way.

The city has opened extra shelters for overnights and non-profits as well as some churches are doing their best to offer warm places for the homeless. That population includes women and children. There are fewer shelters for them.  Individuals and families are living in cars. Then there are the unfortunate addicts and the mentally ill who don't have the capacity to seek available shelter from the extreme weather. The city has already recorded one death due to freezing. I have no doubt there will be others.

I don't assign fault to those who cannot work due to disabilities, even the addicts. I know what is to be under the control of substances. If you hold the mistaken idea it's just a matter of saying no, then you need a wake-up call. Walk in the shoes of the addicted and experience the horrors. 

Homelessness is a societal illness. Some have been evicted due to lost jobs through no fault. Others are so mentally ill they are unable to make rational decisions. Again, I know what it is like to lose all connection to reality. Many aren't even able to realize their dire straits. I know there have been a few times I have been totally incapable of caring for myself due to Bipolar Disorder. 

There used to be taxpayer-funded treatment shelters, but the government decided churches, non-profits and local communities could take care of the need. Unfortunately, the money hasn't been there to replace tax dollars, so the severely mentally ill have fallen off the radar, living in the shadows of overpasses and makeshift camps, and yes, freezing to death.

I support the Salvation Army as well as a Native American school for children who need basic life-saving items, like coats. The Pine Ridge Reservation is in South Dakota, where it gets desperately cold. It is one of the poorest communities in the U.S. My church has also has a "Brown Bag" ministry, assembling items a homeless person could use living on the streets. We have them for men and women. I keep some in my car to give to those I see on street corners. And if I have cash on me I give some. I don't think it's for me to decide how it will be spent. I am not a mind reader. I answer to the Lord and he said what you do to the least of people you have done to him. That little bit of cash might buy a sandwich in a warm diner, a cup of hot coffee. And this is not about tooting my horn. 

All this to say, we are called out from being Cain. We are our brothers and sisters keepers. God holds the blood of those we ignore or harm accountable. In scripture, it says if we know what is right and do not do it, it is a sin. Jesus said the poor will always be with us. They cannot be ignored. We cannot close our eyes and stop our ears to their cries and wish them away. They are uncomfortable. They are inconvenient. And they can be scary. But we who are the haves are to help the have nots. Yes, we pay taxes, but the hurdles and hoops to jump through for public assistance are difficult. 

If you don't think you can afford to give, you can decide to sacrifice something for Lent, then keep on after Easter. Make it a lifestyle of sacrifice to give to the poor and downcast. Then you will hear, "Well done good and faithful servant."

Servants of All

 The dust has settled on the new year. Some things have changed, some things have remained the same. New government, same divisions. New vaccines, same resistance. New mutations, same pandemic. It can cause mental and emotional whiplash. Not exactly a clean slate to begin with.

I held off writing a new year's blog. I was too distressed and felt it would be a downer. I didn't want to reinforce my state of mind, nor anyone else's who was struggling with events. I had to settle and think. I still follow current news, but not with the same outlook. I'm looking for hope in the midst of what is bleak.

Psalm 23, which I memorized as a child in what was then the required King James Version, says, "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me." I lost sight of that toward the end of 2020. I focused on everything that seemed evil and dark. To be frank, there is a lot of evil and darkness out there, but while Christians need to be wise as serpents, as Jesus said, we are called to be gentle as doves. It requires due diligence and walking in tandem with the Lord.

My mother's favorite verse, which she could quote easily, was Micah 6:8: "He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." I see now why she loved it so much. It sums up the bible and the message of Jesus as to how we should conduct ourselves in this world. That is my new year's resolution, though I don't care so much for that terminology. I guess it would be better to say that is my hope. With the grace of God, I will live those words. 

This world appears to be spiraling out of control, but we don't have to be a part of the irrationality that seems to be gripping so many people. We have the Holy Spirit and the fruit that comes from living in humility, counting ourselves as servants. Not just of God, but of fallen people who we may perceive as unworthy or truly unloveable. The unjust, the greedy, the haters. Jesus came as a servant and he said we were to be the same. 

It is not an easy accomplishment. It will require rigorous honesty and accountability. To trust God and not what our eyes see, or even what our hearts lead us to believe. Jesus saw the hearts of the people and knew they could not be trusted. The human heart is tainted in many ways. I know from experience how mine has led me astray at times, even in matters of faith, and I am not unique. Emotions are not how we follow God. We walk by faith regardless of how we feel. 

Let the word guide you. Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with God, and fear no evil, for God is with us.

2020 Hindsight

Like so many, I am looking back at 2020 as it draws to a close and wondering at the chaos that characterized it. High on the list is the pandemic, which overwhelmed the entire world and still does. The numbers of people affected are staggering, especially in the United States. So many lives lost. The economy took a major hit and millions experienced job loss, instability, and a new level of fear.  

I note the protests of 2020. Racism was confronted in a movement of many people of different colors and ethnicities. Tension reigned, yet large numbers of persons came together with a unified purpose, and old ideas and symbols were toppled. It was a time that was overdue.

Politics also dominated our nation during a contentious election that pitted even family members against each other. Sadly, Christians were not immune, which was a very disturbing sight. Protests and violence erupted, and I admit, I had very strong feelings myself. But as 2020 closes, we need to drop the rhetoric and move as one body to help heal our nation, not continue divisive arguments. 

On a personal level, while all these events affected me, I also had my share of trauma that shaped my year. I suffered a bad leg break and was disabled for over four months. Pain and a degree of suffering shadowed my life for a season. I also retired in the midst of everything. Many congratulated me on the next stage of my life, but I still have mixed emotions about the decision. I'm unsettled still. 

I have no doubt my readers could share stories of 2020 nightmares. But I believe we can also look back and see positives, even if you can only say you learned to make bread. I learned patience in suffering. I've suffered before on numerous occasions, but I was completely unprepared for what life threw at me. I was stuck at home, as were many, with limited exposure to others. Yet God was in the midst, and there were opportunities to be in his presence in fresh ways. While there was stress, there was also peace in knowing God had everything under control, even if we didn't see or feel it. You may fear the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but you are still safe in God's hands. 

Unprecedented upheavals have punctuated human history. We are not immune to them, but we can keep faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love. Love drives us to better the lives of others in this world. Love compels us to approach our heavenly Father and seek not just solace but also our marching orders for the coming year.

I have no idea what we will face in 2021. Life could be even more challenging. Or we could see better times. In The Lord of the Rings, Gandalf listens to Frodo say he wished he had not lived to experience such a difficult journey. His reply? "So do all who live to see such times, but it is not for us to choose our times, but to choose what we will do with the time we are given." Spoken like the Lord. 

Our tomorrows are shaped by what we choose as we journey the path God has laid out for us. May this coming year find you choosing the road less traveled trusting in the goodness of God. 

Mended Relationships

 I have the old classic Righteous Brothers hit, "That Lovin' Feeling" stuck in my head today. I'm sure all the Baby Boomers know the song I'm talking about. A sad 'lost my love song': "bring back that lovin' feeling." Not sure why it came to mind, but I'm a frequent victim of earworms. At least this isn't an annoying commercial ditty and I like the Righteous Brothers. 

The number of broken heart songs is staggering. Every genre of popular music has standard favorites that seem to stand the test of time. It has always been a go-to for country music and rock alike. It's not surprising. I don't think there is a single person who has escaped the experience of a relationship gone wrong. Humanity has that common, whether it's puppy love or bitter divorce.

There is a deep current of need for connection with another. Whether or not you believe in a first created human there is no denying many people seek to connect with a power higher than themselves. It's because we were made for relationship beyond other humans. God put in us a desire to know him. We were fashioned for love, given and returned. Love that does not quit when things get messy. People give up easily really. God does not. His love is often one-sided, has been since we stumbled in Eden and lost our first love. 

Love is not just a feeling. It goes beyond whatever our emotions are at any given moment with others. The good news is we have a Savior who redeemed our broken relationship with God and in reconciling us to him, he reconciled us to each other. His enduring love has been shown to us in a baby in a manger. It is the promise of ages. 

Merry Christmas!

Larger Than Life

Larger than life! I've heard and used that exclamation countless times. It's generally used to describe people who defy normalcy in ways commoners such as myself go about living. Larger than life can apply to the famous and infamous alike, but most often for those who are deeply admired for feats and attainments they've managed. The great explorers, the business tycoons and engineers of the American 19th century. Athletes who seem to go beyond what is humanly possible. Military leaders, presidents, kings, and queens. The list could go on. But when "Larger than life" applies only to those who are widely known for grand exploits, it falls short. 

Several thousand years ago there lived a man who dwelled in the desert, ate locusts, and never touched alcohol. Odd, to say the least. Yet his life was prophesized. He dared to speak out against the corruption of the religious leaders and the Roman installed ruler, Herod. The man's name was John, known to us as John the Baptist. He preached repentance saying the Kingdom of God was at hand. If anyone was larger than life, it was possibly him. Many came to him to be baptized. He was called a prophet. 

John could have claimed the title and yet, he eschewed it. He said there was one coming whose sandals he was unworthy to tie. One who would not baptize with water, but with the Holy Spirit and fire. His cousin by birth. A humble carpenter who came out of a small Galilean backwater town. The world knows him as the man Jesus, who may or may not have actually existed. But if he did, much of what the bible records may not be true. Maybe he was a wise teacher at best. Yet Christians claim him as the Son of God and Man. The long-awaited Messiah. 

His life was one of poverty, homeless and nomadic in order to preach the good news of God's favor throughout Israel. He declared God's mercy and his boundless love for humanity. He said follow me and simple, common people did. He said come to me and I will give you rest for your souls, for my burden is easy, unlike those of the religious and political leaders. He carried the good news of reconciliation between God and people for three years, never making money or gaining power from it. In the end, he was murdered through public execution for crimes he did not commit. Those who ordered it thought that was the end of him and his message. We know the rest of the story, yet it continues to unfold with each birth and death. 

It's Advent, the yearly wait for the birth of the King of kings and Lord of lords. Not in glory, but in a rude stable. From a humble beginning came One who owns the title Larger than Life. Let's wait humbly and hopeful for his coming. For he will come again. We celebrate his first entry into the world as an infant, but he will come this time in all the glory the universe can hold. Amen. Come Lord Jesus.

Fractured Jesus?

Scripture speaks of Christians being one body, striving to live in peace as we are called to do. I thought about those words and came to the realization that God literally means ALL Christians. Fundamentalists, Southern Baptists, Evangelicals, Catholics, Mainline Protestants, Pentecostals and other perhaps fringe denominations. That's a tall order for all believers. I don't know about you, but I can easily think of doctrines of some denominations that are on shaky ground. I reject teaching based on a single verse taken out of context. That approach alone has led to fracturing the body of Christ and led to many separate denominations. There is a saying in Alcoholics Anonymous: All it takes is a resentment and a copy of the Big Book to start a new group. I wonder how many churches have begun with a resentment and a bible. 

There are a sizable number of Christians who will not budge from their dogma. They have closed their minds. I think of Jehovah's Witnesses who cannot bear to have their theology questioned. I remember one woman with children in tow asking me if I was a believer. I explained I believed Jesus was the Messiah and ask her to read my bible for a different rendering of an argument she was making about having to earn your way to eternal life. I spoke firmly, using scripture to refute her argument. She kept quoting from their authorized bible only. I pressed on gently hoping to win her over. But she started ushering her children away from my dangerous words of freedom. I prayed for her for a long time.

But there are Christians I don't see eye to eye with who are more difficult to converse with. They have closed their minds to any other possible interpretations of scripture. I have wound my way through many different denominations before finding myself in a place of peace and thoughtfulness. I stumbled my way through a fundamentalist church where EVERY other denomination was deceived. A Southern Baptist where the King James Version of the bible was the only inerrant scripture choice. A Pentecostal church where legalism reigned. I had to be saved weekly because I had managed to sin during the week. They catered to condemnation and fear. They also told me to pray harder, have more faith, repent more, and receive the Holy Spirit more in order to be healed of my bipolar disorder and suicidal depression. You see, that implied it was basically my fault if I didn't get "healed."

After that church, I decided I'd had enough of other Christians. Went months sleeping on Sunday mornings. I talked to God, but I had been burned pretty bad. More time passed and my husband and I realized we wanted our son raised in the church, but not just any church. We spent months visiting churches that ran the gamut. Some we knew right away we'd never go back. One we went to several times thinking there was potential. But the day the pastor said something along the lines of I'm not doing what is known as a benediction because it's so unnecessary. I began crying because I felt like I was being sent away empty-handed. We never went back. I need God's blessing. A benediction is no small thing.

Again we stepped back from church shopping. Then a postcard arrived that had the photo of a white pastor and a Black praise director, arms over each other's shoulders inviting us to come to the start of a new contemporary service at a nearby Presbyterian church. I'd never been to one. All I knew of Presbyterians were they were "the frozen chosen." I was hesitant, but a diverse congregation sounded inviting. We went and felt so welcome, the warmth, the joy, and the presence of the Holy Spirit were palpable. We joined that church within four weeks and two weeks later I was playing guitar for the praise team. 

It's been twenty years and I've never been made to feel shame, fear, condemnation, or been told I don't measure up in God's eyes. I found a home that lets me think, that surrounds me with love and assurances that my mental illness is not a sin and I don't have to live as though I'm disappointing God by not being healed of it. My church allows thoughts and decisions informed by a cleansed and living conscience. The bible is inspired and church decisions are not made by a single person, but by a committee of elders chosen by the people with the laying on of hands. First-century Christianity at work, living out in the services and in the lives of those who attend. Sanity. Simple spiritual sanity.

I want peace between all Christians, regardless of denominational flavor. We can surely find common ground if we seek it. But all too often hearts harden because we don't read the same bible version, or interpret some scripture a little differently. Or we welcome people other churches would condemn. Or even worse, our politics differ. I find it heartbreaking that some churches tell who and what to vote for in the name of God. Anyone who votes otherwise isn't a real Christian. 

The show we put on in the world must grieve the Lord. Yet I still believe there are people in every denomination who are willing to say," Putting it that way, I change my mind and agree with you." Have an open heart and mind and wishing above all to be one, to love, and to be at peace. May we all listen to each other not with the express purpose of trying to convert the other, but to find common ground we can agree on and be at peace with the whole body. 

Called to Action

 Once again, I'm struggling with the current state of America. The Covid-19 death rate, the economy, the violence and unrest. The decline in world leadership and status, the rise of white supremacist groups, and the increasing disparity of wealth distribution. For the first time in my life, I fear for the existence and future of American democracy. The world is looking at America increasingly as failing.

I have thought of the words of David when he asked himself, "Why are you downcast my soul? Why so disquieted? Hope in God." He faced all manner of troubles in his life, and many were political in nature. Jesus faced politics as well, within the religious institution, and living under Roman rule. In fact, Christians have faced political backlash throughout the church's existence. Sometimes simply praying, sometimes standing up and saying "no more."

I think of Dietrich Bonhoeffer who spoke out against the Nazi government and was hung as a result just before the Germans surrendered. I think of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. who faced down racist resistance and was assassinated. I could name others, but for the sake of brevity I won't. Both spoke out against ungodly governance. They were anointed individuals for their eras. They carried out God's call on their lives and paid the price. 

I think God is calling some now to stand up to ungodly governance. There are Christian voices saying enough. And it's not just about America, it's countries throughout the world who have governments who rule for the few and not the many. Where wealth and power sway all decisions and the environment is sullied and destroyed. We are all called to pray, but some are called to nonviolent action. I would be among the protesters who are marching against racism were it not for my leg. But I can vote and write emails and I do. 

In this time of national turmoil, I will think of David's words and hope in God. I will remember I am a citizen of a kingdom that is ruled from heaven. But I will also be an active participant in our democracy and work for peace and justice. I will not be silent nor complicit in systemic racism or inequity in education, financial security, or healthcare. I will try to walk humbly with my God, but I will stand up for the disenfranchised and poor. I will no doubt step on toes, but it will not be intentional to cause harm. 

God's Timetable

As a favorite band, Chicago, sang, "Feeling stronger every day." After three physical therapy sessions, I'm walking a little better. There is pain, but it's manageable with ibuprofen. My foot and ankle swell pretty badly by the end of the day if I have walked a lot, but that's to be expected. My goal is to be off the walker and using a cane by the time physical therapy is complete. My leg muscles are weak, but I'm exercising them. Compared to where  I was a month ago, this is excellent progress. 

As much as I want to move faster, I have to be content with slow and steady. I can't be deterred if my goal isn't reached according to my timetable. It will be hard if I haven't graduated to a cane in five weeks, but I will battle discouragement.

 It can be hard when our plans don't come to pass when we expect. Learning God's timing doesn't always line up with ours can be difficult. At least it can be for me. I can think of many times throughout the years when I was disappointed, even dejected when my dreams were delayed. And sometimes, our dreams aren't even in God's plans for us. I wanted to be a composer. I enrolled in a university conservatory only to drop out. It's not that I had no talent for it, fear of failure won out. 

Looking back I see my talents were to be used for other purposes. I did compose, but not symphony music. I wrote contemporary Christian songs. I also dreamed of making it big but my two albums never sold well. I spent forty years playing guitar and singing for churches. I never would have guessed my life would follow that path. Maybe I wasn't an Amy Grant or Darlene Zschech, but my talent was used according to God's plan for my life. It was a good plan. 

I have also learned I'm not the one who is the judge of my life. I have a judge and he is more compassionate than I am. He sees deep into my heart and knows me better than I know myself. Motives I don't always understand or deny are laid bare to him. Yet he loves me unconditionally. My judge is God and I know he is not a harsh judge, unlike humans who frequently are. I know he is not swayed by special interests or bribes. He answers the demands of the law and accusations by looking to my Savior who paid the ultimate price for my failures, whether intentional or not. I have the gift of peace knowing that.

Dreams and plans will continue to go according to God's plan and timetable. We can accept it or fight it to our own turmoil. I will try to continue to trust God for how my life plays out. I will trust his judgments, for he is all-merciful and all-knowing. 

The Fruit Quiz

 1 Peter 3:8-12 (The Message)

 

Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing. Whoever wants to embrace life and see the day fill up with good, Here’s what you do: Say nothing evil or hurtful; Snub evil and cultivate good; run after peace for all you’re worth. God looks on all this with approval, listening and responding well to what he’s asked; But he turns his back on those who do evil things.

This was the verse I was greeted with this morning when I opened up my bible app. Some people immediately came to mind. The words of Jesus that you will know people by their fruit came to me as well. As I checked off my mental list of prominent people, the uneasy feeling of how my mouth as sometimes belied my faith washed over me. And I had to admit, sometimes my fruit isn't all that great.

Jesus said to be wary of those who claim to be Christians but never show fruit consistent with that claim. But I must look to myself as well.  Am I bearing good fruit that shows my faith is genuine? Does sarcasm come from my lips? Do I diligently work for peace? Do I say hurtful things? Am I humble and compassionate?  If I am being honest, I have to say sometimes I fail that quiz.

Right now I'm thinking I'm not alone in this. Whew! But God has called me to look at my own heart. So I will do all I can to control my own mouth. To strive to speak words of peace, not division. To avoid using zingers to put down. To speak graciously to all, especially to those who oppose. 

Proverbs says gentle words turn away wrath. It's almost a daunting task to take on, but I have help from God. What he expects of Christians, he will supply the strength to do. 

Blessing in Disguise

 Sixteen weeks. That's how long it has been since I broke my leg. I'm still wearing the boot and using the walker, but I have recently been able to put weight on it. I cannot begin to say how much joy it brings. My hands have sore calluses from bearing my weight on hard walker handles. Now I only use the walker to steady myself. My leg and ankle muscles are quite weak from disuse. In two weeks I get another set of x-rays and am hoping they will say I no longer have to wear the boot. I will still need the walker for some time until my muscles have strengthened. But that will come. 

A week or two back I had a long conversation with my pastor. One of the topics we touched on was the accident. She remarked that I seemed to be more at peace. I am, and that is no accident. We agreed God did not cause me to break my leg, but the accident wasn't prevented by Divine intervention either. It's pretty clear it was a life-changing event. Faced with an extended leave of absence, eventually money would have run out. I was forced to take early retirement.

The job I had was fast-paced and demanding. I was there for over sixteen years. During those years I worked with five managers with enough temperamental differences I sometimes suffered mental whiplash. Bipolar disorder made it even more challenging. One particular boss had little patience. I struggled during her tenure with a complete breakdown. And medications were making me forgetful. I had to take an extended leave of absence to save my job. I am very fortunate my employer was sympathetic and I was not terminated. A lot of people with mental illness suffer job loss even with the ADA. I will always be grateful for the library standing by me. 

This broken leg, as trying as it has been, has resulted in my no longer having to take blood pressure medication. I also get better sleep. And even when sleep isn't good, I no longer face a high stress eight hour day with diminished mental acuity and physical stamina. Yes, God didn't cause it, but he allowed it. He understood my anxieties and steered me in the direction I needed to go. 

A verse from Psalm 139 came to mind this morning: ...all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. God knows our comings and goings. He hems us in from every side. I could wish my leg had never been broken, but I would have continued on the same path and stayed in turmoil. Instead, God used my misfortune to rescue me and put my life on a new trajectory. Contrary to some teachings, blessings rarely mean money, ease, and a carefree life. Jesus said blessed are the poor. I now see my accident as a blessing and I thank God. His blessings truly make rich the soul.

Journey to Justice

 I used to say I’m colorblind. It seemed the right way to think. But my mindset has changed and I embrace differences in color and culture because it validates identity. I believe everyone has a spark of the divine image of God and dignity within them. That’s why the voices calling for racial justice and equality matter. That’s why my voice joins with them.

I grew up in a white suburb of Kansas City. Maybe that was intentional on the part of the developers. I don’t know. The only time I saw people who weren’t white was when we journeyed south of the river to shop downtown, go to the zoo, or to the Air Force base. I’m certain I stared. We always returned to the insulated neighborhood in which we lived.

I finally encountered people of color when I went to college, though not many attended the university. It was moving to cheaper housing that brought me into a predominately Black neighborhood. I was the only white person in my apartment building. There I saw financial insecurity, the result of redlined segregation. Though I made friends, I was called out for white privilege. It just wasn’t labeled by that name yet. I had everything I needed and much of what I wanted courtesy of just being white and having parents who could foot the bill. The cards were stacked in my favor.

I’m aware the doors of financial, educational, and employment opportunities have opened for me that are frequently denied people of color. Black, Latinx, Asian, and Indigenous peoples have been systematically denied equal power and wealth. Desegregation was supposed to erase the disparity between the urban core neighborhoods and schools and the white suburbs, but in reality hasn’t

I now live in a diverse urban neighborhood. My church is one of the only Presbyterian churches in the city that is racially mixed. It was there as I made friends that I learned what walking or driving while Black meant if stopped by the police. My fear mingled with that of a mother who told me how her teenaged son and daughter were loaded into a police car simply because they were walking down the sidewalk. They grilled them, then let them go. They were actually looking for an older Black man. So why stop them? It’s traumatizing for people when they are immediately suspect just for the color of their skin.

 Black lives matter. The lives of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor mattered. So, too, the many other lives lost to unjustifiable lethal action. I struggle with the injustice I have seen and heard about. Sometimes I cry. It’s grief mingled with anger. Anger that must be channeled into positive action to bring justice and peace. Jesus said we would always have the poor, but what we do about it will matter when we are judged.

God is not a Republican. God is not a Democrat, either. Jesus is his face to us and he was not about keeping the status quo.  He ushered in a new kingdom in which we are to love and help the poor and needy, the disenfranchised and downtrodden. It’s not enough to say racism is wrong. Anti-racism must be our goal: to root out racism in our institutions including the church. And I must also seek to uncover my own hidden biases. The time has come for racial reconciliation and restitution. The church must take the first step. Then those who finally know justice will also know peace.

Paul's Question

Late last night I could not rest. The latest pronouncement from the nation's capital was completely mind-blowing and utterly disturbing. It was such a giant open threat that would overturn my life and the lives of everyone else who get by with social security income. I couldn't believe it at first, but then I considered the person behind the statement and realized he'd do it if he weren't thwarted. It would be a national disaster. 

So I tossed and turned. Even my sleep meds couldn't shut my mind down. Then I laid there awhile thinking of worship songs and praying for help. Just, "help." Then my prayer grew a little longer and deeper, though a simple "help" is pretty deep prayer when words fail. As I paused, scripture came to mind. I remembered most of the passage, but not all. So I got up and went to the living room and got my bible. 

I found it where I thought it was. Romans 8:26-39. I'm only going to put parts in here. Please read it in its entirety. In fact, read the whole chapter. It will reclaim you if you have been struggling. But verses 26-27 tell us the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs and groanings only God can understand. You have the Holy Spirit praying for you! 

    

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. Verse 28. This verse has been taken out of context all too often. Usually, just the first half is tossed out as a comforting verse, but it has to be connected to the following verses 29-30. 

For those whom he foreknew, he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.

Things work out for good because his purpose is to transform us. And that is good news! However, transformation comes at a cost. The first cost was the Crucifixion. And Jesus clearly said to be his disciples we also had to suffer. The servant is not greater than the Master. So, Paul asks a question in the next verse (31a). What then are we to say about these things? This arduous journey we take through transformation can be a struggle, and sometimes painful as we die to our sinful flesh and grow into mature spiritual beings. Like Jesus. But take heart, Paul went on to give very encouraging words. 

If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Verses 31b-34. Those should make us feel secure. We are free from sin's death power.  Jesus is also interceding along with the Holy Spirit. They've got us covered. 

Paul closes with an even more potent passage that is for our upended crazy world. Global warming, multispecies extinctions due to overkill and loss of habitat, lack of prey, and pollution. The pandemic, the collapse of the economy. The racism that permeates the world and our nation in particular. The government's inactions and actions. The fighting and the gun violence. The wars, terrorism, and famines. The list could go on, but Paul has said we are predestined to glory and there is hope for us now.

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written: For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered. No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Verses 35-39

We are secure in hearing God speak to us. Nothing can separate us from God's love. Neither things present of which I listed some, nor things to come. The future is the great unknown. What's happening now will affect the future in unpredictable ways and even if we could predict, it would be overwhelming and frightening. But Paul says we are more than conquerors in the midst. 

Anxiety, anger, fear, and grief surrender to the all-encompassing love of God through Christ Jesus our Lord. Paul's words invite peace. They invite courage. I have had visions of things going from bad to worse. And maybe they will. But I am a conqueror and nothing, absolutely nothing can separate me from God's love. In answer to Paul's question, this is what I have to say about all these things.  

Citizens of Heaven

Anger is a double-edged sword. It can cut through the crap or cut through the heart in damaging ways. Lately I  have been angry with differing results. Some of it has been appropriate in light of certain issues, but it also has been harmful to me. The fact is, the people I have been most angry with are not within earshot. And frankly, probably could care less if they knew. The net result is a simmering self that only damages my heart. This true of everyone. We pierce ourselves when the sun sets on our anger.

A couple of days ago I was considering the state of our nation and the multiple crises sweeping it, the government's response and the anger came on. It swept me along and I couldn't stop the furious thoughts that overtook me. Suddenly in the midst of the clamor, I heard a still small voice. It cut through the cacophony as though it was bellowing, but it was a mere whisper: "You are not a citizen of the world."

I knew I had heard God. There was an immediate cessation of thoughts and I was left with just one response: "But I have to live in it." As soon as it slipped out I thought "oops" and I repented. But today I realize it was a legitimate thought. I just phrased it wrong. It should have been a question: "How do I live in the world then?" That would have been an appropriate response to God's message to me.

My anger has stemmed from the hard hearts and harshness of so many people. Of the vitriol that politicians are spouting. Of the horrid racism that is exploding from some in response to the legitimate protests. But I recognize anger rarely changes hearts. So, what would Jesus do? Really. I can get an idea from his prayer he told his disciples to pray. "Thy kingdom come on earth as it is heaven."

God's kingdom is marked by love, compassion, mercy, and justice. 

Love as in accepting people as they are and where they are and loving them unconditionally. That can be challenging if you are busy judging them by their actions and lifestyles. So stop it. Everyone bears the image of God.

Compassion as in helping those in need. Feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and incarcerated. It's characterized as supplying worldly treasures to help the poor, just as Jesus told the rich young ruler to do. It's hard when you think God's blessing is based on possessing wealth. It's to share.

Mercy as in forgiving and placing yourself in the shoes of others. Everyone has a story. Unless you listen to it you will never be free of judgemental thinking. Yes, sometimes people create their own traumas, but no one wakes up and says "today I will ruin my life." Think of the mistakes you have made that were life-altering and show some mercy.

Justice as in seeing that the poor are not trampled down even more than their humble estate has left them. It is working toward anti-racism and racial reconciliation. It is finding alternatives to incarceration which does nothing to rehabilitate. It is challenging policies that work against justice for the vulnerable. Read the book of Proverbs and see how much is dedicated to justice. It will change the way you think if you allow the Holy Spirit to instruct you. So read it.

Above all, pray for those who rule that their eyes may be opened to see Jesus and for peace in our land.

 

We are citizens of heaven, but we live in the world. So let's live like Jesus died for everyone. 

Fear of Falling

I'm afraid of falling. Literally terrified of falling. The painful recovery from my broken leg has put fear in me in a new twist. I have taken dives throughout my life and gotten up, dusted myself off, and kept going. But a shattered leg changed that. I have osteoporosis. Another fall could mean another broken bone. I will get treatment for it. But if my mind returns to the injury event my heart rate goes up and I physically cringe. It's disturbing. But other things are even more disturbing.

I have a fear of falling spiritually as well. I have found myself with plenty of free time between broken leg, pandemic, and retirement to ponder my true condition. My prayer life is not spectacular and I only read a chapter or so of the bible daily. What I am furiously doing is pondering the state of our nation, politics, and racial injustice. I'm angry.

I tell myself it's righteous anger and I honestly believe much of it is. But anger without mercy is just anger and does little to promote peace and unity. I am righteously angry about the wolves in sheep's clothing ravishing the Church. Many claim to be God's instrument and voice, but have no compassion. They are whitewashed tombs. They are Pharisees. They are not gathering. They are scattering lives.

Then there are the wealthy who clamor for even more money breaking the hope of the poor and disenfranchised. They rob those with little for their ungodly greed. The prophet Nathan called out David for taking the one wife of Uriah when he had hundreds of concubines. Nathan likened him to a rich man stealing a poor man's single lamb for his feast when he had a huge flock. The love of money is indeed the root of all sorts of evil. 

I could go on, but my anger is coming back and lest I fall into hardheartedness, I must ask for mercy,  for me and for those who clamor for their way or the highway.  They breathe injustice. Jesus said, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." Those words still resonate today for those who would rush to crucify him anew in their blindness. Would I? Would you? Consider your answer prayerfully. 

Fear of falling. We should all take that to heart. God forgive our unrighteous anger and spur us on to merciful actions with anger that is justified. Then let us walk in peace knowing we have done all we can to shine a light in a very dark world. 

Grace for This Time

It’s getting old, this broken leg and hopping about with a walker. I go from bed to recliner and short forays elsewhere in the house. The only place I’ve gone since the first week of May has been one trip for x-rays. I’m stir crazy, depressed, and bored. I can only read and write so much. TV is mind-numbing; so are games. Even hospital stays were more stimulating.

My next outing will be the end of July for more x-rays to see if my leg is healed enough to allow walking. It’s a little over four weeks away but seems an eternity. I’ve been through dark times before, but at least I could get out of the house. Ennui has me in its grip. I miss working, the people I worked with and helping the public. I worked there for over sixteen years, and even though retiring is for the best, I haven’t fully processed what is a major life event.

That change no doubt contributes to my depression. There is an end in sight for my walker days, but retiring is a whole other thing. I tell myself I can always work part-time and I think of the volunteer opportunities to help people. I will look for those, but the library was a multifaceted job. My job duties were so varied. I never knew what the next question would be. And it provided professional as well as personal growth opportunities.

I’m grateful for having had that job and that employer. My mental health issues were accommodated for me to keep working. Over the years, I worked for six different managers and only one was not understanding or supportive. Those were dark days, but with God’s grace I kept my job.

As I have been writing this I have begun to feel a little lighter. Putting my thoughts down always helps. I’m sorry for those who are told to suck it up when they struggle. God doesn’t say that in the bible. The overarching message is grace extended to us in whatever state we are in. In human flesh, God came to know homelessness, hunger, fatigue, and suffering. Jesus walked in our shoes and understands. So I turn to him in my weakness knowing he doesn’t say pull up your big girl panties and I am grateful.

The Salt of the Earth

I recently had a Sunday off due to weather conditions and thought I'd try to find a church service on TV. I wasn't filled with hope, but found one and was halfheartedly watching, not liking the music. Still, I thought I'd stick it out a little longer for the sermon. The pastor was unassuming and had a lackluster style, but I decided to listen in spite of the impulse to turn it off. I was glad I did. His message was so on target. God was definitely speaking.

The scripture text was from the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus told the people they were salt to the world, but his sermon wasn't saying to go beat the bushes for Christ. Rather he talked about how precious a commodity salt was to those who were listening to Jesus. It only takes a little to pleasantly season food to make it desirable. And just as too much salt can ruin a dish and waste the food, a heavy-handed evangelizing approach can drive people away.

I thought about times when I said too much and turned people off. I also thought about the times I had used the bible as a handbook of sin to judge people. I cringed when I considered all of it. I then thought about the times those things were done to me in the name of Jesus and how I felt: hurt, bewildered, turned off, angry.  Not a good result for soul winners.

 Maybe getting older means getting wiser. I'm not nearly as anxious as I once was when faced with opposition to the gospel. I find myself speaking more often in measured responses. I find my judgment has been tempered with grace and mercy, realizing sometimes I'm just to pray quietly in my closet. It doesn't mean I never speak. It means I put myself in someone's shoes. I recall all the issues I've struggled with through the years and how very unhelpful many Christians have been. Quick to quote scripture in hurtful ways to show how far I have missed the mark. I have witnessed firsthand how many Christians beat those who don't share the faith instead of seasoning their words lightly with the salt of Christ.

It's a fearful thing to judge others. Jesus said the measure we use to judge is the measure by which we will be judged. I don't know about you, but that gives me pause. I've read through the bible many times, and the gospels countless times. Jesus seemed to save his words of judgment for the religious. The people just struggling to get by in faith were encouraged. He said his yoke is easy. This is the Savior who said be salt to the world. Take the burden off the shoulders of the poor and needy. Give gentle words to those who are unkind to you. Be merciful to the unjust, and help those who struggle. As scripture says, taste and see the Lord is good.

Racial Reconciliation

I am witnessing one of the most momentous times in our society I can remember. I lived through the Civil Rights era, the Vietnam war, the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the protests that were a part of those events. But what is happening now feels different. There is a solidarity that was missing in the past. There is also considerably less violence.

Yes, there was some looting, but the few people who do that are not the change agents who are peacefully protesting under their first amendment rights. Rioting hasn’t been widespread either. Not like I remember in the 60s. It has been subdued. And those who lost control are the most disenfranchised, whose voices have been ignored for so long they exploded in the face of resistance from authority. No, the majority is an amazing mix of races and ethnic groups, male and female, adults, teens and children. All marching together to say they want change to come at last.

There has been a widespread groundswell of response from all sectors of society, government, and business. Statues are toppling, some forcibly, some by policy makers in recognition the people are speaking. I heard it said if a person kidnapped your child and sold them, where would you want the statue of that person placed? Cuts to the heart of it. From a purely constitutional standpoint, the Confederates were traitors who actively turned on and killed fellow citizens in order to keep slaves. States rights was central to keeping slaves. Nothing glorious about that.

Some white people are already saying it’s too much. They aren’t racist so they shouldn’t have to listen this much. But true reconciliation cannot happen without hearing the whole truth and admitting our complicity in systemic racism even if we personally never acted ill toward people of color. There can be no reconciliation without sacrifice. Jesus demonstrated this. We can’t deny our complicity in his death.

This principle applies to the heritage of our black brothers and sisters, whose ancestors built much of American for free and not because they volunteered to. Those whose ancestors were routinely terrorized as they tried to build lives for themselves after they were freed. And in our times, we now incarcerate blacks fourteen times more often than their white counterparts. Walking or driving while black presents a whole set of issues unless you stay in your part of town.

I used to say I’m colorblind, but now I realize how mistaken that is. God made us different colors because it pleased him. He isn’t colorblind. To say we don’t see our differences is to devalue a nonwhite person’s culture and heritage. To recognize and appreciate our differences makes it possible to learn from one another. Yes, we are all children of God, regardless of our skin color, but rejoice in God’s creational purposes.

Seeing blatant racism is easy. But it's much harder to admit we have lived with white privilege for so long that we truly are not anti-racist. That means being intentional in listening and recognizing if you are having a knee-jerk reaction or want to argue why African Americans are asking too much. No. No they aren’t and if you think they are, you need to take your thoughts and heart before Jesus in abject recognition you are a part of the problem.

Be a changemaker. Be a peacemaker. Draw the circle larger to include more than those in your neighborhood and church. Love justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.

I Won't Give Up, But Damn It Hurts

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.

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.

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.