The Vanity Plates

 My late husband’s car bore a set of vanity license plates that few could decipher. Two words spelled: “M-Y T-H-O.”  (My Tho). He had to pronounce it for me: “Me Thoe.” I stopped calling them vanity plates when he told me it was a small place where he had been stationed for a while when he served in Vietnam.

It was a leap for him. He hadn’t talked much about his time in Vietnam and I never pressed him. When he got the license plates, he told me about his experience coming home from the war. It was 1969 and he was required to travel in uniform. When he landed back in the States it was very noticeable that no one greeted him. When he looked at people, they would avert their eyes. The only eye contact was from those who returned his glances with hostile stares. The message was clear. He was very unwelcome.

After he got out of the army, he disposed of his uniform and tossed his ribbons and medals, wanting nothing to do with the service. I believe he felt betrayed. He was exposed to nightly mortar attacks, the occasional sniper, his position was overrun in the TET Offensive, he was exposed to Agent Orange, and no thanks came from his fellow citizens.

It was about 40 years after his return when he began to be more open about his service. It took fellow Vietnam veterans to greet him as they recognized what was stamped on the car tags. Then he donned a 9^th Infantry Vietnam Veteran ballcap and began to hear “Thank you for your service." He gradually reacquired the ribbons and medals he had earned and began to write about his experiences in the Army and Vietnam. I believe more than anything, he wanted his son to know and to feel the pride he had felt in uniform.

Among the military records I requested and received was the notice he had been awarded the Army Commendation Medal, but no reason was given for it. I never knew he had received it until after his death.

By the time he died, he was 100% disabled due to Agent Orange exposure. I watched him slowly waste away. I buried him in Leavenworth National Cemetery with military honors. It was the last “Thank you” for the honorable service he gave his country.

I lost track of the My Tho plates. They were probably disposed of at some point when we downsized to one car. Now I wish I had them. I would display them with the pride he regained, and the pride I had always had in him.

The Relentless Grief

As I write this, it’s been 196 days since my husband’s death. It still feels like he just died. There has been no break in the grieving process. It’s relentless. I don’t like euphemisms that call what happened anything other than “death”, “died”, or “dead.” He “passed” or “went home” minimizes the stark reality of his endless absence. There is no way to soften it. Any attempt to do so doesn’t lessen the grief and sometimes makes me angry. Just call it what it is. 

I tell myself people mean well and that there is an awkwardness, a not knowing how to speak to me of his death. I can’t fault people for that. Unless a person’s spouse has died, they cannot begin to understand. And even then, they cannot truly comprehend my grief, nor I theirs. The grief process is unique to everyone. No one can tell me how to grieve, how long to grieve, or when and how to show grief. I have intentionally distanced myself from people in my life who are toxic to the process with their platitudes, or worse, impatient expectations. I have to in order to survive, and hopefully heal as much as is possible living without my husband.

 I know this with absolute certainty: I will never be the same. My life is forever changed. How it will all play out, I don’t know. But I am required to get up each day and face his absence, sleep in a half-empty bed, and live in a solitude I wasn’t prepared for even though I knew his death was imminent. Death is a shock whenever it comes. The heart and soul are never ready for the death of a loved one. There is no escaping this grief. It just is. 

The Firsts

I'm struggling to put my thoughts on paper. I'm trying but this will be an unformed, disorganized stream of consciousness. I'm too exhausted to focus.

Yesterday would have been Will's 77th birthday. It was a difficult day. They all are, but this was more so. My sister came over a bit and I was distracted for the duration so the pain was in the background. She's also a widow and has been through all the firsts. 

Then I spent an hour beginning the organization of Will's writings for the book he had been working on before Alzheimer's took away his ability to focus. Now his desk is covered with piles of papers. I knew when I began the preliminary shuffling it would stay that way for an indeterminate length of time. I don't know when I will be able to do any more than what I did. But it was something I could do for my late husband's birthday. There was no birthday greeting from me, no hug and kiss, no carefully chosen gift for him. 

Yesterday was the first of the firsts. In less than a month will be our wedding anniversary. It would have been our 37th. I have no words. I don't believe there are any; maybe never. 

There is Jesus

The curser has been blinking at me for an undetermined length of time. I stare at it, close my eyes for a bit, and when I reopen them it's still there, blinking in the same spot. I'm struggling to put my thoughts down and it's not happening. The physical, mental, and emotional fatigue is overwhelming. The few sentences just written have taken almost a half hour. 

I don't know why I'm even trying to write. The normal desire to write is absent. It's not writer's block. It's a creative lethargy, as though all the soul energy has been drained from me. A haze has descended and I am groping for words. My few thoughts are scattered like car headlights as they try to pierce fog. This must be a manifestation of grief. It's showing up in various ways: the inability to engage in meaningful conversation, difficulty making decisions, however insignificant, and an empty-headedness crudely attempting to block the realization I will soon be very alone. 

It was suggested I'd feel a little better after vacuuming as if grief can be neatly sucked up and deposited in a trash bag to be put at the curb. I'm just scratching at the surface of grief. I know it's deep, frighteningly deep. There is a precipice I don't want to fall over. But I have an inkling there will be little I can control in this process. It makes me think of the Joni Mitchell song, The Circle Game, to be "captive on the carousel of life...and go round and round and round in the circle game." There is no escape. There are delaying tactics, avoidance, and shutting down, but no escape.

I think this is going to be a long, difficult journey and I'm dreading it. I'm afraid of it. 

But there is Jesus.

And he promised to be with me unto the end of the age. 

A Life Well Lived

Will has gone home. It's been five days since he passed. I can't decide if the days have flown by or dragged. I only know I'm exhausted and so very grieved. I'm still running on autopilot to a degree. I have allowed myself times of weeping, but there is so much to do. There must have been a time of simple death, with only the wealthy and powerful having death rituals requiring planning. Now, death is an event to plan for no matter what your station in life. Were my son not with me, I'd be overwhelmed. 

There is so much I could write, but my mind is struggling to put words together. I will just leave you with Will's obituary. 

William Paul Howard

Obituary

 

William (Will) Paul Howard, 76, went home to be with the Lord on Saturday, February 17, 2024, after a prolonged illness. He was preceded in death by his parents Leonard and Mary (Hart) Howard. He is survived by his wife, Susan Arlene (Hover) Howard, son Matthew William Howard, and siblings John Howard, Connie (Howard) Gross, Tim Howard, and CeCe (Howard) McGuiness, as well as numerous in-laws, nieces, nephews, and cousins.

Will was born August 2, 1947, in Kansas City, MO, his lifelong home.  He attended Bishop Hogan and Southwest High Schools. He went on to earn his GED, an Associates Degree from the Metropolitan Community Colleges, and a Bachelor of Arts from Ottawa University, where he graduated Magna Cum Laude. He was a Professional Member of the Missouri Addictions Counselors Association.

He enlisted in the United States Army in 1966, first serving with the 3rd United States Infantry Regiment, The Old Guard. He served a tour in Vietnam from 1967 to 1968 with the 9th Infantry Division, achieving the rank of SP5 as an artillery sight repairman. He was Honorably Discharged in 1969.

Will wore many hats throughout his professional career: soldier, jeweler, certified substance abuse counselor, assistant to the director of the Kansas City Rescue Mission (Shelter KC) and Commissioned Lay Pastor of St. Matthew Presbyterian Church before entering full retirement.

He married the love of his life Susan on October 3, 1987, and they were married for 36 years until his passing. Together they brought their beloved son Matthew into the world on September 13, 1989.

He had many hobbies that expressed his creativity and left a lasting legacy. He was a self-taught musician who played bass, Irish flute, and mandolin. As a craftsman, he carved his own Irish flutes and fashioned cigar-box banjos. He took a course in sound engineering and recording from Chapman Recording Studio and produced albums and recordings of live performances for local musicians. Will and his wife Susan, a singer-songwriter, produced several albums together in the late 80s and early 90s. He was also a painter, using watercolors to capture beautiful landscapes—often based on his photographs. His greatest love was photography, at which he excelled, capturing poignant photographs through the years. He received honors for a photo taken in Vietnam displayed in an exhibition at the Springfield Museum of Art. He was also a published author, writing about his war experiences.

Will’s Celebration of Life will be Sunday, March 10, 3:00 p.m. at the South-Broadland Presbyterian Church, 7850 Holmes Road, Kansas City, MO 64131. Interment will be at a later date at the Leavenworth National Cemetery.

Contributions in Will’s memory may be made to Bomb Techs Without Borders. This small but capable international non-profit is dedicated to removing explosive remnants of war from the world. They have been providing training and assistance to Ukrainian explosive clearance agencies since 2022 and publish free guides and references in use by bomb technicians around the globe. It was founded by Will’s son Matthew, of whom he was justifiably proud. (www.btwob.org)

 

The Last Breath

 I'm exhausted. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind, yet paradoxically unfolding in slo-mo. Will is under round-the-clock hospice care now. They do not expect him to live past the weekend. It happened so suddenly. One day, very weak, yet still talking and even cracking a joke. The following day, going comatose. Our son had to carry him from a chair to the bedroom. Some of Will's last words to his son were his concern that he not hurt his back carrying him. True Will. Always looking out for others first. He lost consciousness and has not regained it. Twenty-four hours have passed and he shows no sign of anything but the slow descent into death. 

Tuesday, while he was still able to talk, I asked him what his favorite bible verse was. He struggled to think and I suggested he not try to come up with the address, but tell me the gist of it and I'd find it. His face brightened and he said, "Do unto others..." (Luke 6:31). I fought tears because it was the perfect verse to sum up his life. Will has always lived by the "Golden Rule." 

From his time in Vietnam taking care of his buddies, his integrity as a jeweler always careful to give his best work for an honest fee, to his days working with the unhoused men, addicts, and mentally ill while employed at a rescue mission. He cared for them. They weren't scary or smelly they were children of God made in his image and Will treated them with kindness, dignity, and compassion, judging none. He knew most of them by name and would greet them on the streets. His final service to God and people was the years he filled the pulpit at St. Matthew Presbyterian Church, ministering to an aging church. He was loved back just as he loved them. 

His life was full of far-flung experiences. Though he received hard knocks and lived through broken relationships, and difficult circumstances, he held fast to faith in a loving Lord and knew his service was not in vain, but in a sure reward. In his 60s, armed with only a GED, he earned a bachelor's degree in Human Services, completing his life's focus. 

When he breathes his last, he will be received with the words: "Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of the Lord." And I will be forced to cling to the knowledge of his reward and joy knowing I'm left behind to do life without him. I'm hurting because the time is close that he will be taken away from the bed we have shared for nearly 37 years. His frail body will be cremated and his ashes buried in a VA National Cemetery with military honors. I will give the flag to our son who also served in the Army. 

People have been coming over to the house to say goodbye to him. I know they need to. I've been assured the last thing to go is the hearing, so he's hearing how loved he truly is. I have spent time telling him I've always loved him. But I've also given him permission to let go and go to the light. That we will be okay. I want no regrets. I want him to go in pure peace on his way to see his Lord's face. 

My heart is breaking. My son's heart is breaking. Yet we have agreed to be strong for each other. The time of private grief will come. Then the work of living without him will begin. The ache will always be there, but gradually better memories than the prior few years of decline from Alzheimer's will make it more bearable. 

Life continues and it will be up to me what I write in the book of my life as I go forward. I pray I, too, will be remembered as one who did unto others what I would want done to me. I cannot think of a better legacy to honor my husband and our Lord. 

Courage to Face the Day

 As I write this, my heart is heavy. My husband is drawing closer to leaving this world. I don't know how much time he has. It could be a few months, or sooner, or perhaps longer. But he's not eating anymore. He's skeletal and frail. He is in hospice care and has visits every couple of days with a nurse and a home health aide. A social worker and a chaplain visit monthly. I'm so grateful for the extra care being provided. It means he can stay home. 

I'm on autopilot. His needs are paramount and I want to be sure he's comfortable knowing he is loved and cared for. I want no regrets. There is no time to grieve or fall apart. I need to be strong and so far, God has kept me going on little sleep, and a not-so-good diet. It's hard to eat well right now. Cooking would take me away from him and he's not eating whatever I make. When I do eat, it's generally snacking on comfort foods.  

I can no longer leave him alone. So I do all I can by digital means. Grocery shopping and other needs are delivered. I sometimes do leave, though. One brother comes on Sunday mornings so I can go to church where I find comfort and renewal. One friend has offered to walk the dog for me, which is a wonderful gift. Poor Murray has been consigned to only the backyard for his outdoor time. 

Our son is coming home for a month in a few more days. He will take care of some overdue home maintenance for me, and my husband will be buoyed by his presence. I'm so looking forward to having him here. Together we will make some hard decisions and talk about a different-looking future.

This isn't what I thought my life would be like. Then again, I don't know that I had a specific vision in mind. Just growing older together. I must now do life alone. 

On Epiphany Sunday, my pastor handed out paper stars that had a single word on them. Each star was different and we didn't know what we would draw. The one I picked had "Courage" on it. God is amazing. When I feel weak and tired, when I begin to fear the future, I look at my star and remember the Source of my courage to face each day. And just as the star guided the Magi to the King, I'm being guided by the Light of the world. I'm not wandering aimlessly. There is a destination, a glorious one.

I don't know when my husband will take his last breath. Then there will be so many things to attend to. The business of dying goes on for a while after that last breath. But the day will come when I will find the space and time to grieve. For now, I stay focused on the next need, and the Lord walks with me; now and then carrying me. By God's grace, I will stay strong and take good courage. 

2023--What a Year

  I published this last year. I updated it for this year, but didn't change the lessons. I decided as I read through it this morning that the experiences remained pretty much the same. I truly don't think it's because I didn't learn from them. I did, but things have stayed the same except for one thing: God kept his word when it comes to tithing faithfully. Our debts kept getting worse through unavoidable events. No fault was involved. I admit, that my fears and anxiety were heavy upon me, but I kept tithing even though our outgoing money was increasing. 

Then another budget-crushing item happened and I felt we could no longer tithe. I told this to the church finance secretary. Within the month, an enormous amount of money came in and I was able to pay off all our debt. And because Will's VA disability rating was increased, we are getting more money each month. I could have never predicted this and just when I had given up hope, God proved his promises are sure. He is faithful to keep his word. He took my fear and anxiety and turned them into rejoicing. The following paragraphs are from last year:

New Year's Day is tomorrow and I'm not making any resolutions. My prior experience has taught me I rarely keep them for more than a month. Honestly, I have only made them because there is an unwritten rule in our society that we need to promise ourselves we will set goals for the coming year. A lot of folks do, but like me, they rarely keep up with whatever expectations they have placed on themselves, which leads to a degree of self-shaming, or worse leads to continued unhealthy behaviors that can get worse than they were before swearing off them. 

I prefer to look back and see what I've learned in the past year. I may take those lessons to heart and by grace live by them in the coming year. One lesson I've learned this past year: I set myself up for failure when I place unrealistic expectations on myself. It's taken a long time to learn that lesson. For example, I was published in a prestigious journal this past year, and immediately I felt the bar of writing well raised exponentially. I was placing an expectation on myself to write beyond my current capabilities. What was published was written in a flash from pure inspiration. It's impossible to write at that level all the time. Writing is actually grunt work most of the time. Writing to learn to write better is what all authors do. It may be a while before I write something that good again. But I shall continue to write. No writing is ever wasted.

Trusting God to protect the people I love has been a lesson in 2023. I would like to say I've got it down pat, but that would be a questionable statement. So I will say God has protected people I love dearly this past year in spite of the true danger surrounding them. I want to trust he will do so in the coming year. Paul was stoned, whipped, and imprisoned, yet God protected him from death until his race was complete. Struck down, at times perplexed, facing the answer of "No" to some prayers, yet trusting his Savior to keep him safe to do what he was anointed to do. I must do the same, having seen God's protective providence in action. 

Finally, I've learned I must be at peace about things I have no control over. Health concerns and financial difficulties, to name a couple. There are more I won't go into, but I'm called to be at peace knowing things may not improve and in fact, some will get worse and I'm powerless to stop it. God has called me to bear a burden that only he can enable me to bear. And in the midst of it, I am to be at peace. A peace that passes all understanding. 

So here's to 2024. May all God's children find joy, peace, and grace to enable them to overcome the world. Jesus will return and as he asked, will he find faith? 

I want to raise my hand and say here I am, I have faith. 

The Gift of the Incarnation

I have published this before. I wrote it several years before my mother's passing. I offer it as an annual Christmas essay:

 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 a 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’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.

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 rat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that rats 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 rat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and rats 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. 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 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.

Empty Places At the Table

 Today, December 19, is the tenth anniversary of my mother's death. Every year I grow depressed during the Christmas season, knowing there are empty places at our Christmas table: my father, my brother-in-law, and my mother. I suppose some think I should be beyond the grief, but grief has no timetable. Arbitrarily assigning an expiration date for grief is like comparing it to a can of green beans. That minimizes and invalidates emotions that were God-created as part of our existence. That ability to feel joy and sorrow is a reality we live with. 

I was with my mother when she took her last breath. And even though I knew she was seeing the face of her Savior and no longer suffering, I broke down in uncontrollable sobs. My mother was no longer there to mother me even as an adult. Her love, her wisdom, her experience, gone in an instant. I'm choking up as I write this.

We still gathered for Christmas dinner. I still went to the Christmas Eve service. I went through the expected motions, but inside my heart was broken and emotions were extremely difficult to maintain. But I was able to make it through, swallowing my pain as was required, only making the grief more intense. 

My mother wished to be cremated and was. But for some reason, her ashes were assigned to me for safekeeping until her memorial service and interment. I numbly accepted the container and kept it as carefully as possible. I felt the sting of tears every time I looked at it. I wrote the tribute from my brother and sister, and me that was read at the memorial service. A nephew read it. There was no way I could have. I don't know if I still have it. I'm doubly sorrowful if I don't have it saved somewhere. 

My mother was laid to rest with my father at Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. Once a year I drive there to visit and leave red roses, my parents' favorite flower. I cannot hold back the tears as I look at their simple white marker. I don't even make the attempt not to and there is no shame attached to the tears there. It's been ten years, yet feels fresh all over again today. 

I genuinely pray no one truly thinks I should be over it by now, that I should move on, because that exposes a degree of hardheartedness and a lack of grace and mercy. But I know there likely are some who feel that way. My grief is what it is. I cannot shut it off on command. I don't know when I will mark this anniversary with only fond memories and no tears. I do not place that burden on me and hope my readers will follow suit. 

My greatest comfort comes from the knowledge God accepts my pain. Even though I know my mother is with him and has unending joy in his presence. Even though I have every confidence I will see her again and that is a cause for rejoicing, it is tempered by grief and may still be for a long time. I don't know. But I refuse to be ashamed of it because my Savior is not ashamed of me for struggling this time of year. I can kneel before the manger and know I am accepted just as I am. Emotions included. 

The empty places at the table will always remind me of my loss. But it is also a means by which I honor the memory of my loved ones no longer with me. They are not forgotten. They are honored. My tears are there, but that's okay. God granted permission when Jesus wept over the death of his good friend Lazarus. If my Savior cries, then I can, too. It's called grace.

The Hoary Heads Weighed Down

 Some of you may be headed to your dictionary to look up "hoary" never having seen it before. I believe it may only be found in the King James Version, (Leviticus 19:32 and Proverbs 16:31). Since that is the version I was raised with, having been given my own copy at the age of ten, I learned quite a few archaic words that stretched my vocabulary at that young age. Thee, thou, yea, and all the "eths" seem so dated, because, well, they are. The only other accepted Lutheran translation at that time, the Revised Standard Version, I received at the age of eight. I  used some of my own money to finally buy a more modern translation at 16. Though it proved easier to read and understand, I was so used to the poetic nature of the Psalms it proved difficult to appreciate the newer version. So I read both versions to satisfy my need for bible study. I'm so glad I did.

Now that I've provided some background, I will get to my point in this blog entry. I spent the morning crying after I got up (about 4:15 a.m.). So many emotions and observations overwhelmed me and I did what I do best to relieve the pressure of knowing some things are not right in my world. For that matter, in the world at large. The hoary-headed are no longer valued in our society. There was a time, as recently as the 20th century when the elderly were revered for having acquired much experience and wisdom as a result and were sought out for advice and insight gained by having been through so much. 

That's no longer the case. Many times, the hoary-headed ones, (including myself at 68), are dismissed, devalued, ignored, even ridiculed, and abused. I don't know if it's because younger generations haven't been raised to respect the older members of families and society. There is growing resentment of my generation because some have been successful financially, forgetting the ones who gave up careers to raise children at home. Putting a career on hold means the earning power and opportunities for advancement in employment for women are gone for good. Working in the public or non-profit sectors also means less earning power. But the wealth of experience is invaluable yet too often overlooked. 

I think of my husband, who at eight years older than me has Alzheimer's. His cognitive abilities are greatly impaired, yet there remains a wealth of wisdom buried beneath his confusion and unpredictable actions. It needs effort to draw out, but that requires patience and respect for him despite his no longer being as sharp as he once was. It's in there. 

The day may come when I will no longer be able to care for him at home and will have to find a place where he will be treated as a human made in God's image, still worthy of respect, love, and care. And that is what led to the tears. Then in my weak humanness, I selfishly moved toward my unknown future and wondered if I will end up in a home reeking of urine and understaffed neglect with poor care due to no respect. Would I be just another burden barely surviving, and left waiting to die? Begging God to die to escape?

Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the Lord.

Those who have grown old are worthy of honor and respect. They may be badly wrinkled and move slowly. Some are veterans of wars who still bear the scars. The elderly may not be quick enough in the checkout line for some. They may find newer technology daunting and need help but is that such a bad thing? Is patience a virtue that has been abandoned and not to be desired? If that is the case, then our society is poorer for it and has lost access to a special wealth that will die off rapidly in the coming years.

So many questions I should have asked my parents and grandparents when I had the opportunity. So many conversations I should have had that would have uncovered much I could have lived by. But I failed to take advantage of their experiences and subsequent wisdom at times and it's a regret I live with. 

The hoary-headed are becoming weighed down. The pain is real and so is the feeling of being a useless drain on the economy according to those who monetize human life. I pray for those who have lost sight of human worth at every stage of life. When I was young, old age was in a distant future that had no bearing on my decisions at the time. I swore I would not get crepey skin or underarm sag. Both of which are now a part of my physical being. 

When I look in the mirror, I see a young me. I'm still the same person I was many, many years ago, just older and wiser. A little beat up from the knocks of life, but still with much to offer, as are all with hoary heads. 

The 1:00 a.m. Matins

 It's one a.m. and I feel like writing. I haven't for a while. It's as though God knew I needed a break after intense soul-searching for most of the past year. But I miss it when I do not write. It's become integral to my spiritual and emotional well-being. If I'm not going to sleep, then I need to write to my Lord. Quiet prayers. Earnest prayers. Prayers with my intellect and heartfelt prayers too painful to speak out loud. So I write. 

I just want to write the words, "I'm sad." But that three-letter word seems so easily misunderstood because of its generality. It's a case of creeping depression. I'm doing what I can to help myself. Staying busy with the church is a big way to stop depression, but it's not working. I'm still grieving and there is only so much busyness one can do for the sake of fighting depression. I'm grieving Zed. I still choke up when I sit down to eat at home, expecting him to lie down near the table hoping for food to fall to the floor (on purpose). I come home to no happy doggo wagging his tail furiously in excitement. And if my thoughts drift back to my final goodbye, my heart hurts and the tears come. 

Then there is the unrelenting grief of losing my dear friend, Lauren. I miss her daily. We texted daily for over a decade or longer. Makes me think of my mother's dear friend who lived in the house behind us. Every morning, my mom would walk over to Golda's house and they'd have coffee and talk. My mother's heart was broken when she lost Golda. She felt she had no friends left. They were all dying of old age. I still have friends, very, very dear ones, but none can replace Lauren. So I grieve and there is no time limit on grief. Nor can the waves of grief that wash over me at times be controlled. Grief has its own life and power. 

Recently I had to find another psychiatrist. Another source of grief. The one I had seen for several years left her practice. She was wonderful. I had one other about eight years ago that was equally compassionate and genuinely caring. But he died in a mountain climbing accident. I still grieve him. He was the only psychiatrist who would actually hug me. That may not sound like much, but that human touch was very healing. 

This new one is supposed to be very good. He has put me back on an antidepressant. A very low dose to begin with. Antidepressants and bipolar are tricky together. He seems nice enough but is one of those who spend five to fifteen minutes with patients and then sets up an appointment for two months out. This is typical of modern psychiatry. The two doctors who didn't rush me were rare. So I can only hope the antidepressant helps ease some of my "sadness." I don't want to fall into the trap of a downward cycle. 

And I need the medication to help stabilize me for all the changes that are occurring in my life right now. I know God is there with me every step of the way. And I know he understands my tendency toward melancholy. But my current grief along with the declining health of a loved one, and the changed schedule of a very dear friend means seeing her less and not even being able to chat via texting much. It is a different level of grief. The losses add up. 

David wrote so many of his psalms while on the run from his enemies. He loved God and believed he would live through God's intervention. He'd lament deeply. But somehow always came back to the goodness of God his Rock and Redeemer. He trusted him to unravel the ropes of bondage that kept him tied down. He called upon his name, expecting to be answered. In his crying and sorrows, David would always cast his mind back to God's actions in the past and hope would rise up in his heart. And in his faithfulness, God would answer and deliver him.

So my Lord, my Rock, and my Redeemer, please make haste to come to me and deliver me from grief. Show me what I must do, where I should go, and how to worship you with all that is within me. For you have done great things for your people and will do so again. With expectant eyes, I will watch and wait. 

Don't Wait

 About six months ago, I was referred to a dermatologist by my primary care physician because of a strange and sudden change in a toenail. He didn't think it was alarming, but out of an abundance of caution, he felt they should take a sample for a biopsy. It was close to two months before I could get in. While I was there I was told I should get a full body examination because of my history. I had an encounter with melanoma about ten years ago. The prevailing wisdom at the time was to be examined annually for three years then every three years then not to worry after five years. The doctor informed me times had changed and it's now annually for life if you've had a case of melanoma. So even though I was reluctant feeling it was unnecessary, I dutifully made an appointment that was three months out.

Two weeks ago I had the appointment and while checking me over, she found a concerning mole on the back of my thigh. The biopsy came back a week later. It's melanoma, again. Surgery is scheduled a month from the initial discovery. I was unaware of its presence, and it would have continued to grow larger and deeper. I hadn't been to a dermatologist for five years and wouldn't have if my toenail hadn't presented strangely, which turned out to be a hemorrhage under my toenail. Nothing more. Nothing sinister. 

 As a child and a teen, everyone wanted a tan. Especially very fair-skinned girls like me. There was no such thing as sunscreen. It was the rage to get a Coppertone tan or use baby oil. I burned, blistered, and peeled every summer. Repeatedly. I never got a tan, but I did get sun sickness sometimes and would be on fire from the second-degree burns. But no one gave a thought to the long-term effects of spending unprotected time in a swimsuit in the sun at a swimming pool. 

Fast forward over fifty years from those teenage days and now I've had a deadly cancer twice, just caught in time before it hit my lymph system. I can't help but wonder if there will be more times for me. I remember being very scared with the first one. I remember praying I wouldn't die of cancer. Yet, right now, I'm strangely blank. It's like there's nothing there, it's all a dream and not really happening to me. Even writing this post is hard. My emotions are just flat. Most of what I write is inspired by passions. 

I don't understand my response. I do understand the stupidity of my youth has come around to bite. We all live with regrets. Some cause emotional upheavals or limit our job prospects. Some cause financial struggles, and some are relationship destroyers. And some are potentially deadly.

Being told you have any kind of cancer is jarring, and frightening. Especially if it's at an advanced stage. To all who have cancer, I understand. I may be numb right now, but I do understand the fear and the wanting to stick your head in the sand. But also to want to beat it. To all of you cancer survivors, you are to be admired for having fought and done all you needed to do to live. Some cancers are more dangerous than others. I know breast cancer survivors and I know those who died of cancer, including my beloved brother-in-law. It cares not who you are. 

So prayers are appreciated, as are donations to the very worthwhile organization American Cancer Society. https://www.cancer.org/

And, please, go see a dermatologist.

God Knows Us

 And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every desire and every thought. If you seek him, he will be found by you; (1 Chronicles 28:9 NIV)

As I read this passage this morning, an intense sense of the heart of God's attention to us washed over me. I felt both trepidation and peace and my heart's response was to cry. My fear was based on the Oh no. God knows all my unChristian thoughts and motives. Yet the peace that came was greater. This verse is a promise. God is accessible to us knowing all about us and that is based on the saving sacrifice of Jesus.

This was an exhortation from David under an old covenant, yet the promise was there. He will be found if sought. Yes, he searches our hearts and minds. He knows us intimately; better than we can know ourselves. We overlook our true condition so easily. We whitewash our thoughts. We deceive ourselves. We are motivated in ways that are not always clear to ourselves, let alone others. While that is quite sobering, it is also a source of comfort. He knows us. 

So many of our thoughts, desires, and heart motives are the result not only of our original fallen state but also the things that have affected us in our life's journey. Childhood experiences, the sins committed against us, and the pain and hurts in life, whether caused by others or self-inflicted, are influencing us. We are all broken in ways that are at times only understood by God. His ultimate desire is to heal our brokenness and to be found as we seek him.

Jesus lived a hard life among us and saw firsthand what we experience living in this world. He was God with us. His understanding should bring us hope, not fear that causes us to pull away from him. He loves us in spite of our sometimes unGodly thoughts, desires, and motives. He sees with mercy what has caused our broken ways. Yes, we should repent when the Holy Spirit convicts us by showing us the truth when we miss the mark, but it isn't to condemn. It is to transform us into Christlikeness. What a welcome thought! 

I want to be open to his searching light and trust he loves me enough to care what I think and feel because I want to be like Jesus. He wants that for me even more. Take time to read Psalm 139:1-18 today and feel peace from knowing God knows you.

Be Not Afraid

I've written about my dear friend, Lauren, several times as she has struggled to live in an ICU tethered to machines designed for short-term use. Lauren was on them for months, her lungs unable to function in a life-maintaining way. But people from all over the U.S. were praying for a miracle to happen so Lauren would not only live but be able to return to normal. I know heaven was being bombarded. My prayers were among them.

But so many things kept going wrong. Not to be irreverent, but it was like medical whack-a-mole. They'd get one thing sort of under control when a reaction to a drug or a procedure would force another drastic intervention, all the while her kidneys were taking a hit from all the highly toxic drugs designed to extend life. Endless infections, endless pain, endless days and nights in a bed with ICU-induced hallucinations at times. My prayers gradually changed.

After a phone call in mid-April that she was dying imminently only to rally, I've known deep within it was soon. My prayers changed to praying for God's merciful best for her. And in his mercy, he called her home last night. I had the opportunity to send Lauren a video message that her mother played for her. I wish I had said more. I wanted to actually say goodbye and that we'd meet in heaven, but that would have upset her, I  know. But I did say I missed her and I loved her dearly. I don't know if she heard it while it was played. I hope so. 

I sent Be Not Afraid to her. Her mother played it while Lauren's eyes opened briefly as her heart stopped beating. I pray with all my being it helped her let go and allowed her angels to guide her to her waiting Savior. 

My heart is so broken. But her mother has now lost her third child. As much as my heart has shattered by my loss, it breaks for her bereft mother as well. So when you pray after reading this, (and I know you will), pray for Lauren's mother, too, who knows a pain I pray I never experience. 

God's merciful best turned out to be the prayer I should have prayed all along. Now I pray it for the family left behind. 

The Battle is the Lord's

 

This image was texted to me by a friend who knows me very well. All too often, I see myself as too small and weak to take on the Big Guy who loves to torment all Christians, taunting us and daring us to fight back. But I've also been doing my annual read through the entire bible using a Bible Gateway plan. This morning I read 1 Chronicles chapters 18-21, an account of multiple campaigns against Israel's enemies undertaken by King David. 

After the victorious battles, the enemies were subjected to Israel bringing tributes to David which he dedicated entirely to the Lord. Frequently, the same verse is repeated after battles, The Lord gave David victory wherever he went. David didn't hesitate to face the enemies that threatened Israel. And he didn't keep the spoils of war. He brought all of it to the Tabernacle to further the Lord's purposes in the kingdom of his chosen people. 

We face battles today of a different sort. Our battles are not with the physical armaments of war. Yet, in the new covenant, the book of Ephesians, chapter 6 uses the analogy of arms to describe how to battle against the enemy of our soul, the same implements of war David used in physical battle. We are exhorted to put on the full armor of God and when we are clothed, to stand and see the Lord's victory on our behalf. We wear the armor for protection, God battles. 

The kitten in the photo is small and seemingly unable to fight, yet what she sees is a reflection of what God wants us to see. Fully grown and mature ready to fight back against the attacks, the temptations, the trials thrown at us, and the accusations designed to induce shame as courage drains from us. 

What. Ever. You. Are. Facing. There may be a tough battle to fight. But we do not fight alone. We face what is in truth a defeated enemy. Jesus won the war at the cross and resurrection. The Holy Spirit fills us with power and discernment. The Enemy roars like a lion, a mortally wounded lion. But we stand, clothed in God's armor, and watch the Lord go to work. Our true battle is to trust in the Lord.  Trust that he will not forsake us in whatever we face. Trust that we will not be redeemed just to lose it all. 

So look closely at your reflection in the spiritual mirror the Lord is holding up for you to see, and be amazed at what the reality is in his kingdom right now. This world. This life. This time. This you.

Praying God's Will

 1 John 5:14-15 NIV

¹⁴ And this is the boldness we have in him, that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. ¹⁵ And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have obtained the requests made of him.

This is the daily verse that greeted me this morning. It was, as a spiritually mature friend pointed out, an invitation to me. It could be dangerous to my heart if I misinterpreted it. It’s so easy to take verses out of context, or not read them thoroughly.

This word from God has a caveat: what we ask must be according to his will. So how will I know his will? Looking to Jesus who lived God’s will. Spoke God’s will. Prayed God’s will. Obeyed God’s will. I believe the book of Hebrews says Jesus is the expressed image of God. If I want to know God the Father, and what he is like, I need to lock my gaze on Jesus. Jesus spoke much on many topics, but one statement stands out among the many. When asked what the work (and by extension, his will) of God was, his reply was, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one he sent.” John 6:29, NIV.

In another place, Jesus indicated all the Law and the prophets were summed up in ³⁴ When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, ³⁵ and one of them, an expert in the law, asked him a question to test him. ³⁶ “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” ³⁷ He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ ³⁸ This is the greatest and first commandment. ³⁹ And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ ⁴⁰ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” Matthew 22:34-40 NRSV. Again, this sounds like a clear indication of God’s will for us.

I have been challenged about something I have built my life on and I am disturbed by it. A firm foundation is shaking and it shouldn’t. I have lived most of my life on the belief transformation is not only possible but required as a response to God’s grace and salvation. That Jesus didn’t just die so we might be forgiven and continue living as we did before our conversion to faith in our Savior.

I remember listening to someone who believed and taught that since we were forgiven, we could live any way we wanted. It was paid for. It was all forgiven. He included sexual activity in his teaching. I felt such a huge check in my heart and challenged him with New Testament scriptures, but his argument was if Jesus didn’t mention anything negative then it was okay. The rest was all just opinions of men. I have to agree, some parts of the epistles seem to be opinions, and in one place Paul even admits what he is writing is his opinion only, but you cannot throw out the baby with the bathwater. Much is inspired teaching we strive to live by, that’s why the letters have been read and taught in the Church since the first century. There are nuggets of genuine truth we ignore at our peril in terms of the spiritual growth and well-being God desires for us.

When I turned to Jesus for deliverance from addictions, he answered with freedom in a huge way. There was no ambiguity, no confusion, no delay. It was a life-changing event. And it was all by his power and grace. All I could do was be willing. I had no part other than that and I was set free. I have never looked back with the desire to drink or do drugs for almost forty years. And more importantly, I have never judged those who are trapped in the insanity of alcoholism and drug addiction. I have nothing but compassion. The adage, “There but the grace of God go I” is something I believe with all my heart. It is an honest admission I had no power to get sober, and I still have no power to stay sober. I know deep within I am one drink away from a drunk, and that keeps me ever humble. Just one drink.

But he wasn’t finished with me. There was so much brokenness in my life. Broken mind, broken heart, broken soul, spirit, and body. To have left me that way would have shown a lack of love that is beyond comprehension. No, he took me as I was and began a total renovation. I’m not a Humpty Dumpty that is merely pieced together. I was made a new creation, though that creation shows scars left from years of brokenness. My scars are there to keep me identifiable for others who are seeking and see someone who isn’t perfect yet accepted by God. It’s an invitation to come toward a representative of the Lord who can understand brokenness and wounding and be compassionate, not judging. Presenting the character of Jesus as best as I am able to display it. 

I didn’t ask to change in the beginning. I just responded to the leading of the Holy Spirit. And, again, I had no idea where I was headed. To be totally honest, I was afraid. I knew I was powerless to change and I only knew that lifestyle after so many years. How could I walk away from all I knew? It was like Abraham being told to leave all he knew and go to an unknown land just because God told him in his obedience his descendants would be blessed. The power to walk away did not come from me. Left on my own, it wouldn’t have happened. But I became willing when God laid on my heart I needed to change. All I wanted was to please him, to return the love he was showering on me. My whole being was in tune with him and the most improbable things were made possible by his amazing grace.

I know transformation is possible and my message is to believe the One who the Father sent. He will give you wisdom. He will transform you. I am seeking wisdom and I know this current shaking will end with a deeper knowledge of God's will for me. He doesn't leave his children in the dark. He is the Light of the world.

 

The Merciful Best

 On my birthday, I received a phone call from a crying mother that her daughter was rapidly dying. She wanted to know if I'd like her to hold her phone to my unconscious dear friend's ear so I could speak to her one last time. It was a gut punch. 

My friend has been in an ICU for over 150 days, critically ill, fading, then rallying only to decline again. I'm riding a rollercoaster as I watch her struggle. With so many death-dealing conditions, lungs that are not working are being replaced by machines designed to only be used for a few weeks. Yet she's lived by them for over 100 days. She would have suffocated long before now.  

Her body is wasting away, all her muscles atrophying. If she does survive, her recovery will take a year or more and she will be left in a wheelchair living with a ventilator. 

As this journey unfolds, I find myself wrestling with what is best for her. Family and friends, including me, have pounded on the gates of heaven for a miracle. But there has been no substantial improvement. Just temporary times of consciousness and responsiveness followed by severe setbacks. How she has managed to survive this long is unfathomable. But much of it is due to her mother's endless advocacy for extreme medical intervention to prolong life. She is a nurse who knows what is available, and what could be thrown into the mix to keep her daughter alive. She's already lost two children and is desperate not to lose a third.

Still, my friend is living in a purgatory of human design. I worry she is conscious enough to be suffering but unable to communicate it due to sedatives. And I've been forced to search my own heart as to whether or not I would want to be kept alive through such measures; I would not. So, my prayers have evolved from seeking a miracle, to what is best, for what she might want if she could say. And my heart breaks for her, for her mother, and for me. 

The day after the devastating phone call, I received a text saying my friend had rallied and was conscious again and kissed her mother, along with an apology for having ruined my birthday. I assured her mother I was grateful she had given me that opportunity believing the battle was over. But rallies often come before death finally wins. My joy tempered by knowing another call may come soon and this time truly be the last.

I grieve. I grieve that a critical illness has taken a vibrant woman and reduced her to being barely alive by machines. I grieve her final moments may be awareness of the sounds of equipment, lying in a hospital bed, with bed sores and failing kidneys, gasping for oxygen. 

If it's wrong for me to want this to end, then I will have to live with that if she dies. Letting go is the hardest thing to do. Yet it also seems to be the most merciful thing, the only thing I have the power to do for her as I pray for God's merciful best.

Where God is Found

 After an extended mountaintop period recently, I am back down. God was present to me in amazing ways and I was continually humbled under his mighty hand as I was led through a journey of inner examination which I shared over multiple blog entries. I don't know if anyone had the slightest interest or could even relate to my experience, but I knew I had to share because that is the purpose of this blog: a journal of my faith walk in this world.

Yet now I feel I have been left with little to say. I've been seeking God earnestly not wanting to lose his presence in such a concrete way. I find I'm walking down into a valley, not on level ground. I don't want to walk in a valley. I don't want to seek to experience the presence of God in life-altering ways only to not find him in all I see, hear, and do. After the high, I have come to a low.

There are pressures in my life that were there before, but they felt far away, not pressing in on me like they are now. I have experienced recent loss. I am facing the potential for even greater loss. I am watching situations deteriorate that I know will continue to worsen. Heartbreaking circumstances I am powerless to change or avoid. I have to walk through trials that went on the back burner while I was communing deeply with my Lord. Things that make me want to say, "Where are you, God?" Intellectually I know I was being prepared for these trials; that I was being given an intimate experience so I'd know without a doubt God is always present with me. But the mountaintops make me want to never come down. Still, the servant is not greater than the Master. Jesus had mountaintop times followed by the hard, gritty work of ministry, even death on the cross.

But our God is gracious and reminded me, he is always found if we seek him wholeheartedly. Scripture promises that repeatedly in both the Old and New Testaments. In I Kings 19, the prophet Elijah faced a similar experience. He had been used by God to deliver an important prophecy only to be chased with the threat of death. He hid in a cave where God asked him why he was there. Elijah recounted his circumstances. Then God told him to prepare, he was going to experience the presence of God as he passed by.

We all want God's presence. We all want to hear God's voice in a clear way. But we often look for him in places he simply doesn't show himself. 

The Lord said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. (I Kings 19:11-13)

Like Elijah, I have been expecting God to make himself known to me in all mountaintop experiences. But he is rarely found there. He is found and heard in the gentle quietness of a whisper. He showed himself in a way that required Elijah to wait and discern. 

So, too, with us. We get the occasional big reveal, but mostly we want God to always show up in big ways and we miss him because of it. When I quiet my demanding thoughts and tune my heart to listen intently and wait, his gentle whisper comes to me. I truly believe this is God's normal way of communicating with us. But the pressures of life and the ways of the world demand God to behave in the way we want. However, God chooses a way that is above our way. It's on us to bend toward him in humble silence. 

I will walk into the valley where he leads me and try to listen carefully for his whispers to me. I want to look for him where he is found.

Owing the Debt of Love

 Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law. Romans 13:8 NIV.

Every day, in addition to my year-round bible reading, I'm greeted with a daily verse to start my day. Invariably, it's something that hits home. The new testament has many references to money and how to handle it. Jesus stressed what our attitude should be toward it, to remember, God is the provider and we cannot serve money and God. One will claim our hearts to the exclusion of the other. 

It's so easy to worry about where the money will come from to pay bills and put food on the table with rampant inflation. It's even more stressful when we have debt hanging over us. Some debt is incurred through no fault. I  have a large debt from foundation repair on my house that absolutely had to be done. So we have a monthly payment that is pretty sizable. It couldn't be avoided. Some debt is due to wants and not needs. For those debts, I have repented and have prayed for merciful provision with the promise to be a better steward of what God gives. 

I felt overwhelmed by all of it and for a short time stopped tithing, but things weren't getting any better. I couldn't get any headway in getting out of debt. But then I was reminded of the scripture that says to bring the whole tithe into the storehouse and test God by it and see how he will provide. So, once again I began giving ten percent of all my income. On paper, it didn't look like such a good idea. But God said to do it and expect him to be faithful. 

Along with tithing, I determine to cut expenses to all that was needed and to forgo a lot of wants. Slowly, but surely I am almost out of credit card debt. Then that money will be turned to retiring the foundation repair with some extra to save. I don't know how it happened, but now I have extra to give to those in need. It's God's money, not mine. As soon as I came to understand that, things began to change. Yes, I don't have a set monthly clothing budget, nor do I eat out much. I would love to get a new couch, but those are not necessities. They are wants that can wait until I don't have to go into debt to get them. 

But that isn't the whole verse. If I do not love others freely, and focus solely on my financial needs, I am missing the whole point. My true debt is to love the people God puts in my life. And that includes helping them as I am able. Most of all, it fulfills the law like Jesus did with his sacrificial love. I believe we have to pay our debts and that may require extra effort to do so. But tithing during that time will show our abiding faith in God's provision for us. Jesus said God knows we need clothing, food, and shelter, but to seek first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added. But, I'm not going to deny how hard that is when you're staring at a stack of bills and it seems insurmountable. 

Yet God's promises are true. Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse. Whether it be to your church or divided up among different ministries that help others who suffer from want. That scripture is the only place in the bible where we are told to test God. I don't know what other unexpected expenses are going to be incurred by me through no fault, but as long as I give to the kingdom work and love others with the love of God, I believe he will provide.

This isn't the prosperity gospel, which is heresy. It is obeying and believing God doesn't lie. 

God willing, I will continue to obey in the future when finances get rocky again because they will. And I do not expect to get wealthy. No matter that I tithe, my fixed income will never make that possible. But I can find purpose and growing faith in believing I am just a steward of what is essentially God's money. 

Maybe ten percent is too hard a reach for now. This entry is NOT intended to shame or induce guilt or place pressure. God doesn't do that. Start where you are and give two percent, or five percent, and work your way toward ten. Giving will be rewarded. And pray for peace in the face of a mountain of debt. God understands and will comfort you as he gives you wisdom on how to get out from under it. 

God wants you to be free from the pressures the world experiences. Test him and see. Most of all always be in debt to love. Time, which includes intersession in prayer for others, and talent given in love is a sweet fragrance to God and will not be overlooked by him. 

Bending With God

 Many of you know I have suffered from chronic insomnia for years, but there have been times when it's been extraordinarily difficult. About eight years ago it got so bad that I was hospitalized for a week while they tried to figure out a solution. A new drug helped but caused severe weight gain. I've been on a mix of various drugs since. They all eventually stop working, so I've had to rotate medications. And down through the years, I've wrestled with God over this and so have loved ones on my behalf.

Recently, it's gotten quite bad again. Nothing has worked. I have been sleep deprived for several weeks which was the limit before I began hallucinating from no sleep. I have no idea how I am still functioning, but I am. Sometimes I feel so exhausted and my thinking becomes muddled yet I'm still going. 

There is a difference this time, though. I have found I'm not as ardently fighting with God over it and maybe it's because I've been meeting with him in the nights. The sleeplessness isn't just my tossing and turning, it's been reading scripture and hearing God talk to me through it. It's been journaling and writing my prayers to him. And it's been with gratitude that I've not been left alone in the dark with only my depressed and desperate thoughts. 

God has not engineered this chronic malady, but he has been using it, and for once so have I. As I read through the entire bible for the umpteenth time, I see the deprivations of some of God's people down through the ages and their responses. I see myself in them. They struggled mightily with God over their challenges, wondering where he was and why their trials were happening to them. 

But a curious thing occurred with some of them. Those who were flexible enough to bend toward God did. Their circumstances didn't necessarily change, but their hearts did and they found radical acceptance through their trials. A radical acceptance in which they acknowledged their lives were not as they might desire but it was okay. In that, they found peace. No longer fighting God, but leaning into him.

In my bipolar disorder, I've had to reach a place of radical acceptance. Unless God decides to miraculously cure me all of a sudden, I'm going to suffer a variety of symptoms for the rest of my life. I don't fight him over it and there is peace in that. I've stopped demanding answers. 

Do I wish my life were not like this? That I slept nightly and didn't have bipolar rear its ugly head periodically? Yes and no. Yes, because I would like to be like the "normal" people I know, as well as not have to take medications. No, because these conditions have driven me to my knees to seek God for his grace and strength. God knows me intimately and I cannot help but wonder if I wouldn't depend on him as much if I were any other way. It's like praying for patience and then being hit with demanding people and situations in which patience can be learned--or not. It all depends on how much you can bend. I do not wish this on anyone, but if you are wrestling with God, it may be time to learn to bend. 

I'm finding deeper intimacy. Deeper love. Deeper surrender. Deeper dependence. And oddly enough, deeper joy. I'll be grateful for sleep if it comes and a new medication I'm going to try may help. But regardless, I will rest in God's grace to assure me all is well between him and me. And I am bending. I am leaning on the everlasting arms of God.

Deepest Darkness, Highest Joy

 

It isn’t unusual for me to become emotional during Holy Week as I ponder the price paid for sin. I can look back over my life and see there are things to be sorry for. I do not do that often or I can be overwhelmed by memories of things I wish I had never experienced, choices made that I regret but am powerless to change. We are not given a redo, but we are given the opportunity to live righteously in the present.

 

In the book of Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah says God’s steadfast love never ceases and his mercies are new every morning. In that, I find hope. Hope that I am never alone no matter my state of mind. He is present with me in triumphs and in failures, whether I stumble or succeed. Each day I can rise fresh in the knowledge he is near and will extend the grace needed to live a life worthy of the blood shed for me.

 

My prayer today is summed up in the words from an old hymn: “oh let me never, never outlive my love for thee.” The love of God that compelled Jesus to come in the flesh to walk among us as he journeyed to the cross causes me to bow down and worship. I pray that I will never take for granted the price paid for my salvation, and never outlive my love for my Maker and Savior. It is his passion for me that has brought me to this place in my life, and his grace leads me to my destiny: to become like Jesus and to live forever in his presence.

 

When the day arrives to celebrate the resurrection, I will look back to the empty cross of suffering and allow it to inform my joy at the sight of the empty tomb of life. The two are inseparable and will stand throughout eternity as the ultimate symbols of God’s love for those he created for himself. Because of the cross, I am no longer judged for my sins and failures. The demands of the broken Law were nailed to it and death no longer reigns.

 

That is why it is called Good Friday.

 

The Promise of a New Covenant

 Jeremiah 31:31-34--A Meditation

 

“The days are coming,” declares the Lord, “when I will make a new covenant with the people of Israel…This is the covenant I will make…I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts. I will be their God and they will be my people…For I will forgive their wickedness and I will remember their sins no more.”

The people of Israel broke the covenant given through Moses; the covenant established through the Law. The repeated cycle of sin, repentance, and daily sacrifices was clear evidence of the inability of the Law to change hearts and minds. In Isaiah, God said the people worshipped with their lips, but their hearts were far from him.  A new and better covenant was needed.

This new covenant is for all humankind: Grace and faith gifted to our hearts and minds through the sinless life, death, and resurrection of Christ. No more need for repeated sacrifices for transgressions. Sin was dealt with once for all eternity, nailed to the cross. Christ the Law Keeper became sin to free us from the law of sin and death, establishing righteousness in our hearts and minds by grace through faith.

As we draw ever closer to the Holy Week, we will find hope by meditating on the promise made and kept thousands of years ago. From Jeremiah to Jesus, from the cross to resurrection, we have full assurance of salvation and life everlasting. Let our hearts ever be humble before the cross.

 Oh Lord, how amazing is your covenant with us. Where we failed you succeeded. Help us to approach your throne of grace where we have full acceptance through the mediation of Christ. We give thanks to you for remembering our sins no more because you nailed them to the cross and left them there. With awed and grateful hearts, we pray. Amen.