Assurance

Groaning

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.
Romans 8:22

Intruders

I heard a noise above me and looked up. The sound was coming from the gutter and was accompanied by the shuffling of leaves. I could see a few stems and tips moving along the edge.

Well, great. (Insert eye roll.) Something else for the wildlife guys to deal with. They’d already been working on ridding my attic of rats. Maybe the varmints were using the gutter to gain access to their new digs.

My grandson Joshua was with me when the fellows showed up the next day. One climbed the ladder they brought while the other one steadied it. Elmer lifted the gutter cover just enough to see a tail. But it wasn’t a long, skinny, hairless one. It was fluffy and belonged to a half-grown squirrel, one of three inhabiting a nest the mother squirrel had managed to construct in the narrow confines of the gutter.

As Joshua and I watched the eviction process, I lamented as I often do when some critter or another takes up residence in an off-limits part of my house, “I left plenty of trees for them to live in! Why do they choose to get in/on my house?”

Joshua piped up, “It’s like the garden of Eden, Grammie! There was only one tree Adam and Eve weren’t supposed to eat from, and that’s the one they wanted!” (Genesis 2:16-17)

Delighted that Joshua had made that spiritual connection, I asked him if he wanted to expand on his observation like he’d done earlier this year with the parable of the bulbs.[1] However, he was more interested in accompanying Elmer into the attic to check the rat traps after he and his helper gently removed the baby squirrels from the gutter. 

But, once Joshua had planted that thought, I just had to ponder it!

Forbidden Attractions

What is it that’s so attractive about things that are off-limits? Regardless of our age, humans have an inborn desire for the forbidden. Sadly, original sin resides deep inside us, making us vulnerable to the enemy’s whispered, doubt-producing innuendos and causing us to question God’s goodness as Adam and Eve did (Genesis 3:1-6). What if He’s holding out on us, keeping the best to Himself?

Nope! We can squelch any doubts about God’s goodness by looking to the Cross. God gave us the very best He could have given us in Jesus, and Scripture assures us that if He gave us the most priceless gift, He won’t withhold any lesser thing (Romans 8:32).

Then there are the sinful tendencies passed on from more recent generations – frailties and misconceptions that continue to affect decisions and behavior until someone recognizes the familial brokenness and says, “Enough! This stops with me!”

Jesus’ sinless life, atoning death, and triumphant resurrection made the ultimate declaration. Praise God, our enslavement to sin ended with His selfless sacrifice on our behalf (Ephesians 2:4-7)! Though we will continue to battle the remnants of our sinful nature until Jesus calls us Home, the Spirit is transforming us more and more into the image of Christ (2 Corinthians 3:18).

Repeat Offender

The day after Elmer took the juvenile squirrels to their new home in a nearby state park, the noise-from-above scenario replayed. I was watering plants in front of my house when a snippet of sound and motion got my attention. I looked up and saw the mama squirrel with a mouth full of leaves heading to the end of the gutter. Sigh.

By the time Elmer and his helper returned the following week, she had crammed twice as many leaves into the gutter as before. Now that we knew how she was getting in, they closed the hole she’d made at the end of the gutter; however, she or one of her relatives has found a way into the attic and has spent several nights cavorting with the rats.

Such is life in a broken world.

Longing for Home

I suppose the mother squirrel thought the gutter offered excellent protection from predators, but a hollow in a tree would have been more appropriate as the babies grew. They didn’t get a say in their mother’s choice, but they suffered the consequences, first from being cramped and then evicted.

I felt some remorse the first night they were taken away, wondering what their mother thought when she returned and found them gone. Then again, I knew they couldn’t stay. Given the chance when grown, the baby squirrels might have set up housekeeping in the gutter since that was the example they’d been given. Or maybe they would have gnawed a hole in my deck railing, dug up my plants, or knocked one of the birdfeeders off its hook, all things prior generations of their family have done.

All creation is groaning because things aren’t as God intended them to be. There are days when I join in the groaning, longing for Jesus to return and set all things right. From misplaced critters and weeds in my garden to the ravages of cancer and a swath of destruction left by a powerful hurricane, the vestiges of sin are all around us. But evidence of God’s love surrounds us as well. We can rest in the assurance that Jesus is preparing a Home for us where we’ll dwell with Him forever, never to be evicted again (John 14:2-3)

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8:18-25).

[1][1] You may find Joshua’s parable in “Faith Connections,” Archives, August 2023.

Have We Forgotten?

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Yet the number of the children of Israel shall be like the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured or numbered. And in the place where it was said to them, “You are not my people,” it shall be said to them, “Children of the living God.”
Hosea 1:10

A Challenging Message

This fall, we’re using Paula Miles’ “No Empty Word: Relentless Pursuit a Study on Hosea” for our Women’s Bible study. We’ve agreed that Hosea is a challenging book, not the first one we think of when in need of a comforting verse to put on a counted cross stitch. God didn’t hold back when proclaiming what would happen if His people refused to forsake their wicked ways and return to Him. Some of us have even found it difficult to read parts of Hosea aloud since it contains words we wouldn’t dare utter in conversation.

However, as the study has progressed, we’ve realized there is much comfort in Hosea because it recounts God’s unending love and compassion for His wayward people. Time and again, Hosea depicts the tension between God’s judgment and mercy, between His righteousness and covenant fidelity. Despite our faithlessness, He remains faithful (2 Timothy 2:13).

One recent Tuesday morning, we were working our way through chapter 8 of Hosea. In verse 13, we read that God told His people He would remember their iniquity, punish their sins, and send them back to Egypt, which was a foretelling of their captivity under Assyria. By this point in their history, the book of the Law, which the king was supposed to keep by his side and read every day (Deuteronomy 17:18-20), had been misplaced, and the priests were greedy and unfaithful. Thus, it was unlikely God’s people had consistently passed on the story of His miracle-filled deliverance from generation to generation as He’d commanded (Psalm 78:4-6). Given all that, I suggested that the threat of being returned to Egypt might not have meant much to them or carried much weight. Perhaps no one had told them how dreadful it was to be a slave or how marvelous God’s rescue was.

Although Hosea 8:2 says the people still “knew” the Lord and called on His name, simply knowing about God and crying out to Him in times of desperation isn’t the same as having a relationship with Him and a heart that wants to please Him.

Sobering Questions

As our discussion moved on, a whisper arose in my spirit: How about you? Do you remember how bad it was to be enslaved by sin? The thought convicted me. After walking with the Lord for nearly 50 years, have I forgotten how hopeless my situation was before He rescued me? Dead in my trespasses, unable to contribute anything to my salvation. Left to my own devices, I would have perished. Eternally.

But God, in His mercy, chose to redeem a people for Himself (Ephesians 2:4-5). May we never forget how remarkable and costly His rescue was! Redeemed by the Son’s precious blood, none of God’s children will ever be lost. Like a loving Father, He disciplines us (Hebrews 12:5-11), but He won’t ever forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6).

Throughout No Empty Word, the study questionshave challenged us to identify our idols, those things we allow to usurp God’s rightful place in our hearts and lives, things we look to for security instead of depending on the One who is our Provider, Rock, and Refuge, the One who is sovereign over every detail. Self-reliance, autonomy, self-glory, peace, wealth, fame – we’ve mentioned all of these in our discussions. Several times,  those discussions have reminded me of God’s warning in Deuteronomy 8:

Take care lest you forget the Lord your God by not keeping his commandments and his rules and his statutes, which I command you today, lest, when you have eaten and are full and have built good houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply and your silver and gold is multiplied and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, who led you through the great and terrifying wilderness, with its fiery serpents and scorpions and thirsty ground where there was no water, who brought you water out of the flinty rock, who fed you in the wilderness with manna that your fathers did not know, that he might humble you and test you, to do you good in the end. Beware lest you say in your heart, ‘My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.’ You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your fathers, as it is this day (Deuteronomy 8:11-18).

It’s a warning that applies every bit as much to God’s children today.

O Lord, please help us never to neglect the reading and hearing of Your Word or tire of telling the coming generations about Your glorious deeds so that they, too, will know how awful it is to be a slave to sin and how awesome it is to be a child of God. And may we never forget that everything we have and are, from our salvation to our daily bread, is a gift from You.

Epilog

You may be wondering about the photo I selected to accompany this post. Years ago, I saw a short video of a guy sitting behind a table in a cemetery. He’d posted a sign with the message along the lines of, “Anyone interested in eternal life step right up!” No surprise, but not a single person exited one of the graves and took him up on his offer. I often think of that clip when I contemplate what it means to be dead in our trespasses, unable to contribute anything toward our salvation!

Scars, Epilog

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

I will hope continually
    and will praise you yet more and more.
My mouth will tell of your righteous acts,
    of your deeds of salvation all the day,
    for their number is past my knowledge.
Psalm 71:14-15

Secrets?

A longtime friend texted me after she read my last post to tell me she’d suffered an injury almost identical to one of the ones I described. It happened years ago, as did mine, but I never knew of our common experience until now. Admittedly, decades have passed since we lived near each other, and talking about such minor injuries isn’t at the top of our conversation topics when we schedule phone dates. But the fact that I didn’t know got me thinking about more serious things we intentionally hide, even sometimes from those closest to us.

I’m not implying that this particular friend has deep, dark secrets she’s never told me despite our five decades of friendship. No, I’m thinking about how reticent I’ve been to share things from my past for fear of rejection or condemnation. Yet, when situations arose that made it fitting to do so, I’ve not only been freed from my self-imposed isolation, but I’ve also made it safer for others to share their hard things. There is wonder and relief in knowing, “I’m not the only one!”

When someone further down the road assures us that God can redeem our brokenness and bring beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3), relief and hope unite as the Light leads us out of darkness.

Credentials

My dear friend Sharon Betters refers to the hard things the Lord brings us through as our credentials. As we call back to others, our experiences make us credible witnesses of God’s steadfast love, goodness, and faithfulness.

On a recent episode of her Daily Treasure podcast[1], Sharon included a quote from Oswald Chambers, which contained the following:

“There is no such thing as a private life . . . for a man or woman who is brought into fellowship with Jesus Christ’s sufferings . . . We are not sanctified for ourselves, we are called into the fellowhip of the Gospel, and things happen which have nothing to do with us . . . Why shouldn’t we go through heartbreaks? Through those doorways God is opening up ways of fellowship with His Son . . . If through a broken heart God can bring His purposes to pass in the world, then thank Him for breaking your heart.”[2]

Thank Him for breaking your heart? That’s unthinkable apart from our eternal security in Christ (2 Corinthians 16-18) and believing that God is working all things together for the good of those who love Him, those called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28). We can find great comfort in knowing that our little stories are part of God’s great big story. He’s weaving the plot lines together in ways we may not understand in the moment or possibly not even this side of Heaven, but we can always trust His character.

For the Lord will not
    cast off forever,
but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion
    according to the abundance of his steadfast love;
for he does not afflict from his heart
    or grieve the children of men.
(Lamentations 3:31-33)

Propriety

There are appropriate times and places to share how the Lord has brought us through challenging circumstances. Not all the stories He’s entrusted to us are meant to be broadcast from a public platform. Some are best processed with wise counselors and trusted friends. Even so, we need to be willing to share when God sovereignly places someone in our lives who would benefit from hearing how He’s worked in and through even our darkest places.

There are some things I’ll probably never write a blog post about. However, I pray for discernment to know when God has ordained a crossing of paths and is nudging me to bless someone with the assurance others have passed on to me: you are not alone, and God can redeem even this.

Before I close, I also want to remind us to be slow to judge since we don’t know all the experiences that have gone into making a person who they are, much less how far along they are on their journey of restoration (1 Samuel 16:7; John 7:24). I’ve had several instances when a piece or two of information has completely changed my perspective on someone’s behavior. And I’ve had others make similar comments when they’ve learned more about my past.  

There are still tender spots in my soul, scars that will cause me to retreat in situations that evoke painful, long-ago events, but I trust God will use even those lingering scars for His good purposes.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

[1] “A Private Life?,” Daily Treasure, August 31, 2024. Daily Treasure is one of many resources available through MARKINC Ministries.

[2] Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, November 1 devotion: “Ye Are Not Your Own.” (Grand Rapids, Discovery House.)

Scars

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

But he was pierced for our transgressions;
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
    and with his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5

My right hand bears several scars, some the result of injuries, others from surgery. They’ve become less visible with time, but I can see them if I look hard enough. Let me tell you about those scars and some spiritual parallels I came up with when I realized the ugliest scar has faded along with the rest.

Pesky Pop-tops

I started drinking diet sodas when I was a teenager. Back then, the pop-tops weren’t attached to the cans. I would wipe the lid, peel off the tab, and drop it into the opening. Mom was horrified. “Someday, you’re going to drink one of those things!” I assured her I’d bent them enough that they wouldn’t come out. But one day, I left a tab on the kitchen counter instead of putting it in the can. When I washed my hands later, I dried them with a paper towel someone had placed on the counter, never thinking the metal tab might be underneath. The sharp edge made a small cut on top of my hand and accounts for my oldest scar.

Mom was right – those tiny tabs belonged in the trash!

Fast forward 50 years. Those little pull tabs are now securely attached to the top of cans, but you can pry them off if you bend them back and forth a few times, which is what my 13-year-old grandson was doing recently. I showed him the scar on the top of my hand and told him the story behind it.

Is there a lesson you’ve learned from a poor decision in your past, something more critical than a small cut, that you can share to help others understand potential consequences and make better choices?

Surgical Relief

Then there’s the scar from carpal tunnel surgery. The surgeon carefully made the incision in one of the creases on my palm, knowing it would help hide it. Sure enough, it’s barely visible.

I’m not a fan of surgery because I don’t like to be put to sleep or deal with the downtime associated with recovery, and I often say “elective surgery” is an oxymoron in my vocabulary. But the carpal tunnel operation was so helpful I didn’t hesitate to have it done on the left side a year later, and I’ve recommended it to others who’ve experienced the pain and numbness associated with carpal tunnel syndrome.

Just as I try to avoid surgery, I’m not one to beg God to send difficult circumstances into my life to grow my faith. Yet I know He often uses hard things to discipline me, draw me closer to Himself, and transform me into the image of His Son. Thus, I pray with the psalmist, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting,” trusting the Holy Spirit to reveal and carefully excise things from my life that are hindering my walk with the Lord (Psalm 139:23-24).  

Stealth Attack

Next up in the catalog of scar-producing injuries is a cut from an unsheathed razor. I vividly remember the moment. We were on vacation at the beach. I reached into my toiletry bag, not realizing the protective cover was no longer on the razor. The sharp blade sliced a small chunk of skin off the upper knuckle of my pointer finger. I almost passed out from the unexpected injury and the gush of blood that accompanied it. The wound healed but produced a bump of thickened skin, known as a keloid.

The circumstances and raised scar associated with this injury remind me of relationships with people who I took at face value and trusted, only to have their true selves appear later, causing deep hurt and bewilderment. Doubting my ability to judge rightly and not wanting to experience that kind of betrayal again, I overreacted and built walls to keep others at a safe distance.

Graceless Stumble

And then there was the jagged, ugly scar I mentioned in the introduction. It resulted from a tumble I took on my front walk. I went to check the rain gauge, wasn’t being careful on the slippery pavement, and plummeted to the ground. Shocked and embarrassed, I lept up lest anyone see me prostrate. Lightheaded and unsteady, I sought my neighbor’s help to stem the blood flow and apply a bandage. Several weeks later, when I saw how unsightly the scar was, I realized it would have been better if I’d sought medical care and gotten a few stitches. I accepted that it would be there forever, glaring at me, reminding me of the fall.

But then, a few days ago, I realized that it, too, is barely visible.

There have been times when I’ve lost focus and slipped into sin. I never thought I would find myself in such a predicament, and tried my best to minimize the damage and cover my tracks. But my efforts were inadequate, like the bandage that barely staunched the flow of blood from my palm and the fig leaves Adam and Eve used to hide their nakedness (Genesis 3:7).

Redeeming Scars

We won’t pass through this life unscathed by the sin and brokenness inherent in our journey. Some of those injuries will be self-inflicted, others caused by people we encounter along the way, and still others due to generational sins that have simmered for decades.

It takes much more than self-applied treatments to wash away the sin and heal the hurts. Praise God for providing the spotless Lamb who was slain (John 1:29; Revelation 5:12)! Jesus was wounded for our transgressions, all of them. He can commiserate with our weaknesses, yet was without sin (Hebrews 4:15). He heals the brokenhearted and binds up our wounds (Psalm 147:3). Blessed assurances!

The memories of past indiscretions linger, but just like the jagged scar I thought would be there forever, they’ve faded, replaced by the truth of Christ’s sacrificial love for me and my identity in Him.

Jesus still bears the wounds from His crucifixion (John 20:27-28). It saddens me to think about Him carrying those scars forever. But I am oh so grateful those wounds will ever plead for me and other ransomed sinners, as Charles Wesley penned in his hymn, “Arise, My Soul, Arise.”

I’ll close rejoicing with the final stanza and chorus of a more recent hymn, “The Power of the Cross:”[1]

Oh, to see my name
Written in the wounds,
For through Your suffering, I am free.
Death is crushed to death;
Life is mine to live,
Won through Your selfless love

This, the pow’r of the cross:
Son of God – slain for us.
What a love! What a cost!
We stand forgiven at the cross.

[1] Stuart Townsend and Keith Getty, “The Power of the Cross,” Thank You Music, 2005.

Swords Into Plowshares

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.
Micah 4:3

Recently, my daughter Jessie and I had the opportunity to visit England. A tour of Windsor Castle was high on my wish list of stops. When we entered the immense structure, threatening clouds filled the sky. Jessie and I agreed it made a fitting backdrop for the formidable fortress.

Many things about the massive compound impressed me, but one element reminded me of a Bible passage. When I saw a lush garden thriving in the gulley formerly occupied by the moat, I immediately thought of the phrase, “swords into plowshares.”

The phrase appears in Micah 4, a chapter brimming with future hope for the people of God. Take a look at the first four verses:

It shall come to pass in the latter days
    that the mountain of the house of the Lord
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
    and it shall be lifted up above the hills;
and peoples shall flow to it,
    and many nations shall come, and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
    to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
    and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
    and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between many peoples,
    and shall decide disputes for strong nations far away;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
    and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
    neither shall they learn war anymore;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
    and no one shall make them afraid,
    for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.

Like swords becoming plowshares and spears turning into pruning hooks, the once-menacing moat, long associated with intruders and fierce battles, is now a serene site. However, it is not accessible to visitors. I longed to stroll the flower-lined paths, but I could only admire the beauty from a distance as I peered over the stone wall erected centuries ago.

I rarely watch the news since doing so can leave me feeling anxious and overwhelmed. Yet even a glance at the headlines informs me of ongoing wars and uprisings around the world. Closer to home, I have friends waging battles of a different kind as they or loved ones fight to overcome cancer, depression, financial hardships, or myriad other challenges.

And then there are days like yesterday when events command my attention, when the brokenness that permeates our world takes center stage, making me wonder what will happen next. Seasons of upheaval and uncertainty, whether personal, within my church family, or in the public realm, drive me to remember and rehearse what I know to be true.

We’re not Home yet, and we will face hardships in this life. But we belong to the One who promised never to leave or forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:8), the One who told us to take heart because He’s overcome the world (John 16:33), the One who will return to do away with the former things and establish His eternal kingdom (Revelation 21:1-5).

Though there are times when the waiting seems interminable, we wait in confident assurance of Jesus’ return. And while we wait, He graciously gives us glimpses of what it will be like when He makes all things new, like a once-ominous moat turned into a beautiful garden, even if we need to make the effort to peer over a wall to see them.

Epilog

By the time Jessie and I completed our tour of the magnificent state apartments in the Upper Ward, the sun had appeared. The blue sky and radiant light took the edge off the castle’s sinister side.

Jesus, the Light of the World, commands His followers to be light (John 8:12; Matthew 5:14-16). We have the hope of the Gospel (John 3:16) and the assurance of God’s promises to His people. May we endeavor to shine as beacons pointing others to the hope we have in Christ, making this dark world a bit brighter and less scary for all those God places along our paths.

For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you (Isaiah 54:10).

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them” (Revelation 21:3).

A Father’s Hugs

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.
1 John 3:1

When my daughter and I started planning our long-awaited trip to England and France earlier this year, I gave her a short wish list of places I would like to visit and left the planning up to her. I thought it would be fun, but in hindsight, I realize it was a tremendous amount of work. Not only did she research the places on my list, but she also scheduled many other adventures, lodging options, and special meals.

As dedicated fans of Downton Abbey, Highclere Castle was near the top of the must-see list for both of us; however, Jessie didn’t secure reservations for us before we left. Instead, we hoped to get tickets when we showed up.

Our hopes were dashed when Jessie checked the castle’s website the night before we planned to visit. Bold letters proclaimed, “ALL TOURS SOLD OUT.”

Jessie lamented, “I’m sorry I didn’t reserve the tickets earlier, Mom!”

“It’s ok, Jess, you worked so hard arranging so many other details for our trip.”

I was disappointed about not getting to visit the castle, but I was more concerned that Jessie would focus on this perceived misstep and forget about all the other things she set up for us. We’re cut from the same cloth when it comes to focusing on the one thing we missed instead of giving ourselves credit for the many things we’ve accomplished.

I prayed as I drifted off to sleep, “Lord, nothing is impossible for You, and You know how much we would like to visit Highclere tomorrow, but if it’s not to be, then please help us to accept that and enjoy all the other things You’ve got in store for us on this trip. And please help Jessie not to be upset with herself.”

It was pouring rain when we got up the following morning.

Jessie asked, “What do you want to do, Mom? Should we just forget about it and move on?”

“Nope! When we get home, we’ll be over 4000 miles from here. Right now, we’re five miles from the castle. Let’s drive over and see how far we get. Eventually, we’ll meet up with someone at a checkpoint, and we can explain our situation. All they can say is no, but at least we will have tried, and maybe we’ll get to see it from the outside.”

We ate breakfast, donned our rain jackets, and set off. We traversed the winding drive, drawing ever closer to our destination. Sure enough, someone was minding the entrance to the parking area. But it wasn’t an armed guard. It was a delightful lady in a yellow slicker and rain boots. She listened as Jessie described our plight, then cheerfully replied, “The morning group has already entered the house, but if you come back at 2:30, you’ll be able to get in.”

Jessie and I could barely believe our ears.

“Should we be here earlier to make sure?”

“No need. Be here by 2:30, and you will get in.”

Happily astounded by this turn of events, we had lunch in a nearby village and made sure to return by the appointed time. The same cheerful lady was there to welcome us back when we approached at 2:15.

She checked her watch, “You’re early!”

Jessie and I replied in unison, “We didn’t want to miss our chance!”

“You won’t. Go ahead and park, and then go over to the ticket booth. Once you get your tickets, you can queue up in front of the house.”

We purchased our tickets and strode toward the mansion. A jumble of emotions welled up as we approached the stately manor we’d seen countless times across six seasons of Downton Abbey. It was all I could do to keep from sobbing. Not only would we get to tour the grand house, but even more importantly, I knew we’d received a bear hug from our heavenly Father.

In the ranking of responsibilities, enabling a visit to Highclere Castle barely registers when compared to keeping the universe going. But the One who hung the stars and spoke everything into existence also knows every detail of His children’s lives, and He graciously gives us good gifts that leave no doubt that He knows and loves us.

The heavenly hug I received on that damp, chilly day was specially tailored and multi-layered, as they often are:

  • I’ve been walking with the Lord for nearly 50 years, but I sometimes act like I’ve forgotten Truth that He’s repeatedly affirmed in my life. I genuinely believe I’m never out of His sight (Psalm 139). However, when I travel, I sometimes feel vulnerable, and the further I venture from my home base, the more uneasy I become. An ocean stood between home and me, providing ample fodder for concern, but the Highclere experience was a beautiful reminder that God hadn’t lost sight of us just because we were overseas. That reminder stayed with me for the rest of our twelve-day trip, a touchstone when some circumstance or another tempted me to worry.
  • If we’d reserved tickets for the morning entry time, we would have been soaked waiting to enter the castle. As it was, the rain had stopped by the time we queued up in the afternoon. No soggy jeans to deal with!
  • Perhaps most importantly, Jessie didn’t have to feel bad about not getting the tickets. I didn’t want a perceived failure to overshadow all the hard work my caring, capable, conscientious daughter put into planning our trip. Neither did her Father.

Today is Father’s Day. It may be a joyous occasion for many of you as you celebrate with your dad. For others, it may be a sad day. It is for me because it’s my first Father’s Day without my dad. Though our relationship was rocky at times, I knew Dad always had my back, and there were plenty of instances when his hugs calmed my fears. From childhood scrapes and booboos to life-changing losses in adulthood, he was there. I’m thankful for the love that accompanied those consoling embraces.

I pray those of you who, like me, no longer have your earthly fathers will take comfort in knowing you’re never out of sight or reach of your Heavenly Father. Look for His affectionate hugs – those little reminders that He sees, He knows, and He loves you more than you can imagine (Isaiah 49:15-16). 

Legacy, Lament, and Longevity

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”
1 Corinthians 15:54-55

There they were, sitting side by side on a sofa at a funeral home – Mom, Dad, and my Aunt Margie, Dad’s only remaining sibling. The occasion? The service for another of his sisters. A solemn thought pervaded my soul later that evening when I gazed at the photo capturing the moment. Mom was one of eight siblings, and Dad was one of ten. Eighteen siblings had been reduced to three, and, given their ages and the relentless march of time, I knew they, too, were drawing near to the end even if the Lord blessed them with several more years.

That was January 2020. Mom passed in April 2021, Dad in July 2023, and Aunt Margie joined the family circle on high ten days ago. Oh, how it hurts to write those words and contemplate the void left in our family. A whole generation is no longer with us.

But what a generation it was! Dad’s family line-up began with two older brothers, followed by four older sisters. Dad came next, the eldest of the four younger boys. The siblings who preceded Dad served in WW II. Uncle Harry was in the army and helped liberate one of the concentration camps. Uncle Fred flew numerous bombing missions. Meanwhile, the sisters worked for the Justice Department in Washington, DC. The younger brothers served our country in later conflicts and times of peace.

With birth dates ranging from 1916 to 1937, Dad and his siblings lived through the hardships of The Great Depression. Their experiences during that tough time and humble beginnings in rural North Carolina undoubtedly shaped their values. During his eulogy for Dad, one of my cousins described him and his siblings with three Ds: Duty to country, devotion to family, and dedication to their chosen professions.

Aunt Margie

I could say so much more about my aunts and uncles, but I want to turn my attention to Aunt Margie.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve known Aunt Margie was a widow who raised four children on her own. My admiration of her as a single mother grew exponentially when I, too, was widowed at a young age and started raising my two elementary-aged daughters alone. Knowing she’d persevered for years and seeing how my cousins turned out inspired me to keep going. It wasn’t until I read Aunt Margie’s obituary that I realized she began her solo journey at an even younger age than I did – 33 years vs 38.

But that wasn’t the only area where Aunt Margie’s determination encouraged me. Like me, she loved to work in her yard and continued to do so well into her 80s.

Mom and Dad kept in touch with Aunt Margie and would fill me in on their conversations, including reports of “Margie was out working in her yard again!” which they inevitably conveyed in concerned tones. My enthusiastic reply? “Good for her! I hope I’m able to do the same!”

I felt a similar sense of, “You go, girl!” when I read this section from Aunt Margie’s obituary:

She didn’t care for Pilates or yoga, and she absolutely despised having to do physical therapy after a fall. She preferred to get her exercise by planting, weeding, and tending her flowers and vegetable garden, and insisted on mowing her yard with a push mower. Her approach to physical fitness served her well, as evidenced by her longevity.

Grandmama

Speaking of longevity, though Dad was the only one of the male siblings to make it into their 90s, all four of his sisters did. Two passed away within days of their 94th birthdays, while the other two made it to 95. And Grandmama, who bore those ten children, surpassed them all. She lived 95 years and 10 months, six months longer than Aunt Margie.

Though I have fond memories of visiting Grandmama when I was a child, I treasure the times I visited her as an adult, especially when it was just the two of us. She’s been gone 30 years, but even now, as I type, I can envision her serene countenance and see the Bible she kept on the table next to her favorite chair. I recall the softness of her skin as I held her hand during our quiet chats.

Another memory comes into focus, one of a visit my husband Ray and I paid her. When our visit was over, Grandmama walked us to the door. As we lingered on the porch, saying our reluctant goodbyes, she said, “Don’t wait too long to come back to see me. I’m going Home soon.”

I have no doubt that confident assurance contributed to Grandmama’s serenity. After a long and often challenging life, she knew she was nearing Home.

The Ultimate Longevity

It’s been heartbreaking to lose so many loved ones over the years. But death doesn’t get the final say. Regardless of how many years God grants us in this life, they’re a mere drop in the vast ocean of eternal longevity. As I grieve the loss of my last aunt, I’m once again turning to the promise of a grand reunion to assuage my sorrow. If it weren’t for that, our lament would know no solace, but because of it, we can rejoice in knowing that for those who die in Christ, death isn’t the end. It is a most glorious beginning.

Dear Lord, last Sunday, we celebrated Your resurrection. Thank You for conquering death so that we, too, will rise again when You return with glorified bodies like Yours that will never get sick or grow old or die! What a joy to know that we’ll be reunited with our loved ones and live in Your presence forever!

Death Benefits, Revisited

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me (Galatians 2:20).

Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness (Genesis 15:6 (NIV).

I’ve been known to gasp over a post-Christmas credit card bill or cringe when writing my annual property tax check, but this may have been a first – tears filled my eyes as I gazed at a deposit to my account. The deposit was present because my husband no longer is.

After dealing with the aftermath of Ray’s sudden death – notifying family and friends, planning and attending his visitation, funeral, and burial services, traveling back and forth to North Carolina – grief clouded my thinking and slowed my body. Not yet able to fully grasp the finality of the situation, I moved through my days moment-by-moment, piecing thoughts and decisions together, struggling to complete a puzzle missing an essential piece.

My parents’ presence not only comforted me, but their clearer minds filled in some of the gaps in my thinking. And so, some ten days after Ray’s passing, at my dad’s urging, we made our way to the Social Security office. I recorded the following in my journal:

“Gathered things to take to meeting with Social Security after I took Mary and Jessie to school – marriage license, passports, M&J’s birth certificates – happy bits of my life, now gathered for a very unhappy purpose.”

Nonetheless, thankfulness and relief washed over me when I heard my minor daughters qualified to receive monthly benefits, based on their dad’s earnings, until their 18th birthdays. I received a small, one-time widow’s stipend along with the news that I would be eligible to collect Ray’s benefits when I reached age 60, at least if I hadn’t remarried by then. Remarrying seemed highly improbable. Like a swan, I felt I mated once, for life. Regardless, my 60th birthday loomed 22 years in the future, a distant speck on a 21st-century calendar, so I filed that bit of information in the far reaches of my mind.

I dedicated myself to raising my daughters, completed a 30-year career at a large corporation, returned to school to study horticulture, and became “Grammie” to three precious little ones. All the while, the calendar pages kept turning with increasing velocity until that distant speck became an entry on my planner, “me – 60!!” Once again, I gathered important documents and went to the Social Security office. Thoughts of the former trip accompanied me, as did so many similar emotions, which became barely-contained tears as I resolutely recounted my story to the kind agent who entered my claim.

Several months later, the first deposit appeared on the designated date, eliciting the tears mentioned above. Ray’s benefits, based on his years of diligent work, were credited to my account. I had done nothing to earn them other than being his widow and believing that the benefits would be there as promised.

Each year, as the April 19th anniversary of Ray’s death approaches, I intentionally think back to my last week with him and my first one without him. My annual remembrance occurs in the same season as Holy Week, another time of intentional remembrance, though the exact dates of the latter change from year to year. From Palm Sunday to Good Friday, I recall the events of each day of Jesus’ final week, all He endured to save me, a destitute sinner with no hope of saving up any treasure worthy of entering the Father’s presence.

And then comes Resurrection Sunday! What joy and gratitude fill my heart, knowing Jesus’ sacrifice paid my debt and credited His perfect righteousness to my account, an account that now overflows with eternal blessings.

Indeed, Jesus’ sinless life, atoning death, and subsequent resurrection guarantee numerous benefits for those who belong to Him. Consider, for example:

  • Peace with God – Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Romans 5:1). (See also Luke 2:14; Romans 15:13)
  • Forgiveness – To him all the prophets bear witness that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name (Acts 10:43). (See also Ephesians 1:7; Colossians 1:13-14)
  • God’s abiding presence now – And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age  (Matthew 28:20b). (See also Deuteronomy 31:8)
  • and forever – Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God (Revelation 21:1-3).
  • An eternal home – In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also (John 14:2-3).
  • An imperishable body – Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality (1 Corinthians 15:51-53. (See 1 Corinthians 15:35-58 for the full description of the change we can look forward to.)
  • An eternal inheritance – Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time (1 Peter 1:3-5).

I’m grateful to receive Ray’s Social Security payments. They connect me to him and remind me of his love and care while he was with me. But each month, when I see that deposit on my statement, it also reminds me of the One who is my ultimate and eternal Provider, the Giver of all good gifts (James 1:17), who didn’t spare His only Son, but gave Him up for us all (Romans 8:32) to secure death benefits of the most enduring kind.

The Light

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
John 1:5

I’m tired. And a bit grumpy. The same thing happens every year when I lose an hour of sleep as we spring forward to Daylight Savings Time. I get out of sorts just thinking about it. But then, when evening of the shortened day descends, and it’s still light after dinner, I remember the benefits of those extra hours of light at the end of the day, including more time to work in my garden and go for walks.

I’ve shared a number of times on these pages that one of the things I like best about living in Georgia is the early arrival of spring and the long bloom season. Granted, the weather usually teases us with a few stretches of warm days followed by a return to near-freezing conditions before the last official frost date, sometimes with dire consequences for the plants that thought spring had arrived to stay.

But not so with the light. After the winter solstice, daylight gradually increases until the summer solstice, when it begins to decline again. My aunt used to give Mom an almanac calendar that noted the daily amount of daylight to the minute. By the end of December each year, Mom would happily report, “The days are getting longer!”

All this thinking about light led me to ponder THE Light.

In one of His discourses with the Pharisees, Jesus declared, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

The Apostle Paul affirmed our status in his letter to the Colossians: (The Father) has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son,  in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins (Colossians 1:13-14).

Peter also mentioned darkness and light as he described our incredible identity in Christ: But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy (1 Peter 2:9-10).

However, we must not overlook the fact that ushering us into the kingdom of light plunged Jesus into the depths of darkness as He took our sins upon Himself and endured the wrath of God on our behalf, thus removing the barrier between us and the Father:

And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” . . . And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom (Mark 15:33-34, 37-38).

The lyrics of a song we sing at church depict the painful separation of Father and Son. The words often bring me to tears as I contemplate the darkness Jesus endured for us:

How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure,
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.
How great the pain of searing loss –
The Father turns His face away,
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.[1]

Even though Jesus secured victory over death by His sacrifice on the cross, this world is still marred by sin and brokenness. There are times when we experience darkness, collectively as the Body of Christ and individually – illness, disappointments, broken hearts, and dashed dreams. But, the darkness will never overcome the Light. And, as His representatives, we’re to shine brightly, glorifying God and pointing others to the hope we have in Jesus.

In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus declared as much:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 5:14-16

Just as Mom used to get excited about the incremental minutes of daylight, we can rejoice in knowing we’re getting ever closer to Jesus’ promised return. The day is coming when darkness will be defeated once and for all, overcome by the brilliance of the spotless Lamb, surrounded by His followers arrayed in radiant robes of righteousness that have been washed in His blood:

And I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it, and its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. They will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will ever enter it, nor anyone who does what is detestable or false, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s book of life (Revelation 21:22-27).

Dear readers, I hope my musings and, more importantly, the passages of Scripture I’ve included in this post will give you some things to consider as we look forward to celebrating Easter later this month. How blessed we are that God loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us so that we might be welcomed into the kingdom of Light forever!

[1] “How Deep the Father’s Love”, Stuart Townend, 1995
Photo courtesy of Google Images.

The Sad Relief

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.
Deuteronomy 31:8

Holiday Blues

For most of my life, I looked forward to the final six weeks of the year, full of holiday cheer, beginning with Mom’s November birthday, followed by Thanksgiving, my mid-December birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s, with long-standing traditions associated with each. Granddaughter Lyla arrived the day after my birthday in 2013, multiplying the joy by becoming my birthday buddy.

But several years ago, my anticipation of the end-of-the-year celebrations began to wane as Mom’s health declined, and she couldn’t fully enjoy the season as she had in the past. Then 2020 rolled around, and, like many other families, COVID-19 derailed our Christmas traditions.

Little did we know it would be our last Christmas with Mom.

December 2021 found me going through the motions. Not only was it my first Christmas without my beloved mother, but my strong father had suffered a stroke six months after her passing. Though the physical effects were minor, the stroke impacted Dad’s cognitive abilities, leaving him incapable of handling his finances or medications, making it impossible to live on his own. Though we found a live-in caregiver for him, Dad grew tired of having someone in his space all the time. Thus, December found us looking at assisted living options, planning to move him in January.

I was equally despondent as the holidays approached in 2022. If it had been possible to fast forward to mid-January 2023, I would have done so. Dad contracted Covid at the end of October. His health was so fragile I thought it likely I would be planning a funeral before the end of the year. But he rallied and was able to celebrate Christmas, New Year’s, and his 92nd birthday before suffering another stroke in May of 2023 and gradually declining until passing away peacefully on July 12.

Grieving with Hope

After four years, holiday joy finally returned to my heart last December. That may sound strange considering it was my first without either of my parents. I’ve pondered that myself and have frequently returned to a phrase one of my friends used when she replied to my text informing her of Dad’s passing:  “I’m so sorry. Now begins the sad relief.”

The sad relief – an apt description of the blend of sorrow and joy known to Christians because we’re able to grieve with hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). Though I miss Mom and Dad, there’s great comfort in knowing they’re together in the presence of Jesus, far beyond the reach of earthly pain and distress.

After three years of intense caregiving, first for Mom and then Dad, another type of relief joined that of knowing they’re better than they’ve ever been – the relief from stress related to not knowing what any given day would bring, having to make so many difficult decisions, and, as an only child, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility. Only now, after several months of no longer experiencing the daily tension, do  I realize the load I carried, one always tinged with guilt and doubt. Was I making the right decisions? Should I be doing more? Ultimately, I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I was helpless to stop the relentless march of aging or prevent the inevitable conclusion.

Faithful God

But looking back, I also have a much clearer view of how God went before us every step of the way.

Mom’s agony was intense but relatively brief. God directed and redirected throughout the ten-day interval between the moment she fell and broke her hip and the one in which she drew her final breath. We intended to bring her home and endeavored to do so, but the Lord had plans to call her Home.

Though the stroke Dad experienced six months after Mom died wasn’t as catastrophic as her broken hip, it initiated a decline that lasted 18 months before he joined her in Glory. When he came home from the hospital, we secured a male, live-in Christian caregiver for him. I’ve got to believe that’s a rare combination of traits! When Dad grew tired of that arrangement, we found a cozy apartment in a lovely assisted living community two miles from my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren.

Then came the day when Dad’s primary care physician recommended we transition to palliative care. The assumption underlying her suggestion wasn’t lost on me. We were running out of options to make Dad “well.” It was time to focus on making him comfortable instead. And, when we needed to take the next step and enlist hospice care, who would turn out to be his primary nurses but two women who’d overseen his care after his seizure some months before. In the interim, they’d started working for the hospice provider. Coincidence? I think not!

There are other examples of God’s provision and presence during Dad’s final months, but I’ll let these suffice.

Never Alone

There were times when I felt so alone in my seat on the emotional roller coaster associated with Dad’s ever-changing status, from declines to rallies and back again. Yet I was never alone. The One who promised never to leave or forsake me was there for every up and down, every daunting diagnosis and surprising recovery, not only knowing but also ordaining the end from the beginning (Isaiah 46:9-10).

The sadness of no longer having Mom and Dad to share things with, celebrate with, or reminisce with will stay with me for the rest of my life. But there’s the joy of cherishing memories of times past, carrying on favorite family traditions with my grandchildren, and mentioning Mama and Papop often so the youngest generation doesn’t forget their great-grandparents.

Ultimately, the greatest joy comes from the realization that God accomplished what I could not – relieve their pain and suffering – and He did it for eternity.

Epilog

Several days ago, I opened my journaling Bible to a section of Psalms I hadn’t read for a while, at least not in that particular Bible. I did a double-take when I saw what I’d written next to Psalm 40:17 two days before Mom broke her hip: “My prayer for Mom tonight, Lord. Please don’t delay in helping her or delivering her from the pain she’s been experiencing.” At the very moment I was writing that prayer, He had already determined how He would answer. Twelve days later, the Lord delivered Mom entirely and eternally from her pain.

Watching Mom and Dad decline gave me a glimpse of what my future might look like as I continue my journey Home. It also provided ample evidence of God’s faithfulness. It saddens me to think of possibly losing the capability to care for myself, yet there is relief in knowing God’s grace will be sufficient for my caregivers and me, just as it was for Mom and Dad and theirs – all the way to the end (2 Corinthians 12:9; Hebrews 10:23).