Eleven Years

June 29, 2025 / Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
Colossians 3:23-24

Dear Readers,

July 1 marks the eleventh anniversary of my start in the blogging world. Buoyed by a lifelong love of writing, years of journaling, and a desire to tell others about God’s faithfulness, I began Back 2 the Garden. I wasn’t sure if anyone would be interested in reading what I wrote or how long I would continue. All I knew was that God had given me a lifetime of examples of His goodness and an ability to craft stories, an ability I longed to use for His glory.

Writing can be a lonely endeavor. There have been many times when my words were met with silence, and I wondered if they mattered or if I should even keep writing. Inevitably, during those times, the Lord would nudge someone to comment on how one of my posts had helped them, and I would keep writing, reminding myself that I’m responsible for using the gift God has given me, trusting Him for the outcome.

So, here I am, eleven years and nearly 300 posts later, still plugging along. I like to think that my writing has improved over the years, as I’ve taken classes, practiced my craft, and labored over finding just the right words to convey the message behind each post. Still, the goal of glorifying God and encouraging others remains the same.

Some of you have been reading my posts from the beginning, while others of you are more recent visitors. Regardless of your tenure, thank you! I pray you’ll always leave feeling happy you stopped by, having found at least one seed of hope-filled truth to plant in your spiritual garden.

And here, with a few edits, is the post that started it all on July 1, 2014:

Consider it pure joy

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.
James 1:2-3

It was February 1998, and I was feeling anything but joyful. Ten months before, my beloved husband, Ray, had died of a massive heart attack a few weeks after his 39th birthday. Even though I was a rational person and knew all too well the details of what had happened, on some level, I maintained a protective mantle of denial. I couldn’t accept or fathom how he could go to work one sunny spring Saturday and never return home to me and our two young daughters. But bit by bit, the reality dripped into my soul, creating an underlying sadness that colored many of my days.

In preparing for Ray’s funeral, I wrote a letter to him, which one of our pastors read during the service. Among other comments, I stated that he’d not only left a lasting legacy in the lives of our daughters, but also in the beauty of our garden. You see, Ray had a horticulture degree, and he planted many interesting things in our yard. He would tell me about the special plants he selected and teach me their names. Although he didn’t shun better-known plants like pansies and daffodils, he was also interested in having unique items. When several of his horticulture colleagues paid a visit and walked the garden with me after Ray died, oohing and ahhing over various specimens, I took note all over again how special that part of his legacy was. I also recognized how important it was for me to learn how to take care of it; otherwise, it would only be a matter of time before it was gone.

And so that February day found me outside, preparing to remove the blanket of leaves that still enshrouded the planting beds, with an aching in my heart as I longed for Ray and wished he were there to help me remove those leaves. As I started clearing the beds, I noticed a number of the perennials Ray planted were beginning to emerge from the soil. Seeing those plants and knowing they had persevered through the cold, dark winter gave me a glimmer of hope. If they could make it through that stark season, maybe I could survive my season of darkness.

Little did I know, gardening would become my passion, providing many moments of hope and healing, as well as a very real connection to Ray. Not only has God faithfully provided for me and my family since Ray’s death, but He has ministered to me over and over again through the beauty of his creation. While “playing in the dirt”, I’ve been reminded of his promises, seen tangible examples of Scriptural principles, and found solace for my soul.

This blog is born of a desire to share some of what I’ve learned spiritually and horticulturally. I hope you’ll come back to the garden with me.

Always a Mother

August 23, 2019August 23, 2019 / Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Those who know me well know I cry easily – tears of joy or sorrow, tears when beholding exceptional beauty or kindness, tears of frustration and disappointment. But sometimes, even I am surprised by what provokes the tears. This week it was a picture my daughter Mary posted – of her feet. Yep, you read that correctly. You see, her feet were clad in colorful running shoes, posed in a position unattainable since she fractured her ankle while participating in a half-marathon last November. Until now.

Cross country was Mary’s sport-of-choice in high school and she rededicated herself to distance running several years ago. This isn’t the first time a foot or ankle injury has sidelined her. Consequently, she was smart about rehabbing her ankle, not doing too much too soon. Being awarded a spot to run in this year’s Chicago Marathon, one of the most coveted invitations in the running world, provided further motivation to recover well.

Another Setback

A local municipality sponsors a series of 5k races each year, one race per month from May to October. After several years of participation, the Kennesaw Grand Prix Series is now a family tradition. I take my place on the sidewalk to cheer my runners[1] on from the final curve, down the straight-away, and across the finish line. I relish those Saturday mornings.

Mary ran the May race, her first since the fracture, continued training strategically and participated in the 50^th-anniversary edition of the Peachtree Road Race, the world’s largest 10k, on July 4th. The July 5k took place the following week. I cheered myself almost-hoarse as I watched 5-year-old granddaughter, Lyla, complete the 1-mile race. Moments later, my exuberance over her accomplishment gave way to disappointment brought about by Mary’s last-minute decision not to run. Pain in her right hip prevented her from trotting more than a few steps without wincing. And it hasn’t felt right since.

My heart hurts for my beloved daughter. Mary should be well into her training regimen for the Chicago Marathon, racking up 10-15 miles at a time, yet even 1-mile outings are proving difficult. But that’s not all. She’s endured some emotional injuries as well. Add those to her physical limitations and you’ve got the makings of a spiritual battle. One she has to wage without the benefit of her usual heart-thumping, mind-clearing time with the Lord. Solitary, stress-reducing time she’s come to count on to sustain her as a dedicated wife and mother of three, partially-homeschooled little ones, plus the demands of her not-so-part-time paid employment.

Mama Bear Lives

“Once a mother, always a mother.”

“When you hurt, I hurt.”

Lines I’ve heard my mom utter countless times throughout my life. With every passing year, I become more convinced of the veracity of her statements, no matter how old our children are. In fact, at age 87 and weighing in at about the same number, Mom is still my staunchest supporter and most fervent prayer warrior.

When my daughters were little, I wanted to protect them from hurts and disappointments, to keep them safe. That hasn’t changed now that they’re all grown up. The stakes are often higher, the hurts deeper in adulthood. I continue to pray for their safety and well-being.

A Higher Purpose

If I had my way, I wouldn’t let any harm come to my children or grandchildren, my friends or family members, EVER. But I don’t have my way. And though it may sound like I’m contradicting myself, I’m thankful I don’t. Because I have no doubt I’ve come to know God more intimately through the hard times than I ever would had I gone through life without pain or problems. My faith is stronger because of adversity, from being stretched and tested, just like our physical muscles grow strong from being used and bearing increasingly-heavy loads (James 1:2-4).

Why would I want any less for my loved ones? But I’m not wise enough to comprehend which trials will produce endurance or solidify their relationship with their Savior or conform them more to His image. When I contemplate Mary’s situation, I’m tempted to ask, “Why this, Lord? Why take running away from her? Why now when she received an invitation to run in Chicago?” I must trust God to have a good plan for her, remembering that nothing is ever lost or wasted as God weaves our stories into His grand, over-arching story of redemption (Jeremiah 29:11). I cling to the promise that He works all things together for good for those who love Him, confident Mary belongs to Him (Romans 8:28).

Just as the fractured ankle wasn’t Mary’s first run-inhibiting injury, the spiritual battle isn’t a first either. She’s suffered losses, challenges and disappointments aplenty in her 30-some years. And just as she knew how to rehab her ankle, Mary has a time-proven plan to strengthen her spirit – prayer, reading God’s word, seeking godly counsel (Romans 12:12; Psalm 119:105; Proverbs 11:14).

I watch and pray, embracing a friend’s assurance offered up when Mary was only a few months old: “God loves her even more than you do.”

Hold onto your faith, dear Mary. And remember, Mama Bear is cheering you on.

Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint (Isaiah 40:28-31).

[1] “My runners” include daughters, Mary and Jessie, granddaughters, Lyla and Emma, and assorted friends, depending on the race.

I love to tell the story – epilogue

July 27, 2019 / Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I have a confession: I struggled to bring last week’s post to a satisfying end. I added words, moved sentences, and deleted phrases for several hours without making any meaningful progress. This, even though I’d worked diligently on the post across several previous days and had a clear mental outline of what I wanted to say. As bedtime loomed before me, I finally conceded and published the result of my efforts. Nonetheless, doubts lodged in my subconscious and accompanied my restless sleep. They continued to invade my thoughts the next day and the next, making me wonder if I should have published the piece at all.

I now realize I needed the experiences of the intervening week to be able to write the rest of the story and a more comprehensive conclusion.

A Look Back

Some 30 years ago, the Lord ordained a series of events in my life that forced me to deal with long-buried hurts I alluded to in “I love to tell the story”. After years of trying to keep the box of painful memories securely closed, I could no longer keep the lid on. The kind Physician came to heal the sick (Mark 2:16-18). Unwilling for us to remain stuck in a quagmire sin, guilt and wrong-thinking, He opens the wounds, gently cleans out the infection, and applies the balm of truth. My time had come.

In most cases, transformation is a long, often arduous, process. In fact, when I entered counseling, my therapist made it clear that it takes, on average, 5 years for new ways of thinking and responding to replace the old. That seemed like an eternity for determined, goal-oriented me. But she was right and eventually, bit by bit, a new normal settled in. (The grieving process is similar, but that’s a story for another time.)

As my sessions wrapped up months later, my counselor added a warning: “Although you’ve been very intentional about working on your issues and have made significant progress, you’ll always be vulnerable to the old beliefs, especially when stress and exhaustion deplete your emotional and physical reserves.”

The events of the past week left me in just such a state.

The Enemy

A line from a song by one of the early contemporary Christian groups plays in my head from time to time: “Satan is a liar and he wants us to believe we are paupers when he knows we are children of the King.” (Maybe one of you reading this can remind me who sang it!)

I hold fast to the admonition of the pastor who also counseled me during those early months of healing: “Rebuke the lies, no matter how many times you have to tell yourself, ‘That’s a lie!’”

And rebuke I did, over and over again, until I could recognize and embrace the truth more often than not. There are still times when what I’ve come to call my “old stuff” pops up and I recite, “That’s a lie!”

Even so, Satan doesn’t give up easily. He knows he can’t ultimately defeat us, but he delights in keeping us off-balance and making us ineffective (1 Peter 5:8). Since writing my last post, I’ve been distracted by many things, as the evil one stacked the kindling, stick by stick, preparing a target for his flaming arrows. His aim, perfected over millennia, hit the mark and soon I was surrounded by flames of self-doubt, choking on the smoke of his incendiary lies.

Nonetheless, the intensity of the attack opened my eyes to the source of the week’s trials, piled one on top of another, until I had no strength to fight. But He who is in me is infinitely stronger than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4). I called on Him whose ear is ever-attentive to the cries of His children (Psalm 34:15). When the flames subsided and the smoke dissipated, I could see clearly that I was safe in the grasp of the One who’ll never let me go, just as I had been all along (John 10:28-29).

The Ultimate Victory

Our past informs our present. God is the Author of our stories. He redeems our brokenness and works even the hardest, most hurtful things together for our good and His glory albeit in ways we may not comprehend until we get to heaven.

I don’t know where you are on your journey, my friend. But whether you’re just learning to rebuke the lies or have been fighting to hold onto truth for years, victory is certain. Jesus will return to deal the final death blow to the ancient serpent and to make all things new (Revelation 12:7-10; Revelation 20:9-10; Revelation 21:1-7). We’ll know as we are known and, with unveiled faces, reflect the glory of the Most Glorious One (1 Corinthians 13:12; 2 Corinthians 3:18). No more lies. No more tears. No more battles.

Until then, may we avail ourselves daily of the comfort and protection God has provided, confident that we have nothing to fear because the Lord goes before us (Ephesians 6:10-18; Deuteronomy 1:30). His steadfast love never ceases. His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). And His grace is sufficient to meet every need (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints (Ephesians 6:10-18).

I love to tell the story

July 18, 2019July 26, 2019 / Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I spent most of my 30-year career working for DuPont as a stylist in their carpet fibers division. I followed color trends, made samples using the fibers we produced and visited customers, helping sales and marketing reps explain the exceptional qualities of our products. But there was a brief stint when I worked with bath rug fibers, the softest, most luxurious fibers we made for floor covering end uses.

Even though over three decades have passed, I clearly remember a customer meeting where we were requesting input on a developmental fiber. I touted its attributes and started a single sample on its journey around the conference room table. It never made it beyond the owner of the company. Like a child with a pet bunny, he stroked the sample repeatedly, exclaiming over its softness. I passed out other samples featuring styling suggestions for existing fibers. He’d finger them, comment, then pass them along, all the while retaining possession of his far-superior prize.

I can’t recall if anyone else got to touch the prototype or how I eventually removed it from his grasp, but I can still see him stroking that sample.

Controlled by the Past?

I was recently reminded of this long-ago scenario when daughter Mary introduced me to the intriguing phrase, “story fondling”. I followed up our conversation with some online searching and came across an article that described in more detail what Mary alluded to. In essence, story fondling involves an unwillingness to let go of the past and move on. Instead, some of us choose to hold on to past hurts and regrets, be they self-inflicted or brought about by others. Much like my customer and the beloved sample, we grasp the memories, caressing, replaying, retelling, until they come to define and, all too often, paralyze us.

Please don’t misunderstand. I know firsthand how detrimental denying the impact of our past can be. We may manage reasonably well in the present, at least until something tears the scab off a long-festering wound. Early in my marriage, I’d occasionally respond to something with such intensity, my perplexed husband would comment, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Of course, his query only served to fuel my dismay and evoke glare-accompanied replies such as, “You don’t understand!” Nonetheless, looking back with a perspective transformed by time and Truth, I know he was right. My vehement response had a little to do with the event that precipitated it, but so much more to do with the inner demons it awoke.

The father of lies (John 8:44b) delights in pushing “play” on the litany of negative messages we’ve embraced. Like a pesky earworm of the soul, the subconscious recording relentlessly repeats:

“You messed up. Again.”
“You’ll never be good enough.” (Or smart enough or thin enough or pretty enough or . . .)
“If people really knew you, they wouldn’t like you.”

Sound familiar?

A Renewed Perspective

Those well-worn, oft-replayed lines may feel comfortable in a twisted sort of way. After all, they’ve been part of us for a long time. But we belong to the Good Shepherd and are meant to listen to His voice as He contradicts the lies. Scripture assures us we are:

new creations in Christ. The old has passed away; the new has come (2 Corinthians 5:17).
being transformed from one degree of glory to another (2 Corinthians 3:18).
being conformed to the likeness of Jesus (Romans 8:29).
eternally and securely loved by the Father (Romans 8:31-39).

Not only does God’s Word give us a true picture of who we are in Christ, but it also points us forward:

This is what the Lord says—he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters . . . “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:16;18-19)
God forgives our sins and removes them as far as the east is from the west (Psalm 103:11-12), thus we may say with the Apostle Paul, “But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13b-14).
Ultimately, all things will be made new and perfect (Revelation 21:1-5).

Informed by the Past

Long-time readers of this blog know I’m intentional in remembering milestones, anniversaries and loved ones who’ve joined the great cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1). Though there are days I’m tempted to indulge in self-pity or allow past experiences to become excuses for present behavior, I endeavor instead to use these times of recollection to:

remember God’s faithfulness (Deuteronomy 7:9)
give thanks for His deliverance (Psalm 40:1-3)
celebrate my legacy of faith (2 Timothy 1:5)
resist repeating former sins (1 Corinthians 10:13; James 4:7-8)
comfort others with the comfort I’ve received (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

If you’re going to cling to a story, make sure it’s one worth holding onto!

I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see[1].

I love to tell the story – ‘tis pleasant to repeat what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet; I love to tell the story, for some have never heard the message of salvation from God’s own holy Word. I love to tell the story! Twill be my theme in glory – to tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love. [2]

[1] “Amazing Grace”, 1st stanza, Text: John Newton.

[2] “I Love to Tell the Story”, 2nd stanza. Text: A. Catherine Hankey.

Milestones and memories

August 7, 2018 / Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

1-10-5-67-5-35

Self-picked numbers on a Powerball ticket? Nope! Those numbers relate to early-August marital milestones:

8-1-2008 – Ten years ago, daughter Mary and her high school sweetheart, Justin, tied the knot outdoors on a muggy summer evening. At the reception which followed, over 300 family members and friends joyfully celebrated the union of two young people they had watched grow up.
8-5-1951 – My parents said their vows before a South Carolina Justice of the Peace since Dad’s brief leave from the Air Force wouldn’t accommodate the church ceremony Mom hoped for. Their now-67 years together are a true testament to the power of prayer and perseverance.
8-5-1983 – Ray and I married on Mom and Dad’s 32^nd wedding anniversary in a stuffy, air-conditionless sanctuary filled with wilting attendees, some of whom still refer to our ceremony as the hottest wedding EVER. For the past week, I’ve been reminiscing, yearning to celebrate a 35^th anniversary with my long-departed spouse.

I’d always dreamed of a spring wedding. But when I met my prince charming, he hailed from South Dakota farm country and spring is planting season. Someone suggested August as the best month for our mid-western relatives to travel. The 5^th fell on a Friday that year, so it seemed like a great idea to get married on my parents’ anniversary, making the event doubly-special.

25 years later, Mary and Justin chose to wed in the warmest month of the year too, but by then, there was no dad to walk Mary down the aisle. Instead, she bravely trod the runner-clad distance herself, since no one could take the place of the man who first captured her little-girl heart. I linked arms with her to walk the last few steps to the altar, then gave her away, without reservation, to a young man I knew her dad would not only approve of, but would have been good friends with. A single red rose[1] and an empty chair next to mine served to remind all in attendance of the one we carried in our hearts.

There are no days when thoughts of Ray don’t inhabit my mind, not a single one when I don’t long to talk to him. But there are some seasons when the thoughts are more numerous, the recollections bittersweet. April, the month of his passing, and August, laden with anniversaries of all those family nuptials, bring with them so many memories. My reminiscences are occasionally punctuated with, “Why, Lord?” The question escapes my soul not in a shake-my-fist manner as you might imagine, but like a deep, lonely sigh. From my finite human perspective, having Ray with us all these years seems like a better storyline. Surely we would have benefitted greatly from the presence of a godly, loving husband and father and now, grandfather, right?

I distinctly remember the point in my grieving process when I had to wrestle with the fact Ray’s death was no accident. Accepting God’s sovereignty was a critically important crossroads in my faith journey. I knew God hadn’t glanced away only to turn back and be surprised to see Ray in the throes of a fatal heart attack. No, God never lost sight of Ray. (Psalm 34:15) Each one of my beloved husband’s days was written in God’s book before even one came to be. (Psalm 139:16)

Within hours of Ray’s passing, I posed a question to one of our pastors, “Do you think Ray can see us? Not to see how sad we are, but to know how much we love him?”

Pastor Allen replied kindly, carefully, “Scripture isn’t clear on what the departed know, but God can make known to them whatever He sees fit.”

I’ve often prayed God would let Ray discern how much I love him, to know there’s a place in my heart only he can fill and to see the lasting, positive impact of his unconditional love on my life. And on the many momentous days we’ve experienced without him – high school and college graduations, weddings, the births of three precious grandchildren – I’ve pleaded, “Lord, please help Ray to see. This is his legacy too.”

Yes, my heart aches when I envision how things could have been. Yet I know my story would be so different if Ray had been with me all these years. I most likely wouldn’t have gone back to school to study horticulture. I may not have started this blog. And I’m certain I wouldn’t comprehend the love and faithfulness of my Father as intimately, had I not been depending on Him instead of my earthly husband. (Psalm 68:5)

God writes our stories in such a way that we’ll be conformed more and more to the likeness of Jesus, fitted for eternal life with Him. (Romans 8:28-30) And how better to know our Savior than to partake of God’s sustaining grace through times of hardship and sorrow, to die to self-will and accept God’s plan as best. (Matthew 26:36-39) It’s not all about happiness in the here-and-now, but it does have a delightful ending and a promise of eternal peace and joy in His presence. (Psalm 16:11)

My grandchildren are getting old enough to understand the man by my side in the wedding photo on Mary’s wall is their grandpa in heaven. My heart leapt yesterday when 2-year-old Emma mentioned Grandpa Kuipers for the first time. I love telling them about Ray, sharing his love for God and people and plants and assuring them they’ll get to meet him one day.

As I’ve thought about my would-be 35^th anniversary and 13-year marriage, a line kept skipping through my mind: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” And so I smile, because Ray and I did happen. I praise God for blessing me with a godly husband, whose love and influence continue to this day and who I’ll surely see again. Our marriage was so short, but, in light of eternity, our temporary separation will be as well. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)

[1] Please see, “A single red rose” in Archives, December 2014, to understand the significance of this floral choice.

A proper diagnosis

July 24, 2018 / Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Even though I’ve faithfully stretched and exercised throughout my adult years, I have stiff muscles. Various stressors, both physical and emotional, have no doubt contributed to my tightly-wound state. The tension increases and decreases, often without a clearly-discernible cause and effect, but it never disappears completely.

Earlier this year, a prolonged period of tender-to-the-touch joints and knotty muscles left me feeling dejected. Thankful a series of medical tests ruled out several serious possibilities, but being no closer to a solution, I procured a referral for physical therapy.

When I went for the initial evaluation, I told the therapist she was my last hope. She maintained a professional demeanor, but I’m almost certain she thought, “Just great! How did this woman end up on my schedule?” Nonetheless, she proceeded with the assessment, asking questions and directing me to bend first one way, then another.

In summarizing her findings, she stated, “Your overall strength is good and your range of motion is somewhat greater than normal. Your joints are loose.”

Attempting to interject some humor, I replied, “Then I guess it’s a good thing my muscles are tight so they can hold me together.”

The therapist didn’t laugh. Instead, she provided the missing piece that allowed me to solve the years-long mystery: “Oh, your muscles really are working over-time to provide the stability your joints and ligaments would normally provide.”

And what did I do with this critical bit of information? I turned to Google, of course! A search of “loose joints, tight muscles” yielded a name for my condition: joint hypermobility syndrome. As I read article after article, years of confounding experiences began to make sense. In trying to help myself, I’d unknowingly inflicted more harm, specifically by over-stretching and requesting too much pressure during my periodic massage therapy sessions. Sadly, my body interpreted these efforts as an assault on the alternative stabilization method it had established. The outcome: more tightness, more trigger points, more tenderness around my joints.

Physical and spiritual training require the proper equipment.

The relief of finally understanding what I’d been battling for so long mingled with deep disappointment at the realization I can’t fix it. It’s the way I’m put together. At best, I can learn how to manage it. Now enlightened, I’m focusing on strength and balance, paying more attention to posture, and being vigilant when it comes to adding pressure (physical and emotional) to an already-stressed system. I’m hopeful consistent implementation of these changes over time will be beneficial. Even so, I’m finding it difficult to be patient while my body adjusts to this new approach.

The spiritual parallels are hard to ignore. Before God calls us to himself, we lack a proper diagnosis. We sense something’s awry, something’s missing. Our attempts to feel better frequently result in the opposite or are short-lived. Because we’re created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27), made to glorify Him (Psalm 86:8-10) and enjoy fellowship with Him, nothing else can satisfy our souls’ deepest longings.*

At the appointed time, He replaces our hearts of stone with hearts of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:26) We begin to understand our condition and the sin that separates us from our Father. There’s nothing we can do to repair our brokenness. (Ephesians 2:8-9) Fortunately, He doesn’t leave us in our helpless state. He sent his only begotten Son to heal our souls and restore the family bonds broken at the fall. (Genesis 3; John 3:16) Jesus, the Great Physician, took our infirmities on himself and bore our iniquities. His wounds brought about our healing. (Isaiah 53:4-5) His righteousness, graciously granted to we who were once lost, ensures our eternal inheritance. (1Peter 1:3-5)

Even though Jesus’ perfect obedience has been credited to our accounts, fully paying the debt we owe our Holy God, we will struggle with the effects of sin, ours and others’, as long as we’re in the this world. Like my impatience with my physical progress, there are times when, with the Apostle Paul, I bewail my inability to consistently obey my Father. (Romans 7:18-20) Nevertheless, with the help of the Spirit, we’re being conformed more and more to the likeness of our elder Brother. (Romans 8:29) Bit by bit, we shed the old and put on the new. (Romans 12:2)The transformation will continue until Jesus’ promised return, when all will be made new and perfect – no more sickness, no more sin, no more tears. (Revelation 21:4)

Until then, may we abide in the One who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine according to his power at work within us. (Ephesians 3:20)

* Several well-known quotes alluding to our “God-shaped void”:

“What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him, seeking in things that are not there the help he cannot find in those that are, though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself.” Blaise Pascal, Pensées, 1692

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” St. Augustine, Confessions, c. AD 400.

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 1952.

Rest

July 31, 2017 / Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

The weather in metro-Hotlanta isn’t supposed to be this nice on the last day of July. Don’t get me wrong, a break from the seemingly-incessant heat and humidity of the past couple of months is a welcome relief. But it’s certainly not helping my post-surgery frame of mind. Even though an operation to relieve carpal tunnel and trigger thumb wasn’t optional, a steroid injection in May gave me some flexibility in scheduling. Thus I chose July 25^th, the heart of summertime. I reasoned the customarily-oppressive weather conditions would soften the blow of not playing in the dirt while I focused on recovering in time for the fall gardening season.

Yet here I am, a mere six days after being anesthetized, cut on and sutured, clamoring to be outside pulling weeds and swinging my mattock on this glorious afternoon. Although a passing glance at the back of my hand belies last week’s trauma, a quick flip of the wrist reveals a palm more befitting the Bride of Frankenstein. Black stitches protrude from my bruised, slightly swollen flesh like tiny whiskers, while the surgical road map sketched out by my doctor, though fading, is still visible.

I reach instinctively. My hand quickly reminds me it’s not ready to lift or grip or even hug. And so I rest.

In spite of my whining, I am thankful to be on this side of the surgery, thankful to have awakened from the anesthesia[1], thankful to be home. The windows are open for the first time in weeks, allowing me to savor the breeze. From my vantage point at the kitchen table, I’m entertained by numerous birds of varying kinds – daughter Jessie refers to them as my twitter following – as they flit from feeder to deck to branch, some with hungry fledglings in tow. As I sit and reflect, my body is hard at work healing, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.[2]

Making time to rest is challenging for wired-to-work me. I’m a list-making, check-it-off, don’t-slow-down sort. Yes, I’m like Martha by nature, but am called to become more like Mary. Commended by Jesus for having chosen the better part, she sat at his feet and drank in his teaching instead of bustling about with her sister.[3]

Be still and know that I am God.[4]

Taste and see that the Lord is good.[5]

“This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to Him!”[6]

God ordained rest. He who needed no rest, set us an example from the very beginning, when everything was still “good”.[7] Then, at the appointed time, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.[8] Fully God, yet fully man, Jesus knew hunger and thirst and fatigue. He, too, set us an example, affirming man does not live by bread alone[9]; promising living water[10]; taking time to be alone with His Father.[11]

When I had carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand two years ago, Mom told me multiple times a day, “Don’t hurt your hand!” My reply, “I’ll take care of my hand, otherwise I’ll only be hurting myself.” This now-humorous litany is repeating itself. Being a doer herself and having undergone several surgeries, Mom knows how difficult it is to endure forced rest.

Lord willing, I’ll be off the disabled list soon, back to the garden in time to accomplish my fall-season objectives.[12] But when my health is restored, may I remember rest is not optional, especially when it comes to my spiritual well-being. If I don’t take time to seek His face[13], to listen for His still, small voice[14], I’ll only be hurting myself.

The One who lived a sinless life on our behalf that we might live with Him forever[15] bids, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”[16]

Rest for our souls . . . the very best rest of all.

[1] I do NOT like to be put to sleep and my first thought upon regaining consciousness is usually something along the lines of, “Thanks, Lord, I’m still here!”

[2] Psalm 139:14

[3] For the full recounting of the sisters’ story, see Luke 10:38-42

[4] Psalm 46:10

[5] Psalm 34:8

[6] Mark 9:7

[7] Genesis 2:2-3

[8] John 1:14

[9] Matthew 4:4

[10] John 4:1-26 records the story of Jesus’ exchange with the Samaritan woman by the well.

[11] Luke 5:16

[12] James 4:13-15

[13] Psalm 27:8; Psalm 105:4

[14] 1 Kings 19:10-13 tells of Elijah’s encounter with the LORD.

[15] Romans 5:1-11

[16] Matthew 11:28-30

A time to heal

October 13, 2015 / Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Watching my hand heal from carpal tunnel surgery has been a fascinating experience, a daily reminder of the truth of Psalm 139:14: we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

When I left the hospital my hand was swathed in an impressive bandage that made my appendage look like a soft white club. Judging by the size of the dressing you would have thought I’d had my hand replaced! Three days later, my daughter Jessie carefully unwrapped the massive bandage as my mom watched, none of us quite sure what to expect when my hand was finally revealed. I, not liking the sight of blood or incisions especially when they’re on me, averted my gaze. Mom’s, “Oh, that’s not bad at all”, was quickly followed by Jessie’s, “It looks a bit gruesome though.” The latter comment kept me from looking . . . for days! Instead, Mom faithfully changed the small-by-comparison Band-Aide® each night, offering more encouraging commentary which was enough to assure me progress was being made.

When my daughter Mary first saw my hand without the post-surgery dressing she remarked, “I bet it feels good to have your hand unwrapped.” It was certainly more comfortable, but without the enormous bandage I felt quite vulnerable and became very protective of my hand. In her self-titled role of “Nurse Jane”, Mom not only checked my incision nightly, but admonished me multiple times a day not to overdo it or hurt my hand. I assured her (repeatedly) that I’d be very careful since I’d be the one to suffer if I hurt myself. Indeed, I was so focused on recovering well, I followed the surgeon’s instructions to the letter and did my best to protect my incision, which I looked at frequently AFTER the stitches were removed. I even forsook working in my beloved garden for a whole month!

Bit by bit, my strength and range of motion improved as I tried to do a little more each day and let my hand tell me when I was asking it to do too much. One morning, several weeks after surgery, my hand felt almost normal. “Yes! I’m well!” . . . Nope! The next day, and for several days afterwards, I experienced cramping and occasional shooting pain in my hand. Healing had progressed to a deeper level. A week or so after that first almost-normal day, I experienced another day with little to no surgery-related discomfort. I expect there will be more good days and less pain as the recovery process continues to completion and am confident the final outcome will be positive.

The pain of loss can be every bit as sharp and piercing as any surgeon’s scalpel. Though the wounds are invisible, it’s just as important and appropriate to take care of ourselves when we’re hurting emotionally. Resting, receiving encouragement and assistance from supportive people, and protecting ourselves from further harm are critical components of healing, whether the injuries are physical or emotional.

And don’t underestimate the value of time . . .

Grieving is a process as individual as physical healing and every bit as back and forth. There are days when a new normal starts to feel comfortable, followed by a return to hours marked by profound sadness upon realizing all over again that things won’t ever be the way they were. Two steps forward, one back. Three steps forward, two back. But gradually, in time, healing takes place because the One who made us, fearfully and wonderfully, is the same One who never lets us go. He has compassion on us, remembering we’re dust and knowing what it’s like to experience the sorrows of this life because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

So let us be gentle and patient with ourselves and with each other, following the example of He who took up our pain and bore our sorrows that we might be healed.