Hope

Perseverance

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

We’ve had a rough winter here in metro Atlanta. Ten inches of snow in December, another 2-inch “dusting” in January plus a week-long string of high temperatures in the 30’s and lows in the teens and 20’s. We also awoke to single-digit wind chill readings on multiple occasions. Brrr!! I realize some of you may be perusing this from places where you experience long winters accompanied by plenty of snow and frigid temps every year. Thirty-seven degrees would feel like a welcome heat wave. But, after 25 years, this Delaware-transplant has more than acclimated to milder winters and is ready for the beginning of another Southern Spring!

IMG_0420After several days of near-average weather, a cold front blew in late yesterday, resulting in another brisker-than-usual day today. Nonetheless the sky was that brilliant blue that beckons me outside so I bundled up and went for a stroll through my neighborhood, praising God for the warm sun and glorious cerulean canopy. When I returned home, I just had to walk the property. Even though we’ve had an extra-cold couple of months, I wanted to see what signs of life I might be ableIMG_5078 to find. I wasn’t disappointed. My witch hazel is in full bloom, buds are ready to open any day on a number of Lenten roses and foliage of early daffodils has poked up through the soil.

These sightings brought a smile to my face, but what I found when I carefully moved the leaves back from the locations of some spring ephemerals elicited squeals of delight. Yes, if anyone had been close IMG_5133enough, they would have overheard several exclamations of, “Oh, yay! Thanks, Lord!!”, as I discovered the tiniest evidence of returning trilliums and trout lilies, their miniscule leaves barely protruding above the soil. I gently replaced their leafy blanket, buoyed by the anticipation of seeing them in all their glory in a few weeks.

And I was reminded of another late-winter day nearly 20 years ago when my heart was anything but light. I’d ventured out to start clearing the leaves from the planting beds, a task my husband would normally have performed. But, as I was gradually coming to accept, that and so many of his previous responsibilities shifted to me after a heart attack felled him suddenly a mere two months after his 39th birthday the year before. Grief and reality intermingled and permeated my soul. Nonetheless, just like today, when I moved the leaves, I saw tiny perennials popping up – plants that Ray had acquired and cared for. Seeing them gave me hope. If those tiny plants could survive the cold, dark winter, maybe I would survive mine as well.[1]

I’ve benefitted from many hours of garden therapy since, as God has used numerous aspects of his remarkable creation to encourage, teach and minister to me. Spending time with Him in my yard is indeed one of my most cherished pastimes.

Furthermore, plants’ perseverance through less-than-favorable circumstances is, for me, one of their most endearing characteristics, reminding me of my mom’s oft-uttered admonition, “We can’t give up! We have to hold onto our faith.” The Apostle James goes a step further when he instructs us to consider it pure joy whenever we face trials of many kinds, because we know that the testing of our faith produces perseverance.[2]   I don’t know about you, but I rarely ever (ok, make that never) pray to be tested and I still say I wouldn’t have volunteered to be widowed at age 38. Nonetheless, I am certain I know God – his love, his faithfulness, his character – more intimately because He sovereignly incorporated that event into my story.

James says we must let perseverance finish its work so that we may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. And Paul assures us we’re not striving alone as He who began a good work in us will see it through to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.[3] Each of us has our own unique set of difficulties, our own winters to endure, but He who watches over the birds of the air and the flowers of the field cares infinitely more for his children.[4]

The garden may appear lifeless these days, but the plants are merely awaiting their time to burst forth, reminding us of our resurrected Savior and his promise to return to set all things right and to dwell among his people forever.[5]

Oh, Lord, how we look forward to your promised return.[6] Please help us to be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer as we await the glorious day of your coming.[7]

[1] I wrote my first blog post about this experience. Please see “Consider it pure joy” in Archives, July 2014.

[2] James 1:2-3

[3] Philippians 1:6

[4] Matthew 6:25-34

[5] Revelation 21:1-5

[6] John 14:1-3

[7] Romans 12:12

The Good Guy wins

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

IMG_3893Ask six-year-old Joshua which show he’d like to watch and chances are he’ll reply with an exuberant, “Wild Kratts, please!” Each episode of the animated wildlife series features a different animal or two as cartoon versions of real-life brothers, Chris and Martin Kratt teach viewers about various critters. To keep things extra-interesting, the ever-dedicated siblings are usually tasked with keeping a particular episode’s subjects safe from one of several regularly-guest-starring scoundrels.

Earlier this week, three-year-old Lyla and I were coloring at the kitchen table, all-the-while keeping an eye on the Wild Kratts adventure unfolding before Joshua. I was bemoaning the fact Gourmand, a villainous chef with an affinity for cooking small animals, had trapped several baby ferrets and was about to turn them into some kind of stew. Lyla calmly consoled me, “Don’t worry, Grammie. The good guys always win.” I was immediately reminded of similar situations when I was not much older than my grandchildren. While watching some show or other with my dad, I’d become anxious as ne’er-do-wells got the upper hand, only to hear Dad’s confident, “They’ll get their comeuppance before it’s over!”

Oh how we need reassurance that happy endings aren’t just the stuff of fairy tales and cartoon heroes. From crushing headlines of unthinkable carnage to personal struggles and infirmities, it too-often appears malevolence has the upper hand and is refusing to let go. Despite events and circumstances to the contrary, God remains firmly in control, ruling over all the earth[1] and constraining evil.[2] Furthermore, He promises to work all things together for good for those who love him,[3] even the most horrific and difficult things we face, things our finite minds and fragile hearts can’t begin to comprehend. We can trust him to do so because He sent his only Son to die for us, the Just for the unjust – the supreme example of transforming immense evil into eternal good.[4]

Jesus won a resounding victory over death[5], our most heinous enemy. And, in taking our punishment upon himself,[6] He ensured all who believe in him for salvation will be victorious as well.[7] Jesus’ sacrificial death is the definitive assurance of God’s love; our Father’s guarantee that the good guys will win in the end and the bad guys will get their comeuppance.

I’ve been reading “Be Still, My Soul, Embracing God’s Purpose & Provision in Suffering”, a compilation of essays on the problem of pain by various authors. These passages from R.C. Sproul’s contribution, “Is There Such a Thing as Senseless Tragedy?” are especially meaningful this week:

“The word ‘tragedy’ presupposes some kind of order or purpose in the world. If the world has purpose and order, then all that occurs in it is meaningful in some respect. The idea of a ‘senseless tragedy’ represents a worldview that is completely incompatible with Christian thought. It assumes that something happens without purpose or without meaning. If God is God and if he is a God of providence, if he is truly sovereign, then nothing ever happens that is ultimately senseless.”[8]

“(Romans 8:28) is not merely a biblical expression of comfort for those who suffer affliction. It is far more than that. It is a radical credo for the Christian worldview. It represents the absolute triumph of divine purpose over all alleged acts of chaos. It erases ‘misfortune’ from the vocabulary of the Christian. God, in his providence has the power and the will to work all things together for good for his people. This does not mean that everything that happens to us is, in itself, good. Really bad things do happen to us. But they are only proximately bad; they are never ultimately bad. That is, they are bad only in the short (proximate) term, never in the long term. Because of the triumph of God’s goodness in all things, he is able to bring good for us out of the bad. He turns our tragedies into supreme blessings.”[9]

Lord, your ways are not our ways, your thoughts so much higher than ours.[10] Grant that we may we see with eyes of faith, trusting your unconditional, unending love for us; remembering that all of your promises are “Yes” in Jesus.[11] For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that outweighs them all.[12]

[1] Psalm 47:7-8

[2] See for example Job 1:12 and 2:6, where God puts limits on how Satan may torment Job.

[3] Romans 8:28

[4] Romans 5:6-8

[5] 1 Corinthians 15:54-57

[6] Isaiah 53:4-6

[7] John 3:16; Ephesians 2:4-9

[8] R.C. Sproul, “Be Still, My Soul, Embracing God’s Purpose & Provision in Suffering”, Wheaton, IL; Nancy Guthrie/Crossway, 2010; pp. 43-44.

[9] Ibid, p. 47

[10] Isaiah 55:8-9

[11] 2 Corinthians 1:20

[12] 2 Corinthians 4:17; Revelation 21:1-7

Bearing all things

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment
One of several varieties of daffodils Ray planted and the earliest to bloom. They come back year after year, a cheerful reminder of him!

One of my favorite things about living in the South is the relatively mild winters. We generally have a handful of bitterly cold days each year, but we’re just as likely to get days with above-average temperatures and early glimpses of spring. This year is no different. We were iced-in the first weekend of the New Year, but have been blessed with many warm, sunny days since. The moderate weather has coaxed a number of plants from their slumber, including daffodils, quince, spirea and my tiny trout lily. I’ve passed pleasant moments strolling around various neighborhoods, my little property and Smith-Gilbert Gardens relishing the re-awakening.

Unfortunately, this is also the time of year when I’m confronted with the results of crape murder, the practice of severely pruning lovely crape myrtles, sometimes back to their main trunks. Oh the carnage! Observing these maimed specimens makes me cringe.

img_2811

One of this year’s victims.

I watched the abused tree whose photograph I featured in the February 2015 post, “Prudent Pruning”, as I passed by it almost daily last summer. Sure enough, it put out new growth, though sadly out of scale with the remaining base, and even bloomed. Such is the case with most crape myrtles. In spite of being mercilessly whacked-back, they persevere and bring forth flowers.

 

As I observed and pondered, I reflected on how some people are much like the crape myrtles. Frequently wounded and taken for granted even by those they love, they nevertheless bear the fruit of the Spirit[1] and the sweet fragrance of life.[2] They faithfully serve, knowing Whom it is they ultimately seek to please.[3]

1 Corinthians 13 is often referred to as the “Love Chapter” and is frequently read at weddings. Verses 4 through 8a describe love as follows:

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”[4]

Many years ago a Bible study leader suggested to our group that we try reading through these verses using our name, e.g. Patsy is patient and kind, and so forth. We laughed uncomfortably knowing we couldn’t meet those high standards, at least not consistently. Then our leader suggested we substitute “Jesus”. We were quiet as we contemplated the beauty and perfection of our Savior, God’s gift of love incarnate.

He was rejected, misunderstood and beaten. He was betrayed by a kiss from one disciple[5] while another denied ever being with him.[6] Yet he bore all things, most importantly our sins[7], that we might become like him, beloved children of the King, co-heirs with the Son.[8]

Jesus made it clear that the current world order will be turned upside down when he returns – the first shall be last, the least shall be greatest, the meek shall inherit the earth.[9] As we await his promised return, we can be confident we’re not alone.[10] Even now he is seated at the right hand of God[11] interceding for us.[12] Therefore, may we not grow weary in doing good, regardless of the response we receive now, knowing that in due season we will reap if we do not give up.[13]

[1] Galatians 5:22-23a

[2] 2 Corinthians 2:14-15

[3] Colossians 3:23-24

[4] ESV translation

[5] Judas’ betrayal is recounted in Matthew 26:48-50, Mark 14:44-45 and Luke 22:47-48

[6] Peter’s denial is recorded in Mark 14:66-72 and John 18:15-18, 25-27

[7] Isaiah 53:4-6

[8] Romans 8:14-17

[9] See Matthew 20:16, Matthew 23:11-12 and Matthew 5:5 respectively

[10] Joshua 1:5b, Hebrews 13:5b-6

[11] There are numerous references to Jesus’ place at the right hand of God including Luke 22:69, Colossians 3:1 and Hebrews 8:1.

[12] Hebrews 7:25

[13] Galatians 6:9-10

From beginning to end

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

Sunday before last, I had the privilege of attending two special services. That morning I watched as my 7-month old granddaughter, Emma, was baptized.img_2017 Four generations were present as her parents vowed to bring her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.[1] As the congregation promised to come alongside Mary and Justin as they raise Emma, I prayed she won’t be able to remember a day when she doesn’t know God loves her. I made a similar supplication when my daughters and other grandchildren were baptized, for there is no greater assurance than knowing you’re a child of the King.[2]

Later that day, I attended the memorial service for the mother of my dear friend, Susan Hunt. Mrs. Mac, as most affectionately referred to her, was 99 years old when she was called Home. She was ready. Her health had been declining for some time and, knowing the end of her earthly life was drawing near, she had been planning her funeral. Susan related that at times it felt like they were planning a party, as she and her daughters helped Mrs. Mac select hymns and scripture passages for the service. There was certainly a celebration that afternoon, of a life well-lived by a godly woman whose death was precious in the sight of her Lord.[3]

Our pastor, who shared 1 Corinthians 15:50-58[4] with Mrs. Mac just minutes before she passed away, spoke on the Apostle Paul’s declaration in Philippians, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”[5] Indeed, for believers, death is the gateway to eternal life in the presence of God. Yet even at Emma’s tender age, as she gets bumps and bruises from toppling over while learning to crawl, this life presents challenges. Jesus didn’t downplay the difficulties and hardships we’d face. He told his disciples to expect them, but added the promise He’d overcome the world. [6] And while we’re here, we’re called to do all to his glory[7], keeping our eyes firmly fixed on him, not our circumstances.

Pastor Todd Allen had the closing prayer, a sermonette in its own right, at Mrs. Mac’s service. Now 92, he proclaimed the same truth he declared at Ray’s funeral over 19 years ago. Speaking words of hope and assurance, Pastor Allen reminded us that when the days allotted to us are over, we too will be welcomed Home. What an encouragement to see the consistent faith of this senior saint across the years, a faith and consistency shared by Mrs. Mac and others who’ve gone before us. May we, like them, be able to say with the Apostle Paul when our days here are coming to an end, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”[8] The One who is with us from beginning to end, the Alpha and the Omega[9], is worthy of all praise, glory and honor. [10]

[1] Ephesians 6:4, King James

[2] 1 John 3:1

[3] Psalm 116:15

[4] This passage includes the proclamation, “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

[5] Philippians 1:21

[6] John 16:33

[7] 1 Corinthians 10:31

[8] 2 Timothy 4:7

[9] Revelation 1:8, Revelation 22:13

[10] Revelation 5:12

A different kind of grief

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

“19 years on the 19th”. That phrase has been echoing in my mind for the past several weeks as yet another anniversary of my husband’s sudden death approached. Shortly after lunch 19 years ago today I told Ray goodbye for the last time . . .

In 1997 the 19th fell on a Saturday. It was a beautiful, warm day, much like today. Life was proceeding normally – Ray left for his job at The Home Depot, I and my young daughters (ages 10 and 7 at the time) went shopping for summer attire. Mary, Jessie and I returned home around 7pm. We weren’t in the house 10 minutes when the phone rang. Chris, a patient care specialist from Kennestone Hospital was calling to tell me Ray had been brought to the emergency room from work and I needed to get there as soon as possible. No other details. It wasn’t until we were in a private room at the hospital that I got the devastating, life-changing news.

After a few questions about Ray’s health, Chris said a doctor would be in to talk to me. I pleaded, “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s alive?” For a moment she just looked at me. I asked more urgently, “Is he alive?” And then came the awful reply, “No, honey, he isn’t.” That scene, her words and the gasp of disbelief that simultaneously escaped me and my little girls will be forever etched in my mind.

But oh how God has comforted, upheld and sustained us across all the years since that fateful night. Over and over again He’s proved himself as a protector of this widow and a Father to my fatherless girls. [1]

Our pastor recently began a sermon series on Philippians. The past two weeks he’s reminded us that Biblically-based joy is not dependent on circumstances. It’s grounded in the assurances of God regarding the past, present and future found in His Word. Our faith won’t exempt us from hardship. Believers will face trials and troubles of various kinds. Jesus told us as much, but He didn’t stop there. He encouraged us to take heart because He’s overcome the world. [2]

We know the end of the story. Even now He’s preparing a place for us.[3] So we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. [4] There will be times when we’re hurt and disappointed, times when we may cry out, “Why, Lord?”, but we won’t be alone for He’s promised to never leave us.[5] In our humanity we’ll experience a full range of emotions associated with the events of our lives – Jesus, fully man, wept over Lazarus’ death even though being fully God, He knew He’d raise him – yet the Truth will allow us to not be controlled by our feelings.

Soon after hearing Chris’s answer, it was as if a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have taken in the enormity of it all at one time without crumbling. Instead, the Lord provided a protective, albeit primarily subconscious, bubble of denial and disbelief. It allowed the reality of Ray’s death to drip into my soul bit by bit over weeks and months as I was ready to accept it. In the days immediately after, I was in a state of shock, yet the Lord enabled me to make difficult decisions regarding the visitation, service and Ray’s final resting place. Most amazing, He gave me the strength to speak for a few minutes at the end of his funeral. I’ll close this post with the sentiments I expressed when concluding my remarks that day.

None of us knows when the last goodbye will be said. Keep current in your relationships. Tell your family you love them. Thank your friends. Hug people who are dear to you. Let them know you care. And let us leave today rejoicing because we know Ray is in the presence of God. I believe he’s planting flowers right now and I look forward to joining him in God’s garden one day.

055

 

[1] Psalm 68:5

[2] John 16:33

[3] John 14:2-3

[4] 1 Thessalonians 4:13

[5] Deuteronomy 31:6, 8

Family matters

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Week before last, a friend from church and I made similar journeys. She and her husband drove to Texas with their two small sons while my daughters and I flew to South Dakota. We were traveling to be with our extended families – she to say goodbye to a much-loved grandmother; me to help lay to rest a cherished brother-in-law. Back in our home state of Georgia last Tuesday, we hugged and tearfully shared details of our bittersweet treks. We affirmed to each other the assurance our loved ones are safely Home and agreed the tears we shed weren’t for them, but for ourselves, the ones temporarily left behind.

And then my friend said something that resonated with me just as deeply: “When I’m with my family, I remember who I really am.” Yes! The world uses myriad criteria to judge us, each with an implied worth – income, education, appearance, occupation, and so many more. But in my family I’m valued simply because I’m one of them. I belong. Not that we don’t encourage each other to do our best and celebrate our successes, but they aren’t the cost of entry. And our calamities, even when self-induced, aren’t reason for dismissal. I’m thankful for the unconditional love I’ve experienced in my family of origin. I’m equally blessed to have married into a family whose members are there for each other. They accepted me into their fold when Ray first introduced me to them over 30 years ago and have welcomed me ever since.

As I listened to the prayers that punctuated many of our gatherings while we were in South Dakota, I was reminded of the heritage of faith undergirding my daughters and grandchildren. There are generations of faithful believers on both sides of our family, many now part of the great cloud of witnesses. Because of the boundless love the Father has lavished upon us in sending his Son, we’re part of his forever family – chosen, unconditionally accepted, destined for another Home. No matter how the world chooses to judge us, when we’re in the presence of our Father, we remember who we really are.

Fixing our eyes

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

A while back, a friend asked if I’d ever heard the adage, “Heaven may be my home, but I’m not homesick yet.” No, somehow I made it through over half a century of living without hearing that one, in spite of being a believer for the vast majority of those years. Since becoming acquainted with it, however, I’ve had a number of occasions which have brought it to mind, but with a twist: “Heaven is my Home and I’m so very Homesick” . . . like the news I received a few days ago.

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, stuck inside on such a lovely day when I would rather have been outside playing in the dirt. But, not wanting to risk injury or infection to my recently-operated-on hand, I opened a bunch of windows and enjoyed the breeze. A phone call from one of my sisters-in-law broke the afternoon silence. Even before I answered, I knew it was unlikely she’d call me in the middle of a weekday just to say hello. Sure enough, the tidings weren’t good. My youngest brother-in-law had died the day before, felled by a heart attack at a much-too-early age as were his father and brother (my husband) before him.

I’m all too familiar with phone calls that bring such life-changing news. The report that another loved one has suddenly been called Home puts everything else into perspective. The disappointment I was feeling about not being able to go outside was quickly eclipsed by the more pressing reality I’d been made aware of. I’m convinced no matter how many such life-altering phone calls I receive, they’ll never get easier. My tears are quickly followed by numbness and denial – Not again, Lord! How can this be happening? – Yet death is one of life’s certainties. And those of us left behind grieve, but not as those who have no hope.

God has great compassion on us, remembering we’re dust. He reminds us through the Apostle Paul that our present troubles, which are described as light and momentary, are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. He encourages us to fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, while what is unseen is eternal. Similarly, Jesus tells us to store up our treasure in heaven, not on earth. Commenting on Jesus’ directive in light of loss, Elisabeth Elliot states,

“The loss of someone we love, whether by death or otherwise, brings us to the brink of the abyss of mystery. If we wrestle, as most of us are forced to do, with the question of God in the matter, we are bound to ask why He found it necessary to withdraw such a good gift. Cover "The Path of Loneliness"We will not get the whole answer, but certainly one answer is the necessity of being reminded that wherever our treasure is there will our hearts be also. If we have put all our eggs in the basket of earthly life and earthly affections we haven’t much left when the basket falls. Christians, being citizens of Another Country, subjects of a Heavenly King, are supposed to set their affections there rather than here – a lesson few learn without mortal anguish.”[i]

Later this week we’ll gather in a tiny South Dakota town to remember Phil, a quiet, gentle man. He never married but cherished his family and endeavored to attend most all of the weddings of his numerous nieces and nephews. As we stand in the windswept cemetery just outside of town, I’ll strive to fix my eyes on the unseen. For then I’ll see two brothers, eternally reunited and I’ll rejoice in the assurance that our treasured family circle will one day be completely restored in a Home where there will be no more tears or death or pain.

Phil Kuipers. a kind and gentle man 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

Phil Kuipers, 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

[i] Elisabeth Elliot, “The Path of Loneliness”, (Grand Rapids, Revell, 2001) pg. 59

Letting go

/ Patsy Kuipers / 5 Comments

Over the years Ray and I were married, I saw him pull up perfectly good plants to make way for the next season’s annuals. I was always a bit appalled since I’m one of those people who doesn’t like to waste anything. Yet he knew the next season’s plants needed time to establish their roots and get acclimated before the harsher temperatures of the upcoming season arrived, be they summer’s highs or winter’s lows.

Purslane, Portulaca oleracea

Purslane (Portulaca oleracea) is a dependable sun-loving, drought tolerant summer annual. Mine has bloomed enthusiastically since I planted it in May, but is starting to look a bit tired and leggy. Soon it will be replaced by mums which will in time be replaced by violas.

As I’ve become more knowledgeable horticulturally, I’ve realized Ray was right and I try to get my cool-season annuals placed in their beds at a reasonable time even if it means pulling up still-blooming warm-season plants and vice versa. (I do, however, usually apologize to the plants I’m pulling up and thank them for providing so much enjoyment across their respective season.)

A wise friend recently pointed out that our strengths become weaknesses when pushed to their extremes. I’m loyal and dedicated, a consummate Golden Retriever for those of you familiar with Gary Smalley’s animal-based personality profiles. Just as I hesitate to remove still-flowering plants from my garden, I find it difficult to let go of people or situations, even when it would be best to do so – loyal and dedicated . . . to a fault. I’ve said on many occasions since losing my job four and a half years ago I’d still be sitting in my cube, working away, if God hadn’t made it abundantly clear that chapter of my life was over. And what an amazing adventure I would have missed had He not (lovingly) slammed that door and sent me on my way. After all, I went back to school to study horticulture and became a first-time grandmother within six months of losing my job. What a joyful, and somewhat humorous, combination of events!

Becoming gainfully unemployed is just one of many positive life-changing examples I can look back on. So you’d think I’d be better at letting go by now. Sadly, that’s not the case. Probably because letting go feels too much like giving up or losing. Plus there’s the fear of the unknown. Yet I firmly believe God always knows what’s next. He encourages us, saying, “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?” (Isaiah 43:18-19a) There are times when I’m so focused on the known and the now I can’t perceive anything beyond an underlying sense of disquiet beckoning me to move forward. Tentatively, I’ll let go with one hand while keeping a tight grip with the other. But God is able to do far more than I can ask or imagine so isn’t it likely I’ll need both hands to receive whatever it is He wants to give? Being a patient and compassionate Father, He works to loosen my grip and enable me to embrace His plan – His good and perfect plan.

Even though it’s only mid-August, a few leaves are starting to fall, early harbingers of the major leaf-drop to come in a couple of months . . . signaling another chapter, another season, reminding me letting go isn’t giving up or losing.  It’s making way for the new.

Here comes the sun

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I try not to complain about the weather. As a dedicated gardener, I know plants need the rain every bit as much as they need the sun. However, for the past week or so, the sunny South had been anything but. One cold, cloudy, drizzly day followed another in somber progression until I finally succumbed, sadly lamented the lack of sunshine and spent the better part of one day earlier this week in tears.

Yesterday the glorious sphere of light finally reappeared, warming the earth and restoring my customary optimistic outlook. There was renewed activity around the bird feeder, which had been woefully devoid of the happy twittering of my feathered friends on those seemingly endless dreary days. A squirrel scampered back and forth on the deck railing, plotting strategy for an attack on the feeder (which he wisely didn’t try!) The violas planted by my mailbox, drooping after the cold days and frigid nights, began to lift their heads toward the sunlight. Indeed all of us were buoyed by the sun’s return.

The sun shone brightly again today, beckoning me outside to check on my beloved plants. The busyness of the holidays and the recent cold temperatures had deterred me from my practice of walking the property on a regular basis.  I began my afternoon by removing last year’s spent foliage from a number of perennials and then went in search of new growth. I didn’t have to look far. Even though the garden may appear lifeless and barren, plants are alive and well, preparing for a new season. Finding these signs of life gives me great joy and fills me with hope, just like it has every year since I first faced the task of cleaning up the beds by myself (see “Consider it pure joy”, July 1, 2014).

As the succession of overcast days left me feeling dejected, wondering if the sun would ever reappear, there are times when a spiritual chill can settle upon us. Worries and fears cloud our perspective, leading us to question the presence of the Son. Yet, just as the sun is there when we can’t see it or feel its warmth, the Son has promised to be with us always, to the very end of the age (Matthew 28:20). He will guide, sustain and protect us through all the seasons of our lives until the day when we dwell with Him in the City that will not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God will give it light and the Lamb will be its lamp (Revelation 21:23).

A single red rose

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

Red roses have been associated with romantic love for centuries. According to the ProFlowers website, “The red rose began its illustrious symbolic history in Greek and Roman iconography, where it was tied to Aphrodite, or Venus, the goddess of love.” In his enduring poem, “A Red, Red Rose”, Robert Burns likened his true love to one of the exquisite flowers. I, too, have been touched by the beauty of red roses. As a matter of fact, it’s probably not an overstatement to say one played a role in changing the course of my life . . .

When I was in my early twenties, I met a handsome young man and promptly fell head-over-heels for him. Surely he was “the one”! Some months later, it became evident he wasn’t, as he stated his desire to return to his college sweetheart, who he’d never completely gotten over. I was crushed. Yet, a mere week later, I met Ray, another handsome young man who I’d come to know and love. He was thoughtful and kind and had a bit of a stubborn streak. His tenacity came in handy since it took no small effort on his part to break through the fog of despondency that settled around me after “not-the-one-after-all” broke up with me. As summer turned into fall, I continued to turn down Ray’s invitations, seeing him instead at activities sponsored by the singles group where we first met. I commented to my mom, “I’m not sure why he keeps asking me out.” Her reply, “He’s obviously found someone he likes and isn’t going to give up easily!”

The Singles Group Christmas dinner was held on my birthday that year. After the banquet, Ray presented me with a single red rose. Somehow that rose broke through my defenses and opened my heart to the possibility of loving again. And, as the saying goes, the rest is history. Wedding photo for blogWhen Ray and I got married, I carried a red rose with a sprig of baby’s breath and some greenery, despite the florist’s protestations that the bridesmaids’ bouquets would cost more than mine. Over the years we were married, Ray frequently gave me a single red rose for my birthday, our anniversary and other special occasions, hearkening back to the first one and what it meant to us.

The last birthday Ray spent with me was no different. When I came home from work that night it seemed like the kitchen was full of roses – miniature pink ones for our daughters, a dozen yellow ones and a single red one for me. In addition to the real red rose, Ray gave me a beautiful pin. 010I still marvel at this gift in light of the fact he died four months to the day later. Ray didn’t know he wouldn’t be around to give me single red roses on birthdays yet to come, but God did and I believe he somehow encouraged Ray to give me the pin which I wear one day each year – now 18 birthdays and counting.

When Ray died, I took a single red rose to the funeral home and asked the funeral director to place it in his hands for me. It was a fitting close to our tradition. Sometimes I think about what it will be like when I finally get to see Ray again. Might he have that rose in his hands, ready to give it back to me? After all, nothing’s impossible for God. Yet rose or no rose, I’m certain the longed for reunion will take place. I will see Ray again and we’ll spend eternity together worshipping and praising our great Redeemer. I can be sure because the baby whose birth we just celebrated was the Word made flesh, who dwelt among us, lived a sinless life and died on a rugged cross that we might live with him FOREVER.