The Anchor Holds

I suppose I should have expected his arrival. But, distracted by other things, I didn’t notice his approach until it was too late to bolt the door and deny him entry. By the time I perceived his presence, he’d unpacked his bags and flung a cloak of melancholy over my heart.

And just who was this uninvited guest? Loneliness.

After spending a week at the beach with my family, my house, usually a welcome oasis of tranquility, felt silent and empty instead. Nonetheless, being home alone wasn’t the calling card I referred to above. I could have invited a grandchild over or texted one of my daughters. No, the profound loneliness sprang from knowing I couldn’t be with the one person I longed for most at that moment, my late husband Ray.

The Crucible of Life

As is often the case when I write or teach about scriptural principles and God’s promises, real life intervenes, compelling me to speak the truth I profess to myself, to apply the healing balm of assurance to my own woundedness.  Such was the case last Saturday morning as I sat at my kitchen table, with whispers of fall meandering through windows open to the breeze after summer finally loosened its stranglehold on metro Atlanta.

You see, a few days before I returned home, my podcast, “Loving Christ in the Midst of Loss”, aired on CDM’s enCourage[1] website and I posted a companion article, “Stewarding our Stories”, on my blog. I used both platforms to proclaim God’s faithfulness across the 22 years since Ray died suddenly at age 39 and accompanied my proclamation with the assurance we can trust God as He sovereignly writes even the most difficult chapters of our stories.

So the appearance of my uninvited guest should have come as no surprise. In addition, my defenses were down, weakened by responsibilities and issues set aside while I was on vacation, only to be prayerfully resumed and mulled over when I returned. Thus, I didn’t shoo my squatter away as quickly as I might have under different circumstances.

Rather, I embraced him. My mind wandered, taking my heart with it. I wished Ray was sitting at his place at the table, holding my hand, listening as I poured out my concerns, a scenario played out numerous times during our marriage. I thought about how pleasant it would be to work in the yard together on that first fall-like day. And I remembered a long-ago night when I crawled into bed tearful and exhausted, bemoaning how little time Ray and I had to do things together. Our daughters were tiny, one an infant, the other a toddler. The days were long and my to-dos unending. In his attempt to comfort me, Ray uttered words that have become increasingly poignant over the years, “They’ll grow up so fast and then we’ll have lots of time together.”

Oh, Ray. You were gone long before our nest emptied. The lots of time you promised didn’t come to be.

Grieving

Over two decades of widowhood have tempered the searing pain of loss. Body-racking sobs are rare, replaced by silent tears, the occasional overflow of a heart yearning for its missing piece. There’s a sigh deep in my soul, born of sorrow mingled with longing and acceptance.

Even though those who belong to God don’t grieve as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14), we still grieve, because death wasn’t part of God’s good plan. It’s part of the curse, a severe consequence of Adam and Eve’s disobedience (Genesis 2:16-17; Genesis 3:19b). Losing loved ones is painful and mourning our separation is a process, one that will continue until we’re reunited, as grief ebbs and flows. May we remember as much and be compassionate toward ourselves and others when the thorns of grief prick anew.

Never Forsaken

'Tis so SweetBut there is hope, dear reader, now and eternally. Having found comfort in the promises of the One who’s vowed to never leave or forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:8), I dispatched my erstwhile visitor. Furthermore, I can reaffirm all I said in the podcast and wrote in my last post. The bottom is good.[2] The anchor holds (Hebrews 6:19). Victory is certain (1 Corinthians 15:54-56).

Faith refined by trials is more precious than gold (1 Peter 1:6-7). And life-tested truth allows me to say with hymn writer Louisa M. R. Stead,

“’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word,
Just to rest upon His promise,
Just to know ‘Thus saith the Lord.’
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him! How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus! O for grace to trust Him more!”[3]

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. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:1-4, emphasis added.)

 

[1] CDM – Christian Discipleship Ministries is a ministry of the Presbyterian Church in America. The enCourage website features blog posts and podcasts aimed at “connecting the hearts of women to the hope of the Gospel.”

[2] Hopeful’s comment to Pilgrim in John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress”, as they prepare to cross the river to get to their final destination, the Celestial City.

[3] ‘Tis So sweet to Trust in Jesus, text Louisa M.R. Stead, music, William J. Kirkpatrick.

I love to tell the story – epilogue

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.

IMG_1469Until 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

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.

IMG_E1442Even 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.

Through the night

Mom didn’t sound quite like herself when I called to say I was on my way to pick her up for our weekly trip to daughter Mary’s house to spend the day with the children. When I arrived a few minutes later, one look was enough to confirm my suspicions. I’d like to say I took Mom directly to the emergency room, but knowing Mary had a full slate of work planned and praying Mom was just off to a slow start, I went to Mary’s instead.

Mom still wasn’t fully functioning by lunchtime and my concern had escalated to the point I texted Mary to come home. Mom, who isn’t a fan of doctors’ offices, much less hospitals, compliantly took my son-in-law’s arm[1] as he gently guided her into the passenger seat of my CR-V. I managed to remain calm during the 20-minute drive, reassuring Mom that I’d get her the help she needed. Nonetheless, when an attendant from the emergency department met us at the curb and, seeing Mom’s condition, whisked her into the building in a wheelchair, I couldn’t contain my barely-suppressed tears any longer.

Given her speech difficulties and wobblier-than-usual steps, I suspected a small stroke, but several hours and multiple tests later, the true culprit was identified: a severe case of pneumonia, resulting in critically-low oxygen saturation in Mom’s bloodstream. No wonder she couldn’t think clearly or walk without assistance! Any relief I felt over it not being a stroke was summarily eclipsed by the attending physician’s matter-of-fact statement that things often get worse, much worse, for elderly pneumonia patients before they get better, if they get better at all.

Having delivered the full-disclosure version of the diagnosis, the doctor strode out, leaving me to process his message. Thankfully, Mom didn’t hear or comprehend his dire declaration or take note of my obvious distress. But her nurse did. “I don’t know why doctors feel like they have to say things like that. We also see patients get better without declining first.”

My reply? “It’s all in God’s hands”, a mighty truth I’d cling to in the coming hours.

I reluctantly left Mom to the capable care of the medical team. As I trudged to the parking garage, I thought about another night, 22 years before, when I left that same emergency department, dazed, numb, knowing I’d never experience another day of life in this world with my beloved husband, Ray.[2] And I wondered if I’d spent my last with my dear mother.

Shortly before bedtime, my phone rang. The night-shift physician called to let me know Mom was stable and to confirm their intentions to move her to ICU as soon as a room became available. Then this: “I was told your mother wasn’t thinking clearly when she came in so I need you to confirm her stated DNR wishes.”[3]

Pause. Deep breath. “That’s correct. Mom’s consistently expressed her wishes regarding no life support or extraordinary measures to keep her alive. But please take good care of her so we won’t have to make that decision.”

Not a conversation conducive to sweet dreams. It, along with images of Mom when I left her, attached to multiple monitors, with a breathing mask strapped across her face, marched through my mind. Would she make it through the night, the next several days? Or would I be faced with planning another April funeral, tucking one more piece of my heart into a loved one’s grave?

I prayed fervently for Mom to recover and eventually be able to return home to us. Nonetheless, I knew if her earthly days were over, it would be ok. Every time a doubt or fear prodded me from my fitful sleep, Truth arose to quell it:

  • I know Who Mom belongs to. Whether in life or death, no one will be able to snatch her out of His hand. (John 10:28-29)
  • I thought about a quote I saw shortly before my Ray’s death: “Until it’s my time to go, nothing can take me. When it’s my time to go, nothing can keep me here.”
  • I pondered a proclamation one of our pastors made at Ray’s funeral: “Death is not the end, beloved. For the believer, it is the most glorious beginning.”
  • I considered God’s love and faithfulness across the years since losing my life partner. I knew those same comforts would attend future losses. (Psalm 23)
  • I imagined Mom taking her place in our heavenly family circle, reunited with so many departed loved ones, now joyfully gathered in Jesus’ presence.
  • And I compiled a mental playlist of cherished hymns – Amazing Grace, Blessed Assurance, It is Well with My Soul – that further calmed my troubled mind.

The Spirit ministered to me throughout the night, battling my fears by reminding me of God’s promises and assuring me of His presence (Psalm 16:7-8; Zephaniah 3:17; Romans 8:26-27), just as Jesus said he would. (John 14:25-26)

We can’t foresee what any given day may hold for us and those we love, but nothing ever catches God by surprise (Isaiah 46:8-10). I don’t know what you may be going through, dear reader, but I pray you too will meditate on Truth. Consider, for example:

  • God has a plan for each of us. (Jeremiah 29:11-13)
  • All our days are written in His book before even one comes to be. (Psalm 139:16)
  • He sees every tear. (Psalm 56:8)
  • He works all things together for good for those who love Him. (Romans 8:28)
  • He’ll never leave us or forsake us. (Deuteronomy 31:8)
  • He’s conquered death. (1 Corinthians 15:54-56)
  • He’ll take us Home to be with Him forever. (John 14:1-3)

We have this hope as a sure and steadfast anchor for our souls. (Hebrews 6:19-20) And I will gladly testify that the anchor holds, even through the darkest night.

IMG_E1080

(To be continued.)

 

[1] Justin and Mom are buddies. He came home to help too.

[2] My husband, Ray, died suddenly of a heart attack at age 39 on April 19, 1997. Mom went into the hospital on April 17, 2019.

[3] “Do not resuscitate”

Preach to yourself!

Even though it still appears plenty sturdy, my 27-year-old house is showing signs of wear and tear – peeling paint, random cracks from settling, occasional major repairs – reminders of inevitable decline in spite of well-intentioned upkeep.

So, the other day when a large puddle appeared where my master bath toilet is bolted to the floor, I sighed, called my always-dependable plumber and tried not to worry too much about the time and money required to fix the problem. Nonetheless, a nagging little voice heckled from the recesses of my mind, “This could be a big, costly deal.”

The next day dawned, bright and beautiful, as my garden beckoned me to come outside, which is exactly where I headed as soon as the plumber left. The repair took part of my tax refund that I would rather have spent on landscaping, but several hours of adjusting, tightening and probing various elements of my plumbing system appeared to solve the problem.

Or so I thought.

After an hour of playing in the dirt, I came inside for a drink and heard, “Tap. Tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.” My first inclination was to check the deck to see if one of my feathered friends was pecking on the house, but a quick glance revealed only the usual array of contented visitors around the birdfeeders. Further investigation exposed the source of the mystery sound: water drops splatting on the floor beneath the ceiling fan as several ever-widening damp spots formed under the master bath drain pipe.

I left a distress-laden message for my plumber and trudged back outside. The repair-associated relief I felt earlier had fled, taking with it the joy normally associated with being in my garden. The rest of the afternoon found me making frequent reconnaissance treks to check on the incessant dripping. I silently pleaded with it to stop, hoping I could stare it into submission. Meanwhile, I engaged in a back-and-forth discussion with myself, see-sawing between imagining the worst and reminding myself it was a thing to be repaired, not a person with a terminal illness.

IMG_0816In spite of my valiant efforts, the taunting thoughts multiplied and threatened to overtake the more reasonable ones. I almost convinced myself it was time to move into an over-55 community where upkeep was someone else’s responsibility. But then, two hours into my plumber’s return visit, as I gazed at strategically-placed tarps and tubs and several holes in my ceiling, one of my grandmother’s sayings came to me, “Nothing’s so bad it couldn’t be worse.”

And so it was in this case. Had the leak occurred a few weeks earlier, dozens of pieces from my beloved Dickens Village would have been on display in the now-besieged room. Instead, they were all safely packed away, leaving plenty of space for the accouterments associated with the follow-up repair. That realization dealt the decisive blow to the negative side of my hours-long internal argument and allowed me to utter a sincere, “Thank You, Lord. It really could have been so much worse.” Even so, I regretted my inability to arrive at that place of peace hours earlier, since the cause of my angst was indeed fixable.

I recalled a long-ago conversation with my late husband, Ray. Exasperated by his peaceful demeanor in the midst of my recounting of some tale of woe, I had the audacity to ask, “Does anything short of death upset you?” His calm reply? “Not much.” After his sudden death some months later at age 39, I knew he was right. It’s a lesson I strive to remember, though there are times I behave otherwise.

As long as we’re in this fallen world, we’ll have troubles of varying kinds, from minor annoyances to life-changing trauma. Jesus said as much. But in the next breath, He added the admonition not to fear followed by the assurance He’d overcome the world (John 16:33). Our dear Savior suffered much when He walked this earth. As a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, He compassionately comprehends the hardships we face (Isaiah 53:3; Hebrews 4:15).

Furthermore, God uses trials, big and small, to transform us, to strengthen our faith and to remind us we’re not in control. We can trust His sovereign plans for us, knowing He will work all things together for good (Romans 8:28-29).

Scripture overflows with God’s promises and the longer we walk with Him, the more examples of His love and faithfulness we have to draw on from our own lives. When faced with challenges, we must encourage ourselves with truth, not ceasing until truth triumphs in our hearts and minds. This quote from Welsh pastor D. Martyn Lloyd Jones is one I’ve turned to repeatedly over the years:

“Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself? . . . The main art in the matter of spiritual living is to know how to handle yourself. You have to take yourself in hand, you have to address yourself, preach to yourself, question yourself. You must say to your soul: ‘Why art thou cast down’– what business have you to be disquieted? You must turn on yourself, upbraid yourself, condemn yourself, exhort yourself, and say to yourself: ‘Hope thou in God’– instead of muttering in this depressed, unhappy way. And then you must go on to remind yourself of God, Who God is, and what God is and what God has done, and what God has pledged Himself to do.”[1]

My aging house isn’t the only thing that’s showing signs of wear and tear. One look in the mirror reminds me I’m far from 20-something, as does the muscle stiffness that accompanies my daily exodus from the comfort of my bed. All creation groans, waiting to be set free when Jesus returns (Romans 8:18-23). But I know Jesus is preparing a forever Home for me that will never deteriorate (John 14:1-3) and an imperishable body that won’t get sick or die (1 Corinthians 15:50-56).

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] D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, Spiritual Depression: Its Causes and Its Cure (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965/2002), 20-1.

Perfect timing

(This is the second in my reflections-on-a-different-December series.)

“Mom and Dad” appeared on the screen as my phone rang out its cheerful tune. But when I answered, I heard an uncharacteristically uncheerful voice. Mom was in so much discomfort I could scarcely understand her. Even so, I ascertained an ambulance, summoned by my dad when her ongoing back pain became intolerable, was on the way to ferry her to the hospital.

Emergency room staff assessed Mom’s situation and administered essentially-ineffective pain meds. She reluctantly agreed to be admitted so doctors could manage her pain more successfully while determining its exact cause. Little did we know when they transported her to a semi-private room several hours later that the overnight stay would stretch into six.

Mom is a people person so we were somewhat confounded by her less-than-thrilled opinion of her roommate; however, we presumed her response was influenced by her pain and the medications being used to alleviate it. In spite of her standoffish demeanor toward the patient sharing her room, Mom was her sweet self with the nurses and captivated them with her gentle spirit and radiant smile.

An MRI performed in the wee hours of the morning confirmed the results of an earlier CAT scan – Mom had a fractured vertebra. No wonder she was in agony! Fortunately, there was a procedure (kyphoplasty), which could be performed to stabilize the vertebra, thereby significantly reducing the pain. It was scheduled for Monday, three days hence.

My daily routine disappeared, dinners at my parents’ table being replaced by take-out consumed at the foot of Mom’s hospital bed. We laughed and talked and I read aloud the numerous Facebook messages friends and family posted for her each day. And I noticed a comradery gradually developing between Mom and her fellow patient, Gail[1].

Hopeful anticipation of the next day’s surgery colored our Sunday evening visit. I became alarmed, however, when Mom admitted she didn’t know who would perform the procedure and that no one from the referring orthopedics practice had been in to see her. A rather animated conversation with the head nurse, followed by her perusal of copious notes accrued since Mom’s arrival failed to deliver the assurance I sought. I convinced Mom not to undergo the kyphoplasty until our concerns were addressed. Gail concurred. By then, she and Mom had become each other’s advocates.

Misgivings commenced even before I reached my car, my mood as dark as the cold night. They persisted as I prepared for bed and dogged my restless sleep. Had I counseled Mom correctly or caused a needless delay?

The head nurse called the next morning with news she’d discovered a referral from the attending orthopedist, amidst the massive accumulation of notes on Mom’s chart. My sense of having meddled escalated, as I contacted the physician’s assistant in hopes of rescheduling. Her dispassionate explanation that we couldn’t reclaim the now-lost slot on the anesthesiologist’s calendar caused my recriminations to explode into full-fledged self-flagellation. “Just great! Now look what you’ve done, subjecting your mother to another day of pain, another day in the hospital!! Why did you have to interfere?”

Within seconds, other, kinder, thoughts entered my mind, as the Spirit began whispering truth to my troubled soul.[2] “Looks like you’re focusing on the storm instead of the One who can calm the wind and waves. Have you forgotten I’m in control?”[3] I gratefully embraced the assurance and, thinking more calmly, recalled the PA’s comment that the interventional radiology teams rotated shifts throughout the week. Could it be the Tuesday team was better-suited to care for Mom? Regardless, I knew God hadn’t lost sight of my precious mother.[4]

When I arrived for my Monday evening visit, Mom and Gail told me about the pain-filled night they’d both endured. I was standing by Gail’s bed while she delineated the details. As her tears escalated to sobs, I realized Mom, defying orders to stay in bed, was making her way ever-so-carefully to her new friend’s side with no thought of her own throbbing back.

“Mom! Be careful!!”

“I’m alright. Gail needs a hug!”

The soul-soothing voice returned. “See, your mother’s right where she’s supposed to be.”

IMG_4962Mom’s procedure the following day went flawlessly. By the time she was out of recovery, the horrific pain was gone. When I appeared the subsequent afternoon to take her home, she and Gail had exchanged their hospital gowns for real clothes and the newly-minted pals were discharged within the same hour.

There are times when God gives us no insight into what He’s doing; after all, He owes us no explanation.[5] But there are instances when He graciously gives us glimpses of what He’s accomplishing. I treasure those moments of insight. I tuck them away to shore up my faith and dispel my doubts when the path isn’t as clear and I have no clue why things are unfolding as they are.

Lord, please help us to trust your perfect plan[6] and your impeccable timing[7], for your ways and your thoughts are so much higher than ours.[8] Your steadfast love never ceases. Your mercies are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness![9]

[1] Name has been changed.

[2] John 14:26

[3] Matthew 8:23-27; Mark 4:36-40; Luke 8:22-25

[4] Psalm 33:18; Psalm 34:15

[5] Job confessed as much after God reminded him of all He’s capable of. See Job 42:1-6 and chapters 38-41, respectively.

[6] Isaiah 25:1; Jeremiah 29:11

[7] Romans 5:6; 2 Peter 3:9

[8] Isaiah 55:8-9

[9] Lamentations 3:22-23

Happy nappy!

My 21-month-old granddaughter, Emma, loves to mother her baby dolls. She strolls and feeds them, tucks them in and sings “rock-a-baby”. Her tender ministrations warm my heart.

Earlier this week, I arrived at daughter Mary’s house for the first of my twice-weekly visits. Six-year-old Joshua greeted me with exuberant orders to “look at the tree, Grammie!” And what a tree it was! As my gaze followed Joshua’s outstretched arm, I beheld a magnificent, half-decorated Fraser fir, so wide it nearly filled the front room. Emma’s happy babbles joined Joshua’s continuing dialog about the tree as I made my way through the house. IMG_4789I tread gingerly, careful not to step on any of the favorite, kid-friendly (read: “unbreakable”) Christmas decorations scattered about on the playroom floor. Among those recently freed from their storage boxes: the Peanuts gang – Charlie Brown carrying his spindly tree, Linus hugging his blanket, Sally holding her outrageous letter to Santa; a stuffed, chartreuse Grinch with his menacing scowl; and the Fisher-Price nativity, whose plastic figurines are perfectly proportioned for tiny hands.

After the initial excited exclamations over the newly-appeared Christmas décor, Joshua, Emma and I settled into our morning routine, awaiting the appointed time to pick up 3-year-old Lyla from pre-school. As I was preparing lunch, I overheard Emma say, “happy nappy”, a phrase we use instead of “sweet dreams” when tucking the children in for naptime. Upon hearing her cheerful refrain, I surmised she was playing with the nativity.

IMG_4788“Emma, are you telling Baby Jesus ‘happy nappy’?” My query was met with her inimitable, “Yes”.[1] Moments later, she gently transported the miniature baby-in-the-manger to the play kitchen where she prepared a snack for him. As I looked on, misty-eyed, God graciously used Emma’s simple gestures to remind me of profound truths:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:1-5, 14)

“ . . . Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:6-8)

“The Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

“When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.’ And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:15-16)

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:15-16)

Jesus, the beloved Son, the second person of the Trinity, came to earth as a tiny, helpless baby who needed naps and food and the care of his parents. Our finite minds can’t fully comprehend this astounding truth. Nonetheless, may we never forget that because of God’s great love for us, He sent us the most amazing, precious, priceless gift ever given, the gift we needed most: a Savior.[2]

 

[1] “Yes” was one of Emma’s first words. Her charming, emphatic pronunciation makes it one of her most endearing.

[2] John 3:16

The lie

I’m no longer surprised when a sense of melancholy descends on my soul each April. As dependable as the spring flowers, it ushers in a time of purposeful remembrance. I intentionally recollect details of Ray’s final days and those immediately following his much-too-soon-for-me passing. I honor his memory and allow myself to mourn the loss.

But sometimes sorrow associated with lesser losses catches me off-guard. Such was the case recently. After feeling out-of-sorts for a day or two for no pin-pointable reason other than being relegated to inside activities while my hand continued its post-op recovery, I was enlightened by a Facebook memory. In the original post I quoted Sir Walter Scott: “O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” And then I knew – it was the anniversary of a lie. Though not the first or last in the series, it was the most blatant and dealt a blow so severe that a valued friendship would eventually unravel completely.

Forgiveness is commanded.[1] Even so, reconciliation isn’t always possible or advisable, much less guaranteed. And so, realizing the source of my sadness, I grieved what might have been had truth-telling held more sway.

As with most parents, I endeavored to instill in my daughters the importance of honesty. (A task I’m now repeating with my grandchildren.) Nonetheless, lying is part of testing the boundaries for many children. This is especially true when imagined consequences associated with a truthful answer are deemed too much to bear. One of my most gratifying mom-moments came when daughter Mary told her younger sister Jessie, “Don’t lie to Mom. You don’t want to lose her trust.” To go from me accepting everything at face value to questioning and verifying was a fate Mary wanted to save her sibling from, having experienced the increased scrutiny firsthand.

IMG_3359Indeed, trust is a precious commodity and the foundation of any successful relationship, be it business or personal. Once broken it requires much time and faithfulness to repair, restore, rebuild, if it ever happens at all.

The very first lie, the one that changed everything, occurred early in the scriptural recounting of human history. God had graciously given Adam and Eve the fruit from all the trees in the garden for food with one exception: “You must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.”[2] Then along came Satan, the father of lies.[3] After engaging Eve in a doubt-producing conversation regarding what God commanded, he brazenly contradicted the Almighty: “You will not certainly die. For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Eve ate. Adam ate. Their eyes were opened. They were ashamed and they hid.[4]

And still we try to hide from God and each other.

God could have left them to fend for themselves in their pitiful leafy garments, but He knew all along his creatures were dust.[5] In his infinite and eternal love, He’d already planned a way back.[6] A way to repair, restore and rebuild our relationship with Him for all time. “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”[7]

As long as we’re in the world, we’ll struggle with sin and temptation.[8] Sometimes we’ll embellish the details, tell a half-truth or flat-out lie. But by the power of the Spirit, we’re being conformed more and more to the image of the Son[9] and He who began a good work in us will see it through to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.[10] On that glorious day there will be no more hiding for we will be welcomed into his presence clothed in radiant robes of righteousness.[11]

[1] Matthew 6:14-15; Colossians 3:13

[2] Genesis 2:17

[3] John 8:44

[4] Genesis 3:1-10

[5] Psalm 103:14

[6] Genesis 3:15

[7] John 1:14

[8] Romans 7:14-25

[9] Romans 8:29

[10] Philippians 1:6

[11] Revelation 7:9-17