And Yet... Thoughts on Holiday Pain

I remember hearing a missionary give a talk years ago. Addressing the matter of God’s provision, this seasoned servant quipped that, in his experience, God is never late but He’s rarely early.

Also embedded in my memory is this observation from a minister whose church I attended when I was very young in my faith. This gentleman, whose name was David, commented that he often noticed the Almighty “singling him out,” as it were – in a good way. He would come across a passage of Scripture or hear something from the pulpit that seemed to be a “Dear David” message. A piece of wisdom or advice that zeroed right in on whatever he was struggling with or working on in his life.

I’m finding the insights of these two leaders quite relevant during what has turned out to be a very bittersweet holiday season. Don’t misunderstand – I’ve lived through downright depressing, even miserable Christmases. Other people’s choices and acts of God find their harsh way into our lives, despite what our culture tells us to expect during a given time frame:

“Christmas means lights and laughter! Valentine’s Day means hearts and happiness! There’s something really wrong with you if you’re not loving life at this moment!”

As though death, demons, and destruction are any respecters of calendars.

Christmas 2025 finds me straddling the line between joy and pain as I grieve with a dear friend who is presently suffering an unimaginable loss. Others around me are coping with similar sorrows. And, folks, have you looked at the news lately? It’s enough to send the jolliest elf right into a full-blown tailspin.

And yet…

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” – Psalm 46:10

“He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” – Romans 8:32

Why these verses?

They’re my “Dear Thea” messages from a Mind and Heart which know exactly what my mind and heart are wrestling with. All three of these Scripture gems showed up in my own personal world MORE THAN ONCE in the past week.

Psalm 45:1:

Write, Thea. I’ve given you a voice and the tools to get it out there. Use them when and how I tell you to.

Psalm 46:10:

Thea, I’ve GOT you and everyone and everything around you, despite how things may look. Trust me, like the song says, and rest in my plan, even when it seems ridiculous to do so.

Romans 8:32:

Thea, if I gave up that which was most precious to me for your benefit, I’m certainly not going to skimp on anything else.

I want and need to be held this Christmas, because I’m trying to hold up my fellow man. I know I’m no Atlas, and I’m not trying to be. But how can a person not offer a hand when one of her companions is in danger of sinking?

And yet…

The Lord makes certain promises about how much reign He will let grief have in our lives.

I’m holding Him to those promises.

So, I’m doing each next right thing I know to do. Since tomorrow is the arbitrary deadline we silly humans have set for ourselves to celebrate the immortal becoming mortal for a few decades, I’m going to take care of some ritual essentials. I’ll finish wrapping my packages. I’ll whip up some holiday recipes. Etc., etc., etc.

But I REFUSE to let said rituals destroy my communion with the One we’re supposed to be celebrating. And I REFUSE to endlessly seek some heartwarming feeling that always eludes and always promises more than it can deliver.

Because the Delivery has been made. It arrived 2,000 years ago in a stable. And it mattered – and matters – more than any Hallmark memory or Amazon drop-off ever could.

Our Savior foresaw the ambivalence we would feel at the holidays and all throughout our lives. He knew expectations would go unmet and joy would be tempered with pain. He felt that tension in His own heart while preparing to give His life for our traitorous race.

And yet…

If the trials I’m facing – and those I’m walking through with people I love – are the chisels that render me more like the Savior I strive to emulate, then I will try to yield to the pain without numbing myself. I’ll keep looking for “Dear Thea” love notes wherever He chooses to drop them. And I’ll keep reminding myself that His mercies will always be right on time.

God bless us, everyone.

 

Holiday Bows, Holiday Knots

Anyone who’s ever wrapped a present knows how easy it is to mess up a bow. The ribbon frays. There isn’t enough of it to make a decent bow. The whole thing winds up becoming one big, tangled up knot.

Bows, though, are often worth the trouble, knotty possibilities notwithstanding.

Bows are pretty. They’re festive. They’re neat and tidy (when they cooperate). They’re reusable, for heaven’s sake!

Perhaps these are some of the reasons a couple of my mischief-making students vied for a bow during a Christmas season years ago. I recounted the story in a blog post at the time, thinking how remarkable it was that kids whose sole mission in life seemed to be portraying themselves as the toughest, least governable ruffians in the bunch – that these characters were getting their collective panties all in a bunch over a simple holiday decoration.

These high schoolers already knew they were on Santa’s naughty list. No two ways about it. Still, they
longed for some form of recognition that they weren’t irredeemable. That someone saw through their façade and recognized the frightened, insecure youngsters they really were.

It brings to mind a well-timed sentence my older son once uttered to our neighbor’s dog. She was a little thing with, I suppose, a bit of a Napoleon complex. She at times would try to come off as intimidating, which was totally laughable.

My son saw this bravado for what it was and responded to her antics one day by remarking, “Oh, you’re so not scary!”

I can hear my readers wondering if I’m not assigning too much meaning to an adolescent competition over a simple Christmas bow. My answer is an unequivocal no. Again hearkening back to parts one and two of my “bow” blog articles, I discovered no matter how rough and tough some of my students came off, almost all of them had a soft spot for a sticker, a carefully crafted piece of motherly advice, or the tiniest morsel of praise.

Who’d have thought such guarded hearts were so easily penetrable?

Well, there are bows and there are knots.

My life has been somewhat knotty lately. In trying to support others, I’ve unwittingly been tying myself up into knots. My prayer partner, Tina, pointed this out to me yesterday as I was agonizing about some plans that were far from definite. My end of the conversation went something like this:

“If I do x, what about y? Will z become an issue? I’m pretty worried about a, b, and c also. Do you think d, e, or f might present a problem?”

Tina cut through all this nonsense gently but firmly, pointing out that I was fretting over plans and possibilities that might not ever transpire. And, knowing me as she does, she recognized that such gyrations on my part could easily lead me into a state of resentment, a foible I constantly try to work on.

Too often I’ve contorted myself in efforts to please someone else – now, pay attention here, because this is the crux of the matter – on matters about which I’ve never even asked the other person how they feel! This has happened with celebrations I’ve put together for other people’s milestones, for example. I once concocted a party for someone I later found out detested being in the limelight. Needless to say, my hopes were disappointed, as were those of the guest of honor.

This past week, I was biting my nails over a holiday gathering. It’s something my family and I have done for years for a dear friend. We keep it relatively low key – except when I start overthinking it.

This year my altruistic but overzealous desire to include others took over. I decided that this family tradition (the person with whom we celebrate this annual tradition is not technically family, but she might as well be) needed to be expanded to include another friend who expressed interest in the festivities. In trying to fit a million square pegs into round holes to make this thing come off, I caused myself needless agita.

All this hoop jumping went on only in my mind. For various reasons, I never even consulted any of the other parties. In the end, I realized it simply wasn’t going to work and bagged the whole idea. We will do it eventually, Lord willing, but there was no way to make it work last week. I had to scrap the idea (and all my mental machinations), let go, and let God be God.

What a concept.

Here’s the kicker: it turned out the person I was trying to add into the mix became ill and wouldn’t have been able to participate anyway.

Talk about your wasted worries.

Sometimes these types of gyrations inconvenience others. I jump through all kinds of hoops trying to put everyone’s schedules together, and it becomes a knotty mess. Other times, like the scenario I just mentioned, all my stress is internal and no one else even knows about it. I may have decided it’s in someone else’s best interest to be part of a certain “fill in the blank” activity. Or, in my fevered imagination, someone may be waiting with bated breath to hear from me via text, call, or what have you. While this dear one may well welcome hearing from me, I misstep when I assume the role of be-all and end-all in another person’s life.

As my sister says, I overestimate my own nuisance value!

There’s one other area I want to touch on before wrapping this up so I can go do some wrapping.

I found myself fighting temptation – yet again – the other day. December is a rough month for any food worshipper, a label I guiltily admit to. I know how God feels about gluttony, so this is an ongoing battle for me. Anyway, after stringing together a bevy of days involving poor food choices, I was feeling “in knots” about it, powerless to detangle the rat’s nest my eating life had become. While Christmas shopping, I picked up a certain something that was affordable, yummy and promised to drive my weight higher and my walk further from the Lord.

At the moment of truth, here’s what I heard coming out of my mouth:

“Gotta start being obedient sometime.”

Just like that, I put the forbidden fruit back on its shelf and went on my merry way.

And my way did feel merrier. The best part is, my youngest grandchild was by my side. Little does this little one know that Mom Mom fights spiritual battles which often manifest as physical battles over food and a few other needful things (sleep, R&R) that don’t serve me well when I abuse them.

Maybe – just maybe – my one good choice in a sea of lousy ones can put me closer to the woman God intends for me to be, thereby serving as a better example for the next generation(s).

God bless us, everyone.

 

Rust, AKA, Destructive Distractions

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

The Goal

Psalm 45:1 is certainly a lofty goal, and one I aspire to – in theory.

Friends and supporters have asked if I’m working on a new book. It’s been a year and a half since Belabored hit the “shelves” of Amazon, and my cheering squad (without whose encouragement and prayers this novel would still be languishing on my computer) is understandably curious about my next project.

My answer is always the same.

Not yet.

Or, more accurately, I haven’t felt led to take on another major writing commitment at this moment.

To put it another way, I’m rusty in the writing department.

I did, however, recently add an item to my authorial resumé: my piece, “Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26^th,” appears in ’Tis the Season, a compilation of Christmas essays benefiting Samaritan’s Purse. And I have taken several steps to expand my social media output and presence. Discourse, after all, isn’t found only between the covers of books or relegated to print media in these times of virtual productivity.

It never was, actually. That’s why journals and speeches and correspondence hold such great interest for biographers and readers.

So, in what way, exactly, am I deeming myself rusty?

The Problem

Well, folks, it’s the age-old problem of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. To put it bluntly, I’m exceptionally good at distracting myself right out of the writing game.

Oh, I haven’t just been stringing dandelions into necklaces (with no disrespect intended to physical crafters, whose dexterity and fine motor skills far outweigh mine). For sure I’m accomplishing some valuable things. It’s just that, to paraphrase someone wise, the good can often be enemy of the best.

I will credit myself with one thing, though. I've been ingesting huge amounts of other people’s writing, which is often touted by those who know as a vital step to improving one’s own. That being said, after studying others’ styles, at some point one needs to pick up one’s pen, sit down at one’s keyboard, or at the very least, dictate into one of the myriad text receptacles available these days.

But, truth be told, it’s a bit painful to reengage with the writing craft once one has interrupted the habit. That’s actually been my lifelong problem – staying engaged in written pursuits. I scribble in spurts, journaling or blogging with ferocity when I’m going through some sort of life challenge, then going dormant for months on end. That’s why it was so hard for me to complete a novel.

In contrast, one of my authorial heroes, Louisa May Alcott, used to fall into what she called a vortex when creating. She would hole up for hours/days on end, frantically inking (and I mean inking by hand) pages and pages until her manuscripts met with her satisfaction. Then, off to the publisher and back to the outside world she would trot, until the next bolt of inspiration chained her to her desk again. Between bestselling novels, though, Alcott constantly journaled and wrote short stories, effectively honing her skills for the next blockbuster.

The Eye Opener

Despite human frailties, God has ways of forcing an issue.

Last night He saw fit to visit me with a terrible dream. The particulars aren’t important; the message is. In this nightmare, I was UTTERLY DISTRACTED. I had one paramount goal, but it kept getting sidelined by details that were irrelevant. In addition, I was trying to meet some other people’s needs – demands that cropped up along the way to accomplishing my agenda – but in my futile attempts to assist others, neither their needs nor mine were getting met.

Don’t misunderstand me. Some of the urgencies trumpeting in my ear were PRETTY DARN BIG. A dying woman. The safe transport of children. Treating other people’s property respectfully. But – and here is a major BUT – in trying to tend to everyone’s needs (all at once, I might add), I was tripping all over myself and MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE.

Here’s the really important part (well, the whole dream seemed important, but this piece is especially noteworthy). Several well-meaning friends stepped in, suggesting solutions that held potential to yield smidgens of success. Even as those kind souls were offering time and energy to steady the course of my floundering vessel, the captain of that sinking ship took matters back into her own bumbling, distracted hands and capsized the boat once and for all.

As I reread that last sentence, I identify a huge part of the problem. I am not the captain. There is only one Captain, and His name is Immanuel.

I take orders from Him and would do well to remember that.

Even as I type this article, which has been patiently hanging around on my hard drive for a week, another diversion sirens me. Friends, I’ve been awake since the wee hours of the morning after having that disturbing dream, knowing FOR SURE God is giving me yet another opportunity to Sit. Down. And. Write.

Wouldn’t you know it? Life throws yet another monkey wrench into my plans and offers to distract me – at 5:45 AM!

An important disruption, mind you. Important enough that I could persuade myself that this latest urgency warrants interrupting my work.

But that would mean losing momentum.

Momentum which badly needs to be maintained after so many fits and starts.

The Need for Discernment

As I’m arguing with myself about pausing versus proceeding, the Lord uses Denzel Washington, of all people, to set me straight. I recall a movie he starred in years ago in which his character, Eli, had received a vital commission. Along the way, numerous troubling distractions threatened the fulfillment of that crucial task. At those fork-in-the-road moments, he audibly reminded himself, “Stay on the path. It’s not your concern.”

A case could be made that Eli should have taken a break from his calling to address some life and death situations affecting others. Perhaps that is so. But consider the following.

Corrie ten Boom told a story of being present while a fellow inmate in the concentration camp was suffering cruelly at the hands of an SS guard. Knowing she was powerless to help, Corrie allowed herself to look away and focus on the beauty of a skylark instead of the violence around her.

Was it cowardice that kept Corrie from trying to intervene? Or was it pragmatism? Had she said or done anything, she would almost certainly have been tortured and possibly killed along with the prisoner she was vainly trying to help.

Then who would have told her story to millions, giving a firsthand report of the carnage inflicted by power-driven Nazis, and offering the world hope even in the deepest of pits?

Corrie knew the horror she was witnessing that day – and it WAS HORRIBLE – was not her (immediate) concern.

The Greatest Man of Business

If that sounds callous, let us remember two things. First of all, just because something isn’t on our to do list today doesn’t mean God won’t put it there tomorrow. In the case of the beaten prisoner, the Lord guided Corrie to focus her thoughts on the glorious skylark He had provided so she could endure the unendurable in that moment. Later, after she was released, she would write about witnessing this monstrous act while performing the work God kept her alive to do.

Which brings me to my second point.

That which is not our concern is God’s concern.

Jacob Marley uttered these famous words in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol: “Mankind was my business!”

But there’s a caveat, isn’t there?

Not ALL mankind is MY business.

We know that because Jesus modeled it. He healed some, but not all. He knew when it was time to get alone with the Father and recharge His batteries. He avoided distraction so it wouldn’t destroy His overarching mission.

Getting Back to Rust

What does all this have to do with rust?

Been thinking about Matthew 6:19-20:

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.”

During this season of overwhelming busyness, I’m realizing that distraction is often a precursor to destruction. For example, being overly distracted this past week with holiday doings wreaked havoc with my eating habits. Attempting too many projects in too little time resulted in too many bad food choices. My overeating and overconsumption of Christmas goodies made me annoyed with myself, as well as sleepy and less able to produce good results with my tasks.

What are the moths and rust in each of our lives that threaten to destroy (or at least undermine) our relationship with God? What thieves are stealing our time with Him?

They say that realization is key to change, that recognizing the problem is half the battle. I’m challenging myself and others to search for the underlying causes why we drift from the Lord during a season which is supposed to be devoted to Him, and adjust accordingly.

The Remedy for Rust

It’s a simple one. A compound sold in any hardware store.

Naval jelly.

When applied correctly, this miracle mix eats away that which is eating away our valuables.

I find it fascinating that this stuff is called naval jelly. There must be a reason why, but I’m going to resist the urge to look it up because that would be, um, a distraction.

What’s interesting about the name of this wondrous substance is that it points to a navigator. Navies rely on navigators, and navigators rely on true north. Any old salt worth his salt (couldn’t resist) knows he must consciously seek true north. He can’t rely fully on his compass, because forces beyond his control
will throw that thing – and his whole vessel – off course.

It's been said that Jesus is our true north. But, like the old seaman, we must realize the limitations of our own devices and seek that which is true.

Make that, the One who is true.

God bless us, everyone!

 

Inscribed

Belated Sentiments

There’s nothing like being a few days (or months) late and more than a few dollars short.

At the rate I’m going, this article about the Jewish New Year will be ready just about when our country sings Auld Lang Syne.

All kidding aside, I’m trying to finish a piece that’s been lingering on my hard drive since September.

The part of me that's Jewish (50 per cent) recently celebrated the Jewish High Holy Days. Rosh Hashanah, as it’s known, is a time for reflection and renewal, leading into Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. Although I’m WAAAY behind the curve, I want to connect these holidays to my current quest for equilibrium. I’ve been writing about this a lot in articles such as Old Age Isn’t a Deal Breaker, Problems, and most recently, Rainy Days Ahead.

As I’ve noted, the Hebrew holidays have now come and gone. But to wait another whole year to publish on the subject seems silly (not to mention the fact that reflection and renewal are never out of season).

So, without further ado or apologies for tardiness, my take on the most sacred days of the Jewish calendar.

God’s Books

I guess what’s been on my mind most is the idea of having one’s name inscribed in God’s book. Turns out there are two such books. Here I would encourage my readers to buckle up because we’re not going to shy away from talking about eternity – what God’s word says about it, as opposed to the subjective notions many hold based on “feel good” theology and/or their own conjurings (in this case I mean cogitations, but in a world increasingly drawn to darkness and the occult, it seems regrettably reasonable to expand the definition of “conjure” to include mystical arts).

Quick rationale for the ground I’m standing on with regard to this whole topic. I’ve argued previously for the credibility of the Bible based on the research of well reputed scholars (see section 2, “The Basis,” in Reclaiming the Rainbow). That said, I’m linking to a few articles from Answers Magazine, which delve into archaeological, scientific, and prophetic reasons why the Scriptures can be trusted. On that solid foundation I rest my case regarding the two books of life described in God’s word.

The idea of being inscribed in God’s book seems to have dual meanings. Perhaps the best way to delineate the two is that to be inscribed as it is represented in the Tanakh (Scriptures Christians refer to as the Old Testament) means to reside among the living, i.e., not be physically dead. In contrast, having one’s name inscribed in the Lamb’s book of life (a New Testament concept) refers to enjoying eternal life in heaven after physical death has occurred. The other option would be to face God without Christ’s sacrifice having been applied to one’s spiritual account, and therefore, not meet the criteria for eternal life. This condition, tragically, results in one’s soul – a person’s spiritual essence which remains after physical death – being eternally separated from God.

Remember, I cautioned my audience that we were going to delve into heavy spiritual stuff.

For further information to distinguish between the two books of life, see What is the Book of Life? and Is there a difference between the book of life and the Lamb’s book of life?

Biblical Inscription

Now, let’s investigate the idea of being inscribed in God’s book.

We must first realize that “inscribe” and “engrave” are often used interchangeably in the Bible to express permanently writing a message. However, the two words in English have different connotations. The former often means simply writing words on paper, such as an author inscribing his book for a reader; the latter carries the idea of carving with a tool, such as engraving a wedding ring. This confused me a bit, so I wandered around on the internet and my research took me to language scholar Skip Moen’s website. His investigation into Isaiah 49:14-16, in which God vowed to inscribe Israel on the palms of His hands, yielded the following heart stopping conclusion: “It is worth noting that God’s son also had each of us inscribed on the palms of his hands when he allowed himself to be crucified for our redemption… Our names are engraved on his hands so that he will never forget us.”

I checked out these verses in three reliable versions of Scripture using the Blue Letter Bible.* The King James Version states, “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.” The New King James Version renders it thusly: “See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” And the English Standard Version says, “Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”

Bottom line: engraving seems so much more permanent than inscribing. Ink fades and washes away, but carvings tend to have much greater longevity.

Perhaps that’s why God chose to engrave his commandments on stone tablets rather than inking them on parchment or papyrus. These statutes were so important to our creator that he issued them twice. The first time, the Lord etched the laws himself; after Moses impulsively destroyed this set in response to the Israelites’ idolatry, God commanded him to fashion new tablets and chisel the laws onto them while God dictated.

Inscription in Daily Life

I think of my life as having many parts. These include worship and ministry, tending to my health, nurturing family, caring for my home, managing finances and resources, and writing. These facets all must be prioritized and balanced, but at times one category will overtake the others in importance. For example, if I need to purchase a vehicle or change my residence, those pieces may dominate my life’s tapestry until I get them sorted out.

All these moving parts, though, are held together by my walk with the Lord, which is a function of my private spiritual life and how well I maintain it. In other words, I dare not let activities of daily living usurp the first order of business, which is time in God’s presence. This takes the form of private and corporate prayer and Bible study.

As I’m pondering this section of the article, I’m visualizing some activities as etched in stone, so to speak, while others can be treated with more flexibility. The reason people engrave/inscribe items is to showcase their importance and lend a sense of permanence. It would be profligate and meaningless to engrave every object one owns. What then would set apart the cherished from the trivial?

Viewed in this light, it becomes obvious which aspects of life should be treated with that level of respect and reverence, versus those to be held more loosely.

So, as I conclude (finally!) my discussion of the High Holy Days, perhaps my new year’s resolution should be to continue mining my life for the inscribable instead of getting caught up in the perishable.

L’shanah tova!

 

*To compare Biblical translations, the Blue Letter Bible (https://www.blueletterbible.org/) is an excellent resource.

 

Rainy Days Ahead: Getting Through versus Going Through

Rainy Days Ahead

That’s the message the bottom right hand corner of my desktop is trumpeting today, complete with a tiny picture of an umbrella.

Rainy days right now.

I would append this statement to the former because my life has been somewhat showery for a while now, with no signs of letting up.

I’m not talking about weather, of course. I’m talking about the pulse of the country and my own personal pulse, so to speak.

When I demonstrated an interest in writing as a young girl, my parents gifted me a little book called The Writer’s Eye. I never read the thing, being ever resistant to learning about the writing craft and much preferring to just do it. That said, I may have finally internalized the idea that, to a writer, everything is grist for the mill.

Such is the case with the notification on my desktop this morning. Those little weather alerts are probably there every day, but I don’t usually take notice. This one for some reason jumped out at me, perfectly characterizing, in my humble opinion, the state of the nation and my particular state at the moment.

Choosing Sun

Before we start tuning our violins, let me qualify my comments. Lest my words seem like a plea for sympathy, I want it known that I’m not feeling sorry for myself.

Well, not too much. It’s a tough habit to break, after all, and at one time in my life, I was a master self-pitier. But in recent years, I’ve come to realize the truth of Viktor Frankl’s statement (emphasis mine): “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.”

In searching for Frankl’s attitude quote, I found a mountain of inspiration from this remarkable psychotherapist, including the little gem quoted below (emphasis mine). Little did this Holocaust survivor know how ahead of his time he was, given today’s rampant support for physician assisted suicide. I suspect this brilliant man, who survived horrors that stagger the imagination, would be appalled at the prevalence of so-called “death with dignity”:

“But today’s society is characterized by achievement orientation, and consequently it adores people who are successful and happy and, in particular, it adores the young. It virtually ignores the value of all those who are otherwise, and in so doing blurs the decisive difference between being valuable in the sense of dignity and being valuable in the sense of usefulness. If one is not cognizant of this difference and holds that an individual’s value stems only from his present usefulness, then, believe me, one owes it only to personal inconsistency not to plead for euthanasia along the lines of Hitler’s program, that is to say, ‘mercy’ killing of all those who have lost their social usefulness, be it because of old age, incurable illness, mental deterioration, or whatever handicap they may suffer. Confounding the dignity of man with mere usefulness arises from conceptual confusion that in turn may be traced back to the contemporary nihilism transmitted on many an academic campus and many an analytical couch.”

These are the kinds of things we need to read to drag ourselves out of the quagmire that sometimes characterizes life.

While I have grave concerns for the shape our country is in and, secondarily, find myself in a set of somewhat dreary circumstances, for once in my life – and maybe this is the definition of maturity – I’m seeing things with a sort of objectivity that encourages me.

For years I’ve been advising fellow believers to try to view things through God’s eyes. “I wonder what God’s trying to teach you” is a frequent refrain from my lexicon. I think this phrase is finally becoming less a platitude and more a reality for me.

What a blessing!

Fifty Per Cent

How on earth did we get from weather reports to percentages?

Trust the process.

A ways back I jotted down notes for a possible blog article – this blog article. I had been noticing silly things that were in the 50 per cent range, satisfaction-wise. For example, I had just replaced one framed piece of art – I’m looking at it now – with another. My desk sits in a sort of alcove that offers a convenient wall which invites decoration. A friend was collecting secondhand items to be sold for a worthy cause, and I saw this as an opportunity to swap one picture for another that I preferred. My friend collected the cash for my discard, and my workspace picked up something more pleasing to my eye.

Except for one thing.

Remember I mentioned that I work in an alcove? Well, my desk is heavy, right down to its glass top, and the computer tower and monitor that sit atop it don’t easily lend themselves to rearrangement.

You can see where this is going.

I didn’t want to do anything silly like ask for help, so I scaled a ladder and hoped for the best.

The best, as it turned out, meant: a) the glass top didn’t break; b) computer components weren’t knocked off; c) picture was successfully mounted; but d) it wasn’t centered.

See what I mean? The angle makes it look crooked; it really isn't. But it is definitely off center.

And you know what?

I’m living with it.

This is actually the second such mounting job I’ve done in recent months which has turned out less than perfectly. Things like this used to really bother me. I would remove nails and readjust (who sees a few extra holes once the art is hung?) until I got it just right.

Such precision no longer holds a place on my priority list.

I don’t want to say I’m too old for that, but, well, you know.

So, I got 50 per cent of what I was looking for. Actually, I got 75 per cent, if you consider that points a, b, and c worked out well, and d was the only defector.

I’ll take it.

I could share other examples where I’m looking to make lemonade out of sour lemons.

Case in point: like many women of my vintage, I’m in pretty good shape for the shape I’m in.

That said, I have a few besetting ailments, but in the big scheme of things, they’re pretty manageable. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, I’m grateful that when one condition flares up, the others – for the moment, anyway – have been remarkably well behaved. So, instead of dealing with arthritic aches along with asthma adventures, nine times out of ten, one is under control while the other is making its presence known.

Again, attitude is going to be key in how I view these things. I can either lament, “Oh, man, this cold is going into my chest, so now I’m going to have to break out the nebulizer machine and pull out all the stops again!” OR I can consider the flip side. To illustrate, I'll refer to a guidance counselor I once knew who encouraged students to take the “at least” perspective when they were feeling upset. For example, “My activities may be curtailed because of this respiratory infection, but AT LEAST I’m walking without a cane for the moment!”

Getting Through versus Going Through

There’s always a valley lurking at the base of every peak. Will we focus on the valley instead of enjoying the peak?

One of my family members has had plenty of adversity. Life-threatening health issues, financial setbacks, devastating family problems. This individual has consistently modeled a “bounce back” response to every challenge. I have watched with admiration the steadiness and resilience which have characterized this person’s response to surgeries, business misadventures, even death (and near death) of loved ones.  

That’s how I want to be when I grow up.

I want to learn to go through life’s obstacles with grace and faith.

I don’t want to just get through things that feel like suffering. I want to go through life’s vicissitudes knowing, as God’s child, I’m right smack in the center of His will, despite appearances to the contrary.

When I searched my blog for an article written back in 2012, entitled Through (which, incidentally, was written during a time of severe testing in my life), I stumbled onto a whole slew of my writings on the same subject. I offer them here in the hope that one or all may lighten the burdens others are carrying.

Because that’s the point, really, when you get right down to it. Like Christian in John Bunyan’s classic Pilgrim’s Progress, we can expect trouble. It’s going to come whether we like it or not. Bunyan knew of what he spoke; he wrote the book during his 12-year imprisonment, during which time he supported his family by making shoelaces.

Bunyan understood the truth of Hebrews 10:36-39:

“For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised. For, ‘Yet a little while, and the coming one will come and will not delay; but my righteous one shall live by faith, and if he shrinks back, my soul has no pleasure in him.’

“But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls.”

Bunyan’s faith enabled him to live out the truth of Psalm 112:6-7:

“For the righteous will never be moved; he will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.”

Rejoice, in Spite of…

Rainy days may lie ahead, but so does our hope of heaven. I’m looking for the kind of faith that sustains the pastoral staff at my church. These folks have an uncanny knack for balancing pain and joy, even to the point of advising their sheep to “thank God for everything!”

And they mean everything. This collective group and their wives have experienced plenty of hardships since I've known them. Their resolve never changes. They truly do thank God for everything, ever seeking whatever growth is to be had within their changing circumstances.

Anyone who has been part of a Christian community knows, unfortunately, that the church is a breeding ground for love but can also include betrayal. It’s been said the church is the only army that shoots its own soldiers.

I wish I could prove this sentiment wrong, but I’ve been around too long to deny the truth of its caustic commentary.

I would ask my pastoral team to reveal the secret behind their smiles, but they would simply refer me back to the Book of all books.

They’ve learned not to make their happiness contingent on things going their way. They’ve weighed Jesus’s words and example, put them to the test, and found them more than adequate to catch every tear that accompanies the ministry.

Tears are the stuff of rainstorms, minus the salt, I suppose. They are also evidence of God’s hand in our lives, but He doesn’t leave us to dissolve into them. Rather, in His providence, He allows clouds to break over our lives only insomuch as they are necessary for our growth.

What a savior.

Come Now, Let us Reason Together: Thoughts on the Assassination of Charlie Kirk

An Ordinary Day…

I was having a bit of a spa day. Something I never do, but it sort of evolved. Sitting in my car outside the nail salon, I was pondering whether I might have better luck with the hairdresser than I had had with my pedicure.

I had created quite the ruckus in the place by making a few simple requests. It became a problem that I didn’t want the foot bath (someone I knew had unrelenting athlete’s foot and those tubs skeeve me) but I did want a clean looking towel. Then, apparently, I chose the wrong color for my particular toenails, and the nail stylist seemed like it would really break her heart if I went with the muted mauve. Reluctant to cause any more static, I acquiesced to her choice for me.  

Turns out frosted peach toenails make my bulbous big toes look even more like mini wieners than they usually do. Who knew?

I was sure the nails were more than dry when I slipped off the crazy excuses for flip flops they give you and slid back into my sandals. Mistake number two was not making this transfer of foot apparel while still inside the salon. If the polish had smeared while I was still inside, I more than likely would have had them retouch it. But to reenter after all the fuss and feathers – I just didn’t have it in me.

I opted instead to make plans with my daughter-in-law to go to an early dinner. Our plan was to meet at Bertucci’s after she did a few things and I got my hair cut.

Let’s just say the service at Hair Cuttery far outweighed its counterpart in the nail business. The stylist chatted amiably and it seemed we had many of the same values. Always nice to find a like-minded thinker. The jury’s still out on the cut itself, but two out of three ain’t bad.

Turns Extraordinary

Then I saw the news alert. Charlie Kirk had been gunned down. My first thought was, ridiculously, he won’t be hurt any worse than Trump was in Butler. It didn’t even cross my mind that he wouldn’t survive. I immediately mobilized my prayer teams and did my own part while waiting for my DIL to arrive.

She was running late, so I gobbled up the news channels. Rich Zeoli seemed positively sedate. I’ve never heard that guy on slow, let alone subdued. It was like all the stuffing was knocked out of him. The guest he had on sounded about to break down at any moment.

What influencer in his right mind who holds Kirk’s positions isn’t upping his life insurance and beefing up his home security system in the wake of this murder?

The question is, though – where will we land?

Not just the guys in Charlie Kirk’s league, the ones with the most visibility and the most to lose. Where will the days ahead find those of us who get up every morning only to punch in at work or, like the students this fallen icon loved, show up for class? Will we continue to shake our heads and close our mouths when ideologies are forced upon us that we don’t believe in? Will we commiserate with like-minded friends with whom we feel safe, only to keep silent when the winds are against us?

Will we join with the voices that will blame this horror on the gun that ended Kirk’s life, even though he would be the first - still - to defend laws that allow Americans to defend themselves?

Kirk would never have supported giving madmen guns, but he did believe in trying to reason with his opponents in the spirit of Isaiah 1. His philosophy was simple: if you let people speak, then dialogue with them, maybe you can come closer to agreement. If you find points of agreement, minds can be shaped without bludgeoning your opponent into submission. In other words, if people can be helped to see common sense based on morality and decency, rather than terrorized out of sharing a dissenting opinion, maybe – just maybe – we can all play in the sandbox safely.

With or without guns.

I’m not going to take the Second Amendment any farther, nor am I prepared to offer an argument any more robust than that. I will say, however, that in this unprecedented era of school shootings during which I worked as an educator for 23 years, I did wonder many a time whether or not I’d be coming home at the end of the day. And you know what? It would have given me peace of mind if I had been aware of any levelheaded, armed professionals on the premises, should our safety have been threatened by outside agents who maybe weren’t so levelheaded or concerned with silly things like following the law.

More than any public figure I can think of at the moment, this gentleman - this gentle man - allowed opposing voices the time and courtesy he felt they deserved. I’ve watched reels in which he hushed his own supporters to allow spouters of views he held abhorrent the chance to speak.

So they could reason together.

Let that sink in, America.

A Time to Reason

I’ve recently begun dipping my peach painted toes into some online debates. Not because I enjoy the experience. My parents didn’t raise a combative daughter. My nature is to go along to get along. I didn’t shrink from getting into it with my kids when I was raising them (in fact, whatever poor excuse for parleying skills I have, I owe to those two loophole finders). But sit me in a meeting where I’m the lone voice and I become laryngitic.

But I’m coming to realize there’s a real danger in playing it safe. Safe only goes so far. As far, actually, as it takes to lock ourselves into our own homes with our own opinions and let’s just keep them out of the public square, shall we?

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

Reuters claims the authorship of this quote is in question, so I’ll leave it unattributed, but with deep appreciation for the wisdom it conveys.

Charlie Kirk understood this. I’m sure he held a large life insurance policy (if anyone would insure him). He hired bodyguards. He wasn’t looking to get poached like a game bird, but he was willing. Both he and his wife must have been well aware of the peril-laden plateaus he embarked on each time they kissed goodbye.

The thing is, they counted the cost and found it reasonable.

He was, after all, first and foremost a man of reason.

“Come, let us reason together,” implores our Lord. Can his creation do any less?

So, let’s reason together about what happened on Wednesday. While resisting the urge to paint Charlie Kirk as a savior – I’m sure his family and those who knew him best could disavow us of any such notion – I don’t think it’s a stretch to state that this man represented the interests of both sides of the political aisle. Those who appreciated his message and those who didn’t. If that were not the case, why would he have spent so much precious time that he could’ve had with loved ones trying to reason with dissenters? To try to win rather than silence them?

I want to follow in God and Kirk’s footsteps in this regard, and I’ll start with the pain I saw on the face of my left-leaning friend the morning after the assassination. I could imagine her thoughts while listening to me share my grief about the loss of this conservative icon. “What of the brutality done to individuals from the Democratic party?” her eyes seemed to lament. “Shouldn’t their wounds, some of them fatal, hold just as much relevance as those of a man honored by your side?”

My response is threefold. First, while I shrink at references to sides and camps and for a second even tried to find alternative words, I chose in the end to call spades spades. Every war has sides and we are most definitely in a culture war that seems to be advancing us ever closer to a wasteland. I can’t in intellectual honesty deny the existence of partisan lines, but one thing I will try to do is avoid an “us versus them” mentality. “We” are all part of the human race, made in God’s image, and I will not deny someone’s humanity regardless of how repellent I may find his or her beliefs.

Second, at least in my book and my dealings, those from the opposite camp who were injured or killed for their political beliefs won’t go unremembered. Rep. Gabby Giffords, Rep. Melissa and Mark Hortman, Sen. John and Yvette Hoffman, the horrors that happened to you and your families matter just as much to me as does this latest episode of violence against someone with whom I’m more politically aligned. Last time I checked, you all spilled the same color blood as that of my fallen hero. I will neither forget nor diminish your tragedies, and I ask the same of you.

Third and finally, I will dare to pray and hope we are entering the turning point Charlie Kirk stood for.

God rest his soul. God comfort his family. God bless America.

Problems

 

Problems. We've all got them. They vary in size and intensity, severity and impact. 

I'm not sure where I got the idea that I wasn't supposed to have problems, but somewhere along the way that notion made its way into my head, and it created, well, problems.

For instance, when one's philosophy is that everything ought to go swimmingly and then it doesn't – well, that's a problem. 

Furthermore, when one deems every problem that comes one’s way a disaster and blows it all out of proportion – a philosophy I also internalized early – well, here again, we have a problem.

My preferred way of handling problems used to be running from them. Literally walking away from people or situations that caused angst. Door slammed, locked and bolted – at least until the other person cried “uncle”, which was far from guaranteed.

When I couldn’t get away with that strategy, I tried making nice. People-pleasing. Fawning. That often resulted in loss of respect and the opposite of the desired result.

Then there was the “lean waaaaay into the problem and let it overtake every thought” modus operandi. Any happy thought was immediately banished in favor of brooding over THE PROBLEM.

At the ripe, young age of 62, I’m learning there are better ways to handle problems.

First of all, to borrow a phrase from Charles Stanley, I need to update my thinking. Instead of “why me?” my mantra is ever so gradually becoming “why not me?” What makes me think I’m exempt from unfairness from people, places, or things? For that matter, how do I know the “unfairness” isn’t a heavenly nudge meant to grow me?

I’m rereading a book called Thank You for Being Such a Pain. The premise is that life doesn’t just “happen” to us; rather, things arise to teach us something. It’s especially helpful to pay attention when we find ourselves encountering similar situations/people over and over again. Where there are patterns, there are usually reasons for those patterns. Quick disclaimer: the author, who has a delightful, readable style, tends to attribute causes for said patterns to “the universe.” As a Christian, I can’t ascribe events to an unintelligent, created universe. After all, the universe didn’t just happen, did it? Even if one believes in the Big Bang, who or what set off the bang? For every effect there is necessarily a cause, and to me it makes much more sense to believe in an intelligent being who created all the intelligence with which we are blessed. (For more on this topic, see Gregory Koukl’s Street Smarts.)

Now that I’ve gotten totally sidetracked, let me return to the topic at hand. Since I’ve improved in the areas of running away and people-pleasing, the M.O. I’m currently trying to kick to the curb is obsessing over the problem to the exclusion of other aspects of my life.

First of all, that isn’t Biblical. Second Corinthians 10:4-5 says, “ For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ…”

Paul couldn’t be more clear here. He wants us to view EVERYTHING through the lens of what the Lord is trying to teach us.

So much for ingesting my problems, chewing them up endlessly without spitting them out (perish the thought! That might lead to peace of mind and we can’t have that). So much for centralizing the problem, making it the focus of my life, spending every waking minute pondering solutions and possible approaches to tackle whatever boogie man is currently stealing my attention.

Land sakes, the Bible offers scads of advice about how and where to exercise the mind, and I have yet to find one that suggests dwelling endlessly on something outside my control. What I do find are tons of assurances that if I lean into the Lord and detach from the problem, blessings will ensue.

Final caveat: I’m not suggesting ignoring problems or failing to take sensible steps to resolve issues. That approach would take us back to the running away strategy which we’ve already dismissed as unwise. Rather, in the absence of alternatives to make things right, as it were, sometimes the wisest action is no action. Waiting on the Lord. Being ready at all times to mend fences wherever possible, but allowing the Lord time to settle dust and ruffled feathers.

My personal experience with running ahead of God in trying to bring about the solution I think I want has consistently been disaster. At this point in my life, enough already!

I’ll give the final word to this succinct but packed poem. The internet can’t make up its mind who wrote this little gem, so I’ll just place it here anonymously but with deep gratitude for the unnamed author who so perfectly “nailed” the concept of letting go and letting God:

As children bring their broken toys, 
With tears, for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God,  

Because He was my Friend.

But then, instead of leaving Him
In peace, to work alone;
I hung around and tried to help
With ways that were my own.

At last I snatched them back and cried,
“How can You be so slow?”
“My child,” He said, “what could I do?
You never did let go!"

Old Age Isn't a Deal Breaker

My stove is an eyesore.

There. I said it.

This baby has boo boo's that I've tried to fix with metal repair paint. Alas, it turns out there are varying hues of this magical goo, and I unfortunately chose the wrong one. 

My range is an electric model, and it's well over 20 years old. Like anything of such an accomplished vintage, this workhorse has needed a replacement here and there. I've changed up the drip pans on more than one occasion, and the latest batch has the coils sitting ever so slightly askew. 

End result? Things are a bit tilted in the making – but the final product is still more than respectable.

Similarly, the desktop on which I’m composing this piece just celebrated its sixth birthday. If we were talking about a child, we’d say he was just beginning his journey. When electronics – especially ones that get as much wear and tear as computers – hit this kind of milestone, the word Neanderthal springs to mind.

At the risk of jinxing my good fortune, I must pat this thing on the back (make that motherboard) and declare it an Energizer Bunny that gets the job done.

Don’t misunderstand me. We have limitations. The monitor predates the tower, so it’s lacking in some areas. For instance, Zoom meetings are rather quiet on my end due to the lack of a microphone. A few letters on the keyboard are indistinct or even rubbed off altogether – again, a sign of age but, heck, my fingers know where “L” is supposed to be, so we soldier on.

Some would assert that I ought to just scrap my old dinosaurs and start fresh. Out with the old, in with the new. The thing is – well, truth be told, there are a few things preventing such an ageist approach. First, there’s the “they don’t make ’em like they used to” factor. For instance, I’ve researched kitchen ranges and find them long on expense and short on durability and lifespan. Secondly, I HATE – in the strongest sense of the word – the process of researching, price shopping, arranging delivery, and generally all things connected with replacing worn out stuff with newer but soon-to-be-worn-out stuff. When dealing with computers, let’s not forget the utter joys of setting up the system and transferring files.

Who needs it?

The bottom line is, when it comes to appliances and electronics, I limp along for as long as I can and replace when I must.

This isn’t such a bad strategy, all things considered. For one thing, it’s great practice for getting older. Let’s face it: time marches on, time waits for no man – pick your idiom. However we choose to phrase it, none of us is getting any younger, so we may as well find some way to cope with the changes. True, our bodies benefit from new parts from time to time, but not one of us can boast a full body or mind transplant. This is one of many reasons I can’t support the gender transitioning phenomenon sweeping our nation, but I digress.

Since we don’t have the luxury of throwing away the aging models God gave us, we simply have to manage them.

This brings me to why I trekked over to the Blue Church in Springfield recently. This faithful organization has an absolutely mind-blowing ministry called the Caring Hearts Lending Closet. Let me share the shout-out I gave them on Facebook:

Amazing staff and stuff! I never saw such a huge array of expensive freebies! Karin was prompt in responding to my email questions about availability and times. Catherine fed and watered me while I waited for my turn at bat (which, by the way, was only minutes). You heard right. Not only are they collecting, inventorying and distributing FREE medical supplies, but they hand out breakfast to boot. PT Maura Tehrani Henderson donated her time to show me how to size and properly use the items I was taking home. As if all this weren't enough, another volunteer whose name I didn't catch schlepped my "winnings" out to my car and loaded them in. This is truly a grand ministry, and I walked away feeling completely blessed.

I visited this community event because some of my parts are working less than optimally. Since I’m very interested in preserving function (see above), I thought it best to grab some equipment in hopes of shoring up the old gal.

The Bible offers many insights into the aging process. In fact, this timeless book has scads of passages about the wonders of growing old, and the wisdom which often accompanies that process. Scouring my own website, I find I’ve written extensively on this subject, even referencing the old stove (same one) which catapulted this article.

Can one bring suit against oneself for plagiarism?

Nah. Let’s consider this an update and leave it at that.

Case in point. My prayer partner and I enjoy ministering to a small elderly population at a local nursing home. One of our “ladies,” as we fondly refer to our geriatric buddies, has quite the sense of humor. At 92 years young, this dear woman has more than her fair share of ailments. Once, while battling a cold, she quipped that she planned to get rid of the cough by cutting her throat! Another time, instead of complaining about ongoing GI troubles, she joked about them thusly: “That tenant down there – he’s been given an eviction notice but he won’t leave!” And I’d be remiss if I failed to quote the time when she was discussing a 78-year-old acquaintance. She interrupted her story and sighed, “Oh, to be 78 again!”

This lady is not only a riot, she’s as sharp as the proverbial tack. I recently “assisted” her in e-mailing government officials regarding an issue about which she was concerned. In my authorial hubris, I wrongly assumed I’d be doing most of the writing and she would merely sign off on the correspondence. Imagine my surprise when this nonagenarian rattled off exactly what she wanted to say succinctly and articulately. Not only that – she didn’t agonize over word choice or endlessly edit, as I’m prone to do.

A lesson learned…

It’s time to wrap this up. I started this article a couple of months ago, and it’s been lollygagging listlessly on my hard drive ever since. Some pieces come effortlessly and can be knocked out in an hour; others, not so much.

I guess what I really want to say is how important it is to recognize the beauty in all stages of life. With youth comes energy and verve; as the years creep by (make that speed by), we lose some of our stamina but gain perspective. For example, I felt very self-conscious telling my bosses I would be hobbling into work with a cane for the foreseeable future. The funny thing was, no one else seemed to give much of a hoot. Oh, everyone was sympathetic and concerned, but I quickly realized my colleagues and students were going to take their cues from me as to how to react to the change. If I acted like an invalid, moaning and groaning, we would all feel awkward. If I treated it like the practical, sensible strategy it is (as an educator, I sought and implemented practical, sensible strategies with students during my entire career), we could all move on without any fuss. Interestingly, after I got over the emotional discomfort of using the cane, it became a trusted friend, made more so because it had belonged to my dad. Thankfully, as my doctor predicted, eventually the cane became unnecessary, and simply resided in my locker “just in case”. 

The goal, it would seem, is to keep whatever function we have while adapting gracefully to what we’re losing.

"The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree, He shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bear fruit in old age; they shall be fresh and flourishing, to declare that the Lord is upright; He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him." 

                                                                 - Psalm 92:12-15