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.

Follow the Science?

There's a lot of talk these days about "following the science." 

This has become a popular mantra, often used to castigate those who don't automatically give credence to the latest advice from experts. The CDC insists that a vaccine developed on an emergent basis is safe, secure and the answer to all our prayers, and will halt a virus which seems to have no intention of staying either predictable or at bay. Many clinicians claim that prepubescent children know best about their gender, and that millennia of past expertise have been wrong about the facts of anatomical and chromosomal reality. Individuals who hold differing opinions are often dismissed, disparaged, and lately even canceled. 

For the record, canceling dissenting voices has historically been known as censorship, a tool which has been used very effectively to springboard totalitarian regimes into power and exterminate individual freedom - not to mention individuals themselves. 

All this insistence upon science being gospel has caused me to flip back through the pages of history and investigate some curious views which authorities have held through the ages. Below are a few noteworthy examples in which science got things categorically wrong, jeopardizing the health and well-being of the very people whose best interests it sought to protect. Quick disclaimer: scientists are not in the business of erring intentionally; however, like all of us, they are limited by lack of evidence to the contrary regarding positions they hold at any given time. Science by its nature is constantly evolving. New discoveries either affirm or refute scientific assumptions. Those that stand the test of time - such as Newton's laws - usually remain unquestioned; however, due to the evolutionary nature of science, it behooves the discipline to continuously investigate, rather than insist upon a gavel-striking approach to principles of the day. 

One instance in which science later reversed itself was regarding tobacco. Before they knew better, physicians used to promote cigarettes in advertising campaigns. Research has now shown smoking to be deadly, and no reputable medical practitioner would recommend it.

Experts once believed it was acceptable for women to drink alcohol during pregnancy. That stance was later reversed when evidence surfaced about the danger alcohol poses to the fetus. Likewise, the anti-nausea drug, thalidomide, resulted in untold numbers of birth defects, simply because medical science was unaware of its adverse consequences at the time. Perhaps as a society we should recall such well-intended but egregious medical mistakes before allowing physicians to prescribe puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones for children and surgically remove healthy body parts in the name of gender affirmation. 

Speaking of hormones, doctors used to routinely prescribe them to mitigate unpleasant symptoms of menopause. Having been proven unsafe, estrogen therapy is no longer the "go to" treatment plan for menopausal women. Why, then, are so many practitioners comfortable prescribing hormones off-label for identity-confused youngsters?

This author realizes that the hormone regimen being used in gender dysphoric children differs in many respects from that which was prescribed for midlife women (not completely, however - gender confused males often receive estrogen in order to align their physical appearance with their perceived identity); nevertheless, studies have revealed serious adverse effects from long-term use of sex reassignment hormones.

 

Medicine is not the only branch of science to have erred in its recommendations; anthropology has taken disastrously wrong turns in several notable instances. Various groups have historically been considered subhuman on the basis of race or ethnicity. Grotesque "scientific" experiments and studies were performed on individuals in these groups, treating human beings as if they were lab animals. Once again, science got it terribly, unutterably wrong. 

The instinct to survive is a strong one. It has caused individuals of conscience to stay silent and inactive in the past. With shame, this author must admit to remaining on the sidelines of the gender debate which is sweeping through our institutions at hurricane speed, leaving too many children as maimed as the mutilated toys belonging to Toy Story's reckless Sid. The difference, of course, between sadistic Sid and well-meaning medical professionals who prescribe and carry out hormonal and surgical interventions on minors is that, in the latter case, the goal is to alleviate dysphoric anguish. The intentions are kind - but what of the outcomes? Tragically, many who undergo sex reassignment surgery seek to "detransition" after realizing an altered body didn't cure their pain, and in some cases, even made it worse, leaving them more prone to "mortality, suicide ideation, and psychiatric issues compared to the rest of the population." I fear for the future of our youth if poorly evidenced gender treatment protocols being administered to minors are not called out and checked. My efforts may be inadequate to stop the troubling trend, but at least I will have done my part to try to stem the tide.

I once participated in a seminar in which the speaker urged her audience to contact lawmakers about an important issue. Her admonition to us was, "If we try and fail, at least we can hold our heads up knowing we tried. If we do nothing, we have only ourselves to blame." 

God forbid that should be said of this author. I prefer to stand in the company of individuals like Martin Luther who, when asked to recant his call for reform of the prevailing church of his day, replied, "My conscience is captive to the word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God." 

"Pray for us; for we are confident that we have a good conscience, 

in all things desiring to live honorably." 

- Hebrews 13:18

Check out Do Something by Matthew West. This article is my way of doing something for the next generation.

Birthdays and Beyond

My Natal Birthday

Birthdays.

I've had two of them.

Well, technically, I've had 57, since I was born in 1963 and, well, you can do the math.

I celebrated my natal birthday recently. According to my parents, I came home from the hospital with a cold, due to the frigid weather in which I made my arrival. The Lord saw fit to have me recover, so that I could live to see my spiritual birthday.

My Spiritual Birthday

This latter event occurred during my early years, somewhere between ages 10 and 12, as best I can recall. The story is simple. My mother had to have minor surgery that summer, and my aunt graciously took me off Mom's hands while she recovered. A local church in my aunt's neighborhood was offering a vacation Bible school for kids to attend, so my cousin and I were sent there for a few hours each morning, likely to keep us busy while Aunt Harriet tended to chores around the house.

One day during a craft activity, an adult leader casually asked if any of her rambunctious students needed to ask Jesus into their hearts. I had never heard of the idea, so raised my hand. She took me aside and presented the gospel in a way I could understand. She used a tool called the Wordless Book, which is something I have used many times in my own ministry with kids over the years. The leaflet is comprised of nothing but five colors: black, symbolizing the darkness of the sinner's heart; red, showing the blood of Christ which, when applied to that sinful heart, renders it w h i t e as snow; gold, depicting the streets of gold the transformed sinner can look forward to in heaven; and green, representing the growth the new believer can achieve through Bible study and prayer.

I believed the book's message of salvation, and kept the tiny felt pamphlet she gave me as a memento of my spiritual birthday.

My Spiritual Journey

Although I wasn't raised in a Christian home, the Lord planted a number of Godly influences in my life to help me along. My Aunt Edith took me to a Bible-believing church as a youngster. Somehow, I found my way to other church and para-church offerings, which taught me many basics (the names of books of the Bible in order, the Christmas and Easter stories, Psalm 23, and important church doctrines).

As years passed, I went through periods of spiritual stagnation and even rebellion, I'm sorry to say. However, time and maturity have kicked in (not completely - do any of us ever totally grow up?), and I feel hopeful about the spiritual course my life is on.

I've been blessed to sit under some exceptional teaching over the years. When my husband attended Dallas Theological Seminary's extension program at a local Bible college, the staff granted me the unparalleled privilege (well, except for God's gift of salvation!) of being able to audit his courses at no charge. I will always be thankful for that time of rich learning, even though my wise husband often had to practically drag his shortsighted wife to our weekend classes. I wanted to kick back on Friday nights and sleep in on Saturdays, both of which seemed more important at the time than studying the Scriptures. The foolishness of youth!

Various local churches have also added to my understanding of God's word. As a young teen, I attended a sound Presbyterian church and its youth group, which gave me the basic underpinnings of what it means to follow Christ. After my marriage, Rev. Dr. William Maurice Fain of Rockland Baptist Church in New York kept pestering a pair of newlyweds who had stopped in to visit his tiny church one day. Every Thursday following our visit, without fail, Pastor Fain showed up at our apartment to see how we were getting along. Finally, I asked why he kept stopping by when he could see we weren't coming back to his church! That quiet, sincere man donned a sly grin and replied that, when we told him we had found a solid church to call home, he would stop "bothering" us! Needless to say, we became regulars at his church until we moved to Pennsylvania two years later.

Over the next few years, I benefited greatly from the teachings at Spruce Street Baptist Church, Faith Reformed Baptist Church and Bethany Evangelical Presbyterian Church, all in southeastern Pennsylvania. In these fine institutions, I received instruction in the word and learned how to present the message of salvation to others.

Currently, I attend Bible Baptist Church in Upper Darby, PA, which is led by Rev. Steve Lyon, as humble and knowledgeable a shepherd as I've ever been blessed to know. I would be remiss not to mention the ministry of Rev. David Frampton and his wife, Sharon, whose loving example and outreach helped nurture my faith through some very difficult years. Finally, I owe a great deal to Jean Glatfelter, my spiritual mentor, whose "sola Scriptura" approach to the Bible has rubbed off on me and continues to inform my ministry to this day.

Musings: My Hope, My Goals and My Boast

Many wished me well on my special day, for which I'm most thankful. It's always nice to be remembered on one's birthday, and made to feel special.

However, no one ever celebrates my spiritual birthday. For one thing, as I've indicated, I can't be certain of the date, or even how old I was when my "second birth" occurred. But I suspect it's been recorded in heavenly annals, and when I enter the Lord's throne room, there will be celebrating beyond anything I can imagine.

As I take stock of my life thus far, I ponder what I have to show: a) for the 57 years I've been drawing breath on this planet; and b) for the nearly 50 years I've been following Christ.

My life has been enriched by two sons and their darling companions, and a beautiful grandson who will soon become a big brother to twin siblings! These folks and my family of origin are, without a doubt, my most cherished earthly resources.

Regarding professional accomplishments, I wandered many years trying to find a vocational home. The Lord's hand finally landed me in the field of education, which both challenges and fulfills me in many ways. My outside calling, writing, has produced a handful of works that have been published in print, but the vast majority have found their home online or reside on my hard drive. My magnum opus, Belabored, remains unread by most of the world.

On the subject of authorship, I've outlived my writing inspiration, Louisa May Alcott, who died at 56. She, however, had made a name for herself as a prestigious author before turning 40. While I can't boast of such a renowned career, neither could Alcott avail herself of social media to peddle her wares. She scurried hither and yon, seeking outlets for her work. I feel blessed that, while my readership may not be large, each and every person who checks out my blog gets the best I have to offer, and is part of the audience God has assigned me. I take that charge seriously, remembering that He does not despise small things.

I wonder how Alcott would have tackled the immense obstacles of modern-day publishing, with its mega-proposals and ad nauseam rewrites that serve as rites of initiation. Would she have continued to play the game, hounding agents and publishers, shelling out hard-earned dollars to attend conferences that often lead nowhere? Would she have scraped up the money to self-publish?

I ask myself these things only because Alcott's tenacity and pluck inspire me as much as her books did when I read them as a young girl. The real question is, what would God have me do with the novel that took four years to write? And what does He plan for some of my pieces for which a blog isn't the ideal forum?

I'm wrestling with these issues, realizing their resolution will come only through prayer and commensurate effort. Thankfully, my spiritual life is in reasonably good order, and I feel blessed to have a team of like-minded believers interceding for God's future plans for me.

So, in the wake of another birthday, while pondering the possibilities for this new year of life, I find peace in the fact that following the Lord is my most important calling, and sharing His gospel the best accomplishment I can boast.

"But God forbid that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, 

by whom the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world." 

~ Galatians 6:14

All or Nothing... or Something

There was a time in my life when, if I couldn’t do it perfectly, I wouldn’t do it all.

I can’t afford that luxury anymore.

Over the last few years, my life has gotten significantly more complicated. Complication, in the sense I mean, is a mixed bag. One of my sons is now married to a delightful woman, and they have become parents to my beloved grandson. My other son is seriously involved with a precious girlfriend, whom I hand-picked for him (that’s a whole ’nother story – just take my word for it).

I strive to spend individual time with all four of my children, be they related by blood or simply a bond of love. And it goes without saying, I snap up any chance to cuddle my grandbaby. All these things take time, every second of which is cherished and well spent.

Complication of the most delicious kind.

I'm much less enamored of the time I need to spend caring for my less than perfect body. Mind you, my earthly vessel has never even approached perfection, but as each year passes, fewer and fewer functions, ahem, function  perfectly. This corporeal lack of cooperation has resulted in a resentment-worthy number of hours being given over to doctoring of one sort or another.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m healthier than many of my peers and take almost no medication. I haven’t been diagnosed with any untreatable illnesses or conditions. It’s just that the mileage on this body is racking up, and the wear and tear on certain rebellious parts has mandated things like exercise regimes that are supposed to be done on a daily basis.

Yeah, right.

Complication I could do without.

And then there are helpful and interesting complications like a Bible-based financial class some caring folks invested in for me. Really, they invested in me, realizing I’m not the worst money manager who ever walked the earth, but believing I could benefit from some time-proven strategies to shore up my future. The class requires a time commitment of one evening a week, as well as homework that promises to change my life.

Complication of the most thoughtful kind.

True confessions: I started this article several weeks, maybe even a month ago, and life has gotten in the way of my finishing it. More true confessions: my all or nothing tendencies have also interrupted its flow. For instance, the aforementioned financial class suggests a variety of time-tested strategies to clean up one’s money messes. Since (thankfully) I don’t have too many such messes to address, I’ve been focusing more on the wealth-building suggestions, such as making money wherever possible and investing heavily. Oh, and keeping and sticking to a budget (something I’ve tried unsuccessfully to tackle over the years, but would love to get the hang of).

I have to admit, I’ve had to step back and remember that, while this class may be gifting me with tools to improve my fiduciary life, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I will never be able to “do” this money thing perfectly, but I can glean ideas that make sense, and put applicable ones into practice over time. Christ took three years to complete His earthly ministry, and His Father has taken 56 years to bring me to where I am today – which is struggling but striving on a daily basis to be more like Him.

So, why do I expect myself to nail this whole course in a few weeks?

Similarly, my exercise routine has had to be curtailed. I simply can’t keep up with each and every suggested remedy for ailing limbs each and every day. I admit it. Twenty-four hours just isn’t enough time to accomplish perfection in this area. Nevertheless, I try to do some exercises regularly. Well, perhaps frequently is more accurate. 

Sometimes not giving up, not tossing the baby out with the bath water, just has to be good enough.

Something is better than nothing.

One other note: if this post seems less “polished” than others I’ve written, that’s because I’m feeling led this morning – Thanksgiving morning – to finish it and put it out there for you, my readers. I’ll have a houseful of family expecting to chow down in a few hours, so perfection of every word and phrase is out of the question. Dinner, I hasten to add, will not be served in a perfectly clean house (far from it), nor will it be displayed on a perfectly arranged table. And I guarantee you, the fare will be a far cry from perfect. My hope, though, is that we will all eat in a serene setting with a (relatively) sane hostess.

That will have to be good enough.

But a faithful friend asked this morning about my writing, and I had to admit it’s been stagnant lately. Not for want of ideas or interest, but for lack of time and energy. Meanwhile, this half-finished piece has been sitting on a flash drive, patiently waiting for its author to practice what she preaches.

Herein lies my imperfect but heartfelt attempt to do just that.

In closing, I invite you to check out the Thanksgiving Proclamations issued by our forefathers, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, both of whom understood the concept of perseverance in the face of opposition and imperfection, and Who it is that enables flawed humanity to keep on trying.

God bless us, everyone!