February Part 2

The Demon of Control

In my last post, I worried over things I couldn’t control and fretted over the futile pride that causes me to try to change things/people/events over which I am powerless.

Oy vey, as my father would say.

The Inevitability of Pain

This has been a month of fear and funerals. February seems to have that effect on a lot of us. We slog through wind and ice and cold (at least in our part of the country), and all we have to show for it is another day of the same - aching muscles and weary hearts.

But I mean this post to be hopeful, not despairing.

As I said, my family (and here I mean both biological and spiritual) has been doing its share of grieving of late. Loved ones are either sick – and I mean sick – or have left this world to gain entrance into another. My role in all of this has been more indirect than personal, i.e., I have served as a supportive presence rather than an actual participant. In short, I’ve been shoring up the troops.

Again, I’m striving to be upbeat but…

So far, not so much.

Let me switch gears.

The Value of Accountability

One thing that’s been useful during this period of semi-chaos has been to keep a ledger of sorts. Not to wax political, but I’m thinking of the current administration’s demand that government workers account for their activities on the job. I began tracking my own activities in 2020, when the COVID crisis kept me out of work for about six months. I decided at the outset that I wasn’t going to waste that period of enforced leave. I was well experienced in frittering away down time, having spent many a summer vacation and holiday break wiling away hours and regretting it after the fact. So, this time, when the government and my employer were paying me to “stay home and save lives,” I created a schedule for myself and tried to catch up on things I couldn’t get to during a regular work week.

I drafted a book proposal. The recipients didn’t bite, but them’s the breaks.

I joined and even cohosted nightly prayer meetings. Recalling the impact of corporate prayer in the wake of the 911 attacks, my prayer partner and I drilled down in this particular area. Our efforts resulted in the formation of a weekly women’s Bible study. I can’t say how much these activities impacted others, but yours truly gained a lot of spiritual ground.

The Power of Community

I reached out to other members of my church to see how they were faring during this frightening time. There wasn’t much I could do to help, as we were all simply trying to keep our own heads above water, but it gave me a chance to go through the church directory and make contact with hitherto unknown attendees.

My Aunt Carole had a wonderful practice of checking in often by phone. She lived at a distance and didn’t drive. Her health was only so-so, meaning she couldn’t do much but encourage. But encourage she did. Regularly. Even forcefully, in the gentlest way possible, if you know what I mean. If a few calls went unreturned, a more urgent request for an update would ensue.

This lady understood the power of caring and made it a habit.

Aunt Carole’s earthly body has left this world, but her lessons have not. On days when I feel lazy or uninspired, even defeated, reaching out to others can bring me a sense of purpose. The vacuuming may remain undone, but another soul can be touched.

While I’m on the subject of aunties, Aunt Doris promised to be there for me after the death of my one remaining parent. Like Aunt Carole, her age and limitations made it unlikely that she could do much more than listen and maybe offer a few words of counsel. She did, however, coin a phrase which made its way into my head, my heart, and even my novel: “Sometimes you just need to talk to somebody with white hair.”

I realize this last comment is a bit of a digression from the topic at hand, since Aunt Doris’s phone hugs began long before the COVID era. Citing author’s privilege, I’m leaving it in anyway because it reinforces the importance of community, and not exclusively from one’s biological family.

Community matters now, it mattered during COVID, and it will matter whenever and wherever we find ourselves. My friend, Tina, figured this out long ago. It’s taken me a little longer, perhaps because I’ve been blessed with a close family. Having something as a given can make for a sense of entitlement, or rather, expectation that it will always be there. Taking for granted, I suppose. Tina has experienced many losses and thus realizes the need to not go it alone. She is and always will be an example of casting one’s lot with others and living by that concept.

The Slow Demise of Pride

All these goals are worthy and good, but just when I’m feeling indispensable (yeah, right), I fall hip deep into a flareup of an underlying condition which had been behaving itself for several months. Out comes the cane and in go the NSAIDs.

Those palliatives may be little, but they pack a big punch.

It’s not the pain I mind so much. I know how to do rest and relaxation, but I’m not too keen on helplessness. Check that. I’m not helpless; I’m simply less able to be helpful, at a time when family and friends are in need of all the help they can get.

Apparently, my heavenly Father feels I need a lesson in humility.

So be it.

Accordingly, on this final day of February 2025, I offer up the power I can still exercise in the midst of powerlessness. Power to call on a Power far greater than any I could boast. Power to relegate pride to its rightful place – as so many people I love are involuntarily having to do right along with me. Power to slowly but surely admit that divine power overpowers, overshadows, and overcomes any perceived power I’m blessed to possess.

What a Savior.

Tears

Tears are inevitable. I’ve been shedding a few myself lately, some over legitimately sad situations, and more than a couple over things I can’t control. Pride and control, that nasty set of twins, have reared their hideous heads and are doing a hatchet job on my insides.

There we have it – the ugly truth.  

Misplaced priorities and a desire to effect change where it is neither my place nor in my power to do so – those irascible rascals are calling the tune, and I’m playing right into their hands. Short-temperedness is a frequent companion, and on its heels, an oversolicitousness that tries to compensate for any messes made by the former.

Overthinking, thy name is Thea.

I texted this verse today to a couple of prayer partners who, like me, are facing tear-shedding circumstances:

“Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers.” – 3 John 1:2

Isn’t that a comforting thought? Prosperity in body and soul?

I texted the aforementioned friends that I needed the Savior to show up for me and the people I care about today.

True to form, He came through in ways I didn’t expect.

Through my tears, I felt His presence.

All will or will not be well. Well, that is, by human standards. By human reckoning, in the timetable by which we humans live.

We live in a broken world, after all.

But that brokenness, like everything else, will pass. God says so in His word:

“And he will swallow up on this mountain the covering that is cast over all peoples, the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.” – Isaiah 25:7-8

What a Savior.

Reach Up!

Many Christmases ago, I posted a piece called Low Branches about how our great God bridges the gap between our feeble efforts and His perfection. As I was praying recently, that concept reemerged into my mind, but in greater detail.

I thought of Moses climbing Mount Sinai to obtain the ten commandments, those two stone tablets which provide God's instructions for holy living. I recollected how this paragon of faith, in a fit of righteous indignation, smashed the words written by God Himself.

But our God is a God of second chances. He gave Moses and the people (not least Moses’s brother, Aaron, whose actions provoked Moses’s rashness in the first place, and who blamed his foolishness on the very people he led into idolatry) a second set of commandments after Moses destroyed the first.

What a patient, forgiving deity. 

This same divine being sent His Son to earth to wash away the sins of believers and grant His children unlimited access to His presence, even though our sin warrants the very opposite.

I'm going through a time of frailty (aren't we always, when we get right down to it? but some seasons of living just feel more fragile than others). As is so often the case, this period of fragility is finding me wakeful, watchful, and wistful. I'm reaching up with extra gusto to seek God’s hands, using the vehicle of prayer that never fails to get me to the right destination. I’m counting extra hard on the Lord’s cleansing nature and open door policy for believers, subjects about which I wrote quite confidently years ago. 

Did I mean it then? Do I believe it now?

Reaching up is the only way I know to find out. Vulnerability can be a companion to desperation or determination. By God's grace, I'm leaning towards the latter.

To quote Tiny Tim, whose words still ring true nearly two centuries after Dickens penned them, “God bless us, every one.”

SOS

Extra busy week now behind me. New assignment at work keeping me on my toes. Lots of stress combined with lots of support.

Thank You, Lord.

Sitting down to pray, I find it hard to concentrate. Mind keeps zoning out. Early Alzheimer's or merely leftover stress?

These words form in my mind: "Holy Spirit, this would be a good time for You to jump in."

"The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words." ~ Romans 8:26

I want to get this right - this season in my life. These new unfamiliar tasks. This opportunity to obey my Lord, through whom all other directives are either driven or permitted.

"I delight to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart.” ~ Psalm 40:8

But I'm forgetting things. Balls I'm trying to juggle aren't staying aloft. 

Feeling like I've been tossed into a ball pit – and the pit is winning. 

Lord, keep me from forgetting the important things. Please catch any balls I drop.

Let's roll.

 

Plumbing

My sister and I are plumbers.

Not.

But we did feel more than a little victorious when our interventions this afternoon resulted in our tub draining normally and showers that no longer leave us prone to Trench foot.

It took maybe an hour, between watching YouTube videos, reading how-to blogs, and actually doing the deed. The job called for a few simple tools (one of them a cool little gadget called Zip-It, which my sweet neighbor, Anita, gave me years ago; it's been stowed away waiting for just such a scummy occasion), a bit of WD-40 (what won't that stuff loosen?), and - you guessed it - some pointed prayer.

Jane took the helm in that department, directing our petition to the "Great Master Plumber" and asking Him to bless our efforts. I silently inquired if He would be kind enough to allow His humble vessel to arise out of the tub after finishing, as this simple task is no longer simple for yours truly.

He answered yes to both requests.

It occurred to me, as I was fiddling with screws that didn't want to line up with holes that I couldn't see without a flashlight and Jane's hands directing said flashlight, that there was no way to do this job alone.

Jane disagrees. She contends that it could have been done solo, but I maintain that it would have taken twice as long (since she did the fetching and carrying and served, as she likes to say, as my able assistant), and I'm really not sure I could have maneuvered the light at the same time I was trying to secure the dang-blasted screws, which gave me no end of trouble. Also, her cheerleading from the sidelines helped keep the proverbial ball rolling (or perhaps I should say the screwdriver driving). 

Anita, by the way, happened to call while we were breaking in her tool. Isn't it funny how God arranges little coincidences like that?

At one point, I turned to Jane and expressed my opinion that there's a reason plumbers get paid so much money. Like that of trash collectors, their work is smelly, dirty, and requires muscles not possessed by many of us in the general population (hence my gratitude for WD-40).

Not to over-spiritualize (you know that means I'm about to, right?), but both the aforementioned professions remind me of the ministry. Over the last four or five years, my friend, Tina, and I have jumped into that arena, and it can get pretty mucky. It's messy because you're dealing with people, and people's lives have a way of getting, you know, messy. It's laborious, because you don't just toss off a Bible study - that calls for preparation and study. It's heavy work (I know, that's a stretch, but there's more than one way for something to be heavy).

All of which points to just one means of making it happen.

You guessed it: prayer.

And prayer takes discipline. And time. And commitment. And staying power. And... And... And...

Take it from this year's newest plumbing expert. Even small jobs come out better when you pray over them. And big jobs? Well, don't leave home without it.

"Pray without ceasing." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:17

Under the Covers or Under His Wings? Going Deep Without Getting Buried, AKA, Metaphor Overload

Hey, faithful readers! I jotted down notes for this article a couple of weeks ago when anxiety was running high and strength was running low. After a few hours of prayer, Bible study and “doing the next right thing,” (a tool I learned in Al Anon many years ago), the feelings subsided and I laid my jottings aside. But worries and fretting have lately been crowding out that which I know (the Lord will never leave me nor forsake me). Therefore, I’m placing fingers to keyboard and hoping to create some sense from my scribblings. I trust the following thoughts will comfort both my readers and myself (not necessarily in that order)!

Treading Deep Water

I made a careless driving mistake recently, and as soon as it happened, I knew why. My mind was only partially on the road. A good 80% of my mental machinations concerned current events and personal issues which, while of great importance, are completely out of my power to control.

There’s no point in enumerating the cares which distracted me that morning; we all have them. Whatever one’s point of view, anyone who’s at all awake can see that the USA is fast becoming the “DSA” (Divided States of America – I thought I made this term up, but a quick internet search revealed that many have beaten me to the proverbial punch). This and other “fret-ables” of my own (I think I coined this one – it means things to fret over) managed to remove my attention from the road, causing a close call.

The other driver responded with grace. Yes, she honked (only as much as was necessary to alert me – she resisted the urge to lean on the horn), but there was no tongue-lashing or middle-fingering. I was so thankful for God’s protection and my fellow traveler’s kind reaction that, when we ended up side by side at a light, I rolled down my window, thanked her for her reasonable response, and apologized profusely.

“You’re fine!” she laughed. “We all make mistakes!”

What I wanted to say was, “I’m sorry for my stupid blunder, but, you see, I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. You see, there’s this, this and this that are bothering me, and it’s just too much.”

 But that’s just the point, isn’t it? To quote a MercyMe song, “[we] were never meant to carry this beyond the cross.”

Look at it? Yes. Comfort the brokenhearted? Absolutely. Attack problems? You bet. But carry it? Not on your life.

Let’s face it – there are challenges and messes everywhere. Christ acknowledged this when He reminded Martha that it was more important to commune with Him than to make a perfect party. Later, He counseled Judas, “You always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me” (Matthew 26:11).

Did He mean we should abandon our responsibilities and spend 24/7 with Bibles open and heads in the sand?

God forbid.

I believe He was calling His followers to counter one of two urges to which many of us fall prey. One is to try to singlehandedly clean up all the muck that humanity in its sinfulness has created. The other is to hide under the covers – sometimes literally – and hope it will all go away.

Metaphor Madness: Deep Breathing

To illustrate the process of letting go a la Thea, let’s revisit a morning two weeks ago when I didn’t want to get out of bed. Here I’m going to switch to present tense, so my audience  will hopefully catch the immediacy of the moments which led to this article. Imagery alert: my readers should beware if they’re metaphor intolerant, because my mind wandered to a bunch of those literary devices on the morning in question. While it may fly in the face of freshman English, I’m just going to roll with the disparate thoughts God gave me at the time.

It’s a cool day. Windows are open, causing the curtains to sway lazily with the gentle breeze. As is my habit, I tuck my head underneath the sheets, cocooning myself in the
perceived safety of cotton and polyester.

Metaphor #1: Without warning, the familiar feeling rises in my chest. That feeling of being sucked under with nowhere to go and no way to breathe. I somehow manage to claw my way to the surface and, once there, I inhale greedily, letting out all the bad stuff that’s been building up, replacing it with oxygen-saturated air that refreshes and rejuvenates and is worth more than the Crown Jewels.

I’m reminded of my doctor’s instructions on how to properly use my asthma inhaler. After prescribing medication to combat shortness of breath, he taught me steps to maximize intake of this life-sustaining product. I first exhale deeply, then depress the mechanism on the inhaler, which releases particles into a middleman tube called the spacer. Then and only then can I take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds. Most of the time, when I stick to the method and timetable he taught me, I can stay out of breathing trouble.

That’s how I tend to my lungs pharmaceutically; since I know they don’t function optimally on their own, it would be foolish to reject a preventative strategy that can keep them working at fullest capacity. Therefore, I let the physician call the shots (pun intended and metaphor #2, for those who are keeping track). This is his specialty and it’s my life he’s trying to protect.

Interestingly, this process in a way mirrors the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. According to Pastor David Guzik of Calvary Chapel in Santa Barbara, “in both the Hebrew and Greek languages, the word for spirit (as in Holy Spirit) is the same word for breath or wind (this also happens to be true in Latin) … In Genesis 1:1-2, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, blowing over the waters of the newly created earth. In Genesis 2:7, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, blowing life into newly created man. In Ezekiel 37:9-10, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, moving over the dry bones of Israel bringing them life and strength” (https://enduringword.com/bible-commentary/acts-2/). How wise of our Lord to associate the lifesaving work of the Holy Spirit to the life-preserving work of an ordinary medical procedure.

Similarly, I can nourish my spirit according to the Great Physician’s orders. To paraphrase Rev. Dr. Charles Stanley, when God tells me to do something, the wisest thing is for me to do it when He says, how He says, for as long as He says to do it. On a day-to-day basis, this means making regular deposits into my spiritual bank account (metaphor #3) through Bible reading, prayer, and fellowshipping with other believers. It’s simple, really, but simple things are not always easy.

This is all well and good, but I still can’t shake the feeling of wanting to hide under the covers and opt out of the things on my plate today.

Metaphor Madness: Digging Deep

That being the case, I may as well go deep (metaphor #4). If my head’s going to hide, let it be hidden in the ultimate Hiding Place (metaphor #5). If I’m going to bury myself beneath common cloth, let me simultaneously burrow deep underneath heavenly wings (metaphor #6) that never tire or give out.

I allow my troubled self to take refuge under the covers and in the Lord’s arms. I shut out the world physically and, as best I can, go deep. Only He and I inhabit this sheltered place. I will have to come out some time, but not yet. Right now, it’s all too much. Right now, the best I can do is hide away from the rack and ruin of this world that God never intended for me to shoulder, let alone fix.

Quite simply, I pray. I remind myself of His promises. I plumb the depths of His steadfastness. I let myself go deep.

From my “hidey hole” (the name my son gave to cubbies and crevices he tucked into as a child) I hear neighbors starting up lawnmowers and shouting across fences while pulling weeds from their gardens. I think of my sad looking garden which, truth be told, doesn’t even deserve to be called a garden. It’s really just a lot of what my neighbor calls “volunteer plants” that have spread elsewhere from things I planted optimistically in the past. In all honesty, there are more weeds than intentional foliage; I can’t keep up with them, nor do I want to.

I think of all that and it makes me cringe. But then I think, well, that’s why I’m paying someone to cut my grass and trim back the overgrowth when it gets out of control. It’s why I’m forking over cash for my handyman to tackle the poison ivy; I’m highly sensitive and the allergic reaction I get from even standing near the stuff isn’t worth the price I’ll pay later in itching. That’s how I do my garden, such as it is, and that’s how I do life, more often than not.

Some things I can tackle myself; other things require linking up with someone more intrepid than I. Again, I can apply this idea spiritually, as in Psalm 55:22: “Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never permit the righteous to be moved.”

This whole gardening business is too much for me, and I know it. Others love it and say they commune with God while playing around in the dirt, and that’s fine for them. For me, it’s hot, filthy agony, and I’d rather chew glass (metaphor #7 – this is getting ridiculous).

Nestled under my covers, I ponder that there are different ways to garden. Trigger alert: metaphor on the horizon (oops, that’s another one – don’t say I didn’t warn you). I emerge from the inner sanctum of my covers when God inspires me to send a few texts to loved ones, which I know will buoy their spirits.

Isn’t that a form of gardening? My grass may be too high and weeds may overshadow the flowers in my physical garden, but hopefully when I die there will be lots of people whose spiritual gardens I tended with love, and that investment will shine forth as much or more than tulips and daisies which are (idiom alert, just to break up the monotony) here today but gone tomorrow.

From my blanketed nook, I recall rescuing several plants recently. Literally. They had actually been put out with someone’s trash. These were beautiful, color-soaked Gerber daisies – healthy and vital – that somebody tossed out. It was as if the owner wanted to give them a fighting chance and thus placed them prominently, if ironically, atop a dilapidated trashcan, rather than just chucking them inside the receptacle.

Despite my aforementioned aversion to all things landscaping, I brought the poor things home. Perhaps this was how Christians in ancient Rome felt when they adopted unwanted babies left outside to die. Like me, they surely had better things to do than dirty their hands with other people’s castoffs; then again, one man’s trash – well, you know.

My sweet neighbor, Anita, helped me plant the daisies with my grandson. It was still torture – after all, it was gardening – but with Anita cheering me on and Luca wielding a pint-sized spade, at least we got a few smiles out of the deal.

And the daisies remain alive – for the moment.

When I complimented Anita on her green thumb, she replied, “Oh, no – I just keep trying.”

Maybe that’s the secret. Green thumb or no, it’s the trying that brings out the blooms.

Metaphor Madness: The Deep Dive (Last Metaphor – I promise)

My takeaway from all this metaphorical (and personal) madness is nothing new or magical. It’s the same advice I’ve been giving myself and anyone who will listen for years: deep diving into our Creator’s mind and heart always has been and always will be the best treatment for internal distress.

There will be tedium at times, as occurs with any discipline. Puffing away on inhalers doesn’t make for an interesting Saturday night, but it sure beats a weekend in the ER. A breathtaking garden requires, in the words of my late friend, Cynthia (whose yard was truly a showplace), “hours and hours of backbreaking work.”

This author hasn’t found any shortcuts to communing with the Lord. Like any relationship, time must be committed in order for thriving to occur. Diving into God’s word and dialoguing with Him demand something of us. This will look different for every believer. Parents of young children will have to work around their kids’ active hours to nurture their own spiritual lives. Busy professionals may have to pray through lunch breaks.

One thing, though, is for certain. When we work in tandem with the Lord, it’s like riding a bicycle built for two or paddling a canoe with two people (I didn’t break my promise and squeeze in more metaphors – the bike and canoe analogies are similes, so they don’t count 😊). The work is halved because two are sharing it. Most importantly, one is steering and the other following.

Guess which role we’re supposed to have?

Ask the Lord

Readers, this is a departure from what you're used to from me. After visiting with an elderly friend recently, I felt stirred to try to capture her essence in this brief anecdote. May you be blessed by the sweetness that is a dear saint named Peggy.

She sits in the semi-darkness of the cold February morning. Old and frail, her body has long since failed her, consigning her to home for all but the most urgent excursions. Stick-like legs, discolored and wobbly, carry her no farther than chair to dresser via walker to retrieve the few personal effects that make her feel attractive. Teeth, yellowed and disintegrating from a lifetime of service, can manage only soft, squishy foods; nevertheless, she eats with gusto, especially relishing the occasional chocolate brought by a friend.

But her spirit is as energetic as ever.

She carries on long conversations with the Almighty, praising His greatness and denouncing the wickedness of the enemy. She quotes from memory long passages of Scripture which assign Satan his just desserts, clapping her hands and turning up the corners of her withered mouth when she contemplates his eventual punishment. She takes both parts in her dialogues with the Divine, changing tone and inflection when speaking the words of her Lord.

“Thank You, my good and faithful Lord!” she exclaims before answering in altered voice, “You’re most welcome, my good and faithful Peggy!”

Confusion is her constant companion, and she often admits that; still, moments of clarity break through the murky thoughts, bringing joy to the visitor she had hitherto failed to recognize.

“Thea? Thea Williams?” she cries, as if suddenly remembering the answer to a complicated math problem. When affirmed, she beams like a child, gratefully accepting the offered hand and cooing over the gentle stroking of her ropey, distended veins.

“That feels good,” she murmurs contentedly, like a cat purring from a sunlit perch.

“Miss Peggy, let’s sing Amazing Grace,” her caregiver coaxes. She happily complies, pouring forth words from the timeless hymn in a strong yet quavering voice that must have mesmerized listeners before time took its toll on her vocal cords.

“What’s this?” her guest asks, reaching for a rumpled paper with scribbling in big block writing. The words have been repeatedly written and over-written, clearly demonstrating that the writer felt compelled to emphasize a message of great importance.

“Ask the Lord” declares the missive, and, upon further investigation, the visitor finds similarly underscored notes with the same content among the folded papers tucked away safely by her hostess’s side.

She has nothing to speak of in this world. Her small home, kept spotless by the ministrations of loving agency help, contains worn chairs and broken furnishings. Drawer pulls either dangle from the French Provincial bureau, which is the centerpiece of her living room, or have come off altogether. Cockeyed slats on ancient blinds allow light to stream unhindered onto the lady of the house. Outside, the wrought iron fence is literally falling down, and trash is strewn about the yard.

She cares not a whit about the dilapidated state of her surroundings.

“Ask the Lord” is her watchword, and has been for the past 30 years since she left a life she prefers to forget and joined ranks with the God of the universe. She prays regularly for a “third great awakening,” and counsels anyone who will listen to do the same. On clear-thinking days, she feasts on current events, gulping down huge helpings of talk radio and praying over the state of the world.

She is, in a word, faithful.

She makes it her business to phone people who matter to her. Too often, she’s forced to leave a message. She’s almost deaf, making conversations wearisome and frustrating for the other party; when her name shows up on caller ID, recipients find it easier to send the call to voice mail. Undaunted, she croaks into the recording, cautioning her loved ones about weather forecasts and world happenings and other things they could find out from the internet.

But she has one huge advantage over the world wide web – she holds love in her heart for her hearers, and constantly asks the Lord to watch over them.

Few will mourn her passing, but many will benefit from her having lived.

For part 2 of this article, check out Ask the Lord Part 2, AKA, Gratitude

Two Steps Back

Yesterday I posted an article called “One Step Forward,” which related the “adventures” my sister, Jane, and I have been sharing this holiday season. I closed with a reminder that we are called to be content in whatever state in which the Lord places us.

Famous last words.

First, I’d like to correct the record. In rereading yesterday’s piece, it appears I leave the impression I’m actively ill. In truth, this post was started a few weeks ago when that was the case; at present, happily, I am largely asymptomatic. I have also secured an appointment with a specialist in the relatively near future, so hopefully, answers await.

That being the case, yours truly was really pretty upbeat while finalizing said article. The points therein were mainly meant to encourage others to count blessings when things get tough, and to accept bumps in the road as part of the human condition, to which our Savior humbly subjected Himself when He entered this world as an infant.

Again, famous last words.

No sooner did I click “publish” on “One Step Forward” than the proverbial other shoe dropped. Jane and I received word that several of our family members, with whom we shared holiday festivities, have tested positive for COVID. We, of course, are quarantining, popping zinc prophylactically, and generally trying to remain positive. Between praying for our loved ones and offering whatever assistance we can, Jane and I tenaciously cling to hope that next week she will be able to fly home as planned and I can return to work following winter break.

Those are our plans. There is every possibility the God of the universe has something entirely different in mind.

                "'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" ~ Isaiah 55:8-9 

Folks, I really do think our great God has a solid sense of humor. More to the point, as my dear friend and Bible mentor taught me years ago, He operates the way any sound instructor does – after imparting a lesson, He administers some sort of exam to drive the learning home.

Beloved readers, I very much want to learn whatever my Lord wants to teach me, and I aim to learn it the easiest way possible.

Apparently, hanging around the house, catching up on reading and writing, spending phone time with friends, and just generally laying low is what the Lord has planned for me this week.

Who am I to question what He ordains? And why would I even want to? Did I mean any of the things I wrote about yesterday?

If so, the wisest course of action for this writer would be to lean into the quietness and stillness of quarantine, and lean even harder into the One who has orchestrated these circumstances.

“Be still and know that I am God.” ~ Psalm 46:10 

Update 12/30/21: My sister and I caught sight of two cardinals - a male/female pair in all their respective splendor - outside our window the other day. There's every chance we would have missed this glorious sight, had we not been quarantining. Our great God always knows what's best.

One Step Forward...

The Pity of It All

My sister, Jane, and I have been in competition this holiday season to see who is the most pitiful.

Not really, but it kind of feels that way. I’ve been trying to shake off a virus – not COVID, so don’t feel too sorry for me – but it did evolve into a bacterial infection. Jane’s been fighting her own good fight not to catch it from me. We’ve both been wiping down surfaces to an extent that would put the OCD detective Adrian Monk to shame.

Below is a photograph of me (cue the canned laughter) wearing a mashed potato poultice. Note the festive tea towel girding my neck. I know it looks silly, but the internet claims it reverses laryngitis – hey, if it’s on the internet… Listen, you scoffers, it worked for the Brady Bunch mom 50 odd years ago! Remember how Mrs. Brady was able to trill “O Come All Ye Faithful” at church on Christmas morning after being voiceless the week before? If it’s good enough for Carol Brady…

My sister, for her part, has been having adventures of her own. That’s her code word for annoying problems of varying degrees. Jane’s adventures have included issues with a rental car (the management, of course, is nowhere to be found); tearing the house apart to locate misplaced items (a problem solved by divine intervention which I’ll relate below); and most recently, being beset by phone problems. Tell me something. If smart phones are so smart, how come they can’t untangle the messes they seem so bent on falling into?

Here’s a snippet of some of our escapades over the holidays:

Thea: Laryngitis starts to abate; cough picks up where froggy throat left off.

Jane: Missing keys are located; cell phone service goes on vacation.

Hence, the title of this article – one step forward, two steps back.

I think it’s fair to say all this drama has left us both a little depressed. Jane’s idea of a Norman Rockwell Christmas probably didn’t include quarantining while her sister took YET ANOTHER COVID test (I’m about ready to make home test kits a budget item). My holiday wish list didn’t feature YET ANOTHER round of masks, gloves and, oh, of course, tension taming tea.

What’s most difficult for me is being out of step with my normal routine and unable to fulfill responsibilities. I missed work, opportunities to be with friends and family (those who are fortunate enough not to be sharing quarters with me, that is – Jane and I had ample time to bond over my vaporizer), and even holiday preparation. Every Christmas I threaten not to send cards, and every year I send a ton of them. This is the first time it’s ever really not happened. I make it a point not to infect recipients just in time for the new year.

Discouragement, too, has been dogging my heels. Doctor visits, after all, were never meant to be a source of entertainment, any more than antibiotics were intended to be soups du jour. My problem has gotten to be a predictable one, something I can count on at least once a year, and that fact alone is disheartening. Like a gentle breeze that gives way to a hurricane, it starts out tickling my throat and can end up in a hospital visit if I don’t get right on it.

Which reminds me – I wrote about this same subject a few years ago. A work injury necessitated a trip to the ER, causing me to feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. I traced the source of my discomfort to the “P” word – good old pride. I guess some things never change.

And, Yet…

Sitting in my doctor’s office for the second time in one week, I realized it was time to get back to basics. Stationing myself in a remote corner to avoid alarming patients who were only there to get allergy shots, I took out a scrap of paper and began scribbling a gratitude list. Here’s some of the good stuff I came up with:

1)     My doctor and I have a plan to further diagnose and treat the underlying cause of the regular parties the germ brigade seems to be throwing in my respiratory system. I’ll be seeing another specialist and hopefully getting some answers. How many end stage cancer patients would kill for such glimmers of hope!

2)      I have the best family and friends anyone could wish for. My little fairy godmother down the street, about whom I’ve written before, offers me homemade applesauce just when I’ve run out of the one thing my ailing throat doesn’t complain about. Family members do favors, run errands, make meals, and generally pamper me. My best friend and prayer partner steps into the gap, leading our prayer group and teaching Bible study in my stead.

3)      My employer, too, is among my blessings, coming through with paid sick leave and allowing me to leave early to manage my sick, sorry self.

4)      I’ve found ways to be of service even while down and out. A disabled friend of mine taught me that it’s important to serve in whatever ways one can. Everyone has something to offer, and our great God expects His children to make use of whatever He has given them. Let us remember, “For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:48). No one is without something to give, even if it is just time or a listening ear. If even those things are impossible, the greatest gift we can give to one another is prayer.

 Not least, these niggling troubles have actually been growth opportunities in disguise. Take, for instance, Jane’s missing key ring, to which I alluded above. Among them was one that powers her rental car. The loss left her housebound and on the hook with the rental company.

Jane and I (mostly Jane) scoured the house, praying as we did so. Not being ones who pray to saints, we skipped over Saint Anthony and took our concerns right to the Lord God Almighty. After going to bed (and between coughing jags), I decided to get up and hunt through our dirty laundry pile. I plunged right into the germy mess and rummaged around. I could have saved myself the trouble, as I later learned Jane had donned gloves (clever girl) and done the same thing.

We both came up empty.

By this time, we had turned over couch cushions (what a crumby mess lay underneath that floral upholstery), rifled through coat pockets, upended trash receptacles – you name it.

I, for one, was out of ideas. Desperate to help the sister who had been tenderly tending me all week, I resumed my conversation with God.

“Lord,” I whined, “neither one of us knows where those keys are. You know they represent mobility and freedom to Jane. She needs them. Could you please show one of us where to look?”

Like a flash, it came to me. The day before, my neighbor had posted on our neighborhood Facebook page a picture of a set of keys she had found. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

We darted across the street and retrieved the errant keys, giving glory to the One who patiently waits for us to exhaust our own resources and throw the whole matter into His lap. Second Corinthians 12:9 comes to mind:

“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

Vulnerability and Humility: Archenemies of Pride

I recently took a continuing ed class in which the speaker asserted that courage demands vulnerability. This gave me a lot to ponder, and I decided she was right, as courageous acts leave one vulnerable to defeat and all that goes with it. I would add that vulnerability is also required when one finds oneself dependent on others for that which one is used to doing for oneself. The dependence which arises from being ill or needing help of any kind vastly increases humility on the part of the recipient.

That, my faithful readers, is why I so dislike being sick. I much prefer to do for others and take care of myself. Oh, I don’t mind asking my sons to move a heavy piece of furniture or help me unravel a technology snafu – things like that exceed my capabilities, and I know it. But part of my self-esteem rests on being able to take care of my daily needs and follow through on commitments.

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize God wants me to work on that.

One thing that helps is recalling the vulnerability with which the Son of God came into the world. He put Himself into the most helpless position imaginable, stepping down from deity and into humanity, with all the diaper changing and nose wiping the human condition entails.

I’ve noticed there seems to be a giving and receiving continuum. Some only want to give, refusing help of any kind; others are happy to simply take, without ever giving back. Both states are unbalanced, like a seesaw weighed down on one end. Finding a middle ground seems the most spiritual way. If God incarnate allowed Himself to be needy, even as He came to serve, it seems the height of arrogance for His creatures to err on one side or the other.

Bottom line: we are going to go through periods in which we seem to be stagnating. Illness, tangled business matters, sticky family relationships – all are things which require time and careful attention, and may, in fact, never fully resolve. No amount of whining or petulance will change the fact that some sloughs just have to be slogged through. Shortcuts are lovely when available, but our wise God sometimes allows roadblocks into our lives for a reason.

Sometimes the only way to go is through.

“Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content: I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:11-13

Check out part 2 of this piece, "Two Steps Back"!

 

Love Breaks Through

While I was driving to work recently, the Lord treated me to this dazzling sunrise:

As you can see, I snapped the photo through the windshield of my car, resulting in a shot which, while illuminating the sun in all its splendor, is also framed by the madness that makes up morning rush hour. 

The following closeup (well, as close as I could get to the star we all rely on for life and sustenance, as seen from the mundane perspective of a two ton hunk of steel) captures an extra kind of essence; notice that here, not only is the sun itself on glorious display, but it seems to be emitting a penetrating ray which cuts right through all the traffic and phone lines that complicate our daily existence.

Thankful to be stopped at a light, I grabbed my phone (another modern convenience which, while invaluable in its versatility and immediacy, can also divert our gaze from the most primary need humanity has - connecting with the Creator), and clicked away.

Reflecting on the sun's beauty amidst the chaos we call progress, I recalled a song by Keith Green, Your Love Broke Through. If I had had time to sit and marvel, I would have pulled over for as long as it took to meditate on the grandeur of creation, which is nothing more than a reflection of the glory of its Creator. But, you know, I had to get to work. And even if I hadn't been beholden to the almighty time clock, my day would've been cluttered with the thousands of things on that to do list that holds me captive, always promising an end, but ever expanding even as I tick off items.

Maybe it's time to revisit my last article pondering the tyranny of the urgent. Or maybe just breathe. I'm not necessarily referring to deep breathing, such as we're taught in stress management courses (although that can be helpful). No, what I'm suggesting is that we breathe the way Jonny Diaz's song, Breathe, suggests, by laying aside the urgent and taking whatever precious minutes we can find to just sit at our Lord's feet. Maybe even - heaven forbid - making time to marvel at His majesty. 

I know, I know. The why is obvious; the how is something else again.

I think it's different for each person. I find it helpful to wake up early to pray and read Scripture with a friend. Others' mornings may not be able to accommodate such rituals; my humble suggestion is to pray and ask the Lord to reveal the how that will work in your own life.

I promise you won't be disappointed.

 Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights! Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his hosts!

3 Praise him, sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens!

5 Let them praise the name of the Lord! For he commanded and they were created. And he established them forever and ever; he gave a decree, and it shall not pass away.

7 Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all deeps, fire and hail, snow and mist, stormy wind fulfilling his word!

9 Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Beasts and all livestock, creeping things and flying birds! Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! Young men and maidens together, old men and children!

13 Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his majesty is above earth and heaven. He has raised up a horn for his people, praise for all his saints, for the people of Israel who are near to him. 

                                            Praise the Lord!

                                                - Psalm 148

Crookedness

"Consider the work of God: who can make straight what He has made crooked? 

In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider: 

God has made the one as well as the other..."

Ecclesiastes 7:13-14

My life of late has been full of adventures.

In my last post, I related how I had to be rescued after accidentally locking myself out of the car. Subsequently, I misplaced a small amount of money which had been entrusted to me to buy gifts for some elderly friends. Embarrassed, I decided to replace the funds, but also felt the need to confess my carelessness to the giver.

Just as I was in the process of admitting my mistake, I rummaged around one more time in the drawer I recalled placing the money in. Voila! There lay the cash, in the same spot I had scoured several times already.

On the heels of the money mishap, my bedroom air conditioner went on the fritz. The misbehaving unit managed to limp along for several days while a new one meandered its way through the mail system, but it let me know it wasn't happy by alternately emitting sounds mimicking machine gun fire and an all-out death rattle.

What do lockouts, misplaced money and dying appliances have in common? They're all "crooked" areas of life. Stuff that doesn't go right or perform as expected. Equipment, events and relationships go amiss because we live in a fallen world. It stands to reason that things will break down in such a flawed system; what's less obvious is how to navigate the crooked, broken paths we're often forced to tread. 

I propose that prayer, surrender and SOMETIMES action are key to straightening out life's messes. Prayer is paramount before, during and after life throws us curve balls. Somewhere I heard the assertion that believers are always dealing with a trial, about to face a trial, or just coming out of one. That being the case, prayer would seem the sensible course before, during and after trouble strikes.

Prayer may or may not lead to action. To coin another phrase (this one from Al Anon), "Don't just do something; sit there!" There are times to just "be still and know that [He is] God" (Psalm 46:10). While it's true that misguided action can lead to downfall, it's equally true that ill-advised inaction is nothing short of stagnation. Just as stagnant water is unhealthy, so stasis in the midst of solvable problems can be deadly. God won't bless His children when they let fear or lethargy immobilize them in a swamp of avoidance instead of climbing out at His command.  

Take my air conditioner problem. The only thing standing between me and a cool, comfortable bedroom was the almighty dollar. What my reader may not know is that parting with money for me can be a bit like severing a toe: it hurts a lot and tends to throw me off balance. Fortunately, our great God knows me well and anticipated the tug-of-war I would have with my bank account. He saw fit to provide another believer with a decent sized gift card to Home Depot, which she generously gifted to yours truly, on the very day my AC started gasping and wheezing.

It's worth noting that the business of ordering the new unit took place on a day that was approaching 100 degrees. The following days while I awaited delivery were substantially cooler, enabling me to remain in my room (which, rightly or wrongly, doubles as my office) without suffocating. Furthermore, the eagerly anticipated window unit arrived much earlier than promised and is now installed (thanks to my dear son, Ethan), making my work area a haven of delight. 

Only the Lord...  

As if that weren't enough, He really poured on the blessings in terms of saving money (scan back a few paragraphs, where I describe the battle of wills between me and my wallet). Between the gift card, price matching and a coupon, I managed to knock a big chunk off the retail price. I felt like God was rewarding me for not agonizing over the purchase, but at the same time, seeking the best deal possible. Good stewardship meets letting go!

My other "high finance" situation, the case of the misplaced money for the elderly, similarly required action. I had to do my part of giving over the situation to the Lord, AND be willing to make good, AND be willing to 'fess up to it BEFORE God would make straight that which I had made crooked. By the way, ironically, the giver of the Home Depot card was the same person who provided the money for our older friends. Clearly, this is not someone for whom forking over cash is like losing an appendage. I could learn a thing or two from this dear saint!

In the previous scenarios, I needed to surrender to the situation and also do something about it. However, surrender is equally crucial when there isn't any real action we can take other than to accept what God hands us. Fighting against unfixable problems just wastes energy that's vital to coping with them - as fruitless and often as painful as Saul's kicking against the goads. 

In summary, our great Shepherd never met a crooked path He couldn't straighten - but His sheep often seek out many alternate routes before settling into His best for us.

May that not be said of this sheep!