Thursday, December 17, 2015
A word (or two) about Christmas
Haven't been here for awhile - ummm...that's sort of obvious, tho,isn't it? Sorry folks! My illness waxes and wanes, and right now, it's waxin'. Or, as those in the know describe it, it's in a "flare." That means that all my symptoms are doing a wax job on my body, too - I should be one shiny, slick human when this lets up. Plus, I've caught the local bug that's going around everywhere. It's been a week now, and shows no signs of letting go, especially the cough. Because my immune system took a hike 20 years ago, I get pneumonia a little faster than the population.
It's hard to be sick around the holidays, isn't it?
Since most of those who read this blog are chronically ill too, I think the LORD has us out in a lifeboat bailing water. It's hard to see all the excitement and busy holiday fun stuff 3 feet away and know it's too far to go. So many things I miss - making cookies, decking the halls , decorating a Christmas tree. I miss having Munchkins crawling around and laughing and big family dinners and family jokes - you know the kind, the ones no one who didn't grow up with you has a clue about - and the not-so-polite-loudly-commented-upon things that kids say at the precise moment that everyone in the room falls silent, only to be stored in the family memory bank and brought out at the holidays.
And when that child grows big enough to blush, their indiscreet moments are resurrected with teasing twinkles and general laughter.
In my family, out of the 6 folks we started out with, we have dwindled down to two.
My one remaining brother and I have buried all the rest.
And all in December except the one in January.
So starting on December 24, in 1964, my father died. The 15th when my mom was called Home in 1996. December 31st, my oldest brother died in 1997. And then my baby brother in January of 2003 at the age of 45.
My sister in law, who has been my bestie since we were 14 years old, and I have taken to going out for dinner on the anniversary of their Home-going,when possible, and toasting the coronation of our family members with clinking glasses full of water.
The absence of those cherished souls, their voices muted until we, too, fall silent on earth and begin praising in the midst of the angels, still makes the heart ache.We celebrate the annual event as a coronation day. It helps, but nothing can mend the hole in the heart upon their Home-going.
The sharp, jagged edges of the hole smooth out a bit, but nothing will mend it until we, too, wake up and breathe celestial air, no doubt to hear someone start laughing and telling all those stories of family folklore. Hmmm... I wonder if you can get embarassed in Heaven...
And, at this time of year especially, I think our hearts grow lonely for those who beat us Home. We see windows as out of a Kinkade painting, the warmth and light streaming out beckons us. Oh my - it looks so cozy in there... and snippets of laughter and joy slip from doors opened in welcome, of families safely in, of cold and loneliness kept out.
Then God had humans begin the tradition of the lovely decorations of Christmas lights, to remind us of the One Who is Light, and in Him is no darkness At All.
At All.
As the first night fell after my Mom went Home, 2 of my brothers drove me home from my 3rd brothers house. I sat in the back seat, watching all the Christmas lights on homes. It had been one of my mother's favorite things to do - driving around to "see the lights." It was something the two of us did every year.
Just she and I.
And at that moment, I almost couldn't bear it. I felt my heart tear.
So I said to Jesus, "Lord, she loved this so much, so very much. And I can't take her to see the lights, ever again, She'll never see them again."
Quick as a wink, His whisper came to me: "What your mother is looking at right now makes those lights so pale in comparison. She is so full of joy, she cannot hold another drop."
So...if you, too, are seated at a table with empty chairs and missing voices, with a fresh and jagged hole in your heart, or one smoothed out a bit, but a hole nonetheless, talk to Jesus about it. He lost His earthly father - He knows what that feels like. And He had the added pain of knowing He had the ability to heal Joseph, but His Heavenly Father said, "no." I cannot imagine having that power, and being unable to use it as that one you love slips away.
I have written a lot of Christmas poems - under the picture above is a link to the poetry page. The implications of that miracle are seldom talked about - how could God have slipped His great heart into a tiny baby? It always takes my breath away, to realize that Jesus put away all of His power, all of His ability to be omnipresent, not just for 33 years, but forever. In essence, Jesus gave away His freedom, so that we could be free.
How all of heaven must have held their breath at the moment He was clothed with a body, to see the actual heart of the Living God, wrapped in human flesh.
It gives me the chills
.
Which is why I write poetry, and why a lot of it is about Christmas. Oh look! Here's one:
I find within a longing to return,
To somehow crawl back
To the Christmases of my youth -
To smell again the straw-filled manger scene
And hear the child-known lowing of the stable cow,
To have my eyes stretched wonder-wide
By magic lights and sparkling beams
From tinselled, star-crowned pines.
But more, I long for a toddling, trusting faith
To sense the Spirit-hush of birthing Gift,
To hear the God-babe's newborn cry,
To join the threadbare, trembling shepherds
Kneeling at His feet.
I want to lead the Magi in,
See their delighted faces glow
And watch tears stream down weathered cheeks
To fall on shimmering cloaks.
Oh! Let me bow beside them there,
Prostrate before this Promised King
And worship, filled with awe,
While angels sing.
-------------
If I don't get back here again beforehand, I wish you a Christmas filled with awe and wonder.
Monday, September 7, 2015
I've not been around for awhile...my body decides to tank every once in awhile, and then God calms everything down for a bit. So I'm back from a recent calming, and enjoying just being here.
Autumn is showing signs of moving on in here in the desert. Not fully yet, but hinting at it.
I love this time of year. At sundown the thermometer sinks below the 100 mark, making the out-of-doors area a pleasant place to be. The sunsets are phenomenal, as if God were finger-painting in wild abandon. The clouds seem iridescent as their gray-feet blush pink. The hummingbirds take one last lingering sip and retire for the evening.
And then the bats come out to play.
At first they seem like just tinier birds - but no bird can stop on a dime and do a 180 to catch a moth who wandered into the wrong bit of air. They whirl and swirl and stop your breath with their acrobatics - I find myself whispering a "Yay!!" to the wheeling and diving dervishes. I want to cheer them on, these maligned animals who are simply doing what God created them to do. Especially when I remember that they are responsible for the removal from the air of my arch-enemy, the mosquito. Makes me shiver just to think about it. Go for it, guys, enjoy a great dinner tonight and suck those little guys up like a vacuum cleaner!
And then - poof! - all color is gone from the clouds - except the gray looks gray-er and the creeping deep blue of night begins to saturate the sky. Lights come on in houses, windows glowing with that amber light that makes everything look cozy.
My favorite aunt loved this time of day too, and I often think of her - and miss her dreadfully. When my mother died, she called to offer her services if ever I felt the need for some mothering. We slowly lost her to Alzheimer's - a horrible disease that steals the comfort from relationships and leaves the victim befuddled and easily frightened. She coped as long as she could, with a standard set of questions designed to carry a conversation as if she actually remembered who your were. It broke my heart to hear of her decline - a breaking I had endured several times before as I lost family members, one by one, to age and death..
But this one was different. It was a brutal losing. One inch at a time.
Her son cared for her to the last, as faithful a heart as ever was. He itemized her life, page by page, until everything was numbered and discarded and the important things saved as much as possible.
I have always thought that newly owner less possessions were among the saddest things left on earth. Objects of most importance to someone are suddenly, once again, just "things." They drift in the cosmos and eventually vanish - unless someone remembers their importance and out of a sentimental moment, snatches them up and again assigns them value.
I am so grateful that in my time on this earth I have been so very blessed with my family members. I have friends whose family ties are painful in the extreme. In contrast, I have waltzed through my life with wonderful people, kind people, loving people, who taught me that others were more important than the bug you have under your saddle. One half of my family were bitter and lonely - and heaven protected me from them by a few thousand miles, leaving all the warm, fuzzy ones to surround me with kindness, encouragement and love.
When my time comes to go Home and rejoin them, I hope what I leave behind will be a memory that cocoons the soul, perhaps a joyous laugh, an encouraging word in a difficult time.
The one Man Who ever said He'd rather die than live without us -and proved that by His death - with that death bought me as fearless an exit as is possible from this life. I am so grateful He found a way to push through my self-sufficient ego and fill me with Himself. He changed my life from black and white to color, changed my heart from having room for only me, to embracing Him and letting Him do any future driving to any destination He chose - and to my great surprise and delight, He chose joy.
In addition to which, He added hummers and bats and Quail and chipmunks and sunsets and cool evening zephyrs that dance in the branches of trees and swirl through your soul.
We serve an Awesome God.
Autumn is showing signs of moving on in here in the desert. Not fully yet, but hinting at it.
I love this time of year. At sundown the thermometer sinks below the 100 mark, making the out-of-doors area a pleasant place to be. The sunsets are phenomenal, as if God were finger-painting in wild abandon. The clouds seem iridescent as their gray-feet blush pink. The hummingbirds take one last lingering sip and retire for the evening.
And then the bats come out to play.
At first they seem like just tinier birds - but no bird can stop on a dime and do a 180 to catch a moth who wandered into the wrong bit of air. They whirl and swirl and stop your breath with their acrobatics - I find myself whispering a "Yay!!" to the wheeling and diving dervishes. I want to cheer them on, these maligned animals who are simply doing what God created them to do. Especially when I remember that they are responsible for the removal from the air of my arch-enemy, the mosquito. Makes me shiver just to think about it. Go for it, guys, enjoy a great dinner tonight and suck those little guys up like a vacuum cleaner!
And then - poof! - all color is gone from the clouds - except the gray looks gray-er and the creeping deep blue of night begins to saturate the sky. Lights come on in houses, windows glowing with that amber light that makes everything look cozy.
My favorite aunt loved this time of day too, and I often think of her - and miss her dreadfully. When my mother died, she called to offer her services if ever I felt the need for some mothering. We slowly lost her to Alzheimer's - a horrible disease that steals the comfort from relationships and leaves the victim befuddled and easily frightened. She coped as long as she could, with a standard set of questions designed to carry a conversation as if she actually remembered who your were. It broke my heart to hear of her decline - a breaking I had endured several times before as I lost family members, one by one, to age and death..
But this one was different. It was a brutal losing. One inch at a time.
Her son cared for her to the last, as faithful a heart as ever was. He itemized her life, page by page, until everything was numbered and discarded and the important things saved as much as possible.
I have always thought that newly owner less possessions were among the saddest things left on earth. Objects of most importance to someone are suddenly, once again, just "things." They drift in the cosmos and eventually vanish - unless someone remembers their importance and out of a sentimental moment, snatches them up and again assigns them value.
I am so grateful that in my time on this earth I have been so very blessed with my family members. I have friends whose family ties are painful in the extreme. In contrast, I have waltzed through my life with wonderful people, kind people, loving people, who taught me that others were more important than the bug you have under your saddle. One half of my family were bitter and lonely - and heaven protected me from them by a few thousand miles, leaving all the warm, fuzzy ones to surround me with kindness, encouragement and love.
When my time comes to go Home and rejoin them, I hope what I leave behind will be a memory that cocoons the soul, perhaps a joyous laugh, an encouraging word in a difficult time.
The one Man Who ever said He'd rather die than live without us -and proved that by His death - with that death bought me as fearless an exit as is possible from this life. I am so grateful He found a way to push through my self-sufficient ego and fill me with Himself. He changed my life from black and white to color, changed my heart from having room for only me, to embracing Him and letting Him do any future driving to any destination He chose - and to my great surprise and delight, He chose joy.
In addition to which, He added hummers and bats and Quail and chipmunks and sunsets and cool evening zephyrs that dance in the branches of trees and swirl through your soul.
We serve an Awesome God.
Friday, August 7, 2015
For Those of us Afraid of the Dark.
I have been contemplating fear lately.
When I came to Christ - or, rather, when He busted His way into my heart, I was involved with the occult - and with an extreme sensitivity to fearful things. Movies, plays etc. And in the after-occult season the fear of darkness - actual and imagined - became a factor in my life.
He took the darkness out of me, washed out the remaining stains, but the fear has come to be one I have never conquered. I cannot sleep in the total darkness. I need some tiny bit of light to be able to sleep.
As a nurse, I became interested in the hospice movement, and one of the things it taught me was that dying patients almost always want to be in light, sunlight or manufactured, ss they leave this world.
I have health conditions which have placed me in that position a few times. And now a virtual friend is facing that challenge daily, as he fights a vigorous battle with lymphoma. And moments of fear overwhelm him.
It is a fearful thing, death.
Even though it is something we all will face, even though the One Who bought us with HIs blood has conquered it before us - and won!- even though we truly know, to the tiniest cell in our bodies, that we will be in His presence the millisecond we leave this earth.
Even though....
When I was standing on the edge of that cliff, gazing into the darkness of the unknown, the fear would not let me go. Would not.
Oh, I could vanquish it for the moment - and always with His Name on my lips - but when the thought came round again, threw another harpoon into my heart, breathed in my ear, it was battle time again,
It still is.
I can think of it from a distance, as though it was a far off event, but when it comes to REAL and TRULY, it takes awhile for me to call on His Name and claim His peace. And while I have made the provisions and protocols for this body my spirit dwells in, leaving this body - and thoughts of the actual process by which it will happen, are fearful.
Corrie Ten Boom, another heroine of mine, said that, as a child, she told her father that it scared her, this death that would, eventually, end her life.
He asked her, "Corrie, when do I give you your ticket when we take the train.?"
"When it's time to get on it." she answered.
"That is when Jesus will take away your fear. Right now, you don't need the courage to face it. When the moment comes, Jesus will give you your ticket and you will not be afraid."
And so it was.
And I trust it will be the same for me.
I don't need that peace right now - because it isn't time, yet.
But I trust, like Corrie, that when the moment comes, His joy will fill my heart, and my spirit will take flight.
And there will never be another moment of fear of the dark.
Until that day, or moment, or second comes, I will leave it in His hands.
When I came to Christ - or, rather, when He busted His way into my heart, I was involved with the occult - and with an extreme sensitivity to fearful things. Movies, plays etc. And in the after-occult season the fear of darkness - actual and imagined - became a factor in my life.
He took the darkness out of me, washed out the remaining stains, but the fear has come to be one I have never conquered. I cannot sleep in the total darkness. I need some tiny bit of light to be able to sleep.
As a nurse, I became interested in the hospice movement, and one of the things it taught me was that dying patients almost always want to be in light, sunlight or manufactured, ss they leave this world.
I have health conditions which have placed me in that position a few times. And now a virtual friend is facing that challenge daily, as he fights a vigorous battle with lymphoma. And moments of fear overwhelm him.
It is a fearful thing, death.
Even though it is something we all will face, even though the One Who bought us with HIs blood has conquered it before us - and won!- even though we truly know, to the tiniest cell in our bodies, that we will be in His presence the millisecond we leave this earth.
Even though....
When I was standing on the edge of that cliff, gazing into the darkness of the unknown, the fear would not let me go. Would not.
Oh, I could vanquish it for the moment - and always with His Name on my lips - but when the thought came round again, threw another harpoon into my heart, breathed in my ear, it was battle time again,
It still is.
I can think of it from a distance, as though it was a far off event, but when it comes to REAL and TRULY, it takes awhile for me to call on His Name and claim His peace. And while I have made the provisions and protocols for this body my spirit dwells in, leaving this body - and thoughts of the actual process by which it will happen, are fearful.
Corrie Ten Boom, another heroine of mine, said that, as a child, she told her father that it scared her, this death that would, eventually, end her life.
He asked her, "Corrie, when do I give you your ticket when we take the train.?"
"When it's time to get on it." she answered.
"That is when Jesus will take away your fear. Right now, you don't need the courage to face it. When the moment comes, Jesus will give you your ticket and you will not be afraid."
And so it was.
And I trust it will be the same for me.
I don't need that peace right now - because it isn't time, yet.
But I trust, like Corrie, that when the moment comes, His joy will fill my heart, and my spirit will take flight.
And there will never be another moment of fear of the dark.
Until that day, or moment, or second comes, I will leave it in His hands.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Howdy, stranger!
I've been offline off and on lately, sort of trying to get better and instead getting worse. So I haven't posted on this blog for a looong time. My apologies.
It's a funny animal, this chronic pain stuff. Sometimes it makes me withdrawn, and other times it makes me seek out books of folks who have walked this road - with discouraging or encouraging results, the primary requirement is that they have walked it with Him.
One woman I've been reading just recently lost her battle with breast cancer. The breast is where it started. She celebrated after she finished her first round of chemo and radiation, bilateral breast removal and reconstruction, followed by a total hysterectomy - only to find another tumor in her bones, then her brain. Round after round of pain and vomiting and pills and IVs and radiation, MRIs and chem panels, endlessly. At diagnosis, her youngest was a 3 yr old little girl. Her oldest a 13 year old.. And in between them, a boy and another girl. She lost her battle in March. Her hubby, a pastor named Jason, after 17 years of marriage is on his own, with four children and a church to care for. Please, if you are reading this, please pray for him.
When I got the news, it gutted me.
Through it all, she had a radiant faith.
Absolutely radiant.
Not to say she didn't have tough times. But her peace shone through it all.
And I sit here with my hangnail (in comparison) whining and wailing because I hurt a little.
Another couple, friends of mine, after 20+ years married, were just diagnosed with lymphoma in the hubby's brain.
Thru their entire walk together, they have dealt constantly with his type 1 diabetes, insulin dependent, that destroyed his kidneys. When the time came for a transplant, the wife discovered she was a perfect match, and instantly gave him one of hers, all the while raising their daughter and praising the Lord. He started having a loss of energy a year ago, he finally had to stop working. Then he began to lose his balance once in awhile. Then he began to have headaches. Then his short term memory got funky. An MRI of the brain showed several tumors. A brain biopsy, itself a dangerous measure, revealed the lymphoma, which has a notoriously bad prognosis. They immediately began scheduling radiation therapy.
When told of the diagnosis, Phil said, "Whether He gives me 5 more minutes or 50 years, I stand on the Rock. My life is in His hands."
They've had a lot of rough roads to follow throughout their marriage - this is nothing new to them. And their reaction is the same it has always been: to live in a way that glorifies God.
Seems like so very much loss lately. My heart aches for the pain they are enduring - at the same time I am in awe of the way their lives of faith glorify Him. And for sure it has driven me closer to the Rock they live upon. I so very much want to glorify Him the same way - and I see my failures in such glaring red letters - capitals all, that seem so obvious and avoidable.
Another recent loss was the author and missionary Elisabeth Elliot - a woman I have looked up to since I met the Rock for myself. I think I have read almost every one of her many many books. When faced with the loss of her husband in the middle of an Ecuadorian jungle, killed by cannibals he had come to befriend, she, too, stood on the Rock - with a 14 month old little girl in the midst of an alien land. She survived on the verse "underneath are the everlasting arms" and handled her responsibilities with the motto "do the next thing". And so she did. When she died at 87 she had outlived 2 husbands (her second husband died of cancer 5 years after they were married) and was suffering from Alzheimer's at her death. When she was diagnosed, she said, characteristically, "underneath are the Everlasting arms" and walked through her days doing the next thing. She never lost the wealth of Scripture she had memorized since childhood, or the old Scriptural hymns that have been replaced by "modern worship" songs. The old hymns taught doctrine to people that couldn't read, but could understand from the hymns what a life in Christ meant.
One of her heroines in the walk with the Rock was Amy Carmichael.
So, of course, her books are also part of my library. Another woman who lived as a missionary - in India for over 50 years, her main focus came to be saving the little girls who were sold to the temples to as sexual slaves of the multiple gods that are worshiped. Eventually her mission began to include the little boys as well. When faced with difficulties, Amy said, "See in it a chance to die."
And there is the heart of every difficulty we face on this earth: death to self.
Amy had an accident that left her in pain and mostly bed-ridden for the last 20+ years of her life - tho it was no accident to the One Who allowed it. The work she began is flourishing still, in India, mostly staffed by the women who were once little girls that were saved and placed in the arms of Jesus. She was beloved of the girls she saved, because they knew her love for them was an overflow of the One she stood on - this same Rock that connects all my heroines to one another. Her poetry, like that of Annie Johnson Flint - another chronic pain sufferer whose "little book of poems" have survived the years to still be nourishing to my soul and glorifying the same Rock.
So I trudge on. I am trying now to "do the next thing" and trusting Him to take care of the rest. He has kept me for 26 years of illness (and counting) and has never failed me, tho I have so very often failed Him.
My consolation is knowing that when He plucked me out of my black and white life to give me one of living color, He already knew about my future failures, and yet He still chose me. He's had to do all the giving, because there is certainly nothing of value I can give Him - except that which He values the most : my battered, stained, unreliable heart.
And my feet, standing, on that same Rock - the Rock of Ages.
There's plenty of room up here.
And He will welcome you, too, and help you to stand here, all with open Arms.
The Everlasting ones.
It's a funny animal, this chronic pain stuff. Sometimes it makes me withdrawn, and other times it makes me seek out books of folks who have walked this road - with discouraging or encouraging results, the primary requirement is that they have walked it with Him.
One woman I've been reading just recently lost her battle with breast cancer. The breast is where it started. She celebrated after she finished her first round of chemo and radiation, bilateral breast removal and reconstruction, followed by a total hysterectomy - only to find another tumor in her bones, then her brain. Round after round of pain and vomiting and pills and IVs and radiation, MRIs and chem panels, endlessly. At diagnosis, her youngest was a 3 yr old little girl. Her oldest a 13 year old.. And in between them, a boy and another girl. She lost her battle in March. Her hubby, a pastor named Jason, after 17 years of marriage is on his own, with four children and a church to care for. Please, if you are reading this, please pray for him.
When I got the news, it gutted me.
Through it all, she had a radiant faith.
Absolutely radiant.
Not to say she didn't have tough times. But her peace shone through it all.
And I sit here with my hangnail (in comparison) whining and wailing because I hurt a little.
Another couple, friends of mine, after 20+ years married, were just diagnosed with lymphoma in the hubby's brain.
Thru their entire walk together, they have dealt constantly with his type 1 diabetes, insulin dependent, that destroyed his kidneys. When the time came for a transplant, the wife discovered she was a perfect match, and instantly gave him one of hers, all the while raising their daughter and praising the Lord. He started having a loss of energy a year ago, he finally had to stop working. Then he began to lose his balance once in awhile. Then he began to have headaches. Then his short term memory got funky. An MRI of the brain showed several tumors. A brain biopsy, itself a dangerous measure, revealed the lymphoma, which has a notoriously bad prognosis. They immediately began scheduling radiation therapy.
When told of the diagnosis, Phil said, "Whether He gives me 5 more minutes or 50 years, I stand on the Rock. My life is in His hands."
They've had a lot of rough roads to follow throughout their marriage - this is nothing new to them. And their reaction is the same it has always been: to live in a way that glorifies God.
Seems like so very much loss lately. My heart aches for the pain they are enduring - at the same time I am in awe of the way their lives of faith glorify Him. And for sure it has driven me closer to the Rock they live upon. I so very much want to glorify Him the same way - and I see my failures in such glaring red letters - capitals all, that seem so obvious and avoidable.
Another recent loss was the author and missionary Elisabeth Elliot - a woman I have looked up to since I met the Rock for myself. I think I have read almost every one of her many many books. When faced with the loss of her husband in the middle of an Ecuadorian jungle, killed by cannibals he had come to befriend, she, too, stood on the Rock - with a 14 month old little girl in the midst of an alien land. She survived on the verse "underneath are the everlasting arms" and handled her responsibilities with the motto "do the next thing". And so she did. When she died at 87 she had outlived 2 husbands (her second husband died of cancer 5 years after they were married) and was suffering from Alzheimer's at her death. When she was diagnosed, she said, characteristically, "underneath are the Everlasting arms" and walked through her days doing the next thing. She never lost the wealth of Scripture she had memorized since childhood, or the old Scriptural hymns that have been replaced by "modern worship" songs. The old hymns taught doctrine to people that couldn't read, but could understand from the hymns what a life in Christ meant.
One of her heroines in the walk with the Rock was Amy Carmichael.
So, of course, her books are also part of my library. Another woman who lived as a missionary - in India for over 50 years, her main focus came to be saving the little girls who were sold to the temples to as sexual slaves of the multiple gods that are worshiped. Eventually her mission began to include the little boys as well. When faced with difficulties, Amy said, "See in it a chance to die."
And there is the heart of every difficulty we face on this earth: death to self.
Amy had an accident that left her in pain and mostly bed-ridden for the last 20+ years of her life - tho it was no accident to the One Who allowed it. The work she began is flourishing still, in India, mostly staffed by the women who were once little girls that were saved and placed in the arms of Jesus. She was beloved of the girls she saved, because they knew her love for them was an overflow of the One she stood on - this same Rock that connects all my heroines to one another. Her poetry, like that of Annie Johnson Flint - another chronic pain sufferer whose "little book of poems" have survived the years to still be nourishing to my soul and glorifying the same Rock.
So I trudge on. I am trying now to "do the next thing" and trusting Him to take care of the rest. He has kept me for 26 years of illness (and counting) and has never failed me, tho I have so very often failed Him.
My consolation is knowing that when He plucked me out of my black and white life to give me one of living color, He already knew about my future failures, and yet He still chose me. He's had to do all the giving, because there is certainly nothing of value I can give Him - except that which He values the most : my battered, stained, unreliable heart.
And my feet, standing, on that same Rock - the Rock of Ages.
There's plenty of room up here.
And He will welcome you, too, and help you to stand here, all with open Arms.
The Everlasting ones.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Trusting in the Dark...or not....
How hard it is to trust in the dark!
Sometimes it seems like I'm finally getting the hang of this "trust" stuff..
And then....
When one of the nephews/nieces/family/friends has something going on in their lives that is harmful or hurtful, I pound on heaven's door, pleading continuously for God's will to be my will, when it should be the other way round
And that's the plain, unvarnished truth.
When it comes to them, it is so hard to put them where they belong: in His hands.
And then let go.
The "putting" is the easy part.
The "letting go," not so much.
I want them to be ok. I want the crisis to be over with. I want them whole and happy and blessed.
And to pray "As You will" doesn't enter my head, let alone my heart.
I know that's not where He wants me, or how He wants me to pray.
Recently another crisis popped up.
I was beside myself with worry.
I felt beaten, like someone had punched me in the gut. Hundreds of miles away and helpless - that's how I felt. I contacted every prayer chain and every pray-er that I knew and stormed heaven's gates.
And God, in His mercy and power, stepped in.
But I find myself wondering:
What if He hadn't?
I knew at the time that it was a possibility. My education was in this specific area and each report gave mounting stress and fear to my heart. I knew too many ways for things to go wrong, and I should have intervened.
I didn't.
As the news grew more and more grim, I didn't want to push them to a decision they were reluctant to make. I don't know what I would have done if He had chosen other than what my heart was pleading for. I feel guilty enough now - I can't imagine how I will feel if something worse happens because of my reluctance - which is still a possibility.
So I pray.
And strain with every ounce that's in me to trust.
I have a plaque which says, "Faith means going to the edge of all you know - and taking one more step."
It is walking forward in the dark, knowing that the edge of the cliff is in front of me - and being willing to step off that cliff, trusting that He will catch me,,,
Or give me wings.
And being willing to do it.
I find I'm not there yet. Every time I think I am, He shows me how far I have to go.
But this I know, with every cell in my body, I am His. He holds me in His hands in the dark as well as the light.
And though I still stumble around in the dark, and bump into walls and fall and bruise a knee here and there, He will never ever let me fall into the abyss.
For underneath are the Everlasting Arms.
His.
Sometimes it seems like I'm finally getting the hang of this "trust" stuff..
And then....
When one of the nephews/nieces/family/friends has something going on in their lives that is harmful or hurtful, I pound on heaven's door, pleading continuously for God's will to be my will, when it should be the other way round
And that's the plain, unvarnished truth.
When it comes to them, it is so hard to put them where they belong: in His hands.
And then let go.
The "putting" is the easy part.
The "letting go," not so much.
I want them to be ok. I want the crisis to be over with. I want them whole and happy and blessed.
And to pray "As You will" doesn't enter my head, let alone my heart.
I know that's not where He wants me, or how He wants me to pray.
Recently another crisis popped up.
I was beside myself with worry.
I felt beaten, like someone had punched me in the gut. Hundreds of miles away and helpless - that's how I felt. I contacted every prayer chain and every pray-er that I knew and stormed heaven's gates.
And God, in His mercy and power, stepped in.
But I find myself wondering:
What if He hadn't?
I knew at the time that it was a possibility. My education was in this specific area and each report gave mounting stress and fear to my heart. I knew too many ways for things to go wrong, and I should have intervened.
I didn't.
As the news grew more and more grim, I didn't want to push them to a decision they were reluctant to make. I don't know what I would have done if He had chosen other than what my heart was pleading for. I feel guilty enough now - I can't imagine how I will feel if something worse happens because of my reluctance - which is still a possibility.
So I pray.
And strain with every ounce that's in me to trust.
I have a plaque which says, "Faith means going to the edge of all you know - and taking one more step."
It is walking forward in the dark, knowing that the edge of the cliff is in front of me - and being willing to step off that cliff, trusting that He will catch me,,,
Or give me wings.
And being willing to do it.
I find I'm not there yet. Every time I think I am, He shows me how far I have to go.
But this I know, with every cell in my body, I am His. He holds me in His hands in the dark as well as the light.
And though I still stumble around in the dark, and bump into walls and fall and bruise a knee here and there, He will never ever let me fall into the abyss.
For underneath are the Everlasting Arms.
His.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Remembering the fallen...
I have been thinking of Audie Murphy all day. Someone shared the memory of this valiant man who received every medal the US has to offer including the Medal of Honor, plus medals from France and Belgium - and he was only 20 at the time - and he has been here, in my heart, all day.
I say again to every serviceman who has ever served: thank you.
I've learned that many servicemen resent this, who think it is a non-military's way to unload guilt.
Not from me.
I say thank you for every sleepless night you have spent remembering, wanting more than anything to forget. For the nightmares, for the screaming fits, for the black depressions.
I say thank you for leaving a safe bed and the love of family and risking it all.
For me.
I say thank you to and for every buddy you saw die that you wanted to save.
I say thank you to every medic who served in a hot zone, a cool zone, a hospital ship, and remembers every GI your hands touched, who worked thru 36 hour and more shifts uncomplainingly, asleep on your feet with broken hearts, who still see faces and hear voices when they remember.
I say thank you to each heart that breaks when a car drives up to an anxious home and two men in full dress uniform step out.
I say thank you to each child that cries himself to sleep, crying for a daddy or mommy they will never see again this side of heaven.
I say thank you for the respectful hands who fire the 21 gun salutes and fold the flags with precision, respect, and sympathy. For the men who guard, thru summer heat and winter snow and driving rain, the tomb of some of the unknown who returned to the American soil they died for.
I don't say it lightly. I treasure one such flag.
So...
Sir, or Ma'am, I thank you for your service. I pray the Lord will bless you with a warm home and a heart that never forgets, but has been able to let the memories have their way and be gone, visiting less and less often.
We tell those who have left us to "rest in peace." The living deserve no less. Remember those who were lost. Then honor them by living long and happily for them as well as yourself.
And if you can't banish the voices and the faces and the sounds and the smells, you are not weak.
It is recognized now as PTSD and there is treatment for it. Please find some. There is no reason for your family to lose you, too. Audie Murphy never knew what he had was treatable. He tried to silence the voices and faces and sounds and smells and began to be disrespected towards the end of his short life. This to a man who fought off 250 of the enemy alone, atop a burning enemy tank loaded with explosives that could blow up any second - and he was seriously wounded at the time! Sad to say, but true: People forget. I give you my solemn promise, I will never forget as God lets me draw breath.
His wife and family were Christians - and, sadly, up until that last plane ride that crashed, he resisted opening his heart to God. His wife asked the old preacher Vernon McGee to preach a salvation message at his funeral - he said a lot of Hollywood was there, and it seemed every eye was steely and defiant and full of hatred as he preached. I hope he was wrong. I hope that souls were pierced and hearts broke open. And I pray that as the plane began it's fatal dive, Audie cried out to the God Who held him as he went to hell and back the first time, and kept him from going back to hell again.
And for anyone out there who is idiot enough to think it can't be that bad, get a copy of Audie Murphy's combat memories or watch the movie, "To Hell and Back" both of the same title - easily available on Amazon, even for Kindle. It will open your eyes and make the next time you thank a serviceman or vet come from the bottom of your safe little heart.If you would like a more in-depth telling, warts and all, of his struggles for the rest of his life, I highly recommend the book, "The Price of Valor", a well-researched and informative book, from his childhood on. To Hell and Back was written not as an autobiography, but as a way to remember his buddies that died - to the end of his days he said that the dead were the ones who deserved the medals, not him.
And so, I say again, I thank you for your service, from the bottom of my heart and tears streaming down my face. And if that offends you, I'm not sorry.
Because I will never stop saying it.
I say again to every serviceman who has ever served: thank you.
I've learned that many servicemen resent this, who think it is a non-military's way to unload guilt.
Not from me.
I say thank you for every sleepless night you have spent remembering, wanting more than anything to forget. For the nightmares, for the screaming fits, for the black depressions.
I say thank you for leaving a safe bed and the love of family and risking it all.
For me.
I say thank you to and for every buddy you saw die that you wanted to save.
I say thank you to every medic who served in a hot zone, a cool zone, a hospital ship, and remembers every GI your hands touched, who worked thru 36 hour and more shifts uncomplainingly, asleep on your feet with broken hearts, who still see faces and hear voices when they remember.
I say thank you to each heart that breaks when a car drives up to an anxious home and two men in full dress uniform step out.
I say thank you to each child that cries himself to sleep, crying for a daddy or mommy they will never see again this side of heaven.
I say thank you for the respectful hands who fire the 21 gun salutes and fold the flags with precision, respect, and sympathy. For the men who guard, thru summer heat and winter snow and driving rain, the tomb of some of the unknown who returned to the American soil they died for.
I don't say it lightly. I treasure one such flag.
So...
Sir, or Ma'am, I thank you for your service. I pray the Lord will bless you with a warm home and a heart that never forgets, but has been able to let the memories have their way and be gone, visiting less and less often.
We tell those who have left us to "rest in peace." The living deserve no less. Remember those who were lost. Then honor them by living long and happily for them as well as yourself.
And if you can't banish the voices and the faces and the sounds and the smells, you are not weak.
It is recognized now as PTSD and there is treatment for it. Please find some. There is no reason for your family to lose you, too. Audie Murphy never knew what he had was treatable. He tried to silence the voices and faces and sounds and smells and began to be disrespected towards the end of his short life. This to a man who fought off 250 of the enemy alone, atop a burning enemy tank loaded with explosives that could blow up any second - and he was seriously wounded at the time! Sad to say, but true: People forget. I give you my solemn promise, I will never forget as God lets me draw breath.
His wife and family were Christians - and, sadly, up until that last plane ride that crashed, he resisted opening his heart to God. His wife asked the old preacher Vernon McGee to preach a salvation message at his funeral - he said a lot of Hollywood was there, and it seemed every eye was steely and defiant and full of hatred as he preached. I hope he was wrong. I hope that souls were pierced and hearts broke open. And I pray that as the plane began it's fatal dive, Audie cried out to the God Who held him as he went to hell and back the first time, and kept him from going back to hell again.
And for anyone out there who is idiot enough to think it can't be that bad, get a copy of Audie Murphy's combat memories or watch the movie, "To Hell and Back" both of the same title - easily available on Amazon, even for Kindle. It will open your eyes and make the next time you thank a serviceman or vet come from the bottom of your safe little heart.If you would like a more in-depth telling, warts and all, of his struggles for the rest of his life, I highly recommend the book, "The Price of Valor", a well-researched and informative book, from his childhood on. To Hell and Back was written not as an autobiography, but as a way to remember his buddies that died - to the end of his days he said that the dead were the ones who deserved the medals, not him.
And so, I say again, I thank you for your service, from the bottom of my heart and tears streaming down my face. And if that offends you, I'm not sorry.
Because I will never stop saying it.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
As I Was Saying...
What a shock! To discover I haven't been here in almost 2 months.
I was stunned.
I knew it had been some time - as the body grows older, so do the opportunities for something to go wrong or be off kilter. Mine has been kiltering along, off key, for the last 2 months. Bronchitis used to be quickly treatable and then booted out of my body's kilter.
No longer.
This time, the bronchitis has been playing "Catch me if you can" and my doc has a catcher's mitt that has been growing larger and larger, to contain all the remedies we've tried. Meanwhile the cough had banished sleep and increased pain and wavered on pneumonia...then it seemed to be on the downturn, only to abruptly about face towards pneumonia, threatening, threatening...
This last antibiotic was the strongest one yet. After 4 days the cough has diminished in frequency and moistness and I've actually been sleeping - a lot.
And then, as all good things must come to an end, I hit a wall. Again.
The drug was so strong my body can't tolerate it, which, as many may know, makes for a weakened response in the body and gives bacteria enough time to figure out how to become antibiotic resistant. But my doc and I decided enough was enough.
The side effects had become terrific. I kept wondering why I had suddenly started experiencing very nasty new troubles. I tried to figure out what I had done/not done and when they had started and, wouldn't you know it, they all started when I started this new drug.
So, I'm back to square one. I'm hoping my imagination is the reason my cough sounds juicier again. It's still not as bad, I'm able to breathe between coughs and coughing spells that seemed to be without end are completely gone.
So far.
And it brought to mind again, the realization that at any moment I can be called into the presence of God - live and in Person - at any moment.
Actually, I look forward to that moment. For me, it will be the best Homecoming ever - I know my God, Who He is, How He operates, and He can be trusted. He is the One Who holds my every breath, and knows - to the last one - when it will occur. I am at peace about that. If you are not, please keep reading, and I will tell you how to meet Him - and how I did.. He is the gentlest of all the gentlemen in the world or out of it, and He cherishes you, even now, even before you choose Him. He has a wonderful plan for your life.
So you look at mine, and what is so wonderful?
All of it.
Yes, I've been in some sort of pain for most of it. I've had narrow escapes. I became too sick to work at my chosen profession, which I loved. From the outside looking in, I can understand the question marks in your eyes.
Doesn't look too full of adventure or happiness or excitement, does it?
Ahhh - but looks, as the proverb goes, are deceiving.
I was living a mundane life, get up, go to work, spend my time listening to music, hanging out, smoking dope. An average life for the 60's and 70's.
But in the late 60's I had almost bled to death.
Exciting, no? (Grin)
I had blood going in both arms, an oxygen mask, and lying on the stretcher, every time I moved, blood and clots fell off of it onto the floor.
Listening to the blood pressure results being called out I realized that if something didn't happen pretty dang quickly, I would be facing a just and holy God with not a single excuse to keep me out of a very painful and terrifying place.
When shock sets in, the mind becomes very calm, and your thinking seems to clear out the garbage and you are left with a totaling of the marks for and against you in the sight of God, whom you will shortly be face to face with.
So, I 'fessed up.
I spoke to Him and said that I realized I had nothing of worth to offer Him. It didn't seem like I could do anything, granted my condition, that would change that fact, and I told Him that I gave myself to Him, just the way I was, and hoped that was enough.
No, there was no light highlighting the person next to me, no confession that s/he was actually an angel, just a hurried consent to sign and a rush to the operating room.
I believe God accepted my paltry offering.
When I got thru all the mess and complications, I sort of forgot all that and went back to my totally secular existence and relegated God to storybook level, a fuzzy, friendly God with a white beard and grandfatherly heart.
Oh, I talked about Him a lot - with my friends, while high on marijuana, concocting theories galore - one friend came up with a computer in the sky, and it controlled everything you did, yada yada yada. All very intellectual.
One of my other friends said that kind of talk scared him, he didn't want any part of it.
And then a best bud was sent overseas and with nothing to do on the ship, fell in with a bunch of Bible thumpers and was drawn to a loving God that paid his way into heaven, and suddenly, life became complicated.
A complication I wanted no part of.
So, one evening, I sat down to write a letter, and intended it to be the last one.
Ever.
Meanwhile, my lifetime best bud's brother called. His wife, it seems, had a desperate desire to learn guitar, and could they come over and maybe borrow one of mine and learn the rudiments?
Of course!
Unknown to me, they had recently had the same sort of experience my overseas friend had had.
What a coincidence!!
If you are considering investigating this Christian thing, you will suddenly experience the same kind of coincidences.
You will suddenly be surrounded by Christians,
Everywhere.
At school. At work. The neighbor next door. At the supermarket you will run into old friends who want to tell you this exciting thing that happened to them.
You will NOT believe it. They will be everywhere. And you will fight it with every ounce of rebellion in you. You will pull out every dusty ol' excuse you have ever heard and none of it will be because you honestly researched it.
It will be because there is an evil presence in this world that wants people to believe he doesn't exist and he is the one reigning in your heart, and he doesn't want to give you up. And, so far, you're not unhappy with his reigning - yet- so you don't want anyone making you feel guilty or - how dare you! - a sinner, so you close your ears and cross your arms and shake your head no, no,no.
And the coincidences keep coming.
And on this night, it took the shape of the brother and his wife.
They arrived and we started talking about how it had been too long, we needed to get together more often, standard stuff and I got the guitars out and they saw the letter writing stuff on the table and asked if they'd interrupted something.
I said no, and, of course, explained how my friend had been sucked into this cult thing and it was about Jesus and how fanatical he'd become, brainwashed, and I'd had enough. He had sent me a tape (in those days there were no iPhones or cellphones or instant anything. It was write or make a cassette tape, period.)
So they said, naturally, that it was too bad, and, as a matter of fact, they had recently become Christians, although they were not fanatics or anything.
So, of course, I pulled out the cassette player and said, "Listen to this stuff! I'm a Christian, but this is waaay out of my range!"
And as the words left my mouth, the God Who had accepted my bargaining ploy 15 years earlier said, "Gotcha!" And took me up on it.
He blasted me with the Holy Spirit, and it felt like my life had gone from black and white to Color, with a capital "C".
And everything on the tape made perfect sense.
Every. Single. Word.
I couldn't believe it. I was stunned.
Deep in my heart, I knew I was forever changed. Every Bible verse I'd ever read made sense.
I fell in love at that moment.
Completely, head-over-heels, eternal love with the One Who had created me to know Him, because He had loved me when I wasn't even a twinkle in my daddy's eye.
I knew I was a sinner already. (and so do you, even though you don't want to admit it.) - and when they left, I knelt on the hard wooden floor and gave myself to Him again, lock stock and barrel, and thanked Him for saying yes to me.
Then I finished the letter, praising God and quoting Scriptures I had learned as a child and told my friend I too was a Christian. Later I was told that, overseas mail being what it is, he got the letter a few weeks later and had spent the previous night in prayer for my soul. His friend told me he came running down a hallway with tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe God answered his prayers so miraculously.
Jesus has perfect timing.
People remark that it's all coincidences. But, you know what? Those coincidences only happen when I pray. And they fit, down to the last detail, what I prayed for.
And no, I'm not saying that God gives me everything I pray for. He doesn't. Jesus knows what is His best, and Jesus gives me what fits His plans for me. And He's always teaching me. I learn so much at His feet!
And for me, the best instrument for teaching happens to be pain, in the form of a chronic illness which is painful. I learn from the Teacher Who knows first hand what pain does to a Person, inside and outside. And how He lets darkness surround me sometimes - so I learn that even in the dark, His hand is there for me to grab. Jesus knows exactly what is right for me, and reveals His love through all of it.
Yeah, I know, I sound like a fanatic. Same ol', same ol'.
But it has been a true adventure. Jesus has held me through some of the most painful moments of my life. When He burst into my life, I asked Him to take me into the depths with Him. (Unfortunately, I didn't say "through the depths") I didn't want to be superficial. I wanted to know He is real and know He is truly there, every second of every day.
And one day, I read the life's story of Solomon, the wisest man to ever live. God told him one night to ask for whatever he wanted - anything. And being God, He could make that offer.
Solomon asked for wisdom. The essence of what he asked for was actually a "hearing heart" - so he could hear the hearts of the people placed under his rule. He wanted to follow his father's path (David, an man after God's own heart).
And then I read the line, "and it pleased God" - so I, in my hunger to please Him with my life, asked Him for the same thing.
I had no idea that the only way to hear some one's heart is to have gone through the same things. So I began to walk the path of sorrow and pain, to learn how to hear, and He brought me people who needed someone with a hearing heart so very much. He taught me how to listen, and guides the words I say, and blesses them to others. He uses the words that come out of my mouth to teach me as He lovingly reaches out to that hurting person. It's an amazing thing to walk with the Living God.
I highly recommend it.
If you've read this far, you may be wanting to know how to do this. You don't have to go to a church to reach Him. I do recommend that you kneel before Him, as He is the King of the Universe and there is no one else, no Being as powerful in all the Universe. Think on that for a moment, then bow your head before Him. Tell Jesus you know you've sinned. You know He is holy and you aren't. And You know He became a Man and died on a cross in exchange for your soul - He bought you. Every ounce of His suffering on that cross was for you. He in reality died rather than live without you And you are asking Jesus to come in and take possession of your heart and all you are. Thank Him for His Holy Spirit and for answering His prayer and coming in.
What will happen?
Maybe nothing. Maybe an explosion of joy inside you. Maybe you will feel like everything is new and in living color. For others, it comes on gradually.
I highly recommend you get a Bible and read it. Daily. If you're a Shakespeare buff, get the New King James version, it is in Olde English. Otherwise, get the New International Version, just ask for the NIV.
These both are interpretations by scholars who tried very very hard to present what the verses actually mean. Some of the "New" translations that say they are simply easier to understand, are not sticklers for interpretation. They paraphrase and add subtle bits of New Age thinking that turn your heart in those subtle ways to think of a New Age God, not the Living God. Find a church that teaches verse-by-verse through the Bible - the Calvary Chapel Churches are good at this, to find one near you go to Calvarychapel.org. Wherever you are in the world, there is probably one near you - and meet with other Christians (yes, you are now "one of them") and learn the joy of fellowship as well as friendship. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them - click on the comment option, below (hold your mouse over the icons below and it will reveal a comment option.)
And welcome to the family of God! Adventure awaits you!
I was stunned.
I knew it had been some time - as the body grows older, so do the opportunities for something to go wrong or be off kilter. Mine has been kiltering along, off key, for the last 2 months. Bronchitis used to be quickly treatable and then booted out of my body's kilter.
No longer.
This time, the bronchitis has been playing "Catch me if you can" and my doc has a catcher's mitt that has been growing larger and larger, to contain all the remedies we've tried. Meanwhile the cough had banished sleep and increased pain and wavered on pneumonia...then it seemed to be on the downturn, only to abruptly about face towards pneumonia, threatening, threatening...
This last antibiotic was the strongest one yet. After 4 days the cough has diminished in frequency and moistness and I've actually been sleeping - a lot.
And then, as all good things must come to an end, I hit a wall. Again.
The drug was so strong my body can't tolerate it, which, as many may know, makes for a weakened response in the body and gives bacteria enough time to figure out how to become antibiotic resistant. But my doc and I decided enough was enough.
The side effects had become terrific. I kept wondering why I had suddenly started experiencing very nasty new troubles. I tried to figure out what I had done/not done and when they had started and, wouldn't you know it, they all started when I started this new drug.
So, I'm back to square one. I'm hoping my imagination is the reason my cough sounds juicier again. It's still not as bad, I'm able to breathe between coughs and coughing spells that seemed to be without end are completely gone.
So far.
And it brought to mind again, the realization that at any moment I can be called into the presence of God - live and in Person - at any moment.
Actually, I look forward to that moment. For me, it will be the best Homecoming ever - I know my God, Who He is, How He operates, and He can be trusted. He is the One Who holds my every breath, and knows - to the last one - when it will occur. I am at peace about that. If you are not, please keep reading, and I will tell you how to meet Him - and how I did.. He is the gentlest of all the gentlemen in the world or out of it, and He cherishes you, even now, even before you choose Him. He has a wonderful plan for your life.
So you look at mine, and what is so wonderful?
All of it.
Yes, I've been in some sort of pain for most of it. I've had narrow escapes. I became too sick to work at my chosen profession, which I loved. From the outside looking in, I can understand the question marks in your eyes.
Doesn't look too full of adventure or happiness or excitement, does it?
Ahhh - but looks, as the proverb goes, are deceiving.
I was living a mundane life, get up, go to work, spend my time listening to music, hanging out, smoking dope. An average life for the 60's and 70's.
But in the late 60's I had almost bled to death.
Exciting, no? (Grin)
I had blood going in both arms, an oxygen mask, and lying on the stretcher, every time I moved, blood and clots fell off of it onto the floor.
Listening to the blood pressure results being called out I realized that if something didn't happen pretty dang quickly, I would be facing a just and holy God with not a single excuse to keep me out of a very painful and terrifying place.
When shock sets in, the mind becomes very calm, and your thinking seems to clear out the garbage and you are left with a totaling of the marks for and against you in the sight of God, whom you will shortly be face to face with.
So, I 'fessed up.
I spoke to Him and said that I realized I had nothing of worth to offer Him. It didn't seem like I could do anything, granted my condition, that would change that fact, and I told Him that I gave myself to Him, just the way I was, and hoped that was enough.
No, there was no light highlighting the person next to me, no confession that s/he was actually an angel, just a hurried consent to sign and a rush to the operating room.
I believe God accepted my paltry offering.
When I got thru all the mess and complications, I sort of forgot all that and went back to my totally secular existence and relegated God to storybook level, a fuzzy, friendly God with a white beard and grandfatherly heart.
Oh, I talked about Him a lot - with my friends, while high on marijuana, concocting theories galore - one friend came up with a computer in the sky, and it controlled everything you did, yada yada yada. All very intellectual.
One of my other friends said that kind of talk scared him, he didn't want any part of it.
And then a best bud was sent overseas and with nothing to do on the ship, fell in with a bunch of Bible thumpers and was drawn to a loving God that paid his way into heaven, and suddenly, life became complicated.
A complication I wanted no part of.
So, one evening, I sat down to write a letter, and intended it to be the last one.
Ever.
Meanwhile, my lifetime best bud's brother called. His wife, it seems, had a desperate desire to learn guitar, and could they come over and maybe borrow one of mine and learn the rudiments?
Of course!
Unknown to me, they had recently had the same sort of experience my overseas friend had had.
What a coincidence!!
If you are considering investigating this Christian thing, you will suddenly experience the same kind of coincidences.
You will suddenly be surrounded by Christians,
Everywhere.
At school. At work. The neighbor next door. At the supermarket you will run into old friends who want to tell you this exciting thing that happened to them.
You will NOT believe it. They will be everywhere. And you will fight it with every ounce of rebellion in you. You will pull out every dusty ol' excuse you have ever heard and none of it will be because you honestly researched it.
It will be because there is an evil presence in this world that wants people to believe he doesn't exist and he is the one reigning in your heart, and he doesn't want to give you up. And, so far, you're not unhappy with his reigning - yet- so you don't want anyone making you feel guilty or - how dare you! - a sinner, so you close your ears and cross your arms and shake your head no, no,no.
And the coincidences keep coming.
And on this night, it took the shape of the brother and his wife.
They arrived and we started talking about how it had been too long, we needed to get together more often, standard stuff and I got the guitars out and they saw the letter writing stuff on the table and asked if they'd interrupted something.
I said no, and, of course, explained how my friend had been sucked into this cult thing and it was about Jesus and how fanatical he'd become, brainwashed, and I'd had enough. He had sent me a tape (in those days there were no iPhones or cellphones or instant anything. It was write or make a cassette tape, period.)
So they said, naturally, that it was too bad, and, as a matter of fact, they had recently become Christians, although they were not fanatics or anything.
So, of course, I pulled out the cassette player and said, "Listen to this stuff! I'm a Christian, but this is waaay out of my range!"
And as the words left my mouth, the God Who had accepted my bargaining ploy 15 years earlier said, "Gotcha!" And took me up on it.
He blasted me with the Holy Spirit, and it felt like my life had gone from black and white to Color, with a capital "C".
And everything on the tape made perfect sense.
Every. Single. Word.
I couldn't believe it. I was stunned.
Deep in my heart, I knew I was forever changed. Every Bible verse I'd ever read made sense.
I fell in love at that moment.
Completely, head-over-heels, eternal love with the One Who had created me to know Him, because He had loved me when I wasn't even a twinkle in my daddy's eye.
I knew I was a sinner already. (and so do you, even though you don't want to admit it.) - and when they left, I knelt on the hard wooden floor and gave myself to Him again, lock stock and barrel, and thanked Him for saying yes to me.
Then I finished the letter, praising God and quoting Scriptures I had learned as a child and told my friend I too was a Christian. Later I was told that, overseas mail being what it is, he got the letter a few weeks later and had spent the previous night in prayer for my soul. His friend told me he came running down a hallway with tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe God answered his prayers so miraculously.
Jesus has perfect timing.
People remark that it's all coincidences. But, you know what? Those coincidences only happen when I pray. And they fit, down to the last detail, what I prayed for.
And no, I'm not saying that God gives me everything I pray for. He doesn't. Jesus knows what is His best, and Jesus gives me what fits His plans for me. And He's always teaching me. I learn so much at His feet!
And for me, the best instrument for teaching happens to be pain, in the form of a chronic illness which is painful. I learn from the Teacher Who knows first hand what pain does to a Person, inside and outside. And how He lets darkness surround me sometimes - so I learn that even in the dark, His hand is there for me to grab. Jesus knows exactly what is right for me, and reveals His love through all of it.
Yeah, I know, I sound like a fanatic. Same ol', same ol'.
But it has been a true adventure. Jesus has held me through some of the most painful moments of my life. When He burst into my life, I asked Him to take me into the depths with Him. (Unfortunately, I didn't say "through the depths") I didn't want to be superficial. I wanted to know He is real and know He is truly there, every second of every day.
And one day, I read the life's story of Solomon, the wisest man to ever live. God told him one night to ask for whatever he wanted - anything. And being God, He could make that offer.
Solomon asked for wisdom. The essence of what he asked for was actually a "hearing heart" - so he could hear the hearts of the people placed under his rule. He wanted to follow his father's path (David, an man after God's own heart).
And then I read the line, "and it pleased God" - so I, in my hunger to please Him with my life, asked Him for the same thing.
I had no idea that the only way to hear some one's heart is to have gone through the same things. So I began to walk the path of sorrow and pain, to learn how to hear, and He brought me people who needed someone with a hearing heart so very much. He taught me how to listen, and guides the words I say, and blesses them to others. He uses the words that come out of my mouth to teach me as He lovingly reaches out to that hurting person. It's an amazing thing to walk with the Living God.
I highly recommend it.
If you've read this far, you may be wanting to know how to do this. You don't have to go to a church to reach Him. I do recommend that you kneel before Him, as He is the King of the Universe and there is no one else, no Being as powerful in all the Universe. Think on that for a moment, then bow your head before Him. Tell Jesus you know you've sinned. You know He is holy and you aren't. And You know He became a Man and died on a cross in exchange for your soul - He bought you. Every ounce of His suffering on that cross was for you. He in reality died rather than live without you And you are asking Jesus to come in and take possession of your heart and all you are. Thank Him for His Holy Spirit and for answering His prayer and coming in.
What will happen?
Maybe nothing. Maybe an explosion of joy inside you. Maybe you will feel like everything is new and in living color. For others, it comes on gradually.
I highly recommend you get a Bible and read it. Daily. If you're a Shakespeare buff, get the New King James version, it is in Olde English. Otherwise, get the New International Version, just ask for the NIV.
These both are interpretations by scholars who tried very very hard to present what the verses actually mean. Some of the "New" translations that say they are simply easier to understand, are not sticklers for interpretation. They paraphrase and add subtle bits of New Age thinking that turn your heart in those subtle ways to think of a New Age God, not the Living God. Find a church that teaches verse-by-verse through the Bible - the Calvary Chapel Churches are good at this, to find one near you go to Calvarychapel.org. Wherever you are in the world, there is probably one near you - and meet with other Christians (yes, you are now "one of them") and learn the joy of fellowship as well as friendship. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them - click on the comment option, below (hold your mouse over the icons below and it will reveal a comment option.)
And welcome to the family of God! Adventure awaits you!
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