April 1, 2009
Yesterday I attended the funeral of a man who was much too young to die. His two, beautiful young children walked down the aisle of the church holding their mother’s hands, crying. I cried quietly with them. And as we sang and prayed and heard about the accomplished and devoted life of the father, the children cried audibly the tears of children – honest, forthright, unassuming and free. As I tried to muffle my own weeping and maintain adult composure, I found myself being envious of my little wise friends. They innocently shared their broken hearts with all of us and it was like a soothing balm. As I sat there, I prayed that God would minister to their tender hearts as they gave to us something very dear – love expressed freely and with emotion, love that walked down the aisle and participated fully, walking out, clinging to hope represented in the hands of their grief-stricken mother.
What would we do if we could not cling to hope? Emily Dickinson said,
“Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.”
Hope does not need words. Hope is active and busy. Hope surprises us and strengthens us. Hope makes us laugh when we think we might never even smile again. Hope lifts us and cheers us on. Hope allows rest, and then challenges us to move on. Hope wakes us each morning and reassures our time for sleep. Hope always points to a future.
If hope can be defined metaphorically as a thing with feathers, then the birds outside my window become even more near and dear to my heart. For they have represented this mystery of hope. They have perched outside my window and in my soul and have sung a million songs to me through sorrow and death. But it is not the bird that I worship, but the Creator of the bird. I was at a retreat recently where the leader reminded us that God created the heavens and our earth with streams and forests and fish and birds. Then He created humans for a relationship with Him and all of his creation. And when life does not make sense, one only has to look out the window and rediscover God’s plan was and is very good. It is where our only hope abounds as life crumbles apart.
In the Christian church, this Sunday is Palm or Passion Sunday where Jesus makes his entry into Jerusalem. But looking beyond the triumphal entry, we witness a theme of mockery and death. Almost all of Jesus’ followers abandoned him and he was left to be beaten and tortured and ridiculed to death. And the gospel of Mark records the words of Jesus that have new meaning for me, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Those words were the same words we read in some of the great psalms of lament. They question God, but the despair is a hopeful prayer offered faithfully. Jesus did not want to die. He pleaded like we do for life, not death. But he trusted in his father and obediently walked through the events of the week to the cross, knowing that through his death, he would provide hope for the world – His world – to be fully restored. He gave his life for us. Jesus paid the sin debt of mankind and opened up the door to eternity with God. That is the good news of the Cross of Christ. God is the hope that “perches in our soul” and sings to us on the darkest of days. There is life after death. We have hope.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The Painter
March 23, 2009
The other day I met a painter. Oh, not the one who is getting ready to put fresh
colors on the walls of my house, but a real P-A-I-N-T-E-R, one who dabbles in oils, and paints portraits and landscapes. During our brief encounter, he showed me a small, but impressive portfolio of his work - beautiful Native Americans, children, churning seas, and still life. He might even be famous, but I allowed him his anonymity as we chatted. He commented that his students often ask him, “How do I paint a tree? How do I capture the crest of the wave?” He said he tells them to just think like the tree …to think like a wave.
So this morning I am trying to think like a tree - not to paint it, but to write about it. And I am thinking that trees do not think…. nor does a wave or a rock. But they do give us much to think about if we study them. Maybe that is what my artist friend meant. I guess that is how true expression of any artist comes forth – their thoughts of the object as they think about it and interpret it through their mind’s eye (and their heart’s as well). Isn’t that why some paintings are colorful and engaging and some are dark and removed? Isn’t it the mind of the painter that thinks instead of the subject being painted? If a painter thought like the tree as he painted, then wouldn’t all paintings be alike? That is, if the painter were honest in interpreting the thoughts of a tree, without adding any of his own thoughts to the canvas. Oh, I digress and am confusing myself.
Somehow, somewhere, our mind’s soul is drawn to capture something – whether it is on a canvas, at the potter’s wheel, in a conversation, or in the written word. And it is in the “drawing of the mind” where creativity flourishes. The “drawing” or the longing of finding richness, or completeness, or expression that is beyond what the human mind can conceive – but longs for. As a friend said, “There are just no words to describe a sunset – we just sit and watch it.”
Maybe we should sit and quietly watch more sunsets. Henri Nouwen says, “Solitude is the place of the great struggle and the great encounter – the struggle against the compulsions of the false self, and the encounter with the loving God who offers himself as the substance of the new self.” As I admire – with no words - the cherry and apple trees blooming outside my raised window, I return to the One who provides it all, the grand Artist, the substance of all creation who out of love, designed an extraordinary world with redbud trees, bald eagles, and tidal currents. And topping it all off, created you and me with a heart and soul to care for it all, to think and study and learn and wonder and worship – and interpret. The Artist of creation beckons us to think His thoughts, to learn His ways, to know Him. Maybe my friend meant, “Just think like God!” It makes one speechless for sure.
But more and more it is what gets me through the days. Days that can bring sadness and sorrow (great struggle) can also bring me a surprise of nature or a friend to remind and inspire me and I am drawn back in to see the big picture (great encounter) a little more clearly. As spring emerges from the cold earth, I realize how closely we are connected to the same cycle and must all die before we can emerge to life eternal. And yet, we are given the gift of today – that is grace. I do believe it is why Nature sings to us each day and instructs us constantly with wordless wisdom. What will we paint? Who will we think like? Sandi Patti’s song, Artist of My Soul, expresses my ramblings so well.
Oh Lord of light, of form and hue,
Who has created all things new,
Create in me, from shapeless clay,
An instrument on which you play.
God of the dance that planets tread,
Who walks beside and soars ahead,
O let me move to worship Thee;
come, Holy Spirit dance with me
God of the Living Word, Poet of Time,
teach me Your words in Your cadence and rhyme.
O Lord of beauty, Lord of art,
Who gives a song for every heart,
carve out my life, reshape and mold;
And be the artist of my soul
Teach me Your words in Your cadence and rhyme.
O Lord of beauty, Lord of art,
Who gives a song for every heart,
carve out my life, reshape and mold;
and be the artist of my soul.
The other day I met a painter. Oh, not the one who is getting ready to put fresh
colors on the walls of my house, but a real P-A-I-N-T-E-R, one who dabbles in oils, and paints portraits and landscapes. During our brief encounter, he showed me a small, but impressive portfolio of his work - beautiful Native Americans, children, churning seas, and still life. He might even be famous, but I allowed him his anonymity as we chatted. He commented that his students often ask him, “How do I paint a tree? How do I capture the crest of the wave?” He said he tells them to just think like the tree …to think like a wave.
So this morning I am trying to think like a tree - not to paint it, but to write about it. And I am thinking that trees do not think…. nor does a wave or a rock. But they do give us much to think about if we study them. Maybe that is what my artist friend meant. I guess that is how true expression of any artist comes forth – their thoughts of the object as they think about it and interpret it through their mind’s eye (and their heart’s as well). Isn’t that why some paintings are colorful and engaging and some are dark and removed? Isn’t it the mind of the painter that thinks instead of the subject being painted? If a painter thought like the tree as he painted, then wouldn’t all paintings be alike? That is, if the painter were honest in interpreting the thoughts of a tree, without adding any of his own thoughts to the canvas. Oh, I digress and am confusing myself.
Somehow, somewhere, our mind’s soul is drawn to capture something – whether it is on a canvas, at the potter’s wheel, in a conversation, or in the written word. And it is in the “drawing of the mind” where creativity flourishes. The “drawing” or the longing of finding richness, or completeness, or expression that is beyond what the human mind can conceive – but longs for. As a friend said, “There are just no words to describe a sunset – we just sit and watch it.”
Maybe we should sit and quietly watch more sunsets. Henri Nouwen says, “Solitude is the place of the great struggle and the great encounter – the struggle against the compulsions of the false self, and the encounter with the loving God who offers himself as the substance of the new self.” As I admire – with no words - the cherry and apple trees blooming outside my raised window, I return to the One who provides it all, the grand Artist, the substance of all creation who out of love, designed an extraordinary world with redbud trees, bald eagles, and tidal currents. And topping it all off, created you and me with a heart and soul to care for it all, to think and study and learn and wonder and worship – and interpret. The Artist of creation beckons us to think His thoughts, to learn His ways, to know Him. Maybe my friend meant, “Just think like God!” It makes one speechless for sure.
But more and more it is what gets me through the days. Days that can bring sadness and sorrow (great struggle) can also bring me a surprise of nature or a friend to remind and inspire me and I am drawn back in to see the big picture (great encounter) a little more clearly. As spring emerges from the cold earth, I realize how closely we are connected to the same cycle and must all die before we can emerge to life eternal. And yet, we are given the gift of today – that is grace. I do believe it is why Nature sings to us each day and instructs us constantly with wordless wisdom. What will we paint? Who will we think like? Sandi Patti’s song, Artist of My Soul, expresses my ramblings so well.
Oh Lord of light, of form and hue,
Who has created all things new,
Create in me, from shapeless clay,
An instrument on which you play.
God of the dance that planets tread,
Who walks beside and soars ahead,
O let me move to worship Thee;
come, Holy Spirit dance with me
God of the Living Word, Poet of Time,
teach me Your words in Your cadence and rhyme.
O Lord of beauty, Lord of art,
Who gives a song for every heart,
carve out my life, reshape and mold;
And be the artist of my soul
Teach me Your words in Your cadence and rhyme.
O Lord of beauty, Lord of art,
Who gives a song for every heart,
carve out my life, reshape and mold;
and be the artist of my soul.
Where are you, God?
Update March 16, 2009
I hear from so many who are hurting from loss - some past, some present, and some in the future. And God is always comes into the conversation. Where is He? Where was He? Why did He allow this? What is or was He thinking? How could this loss be in His will? And zillions of books have been written to try to explain, to offer hope, and to share personal experience. But nothing gives us the answer we really want – which is to take away that loss, to have a “do –over” from God to fix it for us.
I was reminded of this by a tender letter from one of Megan’s close friends. She shared with me how so many continue to wrestle with the loss of their friend. We discover how vulnerable we truly are when we are deeply hurt. We are slapped in the face with an untimely death or chronic illness. I remember writing early on about taking Megan back to Emory for more tests and just being in the waiting room overwhelmed me with the reality of loss for so many - too many. And I was now part of that group.
Even now I watch as Blair goes to work everyday in a children’s hospital. She witnesses firsthand little lives in crisis. She witnesses suffering children looking out the window on a sunny day, wondering why they have to be sick, longing to be that child skipping along the sidewalk – free and well. It is not fair, we say. And we ask over and over, “Why?” And we cannot find all the answers we seek. But we can find some. We can scrutinize our own situation and we can discover where God is in the process. We have to really look. It is hard and painful, but we can find Him in the midst of our heartache. Even though He can become almost hidden it seems, He does not leave us. I know that.
From my friend’s book “Hannah’s Hope”, the author says, “I am struggling very much with being angry with God. Yet something I can't understand is calming me down. Sometimes I am so mad I don't care to understand this soft, gentle Spirit. I was so close to God. I loved him. I still do. I was totally impressed with Him and adored him. I think that is why it is harder for me right now. I feel very much like a wounded lover. I am waiting for God to recapture my heart and to ignite my flame for Him again."
I love the transparency of this writer. I love admitting “something I can’t understand is calming me down” during the crisis. I felt it, and did not understand it. People would come into our home and would say they felt it. Yet at the same time we all felt so terribly wounded. We were so hurt that God was not stepping in to restore Megan’s mind. We didn’t and don’t understand it.
Looking back over the past two years, I have discovered one place where God hid himself, invisible and yet so present. He was right there beside of Megan, ministering to her and to all of us, speaking through the updates that were posted weekly. That was not me; I can assure you of that. When I first started writing weekly, I often would wait a day or two until posting. I was uncertain of my words and totally inexperienced at writing. I felt vulnerable. As I would reread to edit, I would often cry, because I knew these words were not my own, but God’s. I just happened to be a fast typist who could somehow keep up with God’s thoughts (well, at least some) and capture my pain in print. It kept me sane. It kept me focused on a task that seemed productive when nothing else did. The further she slipped away, the faster I wrote. The greater the pain, the more the words came it seemed. I remember feeling stronger after I would post an update - like a surge of energy shot through me until the next week. It marked the time. It chronicled the journey. It kept me with God, who was “recapturing my heart” in the very midst of my grief. I have to believe it broke His heart as well because Megan was so in love with Him. And scripture says that Jesus wept over a world trapped in sin and death. He wept over those he was close to and I have to believe that those who love God and have been faithful to him must make him a little teary-eyed when they face life’s death trap – at least on this side of death. He is compassionate and loving; slow to anger and full of grace.
I think what I am trying to say in this explosion of thoughts is that today, while I have Dr. Feelgood and Owen and Blair, today while I have my family and friends, today while I have others who need a caring hand to hold, today is the day I offer it. I should go and sit with the one who is ill. I should take the time to talk to my neighbor. And I should be grateful for all that I have been given.
The Wall Street Journal recently posted an article about being grateful during these uncertain days. Grateful for a job, less complaining on the job simply because one has a job; gratitude instead of greed has become more fashionable on the job front. The turn in the economy, just like a turn in one’s personal life, makes us all think simpler thoughts, review our wish list and mark off a few things unneeded. And at the same time, we learn to add a few forgotten things like gratitude and generosity, and well-spent time with our Creator, who reveals and discloses truth as we draw close and make our hearts available to Him… again.
I hear from so many who are hurting from loss - some past, some present, and some in the future. And God is always comes into the conversation. Where is He? Where was He? Why did He allow this? What is or was He thinking? How could this loss be in His will? And zillions of books have been written to try to explain, to offer hope, and to share personal experience. But nothing gives us the answer we really want – which is to take away that loss, to have a “do –over” from God to fix it for us.
I was reminded of this by a tender letter from one of Megan’s close friends. She shared with me how so many continue to wrestle with the loss of their friend. We discover how vulnerable we truly are when we are deeply hurt. We are slapped in the face with an untimely death or chronic illness. I remember writing early on about taking Megan back to Emory for more tests and just being in the waiting room overwhelmed me with the reality of loss for so many - too many. And I was now part of that group.
Even now I watch as Blair goes to work everyday in a children’s hospital. She witnesses firsthand little lives in crisis. She witnesses suffering children looking out the window on a sunny day, wondering why they have to be sick, longing to be that child skipping along the sidewalk – free and well. It is not fair, we say. And we ask over and over, “Why?” And we cannot find all the answers we seek. But we can find some. We can scrutinize our own situation and we can discover where God is in the process. We have to really look. It is hard and painful, but we can find Him in the midst of our heartache. Even though He can become almost hidden it seems, He does not leave us. I know that.
From my friend’s book “Hannah’s Hope”, the author says, “I am struggling very much with being angry with God. Yet something I can't understand is calming me down. Sometimes I am so mad I don't care to understand this soft, gentle Spirit. I was so close to God. I loved him. I still do. I was totally impressed with Him and adored him. I think that is why it is harder for me right now. I feel very much like a wounded lover. I am waiting for God to recapture my heart and to ignite my flame for Him again."
I love the transparency of this writer. I love admitting “something I can’t understand is calming me down” during the crisis. I felt it, and did not understand it. People would come into our home and would say they felt it. Yet at the same time we all felt so terribly wounded. We were so hurt that God was not stepping in to restore Megan’s mind. We didn’t and don’t understand it.
Looking back over the past two years, I have discovered one place where God hid himself, invisible and yet so present. He was right there beside of Megan, ministering to her and to all of us, speaking through the updates that were posted weekly. That was not me; I can assure you of that. When I first started writing weekly, I often would wait a day or two until posting. I was uncertain of my words and totally inexperienced at writing. I felt vulnerable. As I would reread to edit, I would often cry, because I knew these words were not my own, but God’s. I just happened to be a fast typist who could somehow keep up with God’s thoughts (well, at least some) and capture my pain in print. It kept me sane. It kept me focused on a task that seemed productive when nothing else did. The further she slipped away, the faster I wrote. The greater the pain, the more the words came it seemed. I remember feeling stronger after I would post an update - like a surge of energy shot through me until the next week. It marked the time. It chronicled the journey. It kept me with God, who was “recapturing my heart” in the very midst of my grief. I have to believe it broke His heart as well because Megan was so in love with Him. And scripture says that Jesus wept over a world trapped in sin and death. He wept over those he was close to and I have to believe that those who love God and have been faithful to him must make him a little teary-eyed when they face life’s death trap – at least on this side of death. He is compassionate and loving; slow to anger and full of grace.
I think what I am trying to say in this explosion of thoughts is that today, while I have Dr. Feelgood and Owen and Blair, today while I have my family and friends, today while I have others who need a caring hand to hold, today is the day I offer it. I should go and sit with the one who is ill. I should take the time to talk to my neighbor. And I should be grateful for all that I have been given.
The Wall Street Journal recently posted an article about being grateful during these uncertain days. Grateful for a job, less complaining on the job simply because one has a job; gratitude instead of greed has become more fashionable on the job front. The turn in the economy, just like a turn in one’s personal life, makes us all think simpler thoughts, review our wish list and mark off a few things unneeded. And at the same time, we learn to add a few forgotten things like gratitude and generosity, and well-spent time with our Creator, who reveals and discloses truth as we draw close and make our hearts available to Him… again.
The Insurance Adjuster
February 18, 2009
The birds outside my window this morning seem unusually loud. In spite of the cold rain, they are persistent in their singing. My resident cardinals sing “What cheer! What cheer!” And the robins sing, “Cheerily, Cheer-Up!” Nature is cheerful, outside our door, to welcome us to another day, no matter how the day begins. But before the birds started to sing, I woke to a most unwelcome song of dripping water coming into our attic and another familiar voice singing (oh please, let it be a dream at 5:00 a.m.), “Oh, No, don’t let the rain come down! My roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown!” We thought we had that fixed a few months ago. Apparently not. My plans for the day have changed to be at home to meet with insurance adjusters and repair people. And as I sit here and wait and write, I am thankful for the song of the birds. Nature waits in perfect harmony while we adjust to an imperfect world.
Yesterday I received news of another family adjusting to the heartbreaking news of a CJD diagnosis. For a disease to be so rare it certainly has reared it ugly head too often and I am overcome with grief and heartbreak for a family that I do not even know. All of a sudden, I am swept back into the first knowledge of a foreign disease attacking my child, reliving and remembering the horror and disbelief of the diagnosis, aching now for someone else who has to walk that road. But it happens every day. Someone wakes up to change in the weather or change in their lives that is not easy to bear. So we look for help. We call friends and doctors and adjusters. We wait and listen to the rain fall on our lives, helpless until help arrives; hoping the damage is minimal and quickly fixed and we can get back to normal. We change our plans. We don’t always sing about it.
It is just a few hours now since waking to the rain and I am happy to report that our insurance agent has already sent the adjuster and the claim has been filed and help is on the way. Now that is fast service. Insurance is a good thing since more rain is expected this afternoon. Isn’t this all very similar to having the Lord in our lives, ready and available to help us with our “claims”? But often, we treat the Lord like we treat our insurance adjuster. Oh, we go to church and we give our time and money, filing our Bible like we file our policy, but we don’t really KNOW the one who can help us until a crisis comes and we cry for help. Then we rummage around, find the phone number, and start making demands for service right away. Where is God when I need him?
I am reminded to be so grateful when I wake to the music of the cardinals and the robins remembering what Megan and I said every day, “This is the day the Lord hath made, we will be glad and rejoice in it.” And I will spend some time waiting on God, the Great Adjuster, the one who covers our lives with a promise for whatever the day may bring, reading his Word, listening for His direction, knowing that there will be some rain at some time. And even though our hearts have big, big holes, I know I won’t drown. I can trust the One who paid for my policy on a cross. It’s good insurance.
The birds outside my window this morning seem unusually loud. In spite of the cold rain, they are persistent in their singing. My resident cardinals sing “What cheer! What cheer!” And the robins sing, “Cheerily, Cheer-Up!” Nature is cheerful, outside our door, to welcome us to another day, no matter how the day begins. But before the birds started to sing, I woke to a most unwelcome song of dripping water coming into our attic and another familiar voice singing (oh please, let it be a dream at 5:00 a.m.), “Oh, No, don’t let the rain come down! My roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown!” We thought we had that fixed a few months ago. Apparently not. My plans for the day have changed to be at home to meet with insurance adjusters and repair people. And as I sit here and wait and write, I am thankful for the song of the birds. Nature waits in perfect harmony while we adjust to an imperfect world.
Yesterday I received news of another family adjusting to the heartbreaking news of a CJD diagnosis. For a disease to be so rare it certainly has reared it ugly head too often and I am overcome with grief and heartbreak for a family that I do not even know. All of a sudden, I am swept back into the first knowledge of a foreign disease attacking my child, reliving and remembering the horror and disbelief of the diagnosis, aching now for someone else who has to walk that road. But it happens every day. Someone wakes up to change in the weather or change in their lives that is not easy to bear. So we look for help. We call friends and doctors and adjusters. We wait and listen to the rain fall on our lives, helpless until help arrives; hoping the damage is minimal and quickly fixed and we can get back to normal. We change our plans. We don’t always sing about it.
It is just a few hours now since waking to the rain and I am happy to report that our insurance agent has already sent the adjuster and the claim has been filed and help is on the way. Now that is fast service. Insurance is a good thing since more rain is expected this afternoon. Isn’t this all very similar to having the Lord in our lives, ready and available to help us with our “claims”? But often, we treat the Lord like we treat our insurance adjuster. Oh, we go to church and we give our time and money, filing our Bible like we file our policy, but we don’t really KNOW the one who can help us until a crisis comes and we cry for help. Then we rummage around, find the phone number, and start making demands for service right away. Where is God when I need him?
I am reminded to be so grateful when I wake to the music of the cardinals and the robins remembering what Megan and I said every day, “This is the day the Lord hath made, we will be glad and rejoice in it.” And I will spend some time waiting on God, the Great Adjuster, the one who covers our lives with a promise for whatever the day may bring, reading his Word, listening for His direction, knowing that there will be some rain at some time. And even though our hearts have big, big holes, I know I won’t drown. I can trust the One who paid for my policy on a cross. It’s good insurance.
Catching Secrets
Update January 25, 2009
If we are watching, inspiration is often just a glance away. If we quiet ourselves for even a short time, trust can find us and fill us with a hope that is not from earthly provision. And it fills us up with an overflow of the goodness and wonder of God. Throughout the long illness, we felt it in our home. We did not understand it, but we all felt it and drew courage from it. And we marveled and wondered through our tears. We found strength in the beauty of a night sky or a blooming flower as well as fervent prayers. Together, we moved through the seasons with the long illness and every step there was symbolic and real provision.
Real provision was demonstrated on the golf course yesterday. Two birds, entirely different, each in their own habitat, inspired my thoughts (if only Nature could inspire my swing). As the four of us played our round, there were these brief, silent pauses just to gaze at them. One was a beautiful blue-gray heron, almost camouflaged by the gray of the bare trees, perched at the edge of the lake, watching for the moment food would appear – still, quiet, watching, and waiting. The other was a giant hawk peering down from a high vantage point of a pine tree, waiting for us to move on so his own still, quiet, watching and waiting could continue without human disturbance. Each bird, so wondrously fitted for their place in the world, so different in shape and size, both waiting on provision, instinctively trusting that they were in the right spot for survival.
Oh, that we could be that quiet and confident. We flit around, change positions, and alter our surroundings, neglect duties and end up lost and confused – and still hungry for something that our efforts just don’t seem to satisfy. And being blessed with the power to reason, we take it to the extreme with worry and stress, thinking that everything is dependent on our own ability. Hope and trust vanish. We forget that we, too, were created by the same authority that created the hawk and the heron, with a plan and a purpose for our lives.
Jesus said in Matthew 6:26 “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” And so then I guess we have to ask ourselves if we feel “valuable” in the eyes of God. Do we understand we have a heavenly father who loves us? Oswald Chambers says that “at the beginning of a Christian life, we are full of requests to God (I have made my share of those!). But then we find that God wants to get us into an intimate relationship with Himself – to get us in touch with His purposes. Are we so intimately united to Jesus’ idea of prayer – “Thy will be done” that we catch the secrets of God? What makes God so dear to us is not so much His big blessings to us, but the tiny things, because they show His amazing intimacy with us – He knows every detail of each of our individual lives.”
I think one of the “secrets of God” we caught through the long illness is that we can count on Him in the tiniest of things for provision. It might be through a favorite book reread with new insight; it might be through a new friendship found, or something as simple as catching a glimpse of a bird doing what it does naturally. We are covered everyday with secrets. They are ours for the catching.
If we are watching, inspiration is often just a glance away. If we quiet ourselves for even a short time, trust can find us and fill us with a hope that is not from earthly provision. And it fills us up with an overflow of the goodness and wonder of God. Throughout the long illness, we felt it in our home. We did not understand it, but we all felt it and drew courage from it. And we marveled and wondered through our tears. We found strength in the beauty of a night sky or a blooming flower as well as fervent prayers. Together, we moved through the seasons with the long illness and every step there was symbolic and real provision.
Real provision was demonstrated on the golf course yesterday. Two birds, entirely different, each in their own habitat, inspired my thoughts (if only Nature could inspire my swing). As the four of us played our round, there were these brief, silent pauses just to gaze at them. One was a beautiful blue-gray heron, almost camouflaged by the gray of the bare trees, perched at the edge of the lake, watching for the moment food would appear – still, quiet, watching, and waiting. The other was a giant hawk peering down from a high vantage point of a pine tree, waiting for us to move on so his own still, quiet, watching and waiting could continue without human disturbance. Each bird, so wondrously fitted for their place in the world, so different in shape and size, both waiting on provision, instinctively trusting that they were in the right spot for survival.
Oh, that we could be that quiet and confident. We flit around, change positions, and alter our surroundings, neglect duties and end up lost and confused – and still hungry for something that our efforts just don’t seem to satisfy. And being blessed with the power to reason, we take it to the extreme with worry and stress, thinking that everything is dependent on our own ability. Hope and trust vanish. We forget that we, too, were created by the same authority that created the hawk and the heron, with a plan and a purpose for our lives.
Jesus said in Matthew 6:26 “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” And so then I guess we have to ask ourselves if we feel “valuable” in the eyes of God. Do we understand we have a heavenly father who loves us? Oswald Chambers says that “at the beginning of a Christian life, we are full of requests to God (I have made my share of those!). But then we find that God wants to get us into an intimate relationship with Himself – to get us in touch with His purposes. Are we so intimately united to Jesus’ idea of prayer – “Thy will be done” that we catch the secrets of God? What makes God so dear to us is not so much His big blessings to us, but the tiny things, because they show His amazing intimacy with us – He knows every detail of each of our individual lives.”
I think one of the “secrets of God” we caught through the long illness is that we can count on Him in the tiniest of things for provision. It might be through a favorite book reread with new insight; it might be through a new friendship found, or something as simple as catching a glimpse of a bird doing what it does naturally. We are covered everyday with secrets. They are ours for the catching.
"O Brother, Where Art Thou?"
January 12, 2009
At church yesterday a group sang “As I went down to the river to pray” and we were invited to come to the baptismal font and dip our hands in the water as a reminder of having the Holy Spirit in our lives. We moved forward to the verses, “O Sister, O Brother, O Father, O Mother, O Sinner, come on down, studying about that good old way, who shall wear the robe and crown, Good Lord, show me the way.”
As I listened to the chant of the gospel song, I was thinking more of an event that happened earlier in the week far out in Idaho. With permission to share, Owen told us about going one night after work to some natural hot springs to soak (poor man’s jacuzzi!). He said the stars and moon were brilliant shining down. And sitting there beside him was the presence of Megan. What an experience! To sit in the warmth of the earth’s heated waters, to witness the starry heavens in unpolluted skies, and to feel a sister’s presence so intensely is a picture I will never forget. And for him, it must have been one of those “Ah-ha” moments - not capturable on film or even a written page, but only in and for his aching heart.
Sometimes we have to get away from it all to find it. Sometimes we have to clear the air, find a remote place, and seek silence to find it. The defining of “it” is often the issue – for me in Atlanta or my son in Idaho. Going to the waters of the baptismal font took me back to the basics of who I am and what I am called to be. Possibly going to the hot springs was the moment God came near to Owen, letting him have a glimpse of Megan in her beauty and wellness, assuring him that He is in control and is with us as we journey through life. I will believe that hot springs do have healing power.
And as I tried to define “it” last week for me, my word for the year “work” seemed to be totally unemployed. I was trapped in frivolity, lingering (by choice) in confusion and distraction, and I gave in to the good intentions of my friends who said I needed it, deserved it, earned it. By the end of the week it got to be comical and I felt as though God, in his sense of humor, was showing me just how very tricky and easy it is to self-indulge by many “good” things, and leave him waiting for me to get serious about the best that He has for me.
For several reasons I will not forget the events of this week early in the New Year. I will look at it on my calendar as a reminder of what I am doing today, tomorrow, and for whom. I am reminded of a quote that Megan had on her refrigerator in her apartment that reads:
“You go nowhere by accident.
Wherever you go, God is sending you.
Wherever you are, God has put you there.
Christ, who dwells in you has something
He wants you to do through where you are.
Believe this and go in His grace, love, and power.”
Robert Halverson
At church yesterday a group sang “As I went down to the river to pray” and we were invited to come to the baptismal font and dip our hands in the water as a reminder of having the Holy Spirit in our lives. We moved forward to the verses, “O Sister, O Brother, O Father, O Mother, O Sinner, come on down, studying about that good old way, who shall wear the robe and crown, Good Lord, show me the way.”
As I listened to the chant of the gospel song, I was thinking more of an event that happened earlier in the week far out in Idaho. With permission to share, Owen told us about going one night after work to some natural hot springs to soak (poor man’s jacuzzi!). He said the stars and moon were brilliant shining down. And sitting there beside him was the presence of Megan. What an experience! To sit in the warmth of the earth’s heated waters, to witness the starry heavens in unpolluted skies, and to feel a sister’s presence so intensely is a picture I will never forget. And for him, it must have been one of those “Ah-ha” moments - not capturable on film or even a written page, but only in and for his aching heart.
Sometimes we have to get away from it all to find it. Sometimes we have to clear the air, find a remote place, and seek silence to find it. The defining of “it” is often the issue – for me in Atlanta or my son in Idaho. Going to the waters of the baptismal font took me back to the basics of who I am and what I am called to be. Possibly going to the hot springs was the moment God came near to Owen, letting him have a glimpse of Megan in her beauty and wellness, assuring him that He is in control and is with us as we journey through life. I will believe that hot springs do have healing power.
And as I tried to define “it” last week for me, my word for the year “work” seemed to be totally unemployed. I was trapped in frivolity, lingering (by choice) in confusion and distraction, and I gave in to the good intentions of my friends who said I needed it, deserved it, earned it. By the end of the week it got to be comical and I felt as though God, in his sense of humor, was showing me just how very tricky and easy it is to self-indulge by many “good” things, and leave him waiting for me to get serious about the best that He has for me.
For several reasons I will not forget the events of this week early in the New Year. I will look at it on my calendar as a reminder of what I am doing today, tomorrow, and for whom. I am reminded of a quote that Megan had on her refrigerator in her apartment that reads:
“You go nowhere by accident.
Wherever you go, God is sending you.
Wherever you are, God has put you there.
Christ, who dwells in you has something
He wants you to do through where you are.
Believe this and go in His grace, love, and power.”
Robert Halverson
A Word for the New Year
December 30, 2008
This is the last writing for 2008 – a most memorable year. Much has been said. Much has been left unsaid. The New Year is coming and there is much to do. There is part of me that wants 2008 back –all the care, the time around her bed, the smell of her freshly washed hair, the visits, the prayerful waiting together, holding her hand, the fellowship of clinging to the hope that she might be miraculously cured. And there is part of me that, as along as I live, will never stop wanting her back– her joyful presence among us, healthy and well. Our whole family will always want that, but know it is not possible and so must work this year to learn more about acceptance, hope, identity, survival, and maybe even some joy.
So, on Christmas Day, we flew away to the desert to begin the re-identification of our family. We enjoyed golf, the spa, dining out, sightseeing, and warming by the pinion fires. We sang “Happy Birthday” over the phone to Owen working in Idaho and sent him pictures of giant cactuses and ourselves acting happy. Every night we looked up at the bright stars and every morning, watched the sun rise over the desert mountains. Sometimes it felt more like work than a vacation, but it was a step toward the New Year.
For as long as I can remember, Dr. Feelgood has selected a “theme word” for the New Year. Words like discipline, focus, champagne and candlelight (not his best choice for 2008, but I am hoping he will try that one again!) come to mind, just to name a few. Last year, I joined him and selected a word of my own – light. It served me well and offered its glimmer on my darkest day of the year – September 12th. God’s Word was a “lamp onto my feet and a light onto my path”.
And with that light to guide, I have decided this year that my word will be “work”. That may sound simple to some who have regular jobs with descriptions that keep them on task “9 to 5” and provide a lifestyle. But I am thinking of a more difficult kind of work. For me, it is the work of grieving a loss and moving through it, discovering new steps I need to take in order to become productive and contribute to my world in ways that have worth – not just for something to do, or for my bank account, or someone else’s approval, but for God’s glory.
Maybe it has not been your best year either. Some of you have journeyed so very closely that you are as grief-stricken and exhausted as I am. And yet, there is exhilaration in our experience of loss, knowing that God came near in 2008 and made Megan new eternally - forever. I will not ever understand this mystery of faith, but I cling to it and am grateful for the hope it provides. It will be enough in 2009.
And because I did not send Christmas cards or write the traditional letter, here is my copied New Year’s Greeting (author unknown – maybe God?) that I find rather wonderful. I will read it often as I work.
I Am The New Year
I am an unspoiled page in your book of time.
I am your next chance at the art of living.
I am your opportunity to practice
what you have learned about life during the past 12 months.
All that you sought and didn’t find is hidden in me,
waiting for you to search it out with more determination.
All the good that you tried for and didn’t achieve,
is mine to grant when you have fewer conflicting desires.
All that you dreamed but did not dare to do,
all the faith that you claimed but did not have –
these slumber lightly,
waiting to be awakened by the touch of a strong purpose.
I am your opportunity to renew
your allegiance to HIM who said,
“BEHOLD, I MAKE ALL THINGS NEW”
I AM THE NEW YEAR
This is the last writing for 2008 – a most memorable year. Much has been said. Much has been left unsaid. The New Year is coming and there is much to do. There is part of me that wants 2008 back –all the care, the time around her bed, the smell of her freshly washed hair, the visits, the prayerful waiting together, holding her hand, the fellowship of clinging to the hope that she might be miraculously cured. And there is part of me that, as along as I live, will never stop wanting her back– her joyful presence among us, healthy and well. Our whole family will always want that, but know it is not possible and so must work this year to learn more about acceptance, hope, identity, survival, and maybe even some joy.
So, on Christmas Day, we flew away to the desert to begin the re-identification of our family. We enjoyed golf, the spa, dining out, sightseeing, and warming by the pinion fires. We sang “Happy Birthday” over the phone to Owen working in Idaho and sent him pictures of giant cactuses and ourselves acting happy. Every night we looked up at the bright stars and every morning, watched the sun rise over the desert mountains. Sometimes it felt more like work than a vacation, but it was a step toward the New Year.
For as long as I can remember, Dr. Feelgood has selected a “theme word” for the New Year. Words like discipline, focus, champagne and candlelight (not his best choice for 2008, but I am hoping he will try that one again!) come to mind, just to name a few. Last year, I joined him and selected a word of my own – light. It served me well and offered its glimmer on my darkest day of the year – September 12th. God’s Word was a “lamp onto my feet and a light onto my path”.
And with that light to guide, I have decided this year that my word will be “work”. That may sound simple to some who have regular jobs with descriptions that keep them on task “9 to 5” and provide a lifestyle. But I am thinking of a more difficult kind of work. For me, it is the work of grieving a loss and moving through it, discovering new steps I need to take in order to become productive and contribute to my world in ways that have worth – not just for something to do, or for my bank account, or someone else’s approval, but for God’s glory.
Maybe it has not been your best year either. Some of you have journeyed so very closely that you are as grief-stricken and exhausted as I am. And yet, there is exhilaration in our experience of loss, knowing that God came near in 2008 and made Megan new eternally - forever. I will not ever understand this mystery of faith, but I cling to it and am grateful for the hope it provides. It will be enough in 2009.
And because I did not send Christmas cards or write the traditional letter, here is my copied New Year’s Greeting (author unknown – maybe God?) that I find rather wonderful. I will read it often as I work.
I Am The New Year
I am an unspoiled page in your book of time.
I am your next chance at the art of living.
I am your opportunity to practice
what you have learned about life during the past 12 months.
All that you sought and didn’t find is hidden in me,
waiting for you to search it out with more determination.
All the good that you tried for and didn’t achieve,
is mine to grant when you have fewer conflicting desires.
All that you dreamed but did not dare to do,
all the faith that you claimed but did not have –
these slumber lightly,
waiting to be awakened by the touch of a strong purpose.
I am your opportunity to renew
your allegiance to HIM who said,
“BEHOLD, I MAKE ALL THINGS NEW”
I AM THE NEW YEAR
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