Mired in sufferings

"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;  always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. 2 Cor 4:8-18 

Suffering, affliction, persecution, perplexed, struck down--yes, the older I get, the more suffering I see, the more perplexed I become at situations and conditions in the world, at things people do. I have seen people I know and love afflicted with mental or physical disease, or struck down in the blink of an eye by some calamity...a tornado, a fatal car accident, being in the "wrong place at the wrong time." So much suffering, and pain, and anguish, it can take our mind off our purpose, our goal, our destiny. Like quicksand, we get mired in that suffering, our feet glued into heavy iron boots, and we just stare at our sufferings with our mouths open, like passersby gawking at some tragic and bloody accident on the highway--horrible, death everywhere, but we cannot look away, so we miss the beauty that is right in front of us.  

I'm suffering lately. So are many friends if mine--some physically, some mentally or spiritually, or even all three. Many times (uh, most times) I wallow in my suffering.  I forget the glorious revelations and the eternity that are mine to be had.  Sorrow is a normal emotion, it is healthy, it can be healing, and we should not try to rush through grief, just as one cannot force a physical body to get well faster just by wishing it to be healthy. Suffering is part of living. You can no more avoid suffering than you can avoid breathing. All the money in the world cannot buy eternal happiness, nor can it prevent suffering.  

How I handle suffering and affliction is both determined by my faith, and strengthens my faith. If my faith is in my own abilities, or in some 12-step program of the day, I throw myself on those resources. And I am not relieved. But, the more I remind myself to "look unto the hills from whence my help comes," the closer those hills seem to be, and the quicker I get the help. So how do I handle my suffering? When I am, as I am now, mired in my suffering, my feet locked in its grasping tentacles, do I look down on my suffering? Or do I look up? Or out into the world to see who else may be suffering? Who else could use a smile, or a handshake, or even just someone's eyes to meet theirs and let them know someone else understands their pain.  

In this persecution we are undergoing, do I wring my hands, and cry "woe is me, woe is me" and wonder when will God rescue me from this horrible fate? Or do I realize He will never leave or forsake me, and that this trial, yes, even THIS, had to go through His tender, nail-scarred hands before falling on me? Yes, His will be done, always...not just the will that we wimpy humans want to pick out for ourselves.  

And then there are friends of mine who are ill...seriously ill. They are afflicted, with disease, with failing bodies and minds, and some with failing spirits. A few of them seem to be crushed, appear to be giving up. For these I say a special prayer. Not because I am stronger than they are--oh no, because I, too, have wallowed in that pit of despair many times, and felt the crushing weight of it too much to bear.  Without the prayers of the unseen, I, too, would have been crushed. 

Many have lifted me up so many times, and many still are. And I lift up my dear friends, who are fighting their own battles, and suffering: Steve, Jenny, Holmes, Connie, Lynn, Wayne. Be strong.You are afflicted, but you are NOT crushed. Perplexed, yes, but there ain't no way you will despair. Persecuted by others? Yes, but He will not forsake you, and neither will I. And if you feel struck down, you are NOT destroyed. Hold out your hand. A fellow sufferer will pull you up.  

For as Paul so beautifully wrote to the churches in Corinth and in Rome:

"Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." 

and 

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. - Romans 8:18.   

Cultivating a Servant's Heart

This week I have been struggling with the reality of learning to have a servant's heart, of being a servant. I keep trying to skip the homework lesson, but the Lord does not want to let me slide on it.  Silly me, here I figured just because I volunteer 40 hours a week at a local non-profit store, I could get a free pass.  And wait, what about those Meals on Wheels I deliver one day a week? That should count as extra credit!  And, as if that isn't enough, here we are, in the final stages of organizing a fundraiser for childhood cancer research--quite a successful fundraiser, if I must say so myself! While I am taking care of my mentally handicapped elderly brother.  And trying to muddle through a messy legal battle. What more could I be doing? Heck, I am awesome!  

Gulp...That was a big chunk of humble pie I just choked on.

Serving with a servant's heart doesn't meant serving for the purpose of being noticed, or for the purpose of self-love, or praises of others.  A servant's heart serves others by seeking to meet the real needs of another.  Without seeking praise. Or recognition. Or appreciation. Or even a thank you. The humility of it all smacked me in the forehead yesterday morning, when I stayed in bed an extra ten minutes.  My husband had made my brother a quick breakfast of cereal and juice, but had to leave for an appointment before he could make coffee. He rushed off, I threw on a robe, and came out in the living room, said good morning to my brother, and started to head to the kitchen for a drink of water. Before I went five steps, my brother bluntly asked if I was ever going to make him some coffee. I stopped.  I bit my tongue. And that is when it hit me. What if that had been my four-year old granddaughter asking me, "Nana, when are you going to get me some juice?"

Being a servant, having a servant's heart, is looking at everyone, every person you serve, as if he is Christ.  Even when the person you serve is grouchy, or isn't a cute, sweet little baby.  Or won't ever stop needing you. Or will ever return the favor, or ever appreciate you. Yes, even if the person is that customer who has Aspergers' and is rude to you every single time she comes in the store, the one who glares at you or calls you names.  

Because having a servant's heart is NOT about being a servant just to someone else...it is about being in submission to God first, THEN being in submission to one another. Submitting to their real needs, willingly, and therefore subjugating my own needs, with zero desire for praise or payback. Every relationship I have, I must have a servant's heart. Sister, friend, daughter, mother, volunteer, wife, child of God.  A servant's heart.

Lord give me a servant's heart.

With Six you get...New Underwear!

Recently, while talking to my BFF, Brandy, I gasped, oh my goodness, with six I get underwear!  Of course, being younger than me, she didn't grasp the reference to a movie from the 60s, called "With Six you get Eggroll", but that's quite alright...she has Netflix and can rent the movie.   Her five children will enjoy it.  (If you haven't seen the movie, rent it...on Netflix, on cable, whatever.  It is an innocent, hilarious, and fun romantic comedy (yes, in color).  You don't get the title/punchline until the end of the movie, but that's okay...it's still a great movie.)

Anyway, I realized last month, in a completely illogical and random moment, that, (a) I have six grandchildren, (b) my oldest grandchild is 9 years old, and (c) the newest pair of undies I own is older than my oldest grandchild.   Brandy, like me, was quite understandably shocked at the state of my unmentionables; they truly were, well, unmentionable.  She scolded me quite vehemently for at least, oh, I don't know, 13 minutes, on the need to maintain appropriate undergarments, and to invest in oneself, not just in one's children and grandchildren.  It was disgraceful to have a drawerful of shapeless cotton and nylon panties with little to no elastic remaining in them. No wonder my LulaRoe leggings were so uncomfortable!  So, being the consummate online shopper that I am, I researched "best women's undies" based on body shape.  I had no idea how much research has been done on the subject.

• I found a blog outlining the frequency of underwear replacement, how many colors one needed, and the need to replace after one changed partners (ewww!)
• There are evidently SIX types of underwear every woman should own--from a g-string, to a thong, to bikini, to brief, to boy shorts, to high waisted. Seriously, every woman?  I am going to take a poll and find out how many women actually own all six of these.  
• One designer actually says the shape of a woman's derrière falls into one of five basic shapes:  round, A-shape, heart, square, or v-shape.  And that determines the type of undies she should buy.  Sack of potatoes is evidently not among one of those basic shapes.  

• Women prefer color undies, and real women do NOT buy thongs, anymore. Of course, most women already knew this.  Contrary to the Victoria's Secret runway shows and all the hoopla, the most popular items in those stores are those shapeless pajama-like pants you see in airport terminals with the word P-I-N-K across the bottom
• Comfort is in; lace and buttons and bows are out

I know you are dying to know what I came up, and what brand I decided to buy (at least for the next nine years).  Well, the verdict is in:  Warners Womens' no pinching, no problem, modern brief panties. Comfy undies, about $8/pair, five stars, on Amazon.com, on my doorstep in two days (I really do love Amazon Prime).  Tried out my initial three pair...then promptly ordered seven more. 

My hubby thinks $8 per pair a bit excessive.  But then he never really buys new briefs either...since yours truly does the laundry, I'm the one who knows when to put in that Amazon order for another three-pack of Fruit of the Looms and phase out his old threadbare ones.

Not sure if the children are finished giving us grandkids.  

But I promise I will try to be better about refreshing my wardrobe.

Finding Rest When You Cannot Sleep

Rest, relaxation, sleep--these three seem to hide from me, evade me, tease me, escape me, when I need them most.  Sometimes it is because I am trying too hard, and have forgotten to whom I am to turn. I have learned, though, that rest is not always obtained through sleep. Over the past several years, I have benefited the most through prayer and introspection and quiet communication with my God, in listening to what He wants to tell me about myself, my faults, my problems, my situation.  Lately, He is helping me find rest. Rest in Him. In His Word.  In His Grace.  In His Holy Spirit. In His Son. In the communion of His saints. Despite fitful sleep, I am the most refreshed spending time with Him. And I am actually thankful for this trial He is taking us through because I know it will bring Him glory.  

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."   Matthew 11:28-29

"And He said, 'My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.'" 

Exodus 33:14

"In peace I will both lie down and sleep, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety."   Psalm 4:8

"Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for Him; fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way, over the man who carries out evil devices!"

Psalm 37:7

"That times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Christ appointed for you, Jesus, whom heaven must receive until the time for restoring all the things about which God spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets long ago."   Acts 3:20-21

Welcoming Grief and Sadness

I used to think Christians had all the answers, all the luck, great health, beautiful children, perpetual happiness.  I mean, regardless of what life handed them, there they were, ready to jump into a lion's den or hang upside down on a cross or shake hands with a leper.  Christians never got sad, did they? At least not for a long period of time, because they had eternity to be happy...and they had so many friends, and of course, they have God on their side, right? All that singing and clapping and hallelujah stuff....Christians are a bunch of happy campers. And they NEVER EVER stay sad for long. Right? So, as a Christian, if I am sad, I must be doing something wrong, right?

Wrong.  

Sadness and grief. These are powerful emotions, and normal reactions to human loss. God understands that--He created us, and our jumbled bag of emotions. Jesus, fully human, yet fully God, wept when Lazarus died. I know this, my head knows this, my soul knows this, yet I was struggling with welcoming my grief. But I am getting better at it. Because hiding my grief with false smiles, with busy-ness, with depression, behind facades of "I'm fine, how are you?s" was just too damn exhausting.  

Despite previous posts, I am overwhelmed with sadness, practically every day lately. While no one has died, I have lost most of my birth family--my mother, my sisters, my sisters 'families--even though they are still living.  I have no recourse to right the wrongs, no way to confront them, no court in which I may recover what I have lost. The damage--irreparable. The grief--immeasurable, and at times, nearly unbearable. Writing helps, reading helps, keeping busy helps, and yes, praying definitely helps lessen the sadness, but in truth, I do not want to escape the sadness.  I embrace it. I welcome it. I ache for it. Because in this deep, dark pool of sadness, my faith is tested, my soul is stripped completely bare. The proverbial rug has been ripped out from under my feet, and my world as i knew it has been flipped completely upside down. Yes, I have some constants of my life; I am not Job, after all. I have my husband, my home, my children and precious grandchildren, my dad and stepmother, my in-laws.  I am loved, I have friends, I have my health. But as anyone who suffers loss, whether through death, or divorce, or separation, will tell you, sadness is not about what you have that matters--it is what you have lost.

In the depth of that heart-wrenching loss, with everything topsy-turvy, my world upside down, nothing making any sense; when at a moment's notice I may just burst into tears while drinking a cup of coffee at the local bakery, or run out and sit in my car and sob uncontrollably for two hours in the freezing cold; when I feel like sleeping and never getting up, when I get irrationally angry at my husband...I welcome the grief, the sadness, the accompanying confusion, because it truly does make me see the tenets of my faith clearer. For now I MUST lean on everything I have believed up until now, the advice and counsel I have so freely given to others in their times of need.  When the bottom has fallen out of the boat, and you don't know how to swim anymore, the only option is to fall back on that life preserver that has been floating out there all along.  

I grab it. I hang on to it.  

Today it is the only thing keeping me afloat.

Of Mustard Seeds, Mountains, and Molehills

First, I dealt with my old friend, Fear. God strengthened me, and we've dealt Fear a deadly blow. But now, several new enemies--Sadness, Blame and Regret--raise their ugly, pitiful heads. "Why did you take your mom in?," they slyly ask, and "You knew this would happen...it's all your fault," they hiss. I feel the storm hitting me, wind pushing me, rain and hail pelting my face, soaking me and chilling me to the bone, and just when I feel as if I am going to give up, exhausted, I remember I have someone behind me. To lean on. To hold me up. To keep me warm and dry. So I lean on Jesus, and I scream out against the storm, and I cry, sometimes sobbing, as I pray His name out loud. And when I am feeling very, very weak and cold, He holds me in His Hand, and comforts me with His breath, and soothes me to sleep. I am safe, in His fortress. No waves can topple me.

But then I wake up, startled, because there is a new twist, and the mountain suddenly looms larger. Maybe I need to "do" something.  I mean, someone has to "do" something, right? So I start to walk toward that mountain, I shake my fist at it, I start to run. But no matter how fast I run, it gets bigger, and bigger, and the air gets thinner, and harder to breathe, and my sides are hurting, and my feet hurt. I can't make it. The mountain is too big.  It is too far. And then I remember the mustard seed in my pocket. And I know that with just my tiny, teeny weenie little mustard seed of faith, I can make that mountain into a molehill. With Christ. For His glory. Not mine.  

Tonight my emotions are raw, bleeding, and throbbing. In my soul, and in my mind, and deep inside my heart, I know God has this latest tribulation, this manifestation of evil and sin and selfishness. But in my humanness, my heart, I ache. Oh how I ache. I am in shock, in disbelief, over what the woman who gave me life has done, the things she said in the summons we received. And I am hurt, and saddened by the betrayal of at least one, if not both sisters. I feel as if I have had a living, beating piece of me cruelly ripped out of body, and thrown in front of me, then torn to shreds as if it never mattered. That part of my life--all those memories, whether good or bad--mean nothing to them.The future memories we were to make together as old ladies?  Gone.  

Do I forgive them? Of  course. Will we ever reconcile? Only God knows. For now, I am dealing with one huge mountain of hurt. I cannot hide from, run from it, or cover it up.  It looms large and ugly and casts an ugly shadow, a jagged scar on my life. But God and I are going to whittle it down to a molehill, one spoonful at a time.  Regardless of the outcome, God will be glorified. What began as something evil, intended to hurt, will bring glory to the one true God. For I have a brilliant light, in the shape of a cross, behind me and over me, to cancel out any shadow and to heal any scar, regardless how big or dark or ugly they may be.  

Like a Wildflower

I love all my children, and I absolutely adore my grandchildren.  I don't have favorites, and I love them equally, but I love them in different ways.  Each one of them means something special to me; each of them is a wonderful, irreplaceable, priceless gift from God.  When I had only one grandchild, I was blogging constantly, posting photos all over the place--I was obsessed.  Then came two, and I was still quite active on the web, but less so.  Then three, four, five....and now six!  I post photos, and quips, and videos.  And yes, I am even more obsessed and in love with them than before.  But I must apologize for my scanty blogs of late--I spend most of my time on FaceTime or FaceBook videochat with one or several of the grand babies.  Or visiting them.  Or shopping for them.  So that means less time sharing them with you.  

Most recently, I spent two glorious weeks with our youngest grandchild, Sophie, (and her parents) celebrating her first birthday.  I reveled in every moment, every giggle, every snuggle, every smile. We played together, ate together, took walks together, napped together, read books together, and laughed a lot together.   I am totally and utterly captivated by this little being.  My daughter (her mommy) planned Sophie's birthday party around a wildflower theme: totally appropriate.  Sophie is spontaneous, sunny, pops up and thrives wherever she is planted, and brightens up the room wherever she is.  She wakes up happy, goes to bed happy, and is easy to take care of.  She is an absolute joy.  

Sophie Jo is one.  And she has stolen my heart, (which of course she will share with Lydia, Molly, Isabella, Raina, and Darrin).

But, being the wildflower that she is, that is just fine with her.  Because wildflowers look best when not alone.