The Miracle Princess

Once upon a time, there lived a woman who had two beautiful daughters.  She loved those girls with all her heart, wanting nothing but happiness for them.  If they were sad, she would make them laugh.  When they didn't understand their homework, she helped them.  She made sure they were warm, and fed, and healthy.  They went camping, and played basketball.  She took them to their games and their concerts.  And she had birthday parties for them.  

When the youngest daughter was 12 years old, she got very sick.  Cancer, the doctor said.  Poor prognosis, high risk.  The woman cried and cried, but mostly she prayed for a miracle.  For her little girl to live, to fulfill her purpose, to have a chance at being a wife and a mother.  God heard that prayer, as He hears all our prayers, and He made the little girl well again.   But the doctors said she would never be able to have children of her own, which broke the woman's heart, because she knew what joy children bring, and that both of her daughters would be wonderful mothers.  

Years later, both daughters were grown, and married.  The oldest daughter had first one, then two, and finally three beautiful little girls of her own, making the woman oh so very happy.  She loved to watch her granddaughters, but especially reveled in seeing her daughter as a mother.    And, although the youngest daughter acted as if she did not really want any children, the woman knew in her heart that she was afraid.  Afraid the doctors were right.  She acted brave, and nonchalant, like she didn't care, but she did.  

Then one day, 18 years after her cancer was gone, the daughter got the the most extraordinary, surprising news.  She was pregnant!  Weeks later, she found out it was a girl.  She was thrilled and scared and nervous and excited, and thought it was just too good to be true.  But carefully, oh so carefully, she allowed herself to believe it, and then she grew happier with each passing month.  Finally, the big day came, and her little miracle was born.  A beautiful baby girl with big eyes and curly brown hair.  With each passing day, she grew more beautiful, and her mother fell more in love with her.  Everyone who met her loved her--friends, neighbors, and family.  The baby grew, smiled, took her first steps, said her first word, had her first birthday, then her second.  

The woman watched as her youngest daughter excelled as a mother,  cherishing those special moments her daughter shared with her.  She thought back to that terrible, terrible night 20 years earlier, the night she prayed for a miracle on the porch of the Ronald McDonald house.  

And realized the miracle was now complete.  

Sophie, age 2

Blowin' in the wind

Another day, another tragedy.  Senseless violence.  Blood spatter on video games so real, I want to puke.  Rubbernecking at a gory interstate multiple car crash.  Civil wars, genocide, infanticide.  Refugees from Syria, Nigeria, Rwanda, Myanmar.  Endless media coverage of graphic footage of (insert recent violent act here).  Talking heads debating who caused it, how to stop it. Finger pointing, turning a blind eye. A flurry of outrage on Instagram, FaceBook, Twitter, and at the coffee shop.  Everyone wants to do something, but time marches on.  We become even more numb, and we move on, back to our comfortable lives, satisfied that our posts and our well-meaning prayers adequately express our sorrow and indignation. Until the next time.  Who caused it?  Why?  How could someone do this?  Why doesn't God answer?  Where IS God in all this?  Blowing' in the wind...

Playing in my head right now are songs of the 60s, especially Dylan's, more specifically, the first one I learned to play on a cheap six-string guitar.  Blowing' In The Wind was written almost 60 years ago, sung by Joan Baez, Peter Paul and Mary, and of course, Dylan. It was a staple at Vietnam war protests, rallies, and sit-ins.  My generation took up the call as an anthem for change.  We thought it was simple...congregate and sing some protest songs, resist, march. Anti guns, anti-war, stop poverty, civil rights marches, stop racism. Watts,  John Lennon, Harlem, Woodstock, Guthrie, Charles Manson, Black Panthers, Patty Hearst, Ho Chi Minh Trail, Mekong Delta, communes, hippies, free love.  We were so in touch, so passionately desperate for peace, and we thought we had all the answers.  All we had to do was sing, wear flowers in our hair, and change the world. We tried to grasp the answers, hell, we tried to grasp the questions...blowin' in the wind.  

I still don't have the answer. Many people think they do. Control guns. Mental  health. Get to church. Read the Bible. Home school. Turn off your iPhones and disconnect from all the electronics. Go back to nature. Pray. Love. Do good.  Confront. Don't confront. I don't have a clue. Dylan didn't either, he was quite cryptic about it, saying "There ain't much I can say about this song, except the answer is blowin' in the wind. It ain't no book or movie or TV show or discussion group, man, it's in the wind."

Bob Dylan, Blowin in the Wind

Growing Pains

In reading 1 Samuel, I can relate to what Israel is going through in the first six chapters--God starts them on a new chapter of their lives. They had grown complacent, lazy, and had forgotten their sole purpose was to glorify God.  Their sacrifices and traditions had become stale, and a renewal of their hearts was drastically needed.  So God called out to Samuel, "And Samuel grew and the LORD was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground." (1 Sam 3:19). Yet, although all Israel knew Samuel, and realized he was the prophet of God, they STILL persisted in trusting their own ways, and tried to force God's hand by using the ark of the covenant as a talisman to defeat the Philistines. Well, God had other plans--the ark was captured, Eli and his sons died, and all seemed hopeless.  However, God used that defeat to glorify himself, and to remind everyone, including Israel, that He alone is omnipotent. The Philistines start having all sorts of problems with the pesky ark...their god falls over and breaks, mice are running rampant, and men are afflicted with tumors. They cannot get rid of that ark fast enough; Israel rejoices over their apparent good fortune. Samuel gathers them all together, though, and warns them to give themselves over completely to God--to abandon their old ways, their false gods. But when the Philistines hear all Israel is gathering in one location, they fear an uprising and a battle, so they, in turn, go up against Israel. The people of Israel start to panic, but this time, instead of trying to "help" God fix things, they instead call upon the Lord.  "And the hand of the LORD was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel." (1 Sam 7:13)

God has been teaching me, leading me, and schooling me in the ways of His grace, and I have been clumsily trying to follow His lead, to let go and let God be in control of my life. Like so many renewed Christians, I expected my life to become immediately better, for all my problems to be solved, for obstacles to just disappear, and for my enemies to be vanquished. I tried to help God, to force His hand. to second-guess what He meant to happen. And, like the people of Israel, I despaired when it seemed all was lost, that God had forsaken me, and feared being defeated yet again. Things got worse, not better. Yet, as long as I keep my eyes on God, and trust in His deliverance in His timing, my heart stops pounding and my soul rests in the blessed assurance that is in Jesus. Like Paul said to the Thessalonians, "you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven...Jesus who delivers us from the wrath to come." (1 Thess 1:9-10)

God not only loves me; He has CHOSEN me, as evidenced by my receipt of the gospel, the Good News, and by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. I must trust in Him, and imitate Christ in all I do, even when life seems hopeless.  Jesus delivers us from the wrath "to come." Despite all the fancy words of prosperity preachers like Osteen and Joyce Meyer, my faith in Christ is not the secret recipe for happiness and abundance in this life.  It does not guarantee freedom from affliction, or sorrow, or pain. Not in this world, anyway. Like Israel learned time and time again, God is with His people in all circumstances, and through this, God's people reflect His glory, and the joy of His Holy Spirit, thereby reaching others, who in turn, become believers.  Not because we have it so much better, but because they see in us how, in spite of our circumstances, our faith is a bright, shining light to a world steeped in darkness.

A Matter of Life and Death

Life. The meaning of life. The gift of life. Life's lessons. Live life to the fullest. Life is too short.  Life in the fast lane. It's a wonderful life. Enjoy your life.  Live laugh love. The best years of my life. Living' loving' it's just a woman. Life's savings.  Life's work. A life well lived. Don't waste your life.  Today is the first day of the rest of your life.  Life without parole.  I want my life back.  Live out loud. Making a living. Happy wife, happy life. Life is an adventure. Life goes on. Get a life. It's my life.  

Life. Yes, it is a miracle, a gift, a wonder.  Life can be thrilling, boring, fulfilling, and disappointing. It can drag on, or pass quickly.  While we are living it, at times we barely notice it. We cling to life and all its trappings fiercely.  We spend so much time living our lives, watching other people's lives, and fitting more into our lives, we forget that life as we know it is not eternal. I know I have. Then, one day, it suddenly hits you--life does end, will end, for you and everyone else. And when that happens, everything else grinds to a halt.  

For some, life ends unexpectedly, suddenly, tragically, and with no warning. For others, life begins to fade slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly, until one day, life is no more. Regardless, we are not used to facing the inevitability of death. We don't talk about it, even though we worry about it, and try to forestall death. We use euphemisms like "pass away," "kick the bucket," "buy the farm," "go to our eternal home"--anything so we don't have to say someone DIED. We stage illnesses to avoid saying anything like "terminal" or "end of life."  When someone is dying, or has died, the most talkative, understanding person becomes speechless, and it is all we can do to mumble our condolences, or nervously fidget and say "sorry" and then hurry off, back to our lives.  

My dad is almost 94 years old. He is an amazing, exasperating, frustrating, and at times a self-centered man. He has lived an amazing life, and is still full of life.  He has never really been sick, he still has all his marbles, and he is glad to give you a piece of his mind, even if you don't want it. Sometimes he makes me crazy, and sometimes he makes me laugh, but mostly he is a huge part of my life.  My family's lives. Together we've experienced births, deaths, weddings, divorces, birthdays, graduations, and baptisms. We have traveled around the US, to Italy, England, and to Niagara falls. We spend at least two holidays a year with him, if not more, and I have been calling him every Sunday at 8:00 pm since I can remember. Hell, we have shared so many memories with Dad and Sheila, they have become an integral part of the fabric of our life. I thought he'd live forever. I mean, I know that is impossible, but life, though it prepares you for many things, does not prepare you for the end of it.  

Thanksgiving, 2017, my parents were at our home in North Carolina, eating turkey dinner with all the trimmings, just another holiday memory for the photo albums and slide shows. Two months later, I am here with them, in their home, watching my dad die of lung disease.For the past four weeks, my world has been turned completely inside out and upside down, and my life before this is a distant, blurry other-world.  He is still my dad, still the same pain in the ass at times, but still the best father I could ever ask for. I love him like I love breathing--I take it for granted most of the time, but there are those precious moments, like now, when nothing else really matters except him. Days are extraordinary in their routine sameness.   We talk, eat, manage the mundane medical and hygiene tasks, and we are together.    I don't take care of him, or do a lot for him. I just bask in the honor of being here as his daughter, to share this very private and precious time with him and his wife.  We talk about dying, we talk about life, our lives, and we talk about life after death.  And while I do not know when his life will end and death come, I do know that I would not have missed the honor of sharing this time with him, not for all the money in the world.  

Taking the time to face our mortality, to prepare for death, to be with someone who is staring death in the face...such a precious, precious gift. Nothing else matters.  I have no fear, no regrets, no indecisiveness.  

It is a matter of life.  And death.