The narrow focus of self-pity

I struggle sometimes...okay, I struggle a lot...with feeling sorry for myself, when one of my kids doesn't call me for a while, or a friend doesn't reach out, or I feel like no one is listening. And I absolutely hate that about myself. At this point in my life I feel I should not have the self pity monkey hanging out on my back, whispering "oh you poor little thing" in my ear, weighing me down, pushing my head down and keeping me looking at the ground instead of where I am going, instead of looking up to the hills...you know, the hills from whence my help comes from. 

Sometimes, though, a little self-pity does go a long way in helping me see how ridiculous I can be and how narrow my focus is when the lens is zoomed in on my little sad self.

For the record, though, the pain and loneliness are real...I hate being confined to a chair, a bed, or behind a walker. And using a toilet riser is just weird. And I miss my nightly baths.  

For the folks who have taken time out of their busy schedules to see me, call me, check on me, make food...thank you. You renewed my hope in humanity. 

Wrinkles

One of my favorite grandchild memories is when then 3-year old Isabella retrieved her play iron and put it on my face, announcing, "Nana, I'm going to iron out all your wrinkles!" Oh how I laughed (and secretly wished it were true.) But, the reality is that wrinkles are proof we've lived and felt and somehow survived the trials life has thrown at us. 

But what about the wrinkles we encounter in our daily lives? Those unexpected curve balls seemingly coming out of nowhere, zooming dangeroulsy close to us, threatening to knock us on our butt (and sometimes succeeding). Recently I asked for prayers to help me manage a new wrinkle in my life, one not totally unexpected, but a wrinkle nonetheless in my otherwise smooth, orderly life (go ahead an laugh). My brother, age 73 and completely dependent on others for everything, moved back into our home. I was certain I could handle it all, that I could smooth that wrinkle out in no time flat (pun intended). After two days I knew what a bunch of hogwash that was.

Despite my countless professions of faith in Christ, despite my identity as a daughter of God, redeemed by the One who took my sins and struggles on His shoulders, despite me KNOWING I do not control anything--in less that 12 hours I forgot who I am and who I am not. I cried, I shouted, I despaired, and foolishly I convinced myself I could handle it all. So I picked up my giant iron of pride and attacked that wrinkle with all my might, pushing, pressing, forcing it into submission, determined to make it smooth and perfect. When it wouldn't budge, I tried even harder, but like those stubborn clothes you iron only to have more wrinkles pop up somewhere else, or worse yet, creasing the wrinkle permanently, it was no use. So I gave up. It was hopeless. I was neither willing nor able to figure out how to manage what a week prior I was confident I could.  

Until I stopped pushing back, stopped trying to control the situation, stopped feeling guilty for being inadequate, and stopped beating myself up for not having perfect endurance. You see, like many Christians (probably all of us), I have a "large hole in the center of my Gospel," as Paul David Tripp wrote. We understand we received forgiveness (past), and are sure of our salvation (future), but we forget Jesus is in the here and now...in us...in the present.

Life is full of wrinkles, folks. Some can be smoothed out, but most of them are creased firmly into our history, proof of having lived; looking back, that wrinkled tapestry, though not perfectly smooth, is beautiful in its own way. And if I could impose on the reader to allow me one more reference to my "ironing" metaphor, that wrinkled, torn, frayed tapestry will be exchanged for new and perfect robes when we join God in heaven. So don't try to endure or control what life throws at you. Rest. Allow the perfect God to walk with us through this imperfect yet perfectly planned life.

Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free. (Psalm 118:5)

Coincidence? Or Divine Providence?

You have searched me, Lord,  and you know me.

2 

You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.

3 

You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.

4 

Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.

5 

You hem me in behind and before,and you lay your hand upon me.

6 

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. (Psalm 139:1-6 NIV)

 Have you ever struggled with a decision you KNOW you need to make, but just did not know why or how or which way to turn? Or, have you felt like something, just something, was about to happen, but had no earthly idea what or when or why? And then, you finally made that decision, the decision you thought was so hard and you had no idea if you were making the right choice, but you prayed and prayed and walked with God and finally did it? And then, within seconds, minutes, hours, days, or even weeks, that decision was validated by a stream of incidences and situations?*

 *Note: Even if you did not walk with God to make the decision, and instead thought you would strike out on your own and trust your judgment and wisdom, the outcome was probably not so great. But even that would lead you to the same conclusion: God's will is inscrutable. But perfect. And only He knows the domino effect of decisions, only He can see the future (because He is omnipresent, in the future, past, and present), and only He knows our path, and tries to guide us along it (despite our stubbornness and selfishness).

Okay, I can see you all nodding here, saying "Yes, yes, that happened to me last week," and "Oh my goodness YES!," or even "Sigh, I sure wish I would have listened to God's still small voice to begin with. I could have avoided a huge mess." Stories abound about how when we try to walk in God's wisdom and ways, unforeseen happenstances arrive later and we are reassured that yes, God is omnipotent, omniscient, and the creator of the universe so we should walk in His footsteps along the paths He has laid. Also as prevalent are the stories (I can think of several!) where people ignore the cues and the guidance before us, depending on our own flawed, incomplete, and fallible wisdom, and suffer because of it (and hopefully learn to heed God's infallible and perfect wisdom the next time.

All of this is to share some events of the past few months, and how God has brought it all together to amaze me with His goodness and foresight. For months I have struggled with health issues, fraught with uncertainty, confusion, and frustration, while simultaneously I wanted to get away and embarked on a sort of spiritual wilderness to seek Him, get closer to Him, and find out what I needed to know. I felt the urge and need to reach out to a friend I had not long spoken to, to heal a rift, and inevitably to schedule a visit. While there, I felt something prick my soul, an unease with the situation, and, unsure why, I rescheduled my return flight to get home nearly three days sooner.  I could not explain the urge--it was a feeling of unease, tension, uncertainty, a vague nagging that I had to get home. Within hours of changing my flight, the following happened:

• the nurse called from my doctor's office informing me the long-awatied procedures were scheduled for the following week. These procedures necessitate five days of preparation,  a three-hour trip 24 hours prior to stay near the hospital (in Winston Salem), and a chaperone.  A very dear friend signed up for that before I could even ask the whole question
• my husband informed me he would be gone during that procedure to help our daughter in Mississippi with her fundrasising event next weekend
• our friend who was helping Alex take care of the dogs learned her father had just suffered a stroke; she would no longer be able to take care of our dogs Monday (the day I'd have been flying home)
• because a bear was continuing to terrorize our chickens, decimating the flock to one poor little hen, we needed to find someone to adopt her. Another dear friend volunteered to take her.

As hard to follow as that may be for many readers (or maybe not hard...I dont know how lucid this all sounds), all of these things reassured me that yes, I made the right decision to come out here, to reconnect, to withdraw early, to change my flight at the last minute. And reinforced how beautiful is God's perfect plan.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

    neither are your ways my ways,”

declares the Lord.

9 

“As the heavens are higher than the earth,

    so are my ways higher than your ways

    and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8-9 NIV)

The frailty of life

 

So you want to raise baby chicks, do you? Those cute little, adorable, fluffy balls who are peeping in the feed store are so irresistible.  Yeah, I get that. So this year I decided to raise baby chickens, partly out of a need to have something to do and something living to raise, and partly as a bonding and fun experience to have with my grandchildren, especially the three that normally reside in India. I conducted exhaustive research, reading books and  blogs,  watching YouTube videos, and asking questions on local FaceBook chicken groups. I knew Mandy and Brian and the girls were arriving in mid March, so I checked out local places to buy baby chicks, deciding on an area urban farm where we could select different breeds of chicks instead of having to purchase a minimum of six of one breed at the feed store. This allowed the kids to pick out their own little chick, as well as select ones for their cousins who couldn’t be here. I made all the preparations for the new arrivals, converting an old Rubbermaid tub from Goodwill into a brooder; hubby constructed the lid out of scrap wood and some hardware mesh. A chick starter kit (heat lamp, plus water and food dispensers) completed the nursery preparations; we were ready to welcome the babies! 

Lydia and Petunia

When the grandkids arrived Wednesday afternoon, we planned an expedition for the next day to buy baby chicks (read that phrase in high pitched, squealing, excited voices of three little girls); their parents wouldn’t be able to go with us, as they would be otherwise engaged attending a 3-hour Zoom conference. Thursday after lunch, PopPop, three very excited little girls, and I hopped into the van, and off we went on our adventure, stopping first at Tractor Supply to purchase chick starter and some pine bedding. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the farm, where the owner ushered us into the chicken nursery, a converted garage filled with at least ten large brooders, each one containing 10-25 baby chicks. Anyone who has ever been thrilled and mesmerized by a tub full of fluffy, peeping, adorable baby chicks knows how we felt; the kids (and I) were in baby chick heaven. We opened tub after tub after tub, each of us selecting precious little fluff balls and naming them on the spot. Aside from Molly getting scratched by a farm kitten who just wouldn’t let go of her neck, nothing marred the experience, and we left with a box of seven baby chicks. The cherry on top was a pitstop at Pelican’s Snowballs for a delightful afternoon treat. 

Isabella and Pearl

The drive home was peppered with constant questions as to the health of the chicks, with the girls begging to take out the chicks and hold them “because they are lonely.” Once we arrived back home, the chicks were introduced into their new home, each one having its little beak dipped in the water bowl to encourage it to rehydrate. The rest of the day was filled with all of us (adults included) making frequent trips to stand over the brooder and watch the chicks eat, play, and run around, and of course the inevitable pleas from their human mamas to “please can we hold them, please please please?” We all laughed at the antics; a couple of them like to sleep in the food dish as if they are worried about losing their place in line at the food buffet, some unceremoniously walking over sleeping brood-mates, and all of them producing a prodigious amount of poop. Five  of the chicks received names: Petunia (Lydia), Clutch (Molly),  Pearl (Isabella), Buttercup (Sophie), and Creamsicle (Pop Pop). Chicken lovers know they are quite addictive to watch; the chicks monopolized a lot of our attention, but we eventually all went to sleep that first night praying for a good, safe night for our new little flock. 

The next morning, it was obvious Pearl was not faring well—she was listless and not eating or drinking, and despite our efforts, she was our first casualty. Isabella held little Pearl, and nonplussed by her chick’s pending demise, asked if she could just adopt Creamsicle instead in typical Isa fashion. They held a little funeral, singing hymns, and we buried her right next to the resting place of our family dogs. I think I felt worse than the kids did, so I drove back to the farm and got her a replacement Pearl. All was well, we were back to seven fluff balls, and the grandkids left for a two day visit with some nearby friends, admonishing me as they left to take good care of the chicks while they were gone (they were coming back Sunday for a two day stopover on their way back to Atlanta). So, Friday evening found me checking each one for pasty butt, cleaning the ones afflicted, and fussing over one of them in particular: little Petunia was looking very lethargic and listless, so I hand fed her some electrolytes and hovered over the brooder until I was too tired to stay up any longer.  All to no avail, because the next morning, she was gone.  I was heartbroken, even more so because I’d have to break the news to Lydia.  

Molly and Clutch

So, I bought 7 chicks on Thursday.  I’ve replaced one, and am seriously contemplating a trip to replace Petunia. I’m doing everything I can—electrolytes, food, heat, checking their butts,  etc, and I’m at a loss as to what to do next.  I’ve never raised baby chicks before and I feel silly for sitting here crying over dead baby chicks. Sure I know loss is to be expected with little fluffy babies less than 2 weeks old but to lose two of seven is heartbreaking, especially because those two were handpicked and named by two of the granddaughters. So I’m worrying over them like a mother hen (now I know where that phrase comes from) and feeling helpless. I have to fight the urge to constantly stand over the brooder,  and trust that I am doing everything I can to keep them warm, fed, watered and safe. When one of them looks weak, or isn’t at the feeding bowl with the rest of them, my first desire is to pick it up and hold it and nurse it with a medicine dropper. I fret that it may be too warm or too cold or the food is too hard or the chicks are too little. I keep going to backyard chicken blogs and YouTube to glean more advice, hoping to find the magic bullet. I wonder if  the coop I have ready for them outside will be safe enough or big enough. What about raccoons and foxes and possums? How do I ensure these little ones will survive in here, let alone outside? Should I get a guinea hen or a rooster to keep them safe and warn them about predators? So many questions, so many factors over which I have little to no control. 

Like life.

How easily I slip back into old habits, the illusion that I am in control, that I can know all and fix all. And how quickly I forget who truly holds the reins, and who is the creator and who is the created.  

Raising baby chicks will humble you in a heartbeat, and remind you very quickly how fragile and fleeting and precious and exhilarating life truly is. 

"How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number – living things both large and small." (Psalm 104:24-25)

More than I can handle

We humans are a stubborn lot--proud, too, and much too overconfident in our own abilities to get through life's ups and downs.  I'm no different than the rest of you, mind you. I have faced lots of challenges so far--some easy, some nearly insurmountable, but I managed to stumble along. Sometimes I would ignore the problem and hope it would go away on its own (it didn't), and other times I would tackle it head on, full speed ahead, thinking I could use my superior intellect and vast personal experience to best the situation (again, utter failure).  Obstacle after obstacle, challenge after challenge, I tried my darnedest to overcome each one using human traits, until finally I would realize I couldn't do it.  Not by myself.  I needed divine assistance--if not to solve the issue, at least to get through it.  So I asked/begged/pleaded for God to help me. He did. Each and every time. Not always how I'd expected, or wanted, or prayed.  But He always came through.

A smarter person would have learned her lesson, and realize quite early on how inadequate she really is to manage life's trials and tribulations on her own.  Not me.  Nope.  Decades later, I persist in thinking, even if only for a moment, that I can sort out such and such a problem.  Very rarely, if at all, is my first thought, upon running into some new wrinkle, "Hey, God, I know you've got this covered, and I have faith you will hold my hand through this."  Sure, it may be my second (or third or fourth or nineteenth) thought. But I stubbornly lean on my own understanding.  Silly, silly me.  

Who hasn't voiced a worry to a friend, a Bible study group, an acquaintance, a family member, even a total stranger, and heard the "God never gives you more than you can handle" admonition? I know I have. I've even said that trite little phrase to someone facing a problem, and have felt quite smug when I did, as if that was all the reassurance that person would need.   Heck, I've even told myself the same thing, and blithely forged ahead, tackling whatever it was I had to tackle, trying this or that, all along believing that, since God would never give me more than I could handle, then well, I could handle anything. And when I failed miserably, falling flat on my face, I was bewildered, crushed, and broken. Time and time and time again.  Even as recently as this week.  

Thankfully, though, even though I am stubborn and proud and not too bright at times, I believe that, although God frequently (maybe even always?) gives me more than I can handle, He always provides me the grace to endure any test, and the strength to face the next challenge. Nothing I face is a surprise to God, or impossible for Him to handle.  With His help, and His grace, I can handle anything.  It may not be pretty, and I may muddle through, but even that is more than I could do on my own.

It would be good for me to repeat that to myself 100 times a day...upon waking, eating, and going to bed, and every moment in between.   

I am, after all, a stubborn, prideful human.  And obviously, a very slow learner.

Wake Up Call

It was a beautiful fall morning, and I was thoroughly enjoying the drive to an appointment in Asheville, NC; the leaves were changing, air was crisp and cool, and there was a slight drizzle that only added to the beauty of the fall colors.  I had my favorite radio station playing in the car, and, despite having a bit of a migraine, I felt okay.  It was just going to be a routine consult, a follow-up from a test I had done previously, and one more box to check before I could get a procedure done to fix some circulation issues in my leg.  Easy peezy.  I breezed into the cardiology clinic, signed in, got checked in by the nurse, and sat and waited for the doctor to call me.  I had no serious health issues--I was a fairly active, albeit overweight, healthy 63-year old woman with a zest for life, and quite a bit of life left to live.

Two hours later, I am driving back home.  The fall colors have completely faded into nondescript shades of brown and sickly yellow, and it is now a dreary, rainy, and depressing drive home.  My head is pounding, so much so I turn off the radio, and I am not feeling so great.  The "routine" consult quickly morphed into a pre-op counseling, and the leg procedure had to be put on indefinite hold.  The test results showed a possible obstruction of a coronary artery, and this, coupled with other factors, including the leg issue, put me in the "high risk" category for coronary artery disease. Suddenly, I felt scared, old, fat, and very unhealthy, and questioning whether I would even see my next birthday.  

I was wide awake.

I got home, talked to my husband, and then, before I could descend into the bottomless pit of self-pity and regret, I prayed.  And prayed.  And then prayed some more.  About rolling all our burdens onto God, the realization that there is a season for everything, that God's timing is perfect.  That my days are numbered, and only the Lord God knows where and when and how those days will end. I am the same person now that walked into the doctor's office (although I am a little more freaked out).  My blessings are many, and, while my life has challenges and trials as well as joys, God is still in control.  He knew this was coming.  He was not surprised.  He is still omnipotent and omniscient.  And, most importantly, He will be glorified by and through anything I experience.  

My reaction, though human and therefore understandable, was me stumbling over my ego, and indicative of my obsession to be in control.  And while I am still struggling to quash the fear and anxiety over next week's schedule, I am oh so thankful to be His child, and under His care.  And I wonder, like I have other times I hit speed bumps (and sometimes brick walls) along the way, how would I ever manage without the assurance of His mercy and grace?  

I am so happy I never have to find out.

Awake and grateful to be His.

An Ode to Messiness

Clutter.  Getting lost.  Conflicting schedules.  Uncertainty.  Risk.  Maybe.  Possibly.  These are words that make me nervous, afraid, vulnerable, and more than a little bit anxious.  I like things in their place, everything tied up in a neat little package, all the i's dotted and the t's crossed, all the ducks in a row, with no stone left unturned.  I am the kind of person who finds happiness in lists, ecstasy in color-coded schedules, and who celebrates when that last bit of toothpaste is gone and I can finally throw out the used up tube and open a new one.  When we go on vacation, I plan it months in advance, and I buy trip insurance just in case something happens.   In my perfect (albeit imaginary) world, there are no loose ends.  Everything is planned out, there is a rhyme AND a reason for it all, and just because I don't understand it all right now does not mean there is chaos.  I am not in control, and I know that, I am okay with that--I think.  But the human part of me wants to know how it all ends!   Mind you, I am not saying I want to fix everything, or that I can even fix anything.  I just want to know my place in it all.  And know that my efforts are not being wasted.  

Thus is my quandary in not knowing if people I love are destined for heaven, part of the family of Christ.  And I do not say this or think this out of some misplaced sense of superiority or know-it-all-ness.  Far from it!  I know how lost  and sinful and undeserving of God's grace I am, regardless of what I say or do or think.  But I also know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am chosen, selected, saved, adopted, redeemed, and set aside as His--as Christ's.  I will have the glorious privilege of worshipping him for eternity.  And BECAUSE I know this with such assurance, I of course want everyone I love to share it with me.  Not because I want to be right, or to prove a point.  But because it is so freaking amazing and wonderful to know I am His.  So, I share His love, and let Him mold me and make me into something He can use in His purpose, but I still want to peek behind the curtain and see how it all turns out, you know, like buy some trip insurance so I know everyone I love will be there with me.  

That didn't seem like that big of a problem when I was 7, or 20, or even 40.  Everything would work out, I figured.  Or I would just cynically shrug my shoulders and focus on my own immediate need for sanctification.  But the older I get, the more I grow in His grace and His truths, the more desperate I become to make a difference.  To reach out a hand, throw out a life preserver, toss them a rope.  The double edged sword of experience and aging is that as my earthly life goes on, the less time I realize I have to make a difference.  And the more people who enter my life, the more people I love and cannot even bear to think of not sharing in this joy.  

Trusting God with my path, with my life, is one thing.  

Trusting Him with the paths of the ones I love is something far more complicated.

Lord give me the eyes to see the world as You see it, and the faith to lean on You and trust only You.  Without judging.  Without expectations.  Hoping only in You.

On Mercy and Fairness

Setting a Christian example.  Turn the other cheek.  Establish good boundaries.  Love each other.  Do unto others.  Stand up for what you believe.  The struggle is real, people.  Trying to filter through the seemingly conflicting messages.  Add to that human expectations, no, human tendencies, no, MY tendency, for wanting life to bend to my desires.  The unquenchable thirst for fairness in this life threatens at times to consume me; I hold up situations, circumstances, and the actions and thoughts of others up to some nebulous yardstick of fairness, and cry out "NOT FAIR!" or smugly smile and say, "See? I was right!"  Consumed with the selfish need to prove my point, to get what I "deserve," for life to be fair, for others to see where I am coming from, I stop in my tracks, shamefaced.  Fairness?  Do I truly want fairness in this life?  Do I really want what I deserve?  Am I so blinded by the quest for fairness that I have left mercy in a cloud of dust behind me?

I stop dead in my tracks, stricken by the incongruence of fairness over mercy.  Were God to dispense fairness, to give me what I deserve, I would be crushed, condemned, hopeless.  Nothing I do or say or feel can cover my sins.  I would fall before His throne, before the throne of judgment, and He would banish me from His presence.  I would get what I deserve.  I would get what is fair.  But, no...instead of fairness, He bestows His wonderful, life-saving mercy.  The judgment seat is transformed into the mercy seat.  I will stand before him with all my sins, my ugliness, my selfishness, covered with the blood of His perfect son.  Jesus advocates for us to to the Father; he suffered, died, was buried, and rose from the dead to forestall a judgment of "fairness."  Yes, Jesus took my punishment for me. 

For the mercy I am shown every day, the mercies I will receive at the end of my days, isn't it only right that I exhibit mercy in response to petty offenses and perceived unfairness?  Proving my point at the expense of mercy and love and forgiveness is a slap in God's face.  

Lord, help me show a fraction of the mercy to others that You have shown me, as a measure of my gratitude to You.

Overwhelmed? Or Overcomer?

Overwhelmed:  To be subjected to incapacitating emotional or mental stress; defeated

Overcomer:  a person who overcomes something : one who succeeds in dealing with or gaining control of some problem or difficulty 

For the past month I have been struggling with putting thoughts on paper (well, on the keyboard, anyway)--to try to put into words what we are going through. Feeling overwhelmed, blind-sided, and struggling with so many emotions and situations.  Like I am drowning.   Trying to be an overcomer, to handle new challenges and life's punches on my own.  So, initially I thought contrasting being overwhelmed (i.e., defeated) with being an overcomer (i.e., a victor) would be the right ticket.  But the more I tried to justify this position, the more stuck I became.  I got frustrated, and thought, why is this so hard?  Because the whole premise is wrong from the outset.  Look at the definitions again--overwhelmed implies a situation is beyond our control, but the most popular definition of "overcomer" says the person gains control.  

Light bulb moment.  

I was looking at it all wrong.  Yes, the one being overwhelmed has no control over the situations that are overwhelming--shit happens, things go wrong, stress is a fact of life.  Yet the world view of being an overcomer is to take the reins, to gain control of the problem.  Go from being the victim to the victor.  But we are no more in control of the solution than we are in control of the problem!  So many times, when troubles befall me, I look to God and throw up my hands in despair, asking Why?  Why me?  Then, I put my head down and try to figure it all out, to gain control of something I had no control over to begin with.  I blame Him (or others, or even myself) for my problems, yet I want to take credit for fixing it, for finding a way out.  How screwed up is that?  Not take the blame, but wanting the glory.  

I know better.  I let the situation overwhelm me, forgot the basics,  looked inward instead of upward.  Walked by myself instead of holding on to the hand that formed me.  

Yes, we are going through a lot right now--have been for three years.  Some sad, some joyful, some unexpected, and some expected.   This last twist seems like God's big practical joke on us.  I doubt my ability to handle it, to make it through this.  Yet, the operative word is there...through.  Meaning there is a beginning, a journey, and an end.  And the more I hold on to His Word, and trust in Him, the fewer wrong turns, dead ends, and obstacles I'll encounter.  

Hear my cry O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint.  Lead me to the rock that is higher than I for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.  Ps 61:1-3

When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, Then You knew my path. In the way in which I walk They have secretly set a snare for me. Psalm 142:3

The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne  Rev 3:21

For everyone that has been born of God overcomes the world.  And this is the victory that has overcome the world--our faith.  Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?  1 Jn 5:4-5

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.  Rom 12:21

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.   2 Tim 4:7

I have said these things to you that in me you may have peace.  In the world you will have tribulation.  But take heart; I have overcome the world  John 16:33

Stillness

"Be still, and know that I am God" declares the psalmist. Being still...not my strongpoint. In fact, I would hazard to guess being "still" does not come naturally to any human being. We are too busy keeping busy and planning more busy-ness.  Case in point, today is Sunday, at least for another 46 minutes. I woke up, and from the moment my feet hit the floor, it was a struggle for me to relax, to rest, to be "still." Making the coffee, feeding the dogs, getting ready for church, checking my phone, straightening up the house, making the bed. Not until I got to church did I actually take the TIME to be STILL. The scripture lesson? Psalm 46, of course.  

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.  Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling.  There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High.  God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns.  The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.  The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.  Come, behold the works of the LORD, how he has brought desolations on the earth.  He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire.  "Be still, and know that I am God.  I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!"  The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

With the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey in Texas still fresh on everyone's minds, especially for our pastor and many church members who have had family and friends personally affected and displaced by this most recent disaster, the first four verses seem to cry out to them personally. But I only half listened to the analogies about floods and winds and earth giving way.  And again, when North Korea's most recent nuclear test and the general instability of a lot of the world were referenced in the part about "the nations rage, the kingdoms totter;" again, my mind was not fully engaged. I was focused on my own storm, my own internal wars. I could not be completely still.  

After church, lunch with my husband and his brother. Again, not completely engaged; sitting and eating, conversing (somewhat), but my mind and my heart, not STILL. Then home, and busy-ness took over--give the dogs baths, clean the kitchen, eat dinner, update the calendar, make a dinner reservation, start planning a trip to visit family.  Unable to make any decision on dates.  Trying to not think about the lawsuit. The ugliness of it all. Ashamed that I cannot let go, that I cannot be still, no matter how hard I try. Thinking and worrying about what will happen, how and when and if it will ever be resolved, trying to comprehend why and how this happened: all these thoughts tumble around in my head, 24/7. Every waking moment, heck, even my dreams, are consumed with thoughts of the lawsuit.  

Why?  Because the very existence of it, the fact that it is still NOT resolved, screams at me, YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL!!!!  

And finally, with less than 30 minutes remaining in the day of rest, a day when I should above all, be STILL, it hits me. I am worried and saddened and irritated with myself for not having control. For not being able, for once, to fix it, solve it, clean it, or put it away where it belongs. Eight little words...

"Be still. Don't do anything, or think anything, or say anything. Just wipe it out of my mind. Think about God.His plan. His timing. Look at everything else that is going on in my life that I should be happy about, praying about, focused on.  

and know. Be aware, cognizant, alert. Be conscious of who I am and what I can and cannot do. That I am not in control. Of anything.  

that I am God." The creator of the universe. The I Am. Omniscient. Omnipotent.  Omnipresent.  

Being still is not inaction, or sleeping, or even waiting for something to happen.  It is to be at peace, to be assured that, no matter what happens, God has this. Trusting that the God of Jacob is MY fortress, my stronghold, my safety, and my ever-present salvation.  

It is not easy, this being still.  

BE STILL

But what if...

BE STILL

Yeah, I know, but...

BE STILL   

But...

Hush...

The Good Daughter

All of my life I have been vying for the title of the good daughter, the good wife, the good mother, the good ____________ (insert role here).  Achievement of these lofty titles has always been completely subjective and capricious, as prerequisites and requirements have no basis in anyone's reality other than my own. The yardstick for measuring "good" is not stable; rather, it is nebulous and mercurial, and completely dependent on my mood and state of mind at that particular moment.  If I am feeling self-righteous, and need to be vindicated, then I am "good," while if I am wallowing in the quicksand of self-pity and self-loathing, everyone else is "good" and I never will be. Regardless of where I am on the emotional spectrum, though, I can never achieve permanent goodness, or complete all the tasks and master all skills to be crowned good mother, or adored as the good daughter. There is always something: some thorn, some scab, some ugly fault or mistake, and yes, someone who is oh so much better and deserving of the title.  I could have done more, been a better person, yelled less, been more understanding, said the right thing, said nothing at all, spent more time, listened better, cooked more, smiled quicker, slept less, worked less, worked harder...the list goes on and on.  

It's exhausting, trying to achieve perfection.  

And it is impossible. Because I am not good, and no matter how hard I try, I never will be, not on my own merits. I am sinful, and selfish, and will never achieve perfection, at least not on my own. The more I struggle to achieve goodness, the more unreachable the goal becomes. Strive as I may for perfection, I can only realize frustration in it always being out of reach, with that ugly, cloudy reflection of my ego looking back at me, the wall of self blocking the finish line.  Heck, just the act of trying to be good pushes me farther away from it, because I am fooled into thinking my futile attempts at goodness (as defined by me) are worthwhile.  They are not. For goodness can no more emanate from my sinful, selfish core than clean water spring from sewage.    

Ironic that trying to be good only reinforces that I am not.

How liberating, and wonderful, and praiseworthy is that realization!

Wait a minute...what?

Yes, that's what I said. Trying to be "good" is a waste of time--only God is good, the God who created me, the God who sent his Son, also God, to redeem me, the God whose Spirit dwells within me. And I cannot be God, so therefore I cannot be good.  Only through God and His grace and His death and resurrection can I ever hope to achieve goodness, in Him. God is good. Always. In all things. Not because He does good things.  

Because He is God. God is good.  

Me? I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a woman, a child of God. Not good. Not bad.  

Just God's.

Help (not) Wanted

Mom has been back for over a week now after her unscheduled and unannounced trip to Tennessee with my sister--a trip I thought would last far longer than 4 days.  In that short time, she closed her checking account I used to pay her nursing home bill, and became convinced I am a lying, thieving daughter who only wants the worst for her. I haven't heard squat from my sister, and, in fact, don't even know if she is still in Nashville or on Navy Reserve duty in Guam. I am also clueless as to what she and/or my other sister and my mom are planning--staying at the Oaks?  Moving to my sister's? I want to know. I want to help. I want to continue to keep Mom safe, to help her live out the rest of her life in dignity. My help was wanted over a year ago. Now, not so much.

Yesterday, I stopped by to just say "hey." Took her a White Squirrel Latte and a sinfully delicious caramel cinnamon roll. And while I didn't expect hugs and kisses, the speed and rancor with which I was unceremoniously kicked out of her room made my head spin. She accused me of stealing from her, of lying, of never keeping her posted on what is going on. And despite me KNOWING that none of that is true, that Mom has always had serious personality disorders that are now exacerbated by dementia, that we KNEW this would happen, I left confused and hurt, asking myself the same questions I have asked myself for my entire life--what is WRONG with me?  Why does she hate me so much? Why doesn't she appreciate me? Why don't my sisters see how wrong this is?  

I want to keep helping, despite obvious rejection of help. I yearn for understanding, from a woman who has never sought to understand anyone. I seek love and praise from one incapable of giving love or praise. I continue to pursue, to show my love and concern, even though she pushes me away and refuses to reciprocate.  

I am exhausted, emotionally and physically. Spiritually I feel as if I am being attacked, tested, stretched to the breaking point. I have friends praying for me and with me. I attend caregiver support group meetings at our church.  My house is littered with books to provide guidance and insight--"Hope for the Caregiver," "Everyday Prayers," "Desiring God," "Jesus Loves You," "My Utmost for His Highest," and, of course, the Bible. All of it helps, to a point, but there is still so much uncertainty. Uncertainty in many things, but I have assurance in my salvation.  

I'm not perfect--I still worry. But I will, as the psalmist wrote, commit my way to the Lord. I will trust in Him and He will act.  

Focus

Right now Alex and I feel as if our entire life is defined by caregiving for our parents--me for my mom, and him for his mom and dad (probably because it is). We try to enjoy other things, other people, to talk about something else, but the problems of those three people utterly consume our day, even if we are not there.  Even if something truly wonderful and joyful happens. Their problems transcend everything else, no matter how hard we try to escape them.  We are focused on that constantly  And it throws everything else out of focus.

Case in point: We have a new granddaughter--Sophie Jo--born February 19, in Missouri, to our daughter Becky and her husband, Ben. Their first baby. We could have, no SHOULD have, gone to help them. But we had our parents to care for.  I finally went to visit when Sophie was two weeks old, and Alex flew out to join me the following week. But despite having a brand new baby girl and our wonderful daughter and son in law to visit, our thoughts, our conversations, our prayers, were always back with our parents. Calling care centers. Checking on benefit status.  Paying bills. Figuring out our next step. Family drama with my siblings.  Getting calls from hospitals, nurses, doctors, and bill collectors. Sophie is simply lovely, adorable, and a gift from God. We enjoy her immensely.  I love being totally exhausted from holding her, loving her, and feeding her through the night. We play with her and change diapers (lots of diapers). We sit and talk with her parents, play cards, eat dinner.  But always, right under the surface of all this joy, is a sense of guilt for not being with our parents. An urge to check on them, to follow up on something, to shake those who don't get it and make them understand.

Alex and his brother are frustrated with the red tape and bureaucracy of hospitals, Medicare, rehab centers, and computerized charting.  They are sick of explaining their parents' complicated medical history and prescription medicines to nurse after nurse after nurse, and doctor after doctor, only to find out the medical staff still manages to screw things up, to misdiagnose. They are tired of driving 4-5 hours a day to and from different care facilities, because their parents are in different hospitals--in the same city.  They are sick and tired of trying to navigate the asinine maze of rehab centers and their convoluted process for procuring a room and then keeping it.  Alex misses me, his dogs, his home, retirement, and I miss him and his help and his support.  Me? I am tired of my sisters harassing mom's nursing staff, and then bothering me constantly with phone calls and texts that only serve to reduce me to a crying, blubbering idiot, and to make me doubt my sanity and my decisions.  I am fed up with calling social services, the nursing home, and doctors and having to wait days for a call back.  I'm worried constantly that my mom will never adjust to life in a nursing home, that she will forever fight it and hate me for taking her there.  I am tired of explaining Mom's behavior, worsening mental state, her need for 24/7 care, and her idiosyncrasies.

My thoughts are consumed with questions of "what if...?"

But most of all, I am completely and totally frustrated for not being able to just relax, to just let God control it and trust Him to handle it out, to trust that His plan is in motion and He already knows the outcome.  We want to have our hands on the situation, to have some input, or at least some foresight or insight into what the future holds tomorrow, next week, next year, i.e. "How will it all end?"

And that makes me sad, and angry at myself.

For being such a weak Christian.

For not being able to let go of the controls.

For playing tug of war with the Creator..."here you go, God; no wait, gimme a minute; okay, take it back; oops, I forgot one thing."

For not having the proper focus.

And then I realize He is teaching me.  Patience.  Trust.  Faith.  Reliance.

In His perfect plan.

In His perfect timing.

And then I rejoice because through it all, I know we are growing more like Him, and it all will be worth it in the end. 

But I still have trouble focusing...

Happy (?) New Year

I am not big on celebrating New Year's Eve or New Year's Day; no big parties, no drinking and noisemakers, no special traditional dinners of ham and chickpeas, no New Year's resolutions to lose 10 pounds or be a better person or save more money.  But I always looked forward to what the New Year would bring, what God may have in store for me, and I had learned over the years to count my blessings from years past...to learn from the years I had been fortunate enough to live through so far.  I can honestly say I have never entered a new year with dread or fear or resignation.  

Until today...

Last night we went to a get-together at a friend's house to celebrate the New Year...I left two hours before midnight because I just felt out of place, blah, underwhelmed.  In absolutely no mood to celebrate.  And I couldn't fathom why.  

Until today...

Last year was full of joy and promises for 2016--a daughter and family (with three beautiful granddaughters!) would be arriving in the US for six months before returning to India.  Another daughter was pregnant with their first child...also a girl...and due in February 2016.  My husband and I, both newly retired, spent a few months in Florida, went on a month long trip to Belgium, India, and Crete, and then embarked on a 6-week, cross-country trip in our RV.   We then moved permanently to our beautiful log home in western North Carolina, and began planning our new lives.  I thought we had it all figured out.

Until today...

My mom moved in with us four months ago, and we knew she'd quickly want to find an apartment nearby, where we could visit and help but still have our privacy.  We were convinced she wouldn't want to lose her independence.

Until today...

Last month, Alex spent three weeks with his parents caring for his Parkinson's afflicted dad after Alex's mom suffered a life-threatening heart attack.  He convinced them to hire a private nursing service to help them cope with their daily tasks of getting out of bed, preparing meals, and taking medicine.  And I just knew that Alex's recent stay and perhaps ongoing daily phone calls would be more than enough to maintain their status quo.

Until today...

I talked about how God is in control but really, secretly, believed I had it all figured out.  I talked, thought, dreamed, and blogged about future events (kids visiting, babies arriving, mom's living arrangements, our retirement lives) as if I was in control.  I never really put my money where my mouth is, but held on to the thin vestige of being able to steer my future, or at least be one of the oars.

Until today...

Today, it hit me.  I don't control anything.  I don't know anything about the future.  Because, "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth" (Gen 1:1).  He was the great I AM before there was time.  Before there was order or a universe.  And definitely before me.  And only He knows what tomorrow, next week, next month, or the rest of this new year will bring for me.  And for me to think I can plan for something over which I have no control is narcissistic.   Even planning what I will do tomorrow, what I will make for dinner, what I will wear, is presumptious and egotistical, perhaps even sacrilegious.  Because I was not deferring to God's plan for me, not even with a simple, "God willing" before or after each thought or statement of how I thought the future would play out.  That is...

Until today.

Struggle

Selfishness...is my constant struggle. Look st all the words we  have in the English language with a prefix of "self". Self image.  Self aware.  Self esteem.  Self assurance.  Self pity.  Self confidence.  Self fulfillment.  Self actualization.  Myself.  Self absorbed. Self destruct. Self centered.  Self preservation. Self improvement. Self image.  Self indulgent.  Self respect.  Self reliant. Self sacrifice.  Self made. Self help. Self imposed. Self righteous.  Self fulfilling.  Self evident. Self denial. Self deprecating. Self control. Self expression. Self conscious   Self determination. 

All of these words presume I am in charge...that we are able to take charge of our destiny.  We determine our fate.  When in reality it is our creator who is in charge of all we do. If I am to grow in Christ and become more like Him, I must surrender this false assumption of being in control.  Less of me = more of Him.  

Easy to say but not so easy to follow. It is however so liberating to know that I can depend on my creator for all my needs, to answer all my prayers, and to suppress my overinflated sense of self.