Crossroads

Friends are an integral part of life. Some friends are for life, others just fade into the background, and some just grow apart. If you’re lucky enough you’ll have a friend who gets you, who knows what you’re feeling without you saying a word, who shares similar interests and values. In my life I’ve experienced all of these. I’ve kept friends, gained new friends, even lost a friend or two; I even have one friend, my best friend in high school, who I’ve known for 50 years…half a century…who I only see once every 15 years or so, but we can pick up where we left off without missing a beat. What I’ve learned though is as I get older and grow as a person and a Christian, I get closer to God while growing away from some of my friends, which is fine if they’re casual friendships, but what if those friends don't share your faith or your values or morals?  

It is so difficult to ascertain how to respond, or even IF to respond, when friends brag about sexual exploits, express anger over the Supreme Court overturning Roe v Wade, or even just share cruel gossip. Sometimes I feel myself getting pulled into their conversations, even if just passively, and that makes me just as culpable. Do I speak up? Do I walk away? Change the subject? Or do I just wanly smile at their "jokes" and feel superior?

I’m not holy, I’m not perfect, and I try so hard to avoid being self-righteous when I share the gospel. Well, when I THINK I am sharing the gospel. In actuality, when someone says something that makes me cringe, something completely unbiblical, I will sometimes mutter some platitude or watered down gospel, because I am afraid if I share the unadulterated truth, I will be laughed at or shunned. In other words, I have just made friendship and social acceptance, more important than their souls. Worse yet, I am trying to change hearts, instead of planting seeds, living the gospel, and then praying for the Holy Spirit to do His work. 

My answer? Love. Just love my friends, my family, and strangers whether or not they are believers. Let them see Christ through my actions, not just my words.

Do you ever...

Do you ever wonder what I’m doing, or where I’m living now?

Do you stop and think “perhaps she’s sick,” or “I wonder if her hair has gone grey?” 

Do you ever wish bygones could really be bygones, or you could turn back the clock? 

Do you think about the times we spent together, the Thanksgivings, that Christmas in 2010, the times I watched your kids or the time you rode the train with mine?

 

Do you ever wonder how things got so out of hand? 

Do you ever miss picking up the phone and telling me all your problems, and sharing your joys? 

Do you ever want to just talk about memories and laugh, or cry over those we’ve lost? 

Do you ever think I miss them too? 

Do you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was all just a giant, cosmic misunderstanding gone horribly wrong? 

Do you ever stop and think how wrong this all is? 

Do you ever feel regrets instead of resentment?

Do you think we’ll ever see each other before we die?

Do you know I think about you and miss you? 

Do you even care?

...questions that will never be answered...at least not in this lifetime.

Hey Mom!

From the time they’re born, our kids demand our attention in all sorts of ways: crying, yelling, throwing up, smiling, etc.  Calls of “hey Mom” and “Mom look!” and “watch this mom!” and “Mom make him stop/where’s my blue shirt?/can I have $20” and “mom what’s the square root of 2,452?” and “How do you spell chameleon?” echo in our heads throughout their growing up. When moms talk to the kids though, it’s in one ear and out the other; it’s as if we’re talking to ourselves half the time. We repeat ourselves endlessly, we get eyes rolled at us if we initiate conversation at the wrong time, but we are still there , on standby, ready for that “Mom I need you!”  

Does it stop when they move away? Nope. They call. At all hours, with no respect to time zones or sleep schedules. Moms of course answer, because we are, after all, moms, and we are always waiting for that  “mom I need you come quick!” call, worried about their safety. They could be bleeding and need a blood transfusion. Or a kidney. Or help with their taxes. We are crazy that way. They call about a rash, a plant, advice on boiling water, how to get cat pee out of a sofa, and “what’s my blood type?” Our kids call us, text us, FaceBook message us, video-chat with us, and if we don’t pick up, they reach out via another method or call Dad and ask “where’s mom?”  We are on call 24/7. It’s our job. For life. But when Mom calls or texts or wants to chat with her children, there’s only a 12.3472% chance she’ll get an answer; the rest of the time, she is put in a queue or gets “”ttyl.” Or forgotten. 

Like I said, it’s lonely up here. Which is why moms talk to themselves a lot. Sometimes we’re the only person we have to talk to. Except Siri. At least Siri answers us.  

Getting the Normal Back

It's happened to most of us, probably all of us. You're going through life, humming and strolling along, or maybe mumbling and just dragging your feet, everything the same, when all of the sudden, BAM! Seemingly out of nowhere, your life changes drastically, and not for the better. It's a shock, and you just stop where you are; life as you know it is defined by that moment in time, and it changes you forever. Personally, I have had many such moments in my life: JFK's assassination, my parents' divorce, personal trauma as a teenager, a former foster child's false accusations against my husband that precipitated court-martial proceedings, our child's cancer diagnosis, the events of 9/11/2001, the betrayal of family and subsequent estrangement, the death of our parents. When I look back at these events, I see a clear demarkation line of life before and life after, and there was no going back. 

Right now my daughter and her family are facing such a turning point in their lives, a turn of events that arose out of nowhere, a sucker punch nearly knocking the air out of them. Their lives completely disrupted, nothing seems certain any longer. Where they’ll be tomorrow, next week, next month, is anybody’s guess, our much anticipated visit next month has lost its joy. Molly said it best: “ever since  the talk about the visa, it’s hard to get the normal back.”

Praying for them. Yes we know the God of the universe controls every molecule, every spin of the planet, every second of our lives, and that nothing, and I mean nothing, surprises him. They also know this, and are not under any sense of delusion they can control the outcome. But God created us with emotions, and as humans we still have attachments to things on this earth, and we want to understand WHY. Praying for comfort and peace and understanding from the God of comfort, peace, and understanding.

Oh, and right after this happened, my other daughter's dog died very suddenly and unexpectedly...not the same, perhaps, but still, a HUGE disruption. 

Joy

Having joy is so much more than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, situational, fickle, and temporary. I used to search for happiness, for things and people and relationships to make me happy, and if I was not happy, I blamed it on circumstances or my past or the events of the day or whoever I was with, what side of the bed I got up on, how much I weighed, whether my hair was behaving, if I could pay all my bills on time, etc. In other words, happiness was a measure of meeting the world’s standards of success. Then I discovered Jesus, and formed an intimate relationship with Him, and I discovered how empty happiness is. I discovered joy. Joy in the midst of suffering, in the midst of pain, in the midst of loss, in the midst of, yes, betrayal. Joy during and after struggles. I was not always happy during these times, and still, believe it or not, there are many times I am not happy.  But I am joyful, FULL OF JOY, joy of the Lord, joy in my salvation, joy in knowing my future home is with Him, that I have a place with Him, that He has forgiven me, paid my debts, and gives me more grace. 

Am I always the perfect picture of a joyful Christian, focused forward on my Jesus, and not looking on my struggles? No, I am not. Sometimes I get wrapped up in that tunnel of self, and the trap of being a victim, the Eyore attitude of “woe is me, woe is me,” and I bemoan all my faults and struggles and pains and losses. Luckily though I have my husband and my friends in Christ and my church who snap me out of that, and my God who I go to daily, to remind me and to refocus me on my joy. My everlasting joy. 

Yesterday we drove to Pigeon Forge and drove through some tunnels on I-40, long tunnels, and the sign before the tunnel warns drivers to turn on headlights and remove sunglasses. Why? So they can see better in the darkness. But you are still driving in a dark tunnel closed in by concrete walls, and if it is a long tunnel you cannot even see the light at the end of it; I don’t know about you, but I hate tunnels and get claustrophobic in them and worry another car or truck is gong to hit the wall and ricochet into me, or I will never get out of the tunnel. I cannot see the end of it, the reality outside the tunnel. That is how I feel when I get trapped inside the tunnel vision of looking inward onto my hurts and struggles and pain—trapped, confused, no sense of direction. Even though I have lights on and have tried to clear my vision. 

The answer? Stay out of the tunnels. But if you do find yourself in one, and your feel yourself being sucked into that self-pity mode, smack yourself on the back of the head, open your bible, fall on your knees, and focus on Jesus. He is our everlasting joy. We are no good to others when we are wallowing in a tunnel of self-flagellation. But, when others see our joy in Christ, despite our trials, they will want all the more to find out what makes us so joyful, so they too can experience it. 

I have suffered from serious clinical depression nearly my entire life, yet I still have more joy than I can explain. Am I sad at times? Yes. Depressed? Yes. Unhappy? Yes. But, I am full of joy.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation." Habakkuk 3:17-18

Connections

Recently I attended a funeral for my last remaining uncle, a trip entailing a 36-hour round trip flight to Cincinnati, a trip I almost did not take because I really did not "know" any of the other relatives. Uncle Rob spent most of his life traveling the world, then settled in California in the 60s; he never married or had children, and he and my dad (his brother) were too much alike to tolerate each other's company for too long--they only recently reconciled about two years before my dad died. Me? Over the years Rob and I kept in touch through letters, emails, phone calls, and random trips to visit each other; more recently, he had been a huge source of comfort to me during my dad's and stepmom's illnesses and deaths. Sadly, we had not connected since April, and recent emails and phone calls to him went unanswered. Right  before Thanksgiving, he called me but hung up after one ring; I called him back. He sounded horrible, and he said "Barbara, I think this is it;" we talked briefly, and that was it--I meant to call him back later that month, but you know, I would get busy, or it would be too early or too late, and then the first week of December came and went, and finally, when I did call, that horrible sterile recording, "I'm sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed, that number is no longer in service." A quick search on the internet confirmed my fear: Robert W. Koenig, age 94, Sonoma California, October 18, 1927-December 6, 2021. Sleuthed a bit more, and noticed there were going to be two funerals: one in California, and one Cincinnati; I called the Ohio funeral home and asked to have whoever was handling his arrangements to call me. While I was waiting, I sent a couple of messages to two relatives I found on FaceBook (by looking up their names from an old family tree Rob had given me).

A few hours afterward, I got a call from Cincinnati--it was Suzanne, a cousin I had never met, the woman who was handling the service. Rob had talked often about a Suzanne, a Jerry (her husband) and a Kathy, as well as many others, people with whom he enjoyed close connections, a link back to Cincinnati. Most of them were the grown children of his cousins (my aunts and uncles, who had long passed.) Suzanne shared with me how sick Rob had been that month or so before he died, and that she spoke to him frequently during those weeks; listening to her put to rest that nagging twinge of guilt I felt for not rushing out to see Rob after that awful phone call before Thanksgiving. Anyway, after chatting for a bit and getting past the basic social niceties, I had all the details for the funeral and the burial, and promised to get back to her to let her know either way if I was coming. Mind you, I was not even sure I wanted to go to the funeral. I had never met anyone who would be there, I would have to go by myself, it was a long way to go, airlines were having all kinds of issues with delays and cancellations and COVID quarantines, it was the post Christmas rush...I had a million excuses. In my heart, though, was this persistent ache, a sense of loss, and an overwhelming feeling of grief of reliving the death of my parents, especially my dad, who, by the way, also died at age 94, on December 6, three years earlier. So I booked my flight, hotel, and rental car for a quick 36-hour round trip. 

And oh how glad I am that I went! The funeral was beautiful, meaningful, and cathartic. Driving through the neighborhood where ghosts of my grandparents and parents and aunts and uncles seemed so tangible, and seeing the church and school I attended as a little girl, familiar street signs and landmarks, and I knew I had made the right decision. As soon as I walked into the church, Suzanne came up to me, said "you must be Barbara!," hugged me, and then introduced me to everyone else. Meeting a whole new branch of the family tree, making connections with cousins and their children, I shared in their grief and loss of someone we all knew and loved. These people I had never met went out of their way to make me feel welcome, including me in the celebration of Rob's life, even asking me to help place the pall on his coffin. Then, riding in the funeral procession to the familiar cemetery I visited every Sunday as a little girl, a flood of emotions and memories came rushing back, and I felt more connected to that spot, that area, than anywhere else. I felt I was home, that somehow, if I drove down the block to my old street, I just might catch a glimpse of Nana, or hear the kids playing Red Rover in the street, waiting for the Mister Softee truck. Powerful connections, connections I thought no longer existed were now restored. Finally, seeing my parents' gravesite, the stone that Rob and my daughter and I designed now in place, I knew I had made the right decision. 

Most of the relatives had to leave, but Suzanne and Jerry took me to lunch at a brand new restaurant in the incline district, an up and coming trendy area with a playhouse, condos, and hangouts where beautiful old buildings used to be. We shared so many memories, good and bad, and talked for so long the waitress gave up on taking our order. After lunch, they then invited me back to their house for coffee and snacks, where we talked and shared stories, making those connections. Familiar names--Joann, Celsie, Bernice, Frank, Theresa, Ginny and Ed--names I had not really spoken in ages, all of them connected to our lives. Memories of late night poker games held on weekends, rotating among each of their houses. Clarifying who was married, who had children, where everyone was living, grandkids, even pets. But mostly sharing each others' memories of the man whose life we gathered to celebrate, each of us with different, yet similar, connections. Making new connections with each other. I had been worried my memories of Rob would fade away because everyone who I knew, and who knew him, was gone; I was wrong. At the ripe old age of 66, I can still establish new connections, new roots, and form new relationships, keeping the past and those precious memories alive.

As I age and lose more loved ones, these tendrils connecting me to the important people of my life, connecting me to this fragile life here on earth, become frayed or stretched or even broken, and I’m sometimes left with a sense of loss and pain. That relationship is no longer there, and I can feel the part of me that is connected to that person leaving, like air leaking out of a hole in a balloon. I try to hold on to it, to hold that part of me close, the part of me defined by that person I just lost, but it's no use. But just when I think it is lost forever, serendipitously, God shows me new connections to replace those I thought I lost, making my life fuller and richer, and strengthening those connections to the past through our shared, but different, recollections. 

I see more trips to Cincinnati in my future 

The Chasm in Between

Alex and I have a strong desire to help others, especially those who cannot (or maybe will not) help themselves. Whatever the genesis, I can tell you what it is not. It is not a cry for attention, or an urge to look good. It is NOT virtue signaling, or pity, or feeling better than someone else. And we are not trying to singlehandedly save the universe, nor are we naive enough to believe that everyone we try to help will respond positively. The path to helping other human beings is fraught with all kinds of  danger, a veritable minefield of the worst characteristics of human nature: greed, selfishness, pride, envy, shame, and guilt, to name just a few. So missteps are not uncommon and more often than not the proffered help is not even appreciated, let alone accepted.

Through the years we have helped (or attempted to, anyway) our children, our coworkers, our friends, and our parents, our neighbors, and complete strangers. Over the past five or six years, the desire to help seemed to grow more urgent. We are  retired, our children are grown, and we have everything we need; naturally as Christians we want to share what we have and what we have learned with others. Retirement is not the death knell for life as we know it, and we offer our help aligned with God's law. When someone comes into our lives or our path and we "feel" God has placed that person there for a reason, we reflect on that and pray and discuss it with each other before making a big commitment; we have found if we just rashly jump into it without prayerful reflection and talking to each other, the end result has been less than ideal.  

But how do you help someone who doesn’t want the help? How do you help someone who doesn’t know he needs help? Or, how do you help someone who wants the help, knows he needs it, but doesn’t know how to ask or receive it or find it? That seems to be the sticking point for me, anyway, right now...maybe Alex is doing okay, but my heart hurts. And I am confused! Why does God put these people in our lives, ask us to help them, only to allow them to reject our help? Let's face it, it gets very disheartening when your help is not wanted or when your motives are misconstrued. (And I am not just referring to the fiasco with my mom 5 years ago, either.) We may have loads of life experience and education, and yes we have God on our side, but trying to figure out what to say and when to say it and when to shut up and when to press on and when to let go is a Herculean task! The tendency (actually if I am honest with myself, the very strong urge) to push my help, to control the situation, to steer the end result toward my desired conclusion, where everyone lives happily ever after and there is no more pain and suffering, that tendency is overwhelming. 

I really feel as if there is a huge, bottomless chasm between me and the person(s) I am trying to help, and I don't know how to reach them, to make them see how much they matter to me and to God, and to open their eyes to the ugliness of their sin without making them feel any worse. To reach out and take the wonderful bridge that is God's grace. I just do not have the words, and I am at a loss to help them. I guess I will have to let the Holy Spirit take this one.