What to Expect When You are Letting Go

One day I woke up to find myself in a dry, foreign, and lonely land.  Just as the early pioneers must have felt as they trundled west in search of freedom and prosperity clinging to the promise of creating the new life they had always dreamed of.  The notion of those dreams being enough to embolden them to leave family and friends, to trade the known and predictable for the unknown and unpredictable, and journey hundreds, even thousands of miles in search of this life.  They braved thieving outlaws, hostile Indians, and treacherous terrain….all fueled by that dream.  I am a mother and I now find myself in this parched place but oddly, I am not in complete defeat and despair.  For on the horizon a glimmer of hope crackles, like the lightning that dances in the clouds of a distant thunderstorm. 

The dream began as a young girl, just as I suspect many other young girls dream.....to have children and raise them into a family of friends.  Isn’t that what we all want? To be surrounded by those we love and that love us.  So after being married for five years, my husband and I began to cultivate that dream of children to share our life with.  To show them the wonders of Creation, share adventures, impart our little bit of knowledge, to leave a legacy, and maybe receive a little joy and satisfaction from the intangible blessings that come from sharing and sacrificial love.  And so the journey into parenthood began and along with it the research.  I bought the pregnant woman’s bible, What to Expect When You are Expecting and I lived, breathed, and memorized it for the entire 9 months.  I could not get enough, everyday reading about my specific month of pregnancy, trying to get to know the life that was growing inside of me. And when I had that one memorized and I could not squeeze one more nugget of knowledge out of it, I bought 2 or 3 similar ones.   At 15 weeks after conception, the baby is 4 inches and can sense light even though her eyelids are still fused.  At 24 weeks she is the size of an ear of corn and can hear what’s going on outside the womb.  I was trying to gain insight about who this developing embryo was and what it needed to grow and gain.  I assigned a personality and athletic feats to my baby, as I imagined it performing Olympic level bar routines on my ribs.  How I loved the child that was growing.  I talked to it, played music for it (because you know, music makes babies smart), I read to it.  For nine months I was never alone, and everything I did, I had the health and well-being of that child in my thoughts.  And then the day arrived when I finally got to meet this little person we had created, and that I had come to know as well as I know my own body.  I knew her kicks, I knew when she didn’t like the supper we ate, I knew when she was content, and now I would finally meet her and hold her  in my arms and look her in the eyes and we would love each other and someday, I hoped would be friends.

 I am a mother and the me I was before, the me I was as Paul’s wife, the me I was in my career had suddenly disappeared and I became just Mom.  That quickly, in the time it took for my daughter to appear in the world, I went from all that I was before to just “her mother”.  The same happened for each new baby I delivered and it was just as intense with my little Guatemalan with whom I suffered the longest birth pains awaiting his papers to finalize; and who was almost 6 and kind of big and awkward to swaddle and cuddle like a little baby for the first time.  And it was good, I loved this new persona, this new career of Motherhood.  It fit me and I could use all of my innate talents of organization, time management, research skills, creativity, domestic engineering abilities, all of it.  Somehow I lucked into the best career ever.  I felt totally at home and right where I knew I belonged.  I even found myself puzzled by other women who were struggling and felt they needed some creative outlet, or to keep their career because the duties of motherhood did not fulfill them completely.  I’m not judging at all, but for me, every aspect of motherhood, especially the baby, toddler, and childhood years was more than fulfilling, exciting, and good.  Even on the most boring of days when I found myself reading the same story, or watching the same worn out kiddie video, or sitting up all night with the croup was fine with me.  I wouldn’t have traded it for a million dollars. 

So how do I find myself in the parched land, if this is what I wanted?  Well, the child grew up.  Plain and simple, I have become obsolete, last year’s model, and it seems, no longer relevant.  I’ve lost my shine and I’ve gone from being the first person she wanted to see to the last.  Oh I don’t blame her, she’s not a bad child, an ingrate (well maybe a little), uncaring, no, she has just grown up.  I did my job and I did it well, so well, that now I’m almost completely out of a job.  Thankfully, I still have a few more at home, but honestly they are young adults, and they can reason and make decisions (most good), and they are independent and don’t really need me much either, except maybe to drive them somewhere or give them money.  It’s all due to the Trickle Down Effect.   That scientific phenomena in which each younger sibling becomes exponentially more independent than their successor.  Thankfully, I don’t have 15 children or I’d have to face the fact that the baby would not need me at all.  I wish I would have had a book to prepare me for this point in the grand scheme. 

A book kind of like the one I studied so fiercely when I was pregnant, except I would call this one,  What to Expect When You are Letting Go.  If I had only known how painful the break would be I may have been able to prepare myself better.  If I could’ve understood how quickly the years would fly…. it’s really not a cliché, it’s a fact….I could have maybe braced myself for it.  Once I heard some wise older mother say to her daughter who was a young mother, “the days go slow, but the years fly”.  She was so right and how does that happen?  If I only had a book that explained, that as you are filling in your calendar in the day to day, raising them to be rockstars, jockstars, and docstars, you become so busy living in the future that you forget to notice the present if you are not careful, and then it has become the past.  All those music lessons, sports teams, and science fairs, scout outings, family vacations somehow cause time to travel at warp speed and then it seems in the difference of one day you find yourself getting sticky kisses from a gooey faced toddler, to waving good bye to your college freshman.

 I have found myself in the odd position of what I imagine it feels to be fired.  I went into work one day with the best laid plans and I am handed a pink slip. “Thanks for your services but no thanks”.  I have been escorted out of the building.  But wait, what did I do wrong?  Can I fix it?  Is there severance package…maybe they could blow me one last kiss????? A gold watch?  Nope, out the door and farewell.  But it’s not the end.  It’s kind of like your worst nightmare, because you’re fired, but they still call you when they have trouble.  It’s like you don’t get any benefits, pay, or the good stuff that came with the job, but you still get to take care of all the problems that arose with the job.  And thanks to modern technology, they can text you 24 hours a day with all the problems that you need to fix but strangely enough, they forget to tell you all the great stuff, because they are so busy living life and having so much fun.  And thanks to technology, you may be fortunate enough to watch from afar through social media and learn of all the fun and great things that are happening. 

It’s not malicious on their part, it’s where they are in their development.  They have just sprouted wings and are learning to fly and it’s an all-consuming effort.  They don’t have children of their own, so they just don’t get it.  They think their life is theirs alone and that they are where they are because of what they did.  They don’t understand all the behind the scenes work and sacrifice that went into getting them to this point.  It’s ok, it’s just the way it is.  I don’t mean to sound bitter or even a little resentful.  I’m not, I’m just learning to acclimate.  I suppose I’m going through the stages of grief, and I may be spinning my wheels in denial a bit long, but it’s just the process.  After all, I had 9 months to get to know and love her with my entire being, surely I deserve at least 9 months notice that I have to let go, maybe even more since I’ve devoted 18, no 20 years. 

So what is the hope that I have?  Well, after being curled in a ball in my closet with my chocolate stash and blankie for a few weeks, I remembered I still have 3 more teen spawns, I mean young adults at home that still need me, at least for a while.  But the greatest truth I realized is that I can get to know me again.  I am certainly not the me I was before I got married, I barely remember that idealistic headstrong girl.  I’m not the me that married and was married to Paul, my knight in shining armor as I recall, for 5 years because we’ve grown, changed, and his armor is a little tarnished...but that’s a whole other blog for another day.  I’m this new me, one with dents and dings, but who is wiser and braver than ever before, because that’s what I’ve had to be for my children all these years.  And that is the hope right there.  I am not obsolete, I’m not useless, I can offer a lot to those around me, because my children raised me to be brave, wise, and selfless and I can face this new chapter with confidence.  I can be whatever and whoever I want to be, just as I taught them about themselves.  It’s a whole new world.  The clouds are separating and the first rays of sunlight are gleaming through.   

The other day my oldest who is now a sophomore in college, texted me out of the blue to say that she loved me and to tell me about her day, and then asked me about mine. It was as exhilarating to me as hearing her say her first words and it gave me hope.  I can see that I don't need to feel lonely or nostalgic because I have a new friend, and we go back a long way.

Message in a Bottle

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It seems, lately, that I have many people in my circle of life who are struggling with dire illness and personal turmoil. I have so much I want to say to them and I want to say to those who are struggling right along with them, as caretakers and friends. What I'm sharing began as a letter to one dear friend, in particular, but as I was writing I felt like others could read it and hopefully benefit from it as well....because I think the struggle is universal. As a person who is living the trial, they need to hear these words of love and affirmation and as the person who is caretaking, they too may find some reconciliation with the pain and suffering and the redemption that comes later, as they are witnessing and experiencing right along with their loved one. So, I give you my Message in a bottle.....

I just wanted to write you because I wanted you to know that sharing this journey called life and all of its ups and downs, as your friend, is one of the greatest privileges I have. I don't want that to come off like I'm some do-gooder or frankly, some holier-than-thou-saint, because I am surely neither, but I am sincere. You and I have experienced traumatic pain and loss and familial dysfunction early in life. We have had ill parents and had to grow up and face the realities that many, many people never come to realize. It's very painful, and feels unfair when looking around at other's and their circumstances. But as I grow older, I actually thank God for the gift that He gave me through those trials. I think that it makes the preciousness of life abundantly clear, and by experiencing difficulty, loss, and pain at a young age, we can have empathy for others who are going through their own trials. We can rise above our own pain and reach out to others. We can heal our wounds by healing the wounds of others.

Let's face it, this life is hell. There was never a promise anywhere in the Bible, after sin in the Garden of Eden, that would suggest anything different. In fact, Jesus very pointedly tells his disciples (us included, as we are just that in this present age) that life here is and will be miserable, especially the deeper our faith grows and the more we share His love, because we have an enemy that wants to discourage. And the more time I spend in the Bible, the older I get, the more life I live, I have come to realize that the great things in this life, those that the world would say are the sole reason for a fulfilled life are an illusion. Yes, there is fun to be had, and we should enjoy all the blessings we have, the money we can spend, etc. But the money, the fun, the material possession are not fulfillment and if you are honest you recognize that. From a worldly perspective, the fun is in the pursuit, but after you obtain something, its luster fades, rather quickly. Real fulfillment and real treasure is the love we can share, the time we can give to someone else, in happiness or sadness, trial or triumph, pain and suffering. That is real, that is life, that is what Jesus was trying to convey and has been trying to convey...and I think being a mother has driven that home...it's what we do naturally, on a daily basis, with our children.

There is no other way to find true fulfillment other than giving sacrificial love, and certainly as a Christian it is not about living a life checking boxes: church - check, Sunday school - check, private education - check, mission trips - check, charity work - check, tithing 10% - check, all the while stepping over and on others, especially in their time of need, because they are inconvenient to the checklist and not part of your plan. THEY are the checklist, THEY are our purpose in this life....to share Christ's unconditional love and unconstrained time in daily life. It's a paradox because through freely offering our time and love we receive more time and love. It's like the miracle story of the loaves and fishes..it sounds cliche' but its true, and I have been fortunate enough to have seen and felt it with my own eyes and heart on many occasions. Just yesterday after leaving you, I had more time than ever to get what I needed done and I felt more love than ever spending those few hours with you. I didn't want to be anywhere else, and I want to thank you for letting me spend that time with you. I know that on your side, it may feel like you are burdening others or making others feel uncomfortable, but you aren't. Let people in, let people love you, it's the greatest gift you can give them.

Although it's not what you would have designed or how you would want, you must believe that you are blessing your children with this trial. It doesn't feel like it, but you are passing along so many tangible lessons...empathy, the value of encouragement, of caring for another, of love, and the realization that time needs to be shared because it is so precious. Even the negative feelings of questioning, frustration, and anger are gifts, because they make you search for something bigger than yourself. They make you question God...the same God who dares you to question Him. He wants you to seek after Him, to hand off your life to Him, for that is when He can show you His power, His grace, His mercy. And when people have it all together, He is the last thing they seek. So yes even this horrible thing can be a gift...just point your children toward God and let Him, through the Holy Spirit, work. They are teenagers and teenagers are by nature struggling with coming to terms with adulthood while still having childish feelings, they can be angry and confused, and these hard life situations are the perfect place to lead by example.

Your bravery is a shining example of hope...your bravery shows when you carry your burden with a stiff upper lip, and it shines when you are curled up in a ball in complete panic and heartbreak. Bravery is not avoiding the difficult and terrifying, bravery is assessing, accepting, and addressing head-on that in which you are facing. And you are equipping them to deal with the realness, the mess, that is this life...you are helping them grow up. You are giving them a greater education than anything any school or university can provide. You are showing them that life is wild and uncontrollable...that they are not the author of life, but they have a Creator who loves them and a Savior who saved them from this seemingly futile existence. And while life will be unfair, unintelligible sometimes, there is always peace to have when we realize where the peace comes from. And the real pursuit in this life should be not be the pursuit of money, prestige, and possessions, but of love, time, and relationships...the most important of those relationships being with Jesus.

This life is but a vapor...I guarantee that even a 90 year old person in pristine health would agree with me...it goes fast, it fades, it withers, but the knowledge of our Savior and the recognition that our whole reason for being is to bring glory to Him by sharing His love with others, does not fade and is what is everlasting. This life is a vapor, but we who are in Him will live eternally together with Him after the mist. How awesome is that...one day we will spend time together without anxiety and worry...but living a life as God originally created it, in pure harmony and peace (maybe even singing Kum by ya :) ) and never again feeling heartache, anxiety, guilt, frustration and above all the loneliness that we feel in this mist. The fog will be lifted and we will be singing in the sun, my friend, in the presence of our Savior, and for that I cannot wait!

I love you more than you know and I am so thankful that God brought us together all those years ago. Keep me in the loop of your struggle, don't shut me out for fear of being a burden, or because in the process of living life a lot of time has lapsed, share your life, it's a beautiful thing.

My Addiction

I’m calling for an intervention! I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown and my Diet Pepsi is the equivalent to the first hit a slack-jawed, jangled nerved, smoker takes. I’m only surmising, as I have never had the desire to smoke. Living with a 3-pack a day smoker father and due to the copious amounts of secondhand smoke I inhaled in my youth, enough to last a lifetime, I have been cured any desire. In fact, now and then I will open my mouth for a yawn and a long trapped smoke ring will find its way to the surface, escaping from my charred and smoke annihilated lungs. But I digress, back to the Diet Pepsi. 

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Hands shaking I twist off the top of one of my miniature bottles. I mean surely if I buy the 12 ounce size, then I don’t really have a problem right? I'm just getting a little taste, at least that’s the rationale. But somehow I don’t think that holds up if I end up drinking the whole six pack at one sitting...but who is counting anyway? It’s all worth it to have the cold, burning rush of bubbles flow down my gullet sending the much needed blanket of calm over my nerves. I have an addiction, I will admit. I’ve been hooked on several soft drinks over the years. 

For many of those years, when my children were young, it was Diet Coke. You should know, I homeschool my children, have since the beginning of time, or so it seems that way to me. Way back when Adam and Eve were out in the Garden. Anyway, when they were young we lived in a subdivision in a rural community, and after a morning of trying to get each to do their lessons, like all the perfect homeschool blogger moms that posted videos of their days, I would begin to crumble. You’ve seen those videos, heard those perfect moms talking, offering advice (unsolicited more often than not, I might add) in a pitying tone to you, about how your kids just lack discipline and routine. Videos showing days filled with little girls in bows and perfectly ironed little dresses and boys in their pressed and creased khakis, proudly reciting the whole book of Genesis, even before breakfast. 

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However, my mornings never went that way, and by 2 pm I needed a fix, a pick me up, something to soothe the desperation and sense of failure. So I would load all the kids in the van and trundle down the hill, 1.5 miles to the McDonalds. McDonald's, where the Golden Arches glistened and gleamed in the sunlight, making me about as exuberant at the sight, as an old miner ’49er panning in a frigid creek in far off Alaska, chewing on his last hunk of jerky and wondering what was he doing, when suddenly he would spot that first glint of gold in the sunlight. I would drive through order my $1 size Diet Coke. The cup was the size of a 2- Liter soda bottle and held as much, but pity the soda girl if she didn’t get that baby filled to the brim. I was entitled to my full due, by golly, I demanded my dollar's worth! I would not be cheated.

My Diet Coke addiction was cured when we moved. No, we didn’t move because of it. My husband did not put the house up for sale in the middle of the night and pack us up, and haul us away from that sinister McDonald’s, the supplier to my habit. No there were other reasons for the move, but in my gut I knew it was time for a fresh start and the move was a place to begin over. We located a house that was too far from any McDonalds and now was the time to clean house! No more chemicals and caramel coloring to pollute this temple, no sir.

Things were rolling along nicely, and then one miserable August day while waiting in line at my neighborhood WalMart, after another long and endless summer day of kids bickering and the looming school year yawing ahead of me, with the pressure of designing lesson plans and school supplies to acquire, I spied a lovely green bottle in the mini fridge in the checkout aisle. It was wrapped in a captivating label. The logo spoke adventure to me and the name of this beverage shouted MOUNTAIN DEW. 

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Something snapped in me and it was like that old commercial that showed a woman in the tub after a long day whispering, “Calgon take me away…” Except, this was a 20 ounce bottle of freedom, beckoning me, toying with me, teasing me to escape the monotonous days that were rolling one into the next. One whose sublime, fluorescent green elixir looked suspiciously like a toxic flow of chemicals, but certainly it was not. It was called Mountain Dew, what could be healthier than dew from a lovely, majestic mountain? 

I paused, made a few furtive glances around me and opened the door to the fridge. My heart was racing, my thoughts swirling in opposition…”don’t do it, you’ve been good for too long”, the other side whispering, “you know you want it, you deserve it”. I’m ashamed but I caved. I grabbed the bottle put it on the belt and when the checker asked if I wanted it out of the bag I spoke a little too quickly and casually. “NO, NO, that’s not mine, it’s for my husband, you know, after work. He likes a little pick me up after a hard day.” “Ooookayyyy”, she replied kind of puzzled at my shrill response. 

I herded the kids quickly to the car and made my way home. I turned on the Sponge Bob marathon and placed the kids in front of the TV. “Mom’s going to take a little nip, er nap, don’t bother me for at least 15 minutes ok?” Silence, the hypnosis had already taken hold and now I was on my way to experience the pleasurable freedom I had dreamt of upon first seeing that bottle. I closed my door, sat down and cracked open the bottle and swilled like a woman who, after spending months crossing the great Sahara Desert, was given her first cup of water. Ahhhhhh the taste, oh the taste, it had the taste of sunshine captured in a bubbly froth. It was my beloved Diet Mountain Dew.

Oh Diet Dew the wonders of you! It was my new fix. I would drink it and feel as if could actually climb mountains! It was so delicious and irreplaceable. How had I ever missed this wonderful concoction? To top things off, it was also really good for my diet, because in drinking Diet Mountain Dew, I never would dare pair it with chocolate or cake or something so sinister to my waistline. I reasoned it was my one sinful pleasure, but really how sinful can something be that contains real orange juice? Never mind that it contains enough caffeine to power a herd of elephants rampaging across the Serengeti! And so the addiction took hold and the rationalizing and the sneaking became common place. I was hooked once again.

Then one day, I was in the dark, in my closet, surrounded by empty Diet Mountain Dew bottles, having guzzled the last of my stash, hands shaking, the kids yelling for me, my husband yelling for me, “Honey, where are you?” and I knew this was no life. I had to beat this monster’s hold. I told myself that I had done it before I could do it again. And so I began the weaning process, and with much effort and hard work I pried the cold, dead grip of that Diet Mountain Dew from my life. Victory was mine, I had a new lease on life. The sun shone brighter, the birds sang louder, I was free, free indeed!

And now you ask, how is it that you find yourself with a new love, a new carbonated beverage with a foothold? Well, it all comes back to the kids, again! I have almost four teenagers (the youngest will be 13 in a month) and I can’t take it! I am at a cross roads, I am reminded daily that I am losing control of them and in no time they won't even need me. They are beginning to fly on their own, making their own decisions. Decisions that will someday come back to haunt me, because everyone knows it’s always the Mother’s fault! Don’t get me wrong, they are good kids, and it’s not their fault. It’s the nature of the job, the way of the world, the natural progression of these things. But for crying out loud I simply cannot take it! I need a fix and so having kicked Diet Coke to the curb and drowning the Diet Dew I find myself with a new seducer, Diet Pepsi.

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Diet Pepsi, with its patriotic red, white, and blue logo and silver (like the betraying strands of my hair) label. It reminds of everything American…tradition, courage, and good old apple pie, although I’m not sure it would taste good with apple pie. That might be something to try later on. "But oh Diet Pepsi", as I slowly and joyfully twist your lid, "I am anticipating your healing bubbles will soothe my troubled soul, at least till I overcome you, too!"

The Fixer-Upper

Paul and I looked at a house today, to hopefully pick up at a bargain, in order to clean it up and resell it. I had great plans for this place, a foreclosure that has been on the market for almost a year. I called the realtor to set an appointment for a look-see and he informed me that it was government owned and had mold, so a release would need to be signed. Honestly, the thought of dealing with the government was more daunting that the thought of a little mold.  But we boldly signed the release and set out to buy a house.

We arrived and upon the front door were stickers plastered all over warning:  KEEP OUT, UNINHABITABLE, CAUTION. The realtor handed us face masks to protect and guard against the rogue mold spores that might be lurking, ready to pounce on anyone who dared entered its lair. Like I said, I wasn't afraid of the threat of mold, so I went in maskless and ready to envision all the ways I would breathe new life into the place.

We stepped in and it was clear that any updating and cleaning up would not make a dent, this was going to be a total gut job. I stood in this place, totally aghast at the ruination. If I had to guess, by all appearances, I would say it was some kind of crack house in the ghetto, not a little ranch in suburbia. The walls were filthy, dirty, nasty, and stained with anyone's guess as to what was splattered all over them. The carpets that had once been burnt orange, were now grungy and black having years of filth ground in, until the filth itself had become the very fiber of the carpet. The kitchen was unbelievably squalid. Ripped vinyl flooring, food stuffs ground into the walls, and counters dirty and unwashed. There was even evidence of a rat or two. The grime in glaring contrast to the homey, gingham check and apple border that had so lovingly been lined around the ceiling at some far off distant time. In the family room the floors heaved and buckled and the air was dank and stagnant. Loneliness oozed from every nook and cranny. But curiously, along one wall, was the faded evidence of a parent marking the passage of time and growth of the children that once inhabited this home, also from a far and distant time. I wondered about little Celia and Wade, and the other children, whose names and height had been captured for posterity sake. What had happened to those children? Were they victims of drug addicted parents? What tragedy had ushered them into this neglected atmosphere. Was there a sickness that caused them to fall into poverty? Did they ever have a clean stitch of clothing to wear? Was there ever a clean bed to sleep in?

We made our way to the basement steps and stopped, as if perched on a the edge of a great yawning abyss, the entrance to some monster's den. Peering down we saw the villainous mold that had begun its creep, making its ascension up along the walls, all with the intent to envelop every wall and surface like the kudzu along the highways of the South. I finally relented and put on my mask. I don't know if it was my imagination, but my eyes were itching, actually, I began to itch all over. Down, down, down we carefully trod, determined not to touch the living monster that was swallowing this house. We stood in the basement, mouth agape at the sight. There all around, the walls and ceilings were  plastered with the black furry mold; evil little spores ready to release and attach to any carbon based form that presented itself. It almost breathed a sigh of relief at the new blood that had entered its sanctuary. The feeling was creepy and desolate. I could imagine this being the setting of some horror movie, easily envisioning some poor soul chained in this chamber of doom. The concrete floors were cracked and bulged as if some giant below was trying to make its escape from its entombment. It was obvious that a little elbow grease, paint, and carpet was not going to save this place. Its life was long past due, the foundation completely off kilter; it was DOA, no life, just a growing, seething cancer of mold choking and squeezing its future away. The death knell had rung, and burial by razing was eminent.

We walked out disappointed and I felt a little melancholy. I wondered what grand dreams and schemes were planned in 1971, when this little ranch house was built and its new owners moved in. Did they plan on filling the bedrooms with lots of babies? Did they plant flowers in the yard? How many holiday meals were cooked and served from that kitchen? How did the Christmas tree look in front of the picture window in the living room? When did things start to go wrong? When did the foundation begin to slip and the repairs begin to look daunting and overwhelming? When did the first couple drips of water turn into a constant bombardment of moisture that fed the living, breathing black mold beast? Why didn't anyone try to stop it? Why did they wait too long until things had gotten so far out of hand and unfixable?

While driving home, I couldn't help but feel sadness for that little home that once held the dreams of a life. I started thinking of ways to revive the old girl and save her legacy. But it was obviously beyond saving and the sorrow settled in. And then I awoke from my reverie and realized this was not a living thing, like a person, but an inanimate object. I began to think of this house as a metaphor for a life of poor choices or circumstances. And I began to think about how I had been actually grieving about this house's lost dreams, yet, how many lost and consumed souls had passed me in my day to day, in the grocery store, at the library, or even at church, and I had never even given a second thought to them.

I began to refocus and think about what it is that I could do to help those who hadn't been afraid of the foothold of immorality, or didn't notice that first crack in judgement, or the swallowing vortex that inaction brings. Those who are on the brink of the abyss, those who are going to be swallowed by the beast of sin? Jesus tells His disciples that He will be leaving them soon and that He is sending a Helper (the Holy Spirit).  He defines sin in John 16:7- 11, where He says, "If I do go away, then I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world of its sin, and of God’s righteousness, and of the coming judgment. The world’s sin is that it refuses to believe in me. Righteousness is available because I go to the Father, and you will see me no more. Judgment will come because the ruler of this world has already been judged."

I made a decision to look and see, listen and hear those around me. To watch for settling and cracks, the faint palor of neglect, a hint of the mold that may be poising itself in a bid to overcome those souls. I want to offer help, comfort, and encouragement.  Provide them with the keys to a new dream, a way for a clean heart, and a new home. Tell them about a hope and a future that can be found in life built upon the firm foundation of a faith in Christ, the one true Cornerstone. And while I'm at it, I'll keep looking for the little fixer-upper that needs some fresh air and new life breathed into, as well.

Why Bad for Those Good?

Recently, I was asked a tough question by my daughter's friend, who is like a child of my own. I have known this girl for about 10 years now, and have watched her grow and mature, seeking her purpose in life, while always wondering about God's will for her as well. We were driving to lunch, singing to the tunes on the radio and acting silly, and out of the blue she asked me why I thought bad things happened to good people. It's really an age old question...one that is asked by all people, whether they be teens beginning to discover the conundrums of adulthood, or by senior citizens reflecting back upon a lifetime of tangled webs. Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?

I thought about it a minute and my first inclination was to make some type of lame joke or deflect the question with a quick-fix, glib answer, and get back to singing songs and having fun. But then it occurred to me that this girl must be struggling with something and she needed some type of answer. I felt honored that she would seek my opinion on the matter, and a burden to do my best to answer in a helpful way. So I went from singing fake opera, to murmuring a quick prayer, and offered her an answer she could think and pray about.

"Well", I began, "does God really let bad things happen to good people?" I mean, we can agree there is bad in the world, it is called sin. We know that there is sin in the world because man made the decision long ago to disobey God, and as a result of sin, bad things happen. But are there really good people? Sure we like to think we are good, that basically people have a bent toward goodness. We know that people like to think that because they haven't committed some horrible act like rape or robbery, abortion or adultery, that if they follow all the rules, for the most part, and aren't finding themselves on the wrong side of the law, that they are good. In fact, people like to put more qualifications on goodness...if they help the poor, feed the homeless, practice some kind of spirituality, do a good deed now and then, or go on a mission trip...then they should never have to suffer illness, tragedy, and even to some extent, death before a certain age (funny how that age gets farther and farther out the older they get, too). To our way of thinking, that sounds fair.

However, a sin is a sin is a sin. In God's eyes, someone's white lie, is no worse than someone else's murder, someone's drug addiction, someone's defiance, or someone else's gossip; the list is endless. Actually, to the one True, Holy, and Perfect God, all of those sins are equally egregious and they all stem from the one and only sin that He cannot and will not tolerate. This sin is so evil, that we learn in Isaiah 14:12-18, that it was the cause for the removal of God's best angel, Lucifer, from his heavenly realm. Lucifer or Satan, was known as the highest, most beautiful, and wisest angel, the Star of the Morning, who became so enthralled with himself that he began his plot to place his throne above God's and to become god. Satan's sin, "the sin", is the sin of pride.

Yes, I believe all sins can be traced back to that of pride. Pride is defined in the dictionary as "a high or inordinate opinion of one's own dignity, importance, merit, or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in bearing or conduct." God's definition of pride is the act of putting ourselves, our comfort, our desires, our importance above Him. In essence it is idolatry, because we are making ourselves the god of our life, instead of Him. It's our will be done, not His. In our desire to hold on to our high opinion of ourselves, we commit many sins, large and small, and we commit them often. Sins that, we rationalize as necessary and for the most part, consider inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

"So", I offered, "if we all are sinners as defined by God, then the question becomes, are there really good people that bad things happen to?" Ouch, that kind of stings, when you really think about it. I mean, we really don't like to think that harshly of ourselves. My point then is that sin causes terrible consequences to befall us. Whether it is a consequence of our own sinful action, or collateral damage from the sins of those around us, it causes pain and suffering. It even causes sickness, because our bodies are deteriorating and affected by the collective sins of modern man. Those sins that have created havoc with nature and our environment and have introduced disease and dilemma into our lives.

Do I think God targets good people with bad things? Absolutely not! Does God allow sin to take its course in the lives of people. Yes! But does sin have the final victory if we have put our faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus? No! By confessing our sins and giving our lives over to the will of God, we have presented our blame to Him, acknowledged our failings, and allowed God to enact His plan for those bad things, and work them out for good. This He promises in Romans 8:28, which says, "we know in all things God works for the good of those that love him, who have been called according to his purpose".  And if we take notice, usually in hindsight, we can see that some form of good can be found. Moreover, we will likely find that our character has been refined and made stronger through the ordeal. In the end, the "good" may not take the form we, in our limited perspective would choose, but it is the wisest and best from an eternal perspective, because it was worked through His hands and for His purpose.

A perfect metaphor of this very concept, came to me last year, on our trip to Hawaii, during our visit to the USS Arizona Memorial. The Arizona was the ship that was bombed by the Japanese, that early morning on December 7, 1941. The event that became the catalyst that pulled the United States into World War II. As we stood on deck of the of the Memorial, and as I was thinking of the entombed soldiers under my feet, with the smell of diesel fuel thick in the air.....for fuel still bleeds from that 62 year old wound....a thought occurred to me. The ship is a metaphor for a life of faith and an example of the Romans 8:28 verse. The Japanese thought they had destroyed the battleship and from all appearances that day, it seemed true. However, when the smoke cleared our soldiers pulled together, used what parts they could salvage from the ship, and began a rapid defense and plan of attack. The Japanese had not fully removed the American presence in that part of the Pacific theater and the loss of life only strengthened the resolve of our men. And after the endurance of much time and suffering, in the end, good defeated evil. The ship, while appearing lost, not only ended up saving lives then, but is now covered with living coral and a renewed purpose today. Yes, good was worked from bad and for a higher purpose.

So just as we may not understand our situation or things seem irreversibly damaged and lost, even if we still bear the scars, and even when the struggle is lengthy and seemingly endless, we must remember to remain faithful. And even if by our standards or the world's standards, we are good, and bad things happen to us, it is paramount, that we reflect not on the unfairness of our situation, but remember that we are not perfect, we are not "good" people that bad things happen to. We know this because Romans 3:23 tells us that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.

We need to remember and take comfort in the fact that despite our imperfection, that God will work through our bad circumstances for His good. And upon further reflection, I will take His good over mine, any day!

The Pursuit of Happiness

I have been thinking a lot about happiness. I am not alone either. The culture tells us it is our right to be happy. It seems that everything we do is for the sake of making us happy. We fill our spare time in things that make us happy. We buy things, we find jobs, we take trips, we choose relationships that make us happy. Even our own country’s founders knew that the human condition is one predisposed to the pursuit of happiness. What is happiness and what is the secret to happiness in life? Happiness is defined as, "the state contentment, pleasure, and joy". I have noticed that worldly happiness is the one virtue that all seem to agree is mandatory in this life. Even the miserable or mundane tasks are somehow expected to be enhanced, so that they give us joy or meaning and if they don't we just won't do them. We will hire those things out, or give them to someone else to do. Life has become the meaningless pursuit of an elusive goal....happiness.

It is elusive because it is a paradox; we think we will find worldly happiness by the act of filling our worldly emptiness, yet in reality it is in true emptiness that we find true happiness. Worldly emptiness is the purposeful pursuit of those things that numb the afflictions of pain, loneliness, and longing; the things we all feel because we live in a fallen world. Worldly emptiness is a human condition. We can be assured that if we are feeling it, others are too.  We try to numb those afflictions in order to find worldly contentment.   If we decided to sacrifice our worldly contentment we would find ourselves in a state of true emptiness, a place where we actually experience those afflictions. And if in this state we all reached out in faith, beyond our insecurities and pride to others, gave love, kindness, friendship, and selflessness, we would find that by our pouring out, we are filled up, for true happiness is the by-product of love.

It truly is that simple. Remaining in true emptiness is sacrifice, sacrifice is love, love is true happiness. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus, proved that concept. He loved, He sacrificed, and in His emptiness, He gave us His Joy. One of my favorite passages in the Bible is Philippians 2:1-4 , which says, "Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. I think those verses sum it up nicely. We are to live Christ-like, in faith, accepting His Love, His Sacrifice, and living by His Spirit in pouring ourselves out to fill others up, then we will have His Joy, not worldly happiness, but His Joy.

I have been thinking a lot about happiness and the secret to life. It occurred to me that we need a whole new outlook, that we've been going at it from the wrong direction. Instead of living for the pursuit of happiness, we should live for the pursuit of emptiness.

The Passport

My friend is on a journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and I have the privilege of holding her hand.  She has been on her way now for several years, but it's not like a normal trip, where one relishes in the planning of the journey or the anticipation upon arriving at the destination. There is not the excitement in sharing details of the itinerary and all the exploits that are going to take place.  But oh is there baggage for this trip, and lots of it.  There is the large trunk of guilt and regret, the duffels of bitterness and anger, the tote of fear, the backpack of vanities, and the satchel of sweet memories.

 I met my friend 8 years ago, when we moved into our house.  She is my neighbor.  I have to say that for the first 3 months I never knew who she was.  My mother was dying in a hospital 30 miles away, and I was spending all of my days with her, while my husband and his dad handled the details at home.  I had only seen her out taking her walks, as I was on my way in or out of the neighborhood.  After my mom died, I was numb and my heart was cold and I didn’t want to meet her or anyone else for that matter, so I put my head down and carried out the responsibilities that come with running a household and family.  But as the days and months wore on, as the wound healed, and the ice began to melt around my heart, I slowly began to come around and make the effort to bloom where I had been planted.  So by the time my friend was diagnosed with her cancer, four years of life had passed and she had become an important person to our family.  She became a surrogate grandma to the kids and a bit of a mother figure to me.  There is something special about having a friend who is older and more mature than you.  She sees you with the wisdom of years.  She loves you for who you are and not what you are, or how cool you are, or for your social standing and achievements.  She loves you without the burden of competition or jealousy that sometimes occurs among friends who are in the same station of life. 

Anyway, my friend has cancer, Stage 4 cancer.  It’s in her liver, pelvis, lungs, and stomach.  When she was first diagnosed, the doctors did what doctors do....ordered tests, analyzed results, designed a treatment plan, and provided her with a grim prognosis, then led her to her seat, like the conductor of a train….“All aboard for the Valley of the Shadow of Death”.  When she told us about her situation, I prayed that God would spare her, and that He would use me to comfort her and help her in any way that she might need.  He gave me bible verses to calm her; He gave me words to encourage her.  He gave me times of un-busyness, so that I could sit and listen to her vent, or tell stories, or give me the benefit of her life lessons.  And He answered my prayer and the prayers of many others.  Much to everyone’s surprise, especially the doctors’, the tumors had shrunk over half their size after only 3 doses of chemotherapy, and by the end of her treatment, she was for all purposes, in remission.  It seemed that maybe she had been put on the wrong train after all, and off the train she stepped, back into the Land of the Living, back into the day-to-day with all her baggage in hand. 

She’s not alone, it’s baggage we all acquire and joyfully and needlessly carry around.  Yes it is joyfully carried, because we go to great lengths to pack it and unpack it, revel in the misery, share it with others, compare it with others, then repack it only to drag it along and do it all again on down the road .  All the guilt and regret that seems to accumulate when a person finds themselves standing at a new station of life.  The “I should haves” when you find your toddler has somehow become a teenager ready for college, or the “I wish I would haves” when someone close moves away or a friendship ends, or the “I wonders” when a spouse leaves for someone else or things don’t turn out at all the way we planned.  The bitterness and anger that has festered and grown, sometimes invisibly, into the cancer that consumes us along the path, on the journey to the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  The fear and vanities, that prevent us from sharing our love and lives with people on a deeper level.  The pride that precludes us from forgiving the real and not so real hurts that others have inflicted on us.  Yes all that baggage piles up and we cling to it, willingly and purposefully dragging it along as we make our way. 

I’m holding her hand.  It’s been a week now since she went into the hospital and learned the cancer had returned.  She’s endured more tests, sleepless nights, the indignities that come with a hospital stay and the betrayal of a body that is worn out.  She is in that desolate part of the Valley.  The dry, rocky, dreadful place where loneliness and fear grow into oppressive companions.

 I’m holding her hand and she is unpacking her baggage again, but this time it’s something from a different bag that she is rifling through and I can feel hope start to bubble up.  Somewhere in that satchel of sweet memories, she recalls a moment and as she begins reminiscing, the memory becomes a passport of sorts.    It contains an indelible stamp that she received way back, when she met Jesus, received His forgiveness, and accepted His offering of salvation.

 I am holding her hand and we talk about Jesus.  Suddenly the atmosphere changes, and those companions of fear and loneliness aren’t as oppressive.  Suddenly, it becomes painfully obvious that all the other baggage was never necessary.  That all she needed was the Passport. The one with the stamp of Salvation that allows her to be loved and to give love that is purer and deeper and indefinable in our human terms.   The stamp of approval that she never got from the trunks of guilt and regret, or from the duffels of bitterness and anger.  The stamp of conferment that permits her journey to continue through and on past the Valley of the Shadow of Death and into the Gates of Glory; that ensures that the Valley is not the destination after all, but just a rough patch along the way. 

And I am able to sit with her and share this portion of her journey, because I’m on the journey too.  We all are.  This physical cancer is not the only ticket to the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  Our birth is the ticket and we all have the cancer; the cancer that sin conceives.  We were all put on the train and we don’t even realize we are there. The distractions this life offers are bountiful and consuming. Maybe we are traveling through the lush forests of child-rearing and can’t see ahead for all the trees of obligation.  Or maybe we are coasting along the sweet shoreline of peaceful waters where all is good and right with the world and the Valley seems vague and distant.  Or maybe we have had a few brushes, or a brief glimpse of what is to come, as we have rimmed  a deep canyon of catastrophe.  Whether we acknowledge this truth or not, we are on the train.

I’m holding her hand and she is sleeping, something that has eluded her for a week now.  I don’t know how long I have left to share this passage of time and space with her, before we will have to part ways.  But I do know that I don’t want to drag along all the baggage.  I want to keep my satchel of sweet memories, and maybe a few things from my bag of vanities (a girl has to be presentable along the way) and it’s for sure, I’m going to cling to my passport.  It is my assurance of a fruitful journey.  It gives me the liberty of having my hands free to hold the hands of others, my arms and legs unburdened to support or even to carry someone else in their time of weakness, and a mouth free from complaint and protest, yet filled with praises and encouragements, love and acceptance, forgiveness and blessings to share along the way. And when I hear the conductor calling for new destinations, I will rest in the knowledge that my friend and I will meet again at our final destination, the one that required travel through the rugged and forlorn Valley of the Shadow of Death, only to end on the other side of the Gates of Glory.  For now, I have my passport in hand and I’m good to go, how about you?

Psalm 23:4a  Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I                                         will fear no evil, for You are with me......