Love Letters

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
For Thou art with me..."Psalm 23:4

I remember with great affection a feature of many magazines in the past called "Pen Pals".  People were encouraged, through Pen Pals, to reach out and befriend someone far away, whom we had never met, and may never meet this side of heaven.  I love that concept.  Too bad it has disappeared from the landscape of publications today.  If ever there was a time when we need to connect across the miles, it is today.  Some of the greatest writing we have as a christian community is in the form of letters, written from a distance, expressing the love and encouragement of the writer (Paul) to those he loved and cared about that were far away in miles, but ever near in his heart.  It is in that same vein that I have decided to begin a series I am calling Love Letters.  These will be letters of affection and encouragement to brothers and sisters I will never meet but are near and dear to my heart, as well as letters to those who know me well and with whom I share an unbreakable bond of love and treasure.  I am excited about beginning this series.  I hope you enjoy and are encouraged by what is written, with love and prayers that you will meet God and experience the priceless gift of His love as you read.  May God hold you close all the days of your life, and may we meet in heaven to celebrate His love...

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To My Dear Suffering Brothers and Sisters in the Lord, in Iraq:

I want you to know that, although we have never met, and live in vastly different parts of the world, we are deeply connected to each other as followers of Jesus Christ.  I have been reading and watching news reports of the horrors and tragedies you are experiencing because of your faith in Jesus.  I truly cannot imagine having to endure what you are going through.  I want you to know I cry with you at the loss of your home, your lifestyle, and, most especially, your loved ones, sometimes even your precious children. I know that you could not persevere in this trial without the grace and love of God.  I pray for you constantly that God will carry you through every trial and comfort you in every loss.  

I pray that you will have courage to face whatever is asked of you, because of your love for Jesus Christ.  I hope you know that the prayers and love of many, many brothers and sisters, all around the world, are offered for you constantly.  I do not, in any way, make light of what you are suffering.  I know that if I were asked to endure what has come to you, I would depend on the prayers of God's people to carry me through.  

I hope that you will remember, in the middle of this darkness, that God is with you, you are not suffering alone.  Remember all of the times He has carried you and know that He is carrying you through this, as well. Without Him, where would we be?  I do not know why God has allowed this to come to you in this time at this hour.  But, I believe, if it breaks your heart and mine, it breaks the heart of God even more.  Not only to see you suffer, as you do, but, to know that you are persecuted and suffer because of your faith in Jesus Christ. 

The hatred and evil unleashed upon you is solely because you follow the Lord Jesus Christ.  I struggle sometimes to be a witness in my safe, comfortable corner of the world.  And yet, you suffer the unimaginable because you are a witness to the worthiness of our Savior.  I am so humbled in the face of your witness.  

I pray that you will be surrounded by the love of God at the very moment of your deepest struggle to be that witness.  I pray that God's love and promises will be so much more real to you than the evil you are experiencing. I pray that you will overcome by the depth of your awareness of His love for you and His grace.  I pray that the Word of God will be so alive to you that you will remember His promises to you that are never forgotten by God.  I pray that you will be saturated with the oil of gladness dripping down all over you.  I pray that you will have courage.  That you will be comforted, as only God can comfort.  And that you will be victorious witnesses to the love of Jesus Christ, who is worthy.  He is worthy.  Praise God, you are His witnesses.  

I speak for many in America who stand with you in love and prayers for God's sustaining, overcoming grace. Thank you for your faithfulness in the face of enormous suffering.  Jesus is worthy...

"Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people.  God Himself will be with them and be their God.  And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.  There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.  Then He who sat on the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." And He said to me, "Write, for these words are true and faithful.  And He said to me, "It is done!  I Am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.  I will give of the fountain of water to him who thirsts.  He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God and he shall be My son..." Revelation 21:3-7 NKJV

I'm Late, I'm Late, I'm Late!

"No time to say, Hello, Goodbye,
I'm late, I'm late, I'm late..."
Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

I love children's fairy tales and Alice in Wonderland is at the top of my list of best books ever written!  Of course, it doesn't hurt that this classic was written by a gifted author whom I fantasize was a distant uncle who passed down his love for writing to me!  A favorite grand-grand-grand niece that he knew was coming in the future!

But, enough of that.  This is a serious expose on the trouble with time!  It is always running ahead of us, don't you think? The picture of the white rabbit, scurrying past Alice, checking his watch, unable to pause even long enough to say hello or goodbye, tickles my sense of humor and fills me with little girl giggles at our human tendency to announce our own self-importance! After all, if I don't announce it to you, you might miss it!

Alice can hardly believe her eyes watching the rabbit, dressed in his very proper attire, barely able to acknowledge her presence, as he chastises this child for interrupting his day. Where is he going?  He doesn't know.  He's just impressed with how important he is going there!  Now that's classic! Because we are all so like that!  We are just so busy doing something, we think it must be very important and, surely, everyone knows it!  Right?  Hold up there - we might be missing something!

This delightful and artfully drawn picture of our own self-importance and tendency to strut it for all the world to see, brings to mind one of the many times in the gospels the disciples strutted and vied for attention as the 'most important' in the kingdom.  Time after time, Jesus pops their inflated egos and brings them down to earth with a thud! 

One of those classic episodes happens in the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 19.  It is one of their "moments" and they are reveling in the time they have with the Master.  The last thing they want is to be interrupted by a bunch of whiny, crying, demanding little children.  It's late, it's late! They don't have time for this!  But, Jesus, once again, stepping outside the script the guys have written for Him, takes the little ones to Himself, gathers them in His arms and pulls them on His lap.  He stops the clock for them.  He puts them first. He makes room for them when His followers push them away. Jesus didn't accept their exaggerated sense of their own self-importance. He pointedly drew their attention to the children. See the children in front of you, He seems to be saying.  Stop what you're doing. Listen to them. Really see them.  Love them.  "For, of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!"  Matthew 19:14

Jesus, the most important person ever to enter human history, stops the clock for little children. He often stops along the way for those that are ignored by the rest of the world.  Children, the sick, the mentally ill, the elderly, the forsaken, the dying. He seems to be saying, "Get it straight. This is what really matters to Me." 

Stop the clock. It's later than you think...

Lame in Both Feet...

"As for Mephibosheth, said the king, "he shall eat at my table like one of the King's sons.  
So Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem, for he ate continually at the King's table.  
And he was lame in both feet..."  2 Samuel 9:11, 13 NKJV

This is the obscure tale of Mephibosheth, son of King David's friend Jonathan and grandson of David's enemy, King Saul. Mephibosheth, whose name means "Son of Shame" was the crippled and shame-filled grandson of Saul.  As a little boy Mephibosheth suffered a fall that crippled him in both feet, leaving him unable to walk on his own.  The shame that he felt as a cripple, completely dependent on the kindness of those around him to carry him everywhere, covered him and sent him into hiding.  I think that is a great metaphor for the word "shame" - it always seems to cover us from head to foot and sends us into hiding, sometimes, even from ourselves.

As I write this, I am remembering my favorite uncle, Uncle Eddie, an avid Brooklyn Dodgers fan, "back in the day" when they were still in New York.  I met my Uncle when I was five years old visiting my grandparent's home in New York where this wonderful man lived.  He would invite me into the back yard to listen to the Dodgers' games on his transistor radio with the big antennas sticking into the sky.  I had never met anyone like him.  He was gentle and kind to me. He was in his twenties then, and very good looking.  He had a wonderful, funny accent.  After all, he was from Brooklyn!  He loved the game of baseball.  He never played it though.  He was crippled in both legs, just like Mephibosheth.  

He had been a victim of polio as a very young child.  He walked in a strange way, to the eyes of a child. He always had to place his legs in very heavy iron braces, in order to stand and walk at all.  No one ever explained to me what had happened to him.  My five-year-old eyes grew wide with amazement as he strapped on his braces and haltingly stood up.  At first, that is all I could see.  He was different.  He was crippled.  In both feet.

It didn't take too long, though, for me to see the person hiding behind the braces.  He was shunned by everyone in his family, as if it was his fault he had contracted polio.  I guess it was because, to them, he was a burden of sorts.  He needed to be cared for in unusual ways.  Just like Mephiboseth. He was ashamed to be a burden.  But, to a little girl, far away from home for the first time, he was the most gentle, kind and loving man I had yet known in all of my five years on the earth.  He was so good to me that summer.  To me, he was a hero.

Later in life, as a young mother, my own father lost a leg to a dangerous infection.  He endured the "shame" of being "crippled" and in need of kindness and understanding of what it feels like to need people to help us and to understand our need.

This captivating story, found in the Book of 2 Samuel, tells the tale of David's kindness to Mephiboseth, because of his great love and oath to his dear friend, Jonathan, Mephiboseth's father.  But, even more than that, it tells the story of God's unending search for us, to call us out of hiding, to heal us and to show us kindness beyond our ability to even imagine.  When one is crippled in both feet, unable to move on our own, covered in shame, it is not on our radar to expect kindness.  Mephiboseth expects to die when summoned before the King.  He has absolutely no expectation of kindness. He certainly does not envision himself sitting at the King's table for the rest of his days, the invited guest of the King.  But that is exactly what the King does for him.  He sees beyond the victim and loves the person hiding within...

Where are you tonight? Crippled in both feet?  Ashamed of who you are?  Broken in pieces? Feeling like a burden?  Expecting the worst?  Can't imagine anyone sees you - anyone knows you - anyone cares?

Believe for a moment that the King is calling your name.  He is requesting your presence at His table.  

Bring whatever's broken with you.  He is well able to heal broken bones, broken hearts and broken lives. He is well able...

... 

Love Song to the Gardener...

I'd rather be in the Garden of the Lord
Than in the palace of a king...

 

 

 

He carried me so tenderly and covered me over with rich dark soil,

When I was just a tiny seed.

He planted me deep in the garden surrounded by rocks and thistles

That mocked my every need

Or, at least, that’s what I believed…

I heard His footsteps in the garden growing fainter and fainter.

He was leaving me all alone –

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t care what happened to me.

Or, at least that’s what I believed…

The only life I saw were ugly, broken weeds

Sprouting all around me.

No beauty.

No joy.

No life was in the air around me.

Or, at least, that’s what I believed…

Endlessly, it rained and rained.

I never saw the sunshine.

I never saw a flower.

I called to Him to save me.

But, against this cruelty,

He had no power.

Or, at least, that’s what I believed.

I wept at least as many tears

As raindrops fell upon my fears.

All for what? I didn’t know.

I decided I should just let go.

What was the use in holding on?

He must not love me, or so it seemed.

Or, at least, that’s what I believed.

Strangers came and stomped on me.

They mocked and laughed and jeered at me.

Down in the heart of my tiny seed,

They broke me down and made me bleed.

Left alone to face this mess,

I hated Him, I must confess.

Or, at least, that’s what I believed.

But, He who loved me had buried me deep,

 

Deep

     down

          deep,

He had buried me,

In the rich dark soil of His love.

He had promised He would come for me.

When all seemed dark and dry and dead,

He was still strolling through the flower beds

Or, at least, that’s what I came to see…

I, no longer hoping, no longer strong,

I heard Him walking on the dawn.

He lifted my head to see His face,

He smiled His Glory all over the place.

I never ever doubted His love for me...

Or, at least, that’s what I came to see!

The storms brought the rain that I needed to grow.

The weeds made me fight for the chance to have life.

The stones and the rocks made me sink in the mud,

Where the rich, velvet soil caressed me with love.

He used it all to shape me and form me to be,

A tiny reflection of the One who made me.

I don’t know the answer to all of the whys.

I only know darkness is broken by Light.

I learned to be gentle toward those who are broken,

To reach out in tenderness for those who are lost.

To leave it to Him what I don’t understand.

To trust Him who holds me in the palm of His hand.

To hold on to the One who holds on to me.

Or, at least, that’s what I’ve come to believe…

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“Then He who sat on the throne said,

Behold, I make all things new…”

   Revelation 21:5  NKJV

 

History Happens to Real People...



"In the day of trouble
He will hide me in His pavilion;
In the secret place of His tabernacle
He shall hide me;
He shall set me high upon a rock."
Psalm 27: 5  NKJV

 

It was 1956.  I was a little girl attending a Catholic school in Chicago, where I wore poodle skirts and bobby socks with saddle shoes or penny loafers.  I was beginning to notice boys and listen to the rock and roll music blasting on my brother’s transistor radio.  I always left home with a dime in my pocket to call home in an emergency from the telephone booth on the street corner.  I watched the Mickey Mouse Club after school and occasionally was allowed to drink a six ounce bottle of Root Beer for a treat. 

On Saturdays, if I could find a quarter, I walked over to the Movie Theater up the street to watch Saturday cartoons on the big screen.  The world was celebrating Elvis Presley on the Ed Sullivan Show, “Ike” was in the White House, WW II was behind us, and, we imagined ourselves relatively safe in the world.  I was blissfully unaware of what was going on half way across the world as the Russian Bear roared and threatened and, finally, in 1956, invaded its neighbor, Hungary.  I seldom watched the news and never heard my parents talking about the horror of having one’s homeland invaded by a foreign tyrant that rolled over everything in its path.  This wasn’t supposed to be happening.  After all, Hitler had been defeated, the War was over and we were “at peace".

Into this little girl’s fantasy land, slipped a little boy who sat next to me in my fourth grade class.  He didn’t speak any English.  He didn’t have any friends.  He was alone all the time.  He looked frightened to me.  His name was Charles and I was fascinated by this stranger who showed up in the middle of the school year, as if dropped from the sky.  Why in the world would his parents move him in the middle of the school year?  What was that funny language he was speaking?  Didn’t everybody speak English?  Why was he so nervous?  Why was he so “different”?

In the most stunning geography/history lesson I had ever received, the answers were laid out before the class one day soon after Charles’ arrival.  The teacher explained that Charles was a “refugee.”  His family had fled with their children to the United States to escape the tyranny of Russia, who had boldly and viciously invaded Hungary with tanks that rolled right over citizens who resisted the invasion.  The brutality of their invasion was well documented.  All of the world knew.  And all of the world looked the other way.  Those who were able, fled their homeland and became refugees all over the world, especially in the United States, prized for her reputation of liberty and religious freedom.  Here, sitting right next to me, was the child of parents who had fled for their lives, and the lives of their children, to my homeland, America.

I was just a child of ten.  The only “hungry” I had ever heard of was when my tummy rumbled and demanded to be fed.  But, here was a child my own age, whose life had been lived in a country far, far away, called Hungary.  What had he seen on the streets of his homeland as Russian tanks rolled down the streets killing anyone who dared to oppose their invasion?  How did he feel when he had to say goodbye to all of his friends and relatives?  How did he now handle having no friends and no one at school who spoke his language?

I stared at this little boy the way children do, unabashedly.  To me, he was a hero.  He represented resistance to evil and courage to do whatever it takes to be free.  I think I may have had my first case of “puppy love” with a boy I couldn’t speak to in a language he understood.  But, he spoke to me a language that transcends nationalities, just by his presence. 

I don’t remember much about history, and geography was always my worst subject.  But, I have never forgotten the lessons I learned that year as a frightened little boy of ten brought history to my doorstep and made me an eyewitness to the reality of evil marching across the world, displacing and murdering everything that got in its way.

I hope and pray America hasn’t forgotten the lessons of fifty years ago as the Russian Bear exposes its ugly teeth and claws once again, across the sea in Ukraine.  My prayers are with the people of the Ukraine.  And the people of the United States…

Hephzibah...

"You shall be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God."
Isaiah 62:3 NKJV

Hephzibah, Hephzibah, what is in your name?  A name found in my favorite book of the bible, the Book of Isaiah, I am captivated by the beautiful, loving name that God gave to His people to remind them of His love for them in Chapter 62 of Isaiah.  Hephzibah, is a Hebrew word meaning "My delight is in her" and "one who is protected, safeguarded" in this case, by God, Himself!

God uses so many images of love and marriage to express His love for His people, and this is one of the most tender and touching to me.  Taking His people back to His bosom after a season of war and suffering, God turns to His people and takes them back in His arms, assuring them of His unending love for them. 

God doesn't stand at a distance, aloof from their suffering.  He cries out to them with expressions of His deep and compassionate love for them, reassuring them that He hasn't forgotten them.  How stunningly beautiful is His assurance of His love and care.

I don't know what you are going through today.  Maybe you're having a "once in a lifetime" day of celebration of something wonderful in your life.  Or maybe, you're struggling to hang on, wondering if anyone really cares for you, sees you, remembers you, loves you...  If that's you, turn off all the noise around you, close your eyes and listen to the voice of your Savior, calling out your name. 

Listen to Him speaking your name tenderly, lovingly, comforting you, encouraging you, knowing you, surrounding you with His love.  Have you felt abandoned, forsaken, neglected, rejected, abused, unseen, and uncared for?  Rest in the beauty and certain love of God and in His words spoken, not only over Israel, but over YOU tonight.  These are words of love from your God to you.  Do not miss them.  Cherish them.  Believe them.  Bath all over in them.  They are life...

You shall be called by a new name,

Which the mouth of the Lord will name.

You shall also be a crown of glory

In the hand of your God.

You shall no longer be termed Forsaken,

Nor shall your land any more be called Desolate;

But you shall be called Hephzibah,

And your land Beulah;

For the Lord delights in you...

And as the bridegroom rejoices over his bride,

So shall your God rejoice over you.

Isaiah 62:3-5   NKJV

Building Bridges ...

of Hope...

 

It’s snowing outside. Again! It’s so beautiful to look at from inside where it’s warm and cozy and the falling snow is beautiful to see from my picture window. It looks like God is shaking powdered sugar all over the chocolate earth!

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and I am grateful to have a warm little house to hide inside while winter roars and little brother earth trembles outside my window. I am in a reflective mood today. On this beautiful winter afternoon, I have just finished reading a story about the poverty stricken families in a faraway land, where the children are born and live their entire lives in desperate poverty, hunger and abuse. My heart has been moved to sponsor a child through one of their programs, to give a child hope and a future, not just in this life, but for eternity. I will sponsor a little girl through the Bridge of Hope, an outreach to the poorest of the poor in India, through the Gospel for Asia.

These beautiful children are given a hot meal, clean clothes, taught to read, and told for the first time, almost always, that Jesus loves them.  These children, who have no life in their eyes and who never dream that they were made for so much more, are transformed by the life changing message that Jesus loves them enough to die for them. They respond to the Gospel with the innocence of a child. They believe what they hear and they grab ahold of God’s hand when they see it extended to them. No wonder Jesus said we must become like little children if we want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. They don’t debate with God. They just fall in love with Him and chase after Him, as little children do.

My heart has been stirred with the plight of these children. In his heart wrenching book, “No Longer a Slumdog”, the author, K.P. Yohannan, tells story after story of children whose lives have been forever changed by the ministry of Bridge of Hope Centers dotting the landscape of this huge country we know as India. We think of this as a faraway land, a culture different from our own, a nation very different from America. But, God doesn’t see it that way. God’s eyes don’t recognize national boundaries, or cultural taboos, or despise people based on their economic or social status. He doesn’t show favor to the rich while despising the poor. He doesn’t see anyone, least of all, a child, as someone that can be “thrown away.” God doesn’t choose favorites, at least not in the same way that we do. On the contrary, where we, in our culture, seem to favor the rich and idolize the young and the beautiful, God says He “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds… The Lord lifts up the humble; He casts the wicked down to the ground.” Ps. 147: 3,6

Now this is the problem I see in the church in America, including me!  Rich, affluent, comfortable, overfed,  and sometimes indifferent America. Most of us read the kind of things I just wrote about and say something like “Oh, that’s too bad. I feel so sorry for them…” And then we turn on the T.V. or go shopping. We medicate the discomfort that God wants us to feel to spur us into action. 

Don't believe me?  I can't tell you how many "Christians" I have talked to about sponsoring a desperately needy child who look at me as if I have asked them to do the impossible.  If the shoe was on the other foot, and you or I were the mother or father of a child in need, I know we would pray that someone who could help would do whatever it might take to help!

When I first read this book, I felt a very deep sorrow for the children and their families, trapped in this nightmare, with no hope, for their entire lives. But, feeling sorry for them isn’t what I knew the Lord was calling me to do. I knew He wanted me to sponsor a child. I knew it. And yet, I had “to think about it…” Why? Do I think that the Lord of the Universe speaking to my heart is something I can ignore? Is the cost of sponsorship (about $1 a day) too exorbitant a price to put on the head of a child in desperate need? Is God asking just too much of me? Are these children real to me or am I just reading a fictional tale about situations that are just made up?

On the other side of the question, if these desperate and suffering children with the dying eyes are real, how can I turn away? If it is God who is asking me to get involved, how can I ignore His voice? Who am I to ignore the voice of God in my life? Am I really a believer in the life saving message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ? Or, is it just a nice story I like to tell that has no real bearing on anyone’s life, including mine? God forbid that I should be so foolish as to ignore His voice and trivialize His Word in my life.

The thing is, either God is God or I am. If He is, than I am not. And so, I do His bidding. I submit to His amazing love for me and for others, some of whom I have never met and never will meet this side of heaven. He asks me to trust Him that He knows what He is doing and He will take my meager little offering and multiply it many times over in the life of a child that He loves…

As I look outside at the beauty of the falling snow, a picture book story playing out right outside my window, I thank God for the beauty of the world all around me. I realize how blessed I am to have a warm and cozy place to live, a job that blesses me with enough money to share with someone in need, and a God who knows me and loves me even when my needle is stuck on “well, it’s all about me, it’s all about me, it’s all …”

He is so patient with me. He is so generous. He is so kind. 

Dear God, make me more like You…

"Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this:

to care for the widow and the orphan in their distress..."

James 1:27 NKJV

 

Into the Arms of Love...

"For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost..."
Matthew 18:11  NKJV

 

 

God blessed me.

He blessed me.

He went ahead and blessed me!

I never thought He loved me.

He is so very far above me.

Why would He love me?

Why would He care?

I don’t know the answer.

I only know the question

That was always in my heart.

If God could see me as I am

Would He ever want to be with me?

Would He even know my name?

Would He run as far away from me

As His big God feet could carry Him?

Would He pretend He didn’t hear me

Calling out His name?

 

Would He pretend that He was occupied,

with fortune and with fame?

With important things,

important people,

I’m sure He has important things to do,

that is why He came.

 

What is this? 

I see Him stop. 

He’s calling out my name!

He said that I’m the one He came for,

the little lost sheep He’s searching for,

The one that wandered off…

He says He saw me from the start

and tucked me deep inside His heart.

He sees me in my weakness,

and in all my many failures,

In all my ugly sins.

He says He knows it all and loves me anyway!

I can’t believe He loved me

when no one else was there.

He’s bending over heaven

to hear my desperate prayer!

 

Did I tell you,

He’s my father,

my daddy,

my Hero,

my all?

The One who picks me up and carries me every time I fall?

Have you met my Heavenly Father,

Do you hear Him calling out your name?

He’s searching for you like He searched for me

And loves us both today.

Listen for the whispers that surround you,

That’s the God Who made the universe.

 

He made you, every little inch of you!

 

He loves you like a daddy who won’t give up His baby

No matter what they say.

I hope this Christmas finds you running back to Him

And jumping in the arms of Love

Before it is too late.

I hope you hear the Father’s voice,

Singing over you.

I love you,

I love you,

Just the way you are…

You Took My Breath Away...

"Then the King will say,
I'm telling you the solemn truth:
Whenever you did one of these things
To someone overlooked or ignored,
That was Me - you did it to Me."
Matthew 25:40

Yesterday, you stopped me in my tracks.  I was driving down the street, in a hurry to get where I was going, as always, and there you were.  You didn't know I was watching you.  You were just doing what comes naturally to you.  There you were, stepping out without blinking an eye onto a street filled with speeding drivers who were too self-absorbed to acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the world at that moment.  After all, we had places to go, people to see! An onlooker, watching the scene unfold, might have mistaken the drivers for clones of The White Rabbit, straight out of Alice in Wonderland, murmuring to ourselves, "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date. No time to say, hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!" Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

You, though, you were something altogether different. You didn't seem to even notice any of us.  You were focused like a laser beam on the object of your attention, the tiny, broken old woman you were running to help.  It was a study in contrasts  You, so young and agile, leaping like a buck across the street to make it to her side in seconds, as if the world depended on it.  She, so frail in frame, she was barely able to lift her head to see you running to her side.  She was inching her way across the street, on legs that were like twigs bent so low they seemed about to break.  The cane she leaned on shook in her trembling hands.  She was scared.  You could see it on her face, wrinkled from brow to chin.  She was the picture of vulnerability.  You, the picture of strength...

I was mesmerized by what I was watching.  You ran to her side, took her arm and wrapped it gently inside the fold of your own, holding her close as if you were protecting something very dear to you. Then you slowed your gait to meet hers.  You didn't rush her.  You didn't condescend to her.  You raised your head and lovingly, gently, respectfully, led her across the busy street.  You stopped the traffic with the witness of your kindness.  You were breathtaking.  Like a child of another time and another place, you gave us all a living lesson in "respect for the elderly," a lost art in our youth crazed, American culture.  You humbled me with the witness of your grace and kindness to this little old woman. 

We were on a college campus that day with students rushing to and from their classes.  You were probably one of them.  But, that day, at that precise moment in time, you became the teacher and we were all the students taking notes from a master.  You were, simply, the best...

In the Grip of Love...

"And God will wipe away every tear..." 
Rev. 21:4

In the strangle hold of lung cancer, I met the angel of death standing by the bedside of my father many years ago. It was my first encounter with the painful goodbye ritual forced upon me against my will as I struggled to come to terms with the diagnosis of the doctors who gave my father a scant three weeks to live, if that, at the age of fifty-four.

It was in the beautiful month of July. The sun was brilliant and hot in the sky, beaming its rays upon my face when I left the hospital that first day that I knew my father would not live to see another summer. I seriously wondered how the sun could continue to shine. How could people continue to laugh at each other’s jokes? How could everyone go on with life as if nothing had happened? Didn’t they know that the world had just come to a screeching halt inside the hospital corridors where my father was dying? 

I had never experienced anything like it before.  Time stood still for me as I found myself locked in a battle to say goodbye to my father for the last time. 

As a daughter who dearly loved her father, I stayed by his bed as he seesawed back and forth between wanting to live and wanting to die – the pain was just too much for him.  My own emotions rode a roller coaster up to the heights of believing God would hear my prayers and miraculously heal my father, and then thundering down to the depths of despair. There was no mistaking the dance of death as I looked into the eyes of my father who was now begging God to let him die – the pain had overtaken him and robbed him of any instinct to survive.

It was the most painful thing I had ever gone through in my life.  But, even as I sat by my father's bedside, I realized there was a mystery unfolding around me.  Running through our lives was a Hand of Blessing touching us, caressing us, comforting us, meeting us at the intersection of life and death. 

Over the screams of pain from my father and the cries of protest coming from my own heart, I could hear the voice of God, reassuring us, as any loving Daddy would  His child: "I've got you, I've got you.  Don't be afraid.  I've got you..."  We were, mysteriously, overwhelmingly, in the grip of Love...

 

Gone was any pretense that life doesn’t matter.  

Suddenly, nothing mattered more.

 

Gone was the silly, meaningless banter of people

for whom this was just another day. 

 

No.  I hung on every word he said because I didn’t know

 if I would ever hear his voice again.

 

Gone was my ability to hide my emotions. 

They couldn’t be contained, couldn’t be hidden. 

 

My love for my father burst out of my heart and

ran down my face, unabashedly,

tear drop by tear drop.

 

Gone was my taking life for granted ever again. 

 

 I discovered at the death bed of my father

just how incredibly precious life is

when there are only

a few weeks,

a few days,

a few hours,

or a few minutes

left in the life of a person we love beyond words.

 

Gone was my childish preoccupation with my own

selfish interest. 

 

This was my father screaming in pain. 

This was my father in need

as I had never seen him before.

This was my father who was dying…

 

Those last three weeks of my father’s life, I sat by his bedside and wept, and prayed and begged God to change the outcome.  My father knew he was dying.  But, he never said he did.  When the pain subsided and he had a few moments to breath, he sat on the side of his bed and smiled the most beautiful smile at me.  He told me what he wanted for dinner the first night he would be home.  He told me we would have a wonderful celebration of his homecoming.  Then he winked at me as if to say “it’s not so bad – there’s something wonderful coming!”

When his eyes closed for the last time and his voice was silenced forever, I could still hear him promising me that. I could still see his twinkling eyes smiling at me with love, assuring me that “there’s something wonderful coming…”

I wondered as I watched him take his last breath, where was God?  Why hadn’t He answered my prayers?  Slowly, I began to realize He was the One who took my father’s hand and welcomed him home.
 

I was so jealous of God.  He threw the homecoming party I had wanted to throw.  He took my father’s hand when it slipped forever out of mine.  He met my father’s twinkling eyes with a twinkle of His own.  He jumped up from His throne and ran to the edge of heaven to welcome my father home.  He shouted so loud I could hear Him all the way in Chicago.  “Welcome home, son.  I’ve been waiting such a long, long time…"  How could I even think of robbing God of His joy...
 

I will never forget the pain of those three weeks, nor the lessons I learned at my father’s side as he fought the monster of lung cancer that stole his life prematurely. 

But, I will treasure forever the memories I have of sitting by his bedside, loving him back home.

What a privilege to have been there. 

Just to love him one more time…

Does It Hurt...



To become real...?

Do you remember the beautiful children's tale, the Velveteen Rabitt, by Marjorie Williams?  I am a lover of children's books and this is one of my favorites.  Here's the Skin Horse advising the Rabbit one day about what it takes to become real...

"The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

When I was a young woman and all the hairs were silky and flowing and all the skin was milky white and soft and all the parts were in place and working just the way they were designed to work, I smiled a contented smile and thought that it would always be so.  I looked with eyes of disdain on those poor creatures whose hair was falling out and bones were creaking and skin was sagging and wrinkled.  For heaven's sake, what had they done to themselves to get in that condition?!  Poor, pathetic creatures, were they!  Youth is often like that.  It cannot imagine what old age is like and it doesn't want to find out!

I wonder though, is the Skin Horse telling the truth to the Rabbit?  Are there toys that lose their hair and break their parts and live a long, long time, and never become real?  I think so.  Mostly, I have always prayed, Lord, don't let that happen to me...

I don't remember exactly when it happened.  I just know at some point along the way, I fell captive to the wooing love song of God.  He was calling me to follow after Him - to settle for nothing less, to have a love affair with a Divine Suiter.  He told me the truth.  He said I would lose a lot.  He told me it would hurt a lot.  He said I'd have to trust Him, instead of myself.  He said I would have to leave it all to belong to Him.

I wasn't so sure at first.  I weighed the pros and cons.  I so wanted my way. I was in love with the image of beauty I had envisioned for myself!  Perfection!  A beautiful dancing ballerina that everyone envied!  But then, in the middle of the dance, I heard the whisper of Love calling me again to look for something infinitely more priceless.  "Don't settle for a masquerade," He whispered.  "You were made for something wonderful!  You were made for LOVE."

Skin Horse said it would take a long, long time.  It has.  He said I might get hurt.  I have.  He said I probably wouldn't recognize myself when it finally happened.  I would look in the mirror and wonder who it was that was looking back at me.  He was right!  He said it would take a lifetime to learn to be real.  I'm still working at it... 

Yes, my hair has almost all been loved off, my eyes are almost ready to drop out, I am loose in the joints and I'm looking pretty shabby.  But, the truth is, I don't mind at all.  The One Who promised to love me, has kept me.  He has very carefully kept me...  And I don't mind that at all...

"The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying:

I have loved you with an everlasting love;

I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."

Jeremiah 31:3 NIV

The Heartbreak of God...



"Jesus wept..."
John 11:35

Where did you go?

Why did you leave?

Didn't you know I loved you?

Didn't you hear Me calling out to you?

I was pounding on the door,

begging you to open it and let me in.

I wanted to come in and comfort you.

I loved everything about you. 

Everything.

Everything.

I had so many dreams I dreamed for you so long ago.

I held you in my hand the day that you were born.

I laughed with you at the wonder of every little miracle I sent

to encourage you along the way.

I wept bitterly when you believed the lie 

that you didn't matter to anyone.

You mattered to Me, My child. 

You mattered to Me...

I screamed at you to turn around and see Me

standing right beside you.

I ran in front of you, begging you to stop...

I was standing right there. 

Loving you. 

Loving you. 

 Loving you...

I never stopped loving you...

 

------------------------------

 

Written in loving memory of a sweet young man who gave up on life when it was just beginning

and

in recognition that God weeps with us over the loss of hope that leads to the tragedy of suicide.