Some of us get so hung up on the past that we carry it with us our whole lives. Anger and a lack of forgiveness leads to bitterness and resentment and further to hatred. We've all seen it happen. The trouble is that the thing you hate, be it a parent, a church, whatever person who wounded us...that is what you become if that is your focus.
One of the blessing of our forgiveness in Christ and our redemption is that we can be freed from the past, no longer doomed to live in it, no longer forced to follow the patterns that have been ingrained in us, no longer made to follow the path of destruction from our own choices.
I challenge you to undertake a quest to know God, to study who he is and to ask him to speak to you through his word. When you hear something, obey. Take hold of your thoughts and force yourself to think on good and healthy things. Find people who you can emulate. Study how they live and how they respond to others.
I know a family whose past is a desolate wasteland. Parents were unavailable, mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically. There was neglect, raging, control, guilt, shame, and silence. One child has determined to allow God to heal him of this. He is taking inventory of the past and turning over those hurts to his Heavenly Father. He is seeking to see how God is the perfect Father, and how loved and cared for and appreciated he is and in turn has been able to be a gracious and loving son to his parents. It is not easy, and he doesn't always do it perfectly, but he is turning the hurts of the past over to God and trusting in God's forgiveness of himself to be sufficient grace and mercy to be able to shower the same on his parents.
The other son is so angry about the past that he has disowned his parents. Is his anger justified? Absolutely! Was the past a horror? You bet. Do his parents to this day pour salt in the wounds and refuse to honor, bless and accept him? Yes they do. But from my vantage point, the one being hurt here is the son. The parents are not living in guilt or hurt or shame from the past--they continue to live as they have always done. The 2nd son, however, instead of becoming more like his Heavenly Father, is becoming more like his earthly father day after day.
Many of the traits he despises in his Father, he is showing in his own life.
It's a sad and tragic thing. It's okay to say that some of the behaviors of the past were wrong, hurtful and even sinful. It is not okay to spend your whole life living in the past.
So, my children and other readers, whatever the past has done to you, whatever hurts you have faced, whatever sorrows you carry, let your Heavenly Father heal you. Let him show you the greatness of his Son and the wonder and fullness of the sacrifice that was given for you.
I was an imperfect parent. I think that is an understatement. What I hope you do is draw close to your Heavenly Father and let him show you how much you are loved by Him. It is an amazing thing that the creator of the universe is mindful of us. It is a wonder beyond belief that he cares. It is an indescribable joy that he delights in us when we delight in him. You have a God who can heal you of the scars of the past. He can open those wounds and cleanse and heal them. There is not a moment of your life that you have not been loved passionately by the one who made you. There is not one sorrow you have faced that he was not weeping for you and carrying you. His love is so sufficient and so real and tender and close. How he longs for you to begin to know and understand him in fullness, even though we can never know him fully.
And that is the wonder of it all. The unknowable God, whose fullness is beyond our capacity to understand, makes himself known to us. He will make himself known to those who seek after him and I hope you will do that with your whole heart. No house or car or bank account balance is worth more than that. No girl, no boy, no spouse, no friendship is of more value. No pursuit in life can offer more to you than the pursuit of God.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Deadliest Catch
Okay, so not such a spiritual thought today, but I am truly thankful for Deadliest Catch. I'm thankful that I get to see the wonder that is crab-fishing on the Bering Sea in winter. I have finally found a reason to force myself past the pain into regular excersize. I want to go on a crab boat. I want to work on a crab boat. Could you feel more alive?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Spring Snow II
Icky migraine has left me with a kind of bruised feeling in my head and nausea in my stomache, and I was awakened to a half cough, gagging and yet liquid sound that wakes me up as quickly as a baby's cry. Bear got sick this morning. It may have been a seizure, although the kind of sickness he had typically only occurs with the worst kind of seizure which I usually would hear when he goes into the thrashing about/shaking stage. The moment I woke I quickly walked him outside to continue retching out there.
As I was cleaning up the "gifts" he gave me, I kept thinking to myself, this is what love does. Somehow I did not really understand that when you were kids. I felt guilty that I would do the right thing but not always feel the way I thought I should feel. One of you kids would be sick and puking and I would clean it up with a sigh, trying to hold back the contents of my own stomach. I felt so guilty that at that moment I wasn't filled with tenderness for my sick child, but instead was wishing I was doing anything other than cleaning up vomit.
I have learned that love isn't just the words we say, it is action that we do. Yes, there is a lot of duty in love. There is! I sometimes am awash in guilt over the things I didn't do or say or feel when you guys wee growing up, but I was always trying to do right by you. I often failed miserably, but I wanted you to have a different life than I had. I wanted you to know, really know that you were adored. What I didn't realize is how much I needed help to escape my own demons.
I was tortured by thoughts of my own unworthiness, the shame I felt simply for being me and defeated before I even got out of bed, dragging around the mistakes and sins of my past. I was taught about grace, but not shown it, and never taught how to live in the freedom that comes from knowing that my sins, past present and future have already been paid for by the God who loves me and who paid the debt himself so that he could have a relationship with him. I grew up with faith as a byproduct of fire insurance. I believed, but I had a strong fear of going to hell if I didn't. I was unaware of the richness of the love the Jesus has for me. We talked about it, but my experience was so at odds with that teaching that it became empty words.
How sorroful God must have been to see me stumble along being lied to by the evil one and by those around me. I heard the message which wasn't spoken, but the unspoken message was louder in my ears than the spoken one. That you must suffer sufficiently for the sin you committed, and that you must never appear weak or need help. Even as an adult, help was denied when asked for. That isn't love!!!!! That isn't what is taught in scripture.
Over the past few years I have come to know freedom and joy in a way I have never known in the past. That joy has not come in the midst of ease and luxury, but in great difficulty, tremenous trials, sorrow, loss and misery. I have been shown such grace and mercy and been allowed the great luxury of seeing a small glimpse of the love that God has for me. I cannot describe the joy. I cannot describe my wonder. I have always known that God deserved our worship and I believe I worshipped in truth, but I am beginning to worship with my mind, my spirit and now with my heart. I will be driwing along singing a song of worship and want to lift my hands in adoration of the one who made me and gave himself for me. I want to throw myself on the floor in wonder at his majesty (I don't for fear I would not be able to get back up.) My insides are dancing in a body that cannot move in the way my spirit can.
Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty, who was, who is, who is to come. He is gentle and terrible, merciful and just, loving and true.
The snow falling outside my window this morning reminds me of his gentleness, and cleaning up after Bear this morning reminds me that his love involves not just heart but action. He is the gentle whispers, but he is also the God who cleans up after me, who takes my wretchedness and my mistakes, my sins and my failures and wipes them away, and with the fragrance of himself, clears the room of all my stink. His love involves not just heart, but action. His is the love that does. See I don't and you don't need love that is simply warm gushy adoration of yourself, but who turns away when you need help, unable to stand up for you when someone hurts you, or who will not love you enough to make you do what you should do for your own good, or who will not allow you to suffer momentary hurt for your own betterment. We need a love that will make the sacrifices, who will clean up the messes and who will clear our own stink.
Please understand how very much I love you. If you need me, I am hear. I long for relationship with you. I long to know your heart. I love to hear you laugh. Each of you has a laugh that gets my heart. Each of you has qualities that I love. Even in the womb your uniqueness showed. Kristen was the most gentle of the babies I carried. She came right on time, but with a little drama. The first time I heard your heartbeat, my daughter, I was in love and filled with wonder. I had a fierce protectiveness toward you and great anxiety that harm might come to you. I still concern myself with harm that might come to you. Craig was the wild child before he was even born he was fighting me. He was so active it felt like I had a soccer team or a boxer in me. I was already exhausted by the time you were born, my son. Do you know you tried to stand up on the delivery table? The doctor was astonished, but I just said, I told you so. Alex was not as wildly active as Craig, but he took his own sweet time. You were born three weeks late. You weren't in any rush, and I don't think you've been in a rush at any time since. You were just such a happy baby, content wherever you were. Grandma Bents use to call you 'Smiley', cause you smiled all the time. "Look at that Ipana smile," she always said.
Grandma Bentz loved you guys so much, and it was to Grandma Bentz I would take you when you guys were little. I knew so little about babies. I didn't know about how to take care of fevers or rashes. I didn't know what I was looking at when you guys got the German Measles. I had never been around little children before I had you, and there we were in the middle of nowhere. There were no MOPS, no play dates, no coffee klatches where I could find out from other young mothers what to do with your kids.
I had never been read to sleep, but I did read with you. I wanted you to know the joy of reading. We made up stories togehter, do you remember that? Do you remember us playing "Buzz"? I often wish I had written down or recorded some of the stories we created together. Some of them were quite good, you know?
Somewhere, in a land far, far away, across oceans and mountain ranges, deserts and wide rivers, there lived a giant. Not just any giant, Chester was a giant among giants, taller, stronger, faster and braver than any of the giants in his part of the world. But Chester was bored. He had bested all the other giants in wrestling, in swordplay, in archery and in foot races, and had wrestled polar bears, great gorillas brought in from far away lands and once had even defeated a woolly mammoth. The great dinosaurs had all left for far off lands, in one great and strangely majestic migration that left them all mistified. The world had changed, and Chester wanted to change with it. Buzz. Who will take up the tale? Or who will make one of their own?
Love you guys! Hey, I hope there are no misspellings. I don't have my glasses one and can't read the screen, so I'm practicing my touch typing. Hope that has gone well. LOI
As I was cleaning up the "gifts" he gave me, I kept thinking to myself, this is what love does. Somehow I did not really understand that when you were kids. I felt guilty that I would do the right thing but not always feel the way I thought I should feel. One of you kids would be sick and puking and I would clean it up with a sigh, trying to hold back the contents of my own stomach. I felt so guilty that at that moment I wasn't filled with tenderness for my sick child, but instead was wishing I was doing anything other than cleaning up vomit.
I have learned that love isn't just the words we say, it is action that we do. Yes, there is a lot of duty in love. There is! I sometimes am awash in guilt over the things I didn't do or say or feel when you guys wee growing up, but I was always trying to do right by you. I often failed miserably, but I wanted you to have a different life than I had. I wanted you to know, really know that you were adored. What I didn't realize is how much I needed help to escape my own demons.
I was tortured by thoughts of my own unworthiness, the shame I felt simply for being me and defeated before I even got out of bed, dragging around the mistakes and sins of my past. I was taught about grace, but not shown it, and never taught how to live in the freedom that comes from knowing that my sins, past present and future have already been paid for by the God who loves me and who paid the debt himself so that he could have a relationship with him. I grew up with faith as a byproduct of fire insurance. I believed, but I had a strong fear of going to hell if I didn't. I was unaware of the richness of the love the Jesus has for me. We talked about it, but my experience was so at odds with that teaching that it became empty words.
How sorroful God must have been to see me stumble along being lied to by the evil one and by those around me. I heard the message which wasn't spoken, but the unspoken message was louder in my ears than the spoken one. That you must suffer sufficiently for the sin you committed, and that you must never appear weak or need help. Even as an adult, help was denied when asked for. That isn't love!!!!! That isn't what is taught in scripture.
Over the past few years I have come to know freedom and joy in a way I have never known in the past. That joy has not come in the midst of ease and luxury, but in great difficulty, tremenous trials, sorrow, loss and misery. I have been shown such grace and mercy and been allowed the great luxury of seeing a small glimpse of the love that God has for me. I cannot describe the joy. I cannot describe my wonder. I have always known that God deserved our worship and I believe I worshipped in truth, but I am beginning to worship with my mind, my spirit and now with my heart. I will be driwing along singing a song of worship and want to lift my hands in adoration of the one who made me and gave himself for me. I want to throw myself on the floor in wonder at his majesty (I don't for fear I would not be able to get back up.) My insides are dancing in a body that cannot move in the way my spirit can.
Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty, who was, who is, who is to come. He is gentle and terrible, merciful and just, loving and true.
The snow falling outside my window this morning reminds me of his gentleness, and cleaning up after Bear this morning reminds me that his love involves not just heart but action. He is the gentle whispers, but he is also the God who cleans up after me, who takes my wretchedness and my mistakes, my sins and my failures and wipes them away, and with the fragrance of himself, clears the room of all my stink. His love involves not just heart, but action. His is the love that does. See I don't and you don't need love that is simply warm gushy adoration of yourself, but who turns away when you need help, unable to stand up for you when someone hurts you, or who will not love you enough to make you do what you should do for your own good, or who will not allow you to suffer momentary hurt for your own betterment. We need a love that will make the sacrifices, who will clean up the messes and who will clear our own stink.
Please understand how very much I love you. If you need me, I am hear. I long for relationship with you. I long to know your heart. I love to hear you laugh. Each of you has a laugh that gets my heart. Each of you has qualities that I love. Even in the womb your uniqueness showed. Kristen was the most gentle of the babies I carried. She came right on time, but with a little drama. The first time I heard your heartbeat, my daughter, I was in love and filled with wonder. I had a fierce protectiveness toward you and great anxiety that harm might come to you. I still concern myself with harm that might come to you. Craig was the wild child before he was even born he was fighting me. He was so active it felt like I had a soccer team or a boxer in me. I was already exhausted by the time you were born, my son. Do you know you tried to stand up on the delivery table? The doctor was astonished, but I just said, I told you so. Alex was not as wildly active as Craig, but he took his own sweet time. You were born three weeks late. You weren't in any rush, and I don't think you've been in a rush at any time since. You were just such a happy baby, content wherever you were. Grandma Bents use to call you 'Smiley', cause you smiled all the time. "Look at that Ipana smile," she always said.
Grandma Bentz loved you guys so much, and it was to Grandma Bentz I would take you when you guys were little. I knew so little about babies. I didn't know about how to take care of fevers or rashes. I didn't know what I was looking at when you guys got the German Measles. I had never been around little children before I had you, and there we were in the middle of nowhere. There were no MOPS, no play dates, no coffee klatches where I could find out from other young mothers what to do with your kids.
I had never been read to sleep, but I did read with you. I wanted you to know the joy of reading. We made up stories togehter, do you remember that? Do you remember us playing "Buzz"? I often wish I had written down or recorded some of the stories we created together. Some of them were quite good, you know?
Somewhere, in a land far, far away, across oceans and mountain ranges, deserts and wide rivers, there lived a giant. Not just any giant, Chester was a giant among giants, taller, stronger, faster and braver than any of the giants in his part of the world. But Chester was bored. He had bested all the other giants in wrestling, in swordplay, in archery and in foot races, and had wrestled polar bears, great gorillas brought in from far away lands and once had even defeated a woolly mammoth. The great dinosaurs had all left for far off lands, in one great and strangely majestic migration that left them all mistified. The world had changed, and Chester wanted to change with it. Buzz. Who will take up the tale? Or who will make one of their own?
Love you guys! Hey, I hope there are no misspellings. I don't have my glasses one and can't read the screen, so I'm practicing my touch typing. Hope that has gone well. LOI
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sabbath Rest
Hey there Kristen, Craig and Alex. It was a restful day except for the terrible migraine that has had me dizzy and nauseous for hours now. I'm heading back to bed, so I just wanted to take a moment to tell you that I love you, your dad loves you and Jesus loves you more than us both. I hope you find rest and comfort in that.
No matter how much I prize each of you (and have no doubt about it, I do) you are prized and treasured by God even more. The maker of the universe designed each of you specially, and with each of you I offered and committed you to God when you were young. I am trusting that the same God who has gently led me and loved me despite all my failures will lead you to himself that you may worship him in spirit and in truth. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength.
You are three gifts, unique and special to my heart. My three treasures. I love you. Good night.
No matter how much I prize each of you (and have no doubt about it, I do) you are prized and treasured by God even more. The maker of the universe designed each of you specially, and with each of you I offered and committed you to God when you were young. I am trusting that the same God who has gently led me and loved me despite all my failures will lead you to himself that you may worship him in spirit and in truth. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength.
You are three gifts, unique and special to my heart. My three treasures. I love you. Good night.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Absent From the Body...
...present with the Lord. I have often wondered over the years what Pat Peckham's memorial service would look like. I have pictured all the women and men who have been touched by and taught by her over the years filling the rows of the chapel and spilling out into the foyer and out the door. She was such a blessing, and even in the past few weeks as she lay dying she gave me wise counsel about a situation I was faced with. She told me that I wouldn't have to visit her for more than six months, letting me know that there was an end date in sight for the trouble of visitation. See the thing is it wasn't a bother or trouble for me to visit her. It was a privilege. I learned so much from her about how to live out my faith and she started me on the path of walking in freedom. She was always gentle and kind to me, even when she spoke hard truths.
When I think of her I think of lavender and white, pale aqua and blues, pastels and feminine without being too cutesy. Very elegant and dignified, she always dressed nicely and her hair was always lovely. She was such a gracious woman, though she would chasten you if you really needed it, but it was always done with gentleness and care.
My friend, my mentor and one of my "other mother's" went home today, just as she has been asking. I know her son's will grieve for her, as will her husband. She was a rock, and such an encouraging person. She adored her sons and spoke of them with such loving pride. The son closest in age to me, Jeff, always carried himself with such self-confidence, even at ages where no one is self-confident, he was. Though he was often disliked for it or mocked, as it was sometimes mistaken for arrogance or pride, he was friendly and I never saw him be unkind or looking down on anyone. I think that is because Pat instilled in her boys that she had total confidence in them. She placed a burden of trust on them, but also required them to do certain things to show care for her. In her lifetime, if she ever pumped her own gas, you would never get her to admit it. I don't think she ever did pump gas. If the tank ran out, she would call her husband or boys to come and get her and to take care of it. It was understood that gassing the vehicles was their job and if they drove the car they were to bring it back with enough gas in the tank so that she wasn't stranded. It was very old-fashioned of her, but for her it was a part of being cared for and ensuring that her boys understood that there are some things you did for your wife simply to show her your care.
I find it hard to imagine that either of her daughter-in-laws leave all the gas pumping to their menfolk, but there may be things that for them they do not wish to do because they are women and prefer not. I would imagine that Jeff and John were trained to understand and to take care of those things.
I cannot do justice to Pat here. I only know a part of her life, and while she shared stories with me over the years, I'm sure there are so many more that I do not know.
Mother's Day is coming up and will be bittersweet this year. I sometimes would bring Pat a card or a flower to commemorate her place in my heart, such as I would bring or send to my own mom. My children do not understand what happens in the heart of a mom when their kids remember them, so I have tried to busy myself and care for others on that day so that I don't let unfilled hopes ruin my day. I want to treasure what they DO, not spend time being upset with what they do not do. It isn't always easy, but I think Pat would approve of removing my expectations from them and living in a little place I like to call reality.
This is a bit rambling tonight, as I try to pull together the many thoughts I have running through my head. It's not easy to condense the tremendous impact Pat had on me in one small entry. What did she teach me? One, to relax a bit. Two, to be realistic and biblical about what I should expect from myself, from others and from God. Three, to be more real with others around me and not to pretend that things are okay when they are not. Four, to be less concerned about what others thought or their criticism, but to think instead about what I should do or shouldn't do, what I was designed and gifted for regardless of what others reaction might be. Five, that there are some things that you cannot change, and when you get to those, you better quit beating your head against a wall and wishing they were different. Live in the real world! Six, to be kinder to myself. Seven, that God loves me and is delighted by me. I didn't really grasp this very well, but I tried.
Oh and she taught me to patiently wait while God does what he wishes in our lives. We do not have to understand our trials, but we need to accept that they come from the hand of a loving God. Pat did not understand the long time she was forced to sit in a chair day after day, nor did she understand when she went into hospice, what she was doing laying there so helplessly. She didn't like those things, but she accepted them with grace. Not that she was perfect, but she trusted God no matter the hardship.
Her service will be in a few days and I wonder, will all the men and women she touched be there? Will they honor her with their time as she poured her time into them? Many will find themselves too busy, others will not see the point, some find funerals too uncomfortable and so they don't go, but I believe that we are taught differently. Ecclesiastes says that it is better to go to a house of mourning than a house of mirth because a wise men will take it to heart. A wise man will understand that the end of all men is the grave and will take it to heart. Many people avoid funerals and memorial services. Do they think that by turning away from it that they will avoid death in the end? Or do they love the foolish way they are spending their days so much that they do not wish to examine it? I couldn't tell you. My bible teacher shared this verse with me in high school and it has stayed with me all these years. When I have the opportunity to go to the funeral of a loved one or to the service of the loved one of a friend, I always go. I go for a few reasons. One, I believe that it is one concrete way you can show that you care. Two, I think it is a comfort to me to be in the company of others that loved the one I loved. Three, it does cause me to consider my life and the days I have left, and re-order my priorities. There are many pieces of equipment that require periodic recalibration. Funerals are one of the ways my spirit gets re-calibrated, that my choices are examined and my priorities get tweaked.
I am terribly conscious that I have fewer days ahead than I have behind. The choices I make are so important now, more than ever before. I am on the countdown side of things, on the downhill slope. If there is a chance to become a truly godly woman it is imperative that it be now. It cannot wait.
We all need the reminder of the death of a loved one to teach us to number our days rightly. I may not look it, but I am in the middle of my life. I have past the midpoint. My dear readers, please take the opportunity to decide how to spend the only life you have. Determine what is truly of worth and set your aim there. Yes there is a lot to juggle, but when you have your gaze set firmly on where you need to go, it does make it a bit easier to make choices. Well, I have gone on long enough this evening. I have passed midnight and am into Friday. Whew!
Please leave me a comment. I know there are some of you reading this, but I'm not hearing from you. If nothing else, please let me know who is reading. Since comments are moderated, just put a note in if you do not want your comment published. I understand. And...if this is of value to you to hear what is on my heart, please share these posts with others. Thank you very much for the time you are giving to my words.
When I think of her I think of lavender and white, pale aqua and blues, pastels and feminine without being too cutesy. Very elegant and dignified, she always dressed nicely and her hair was always lovely. She was such a gracious woman, though she would chasten you if you really needed it, but it was always done with gentleness and care.
My friend, my mentor and one of my "other mother's" went home today, just as she has been asking. I know her son's will grieve for her, as will her husband. She was a rock, and such an encouraging person. She adored her sons and spoke of them with such loving pride. The son closest in age to me, Jeff, always carried himself with such self-confidence, even at ages where no one is self-confident, he was. Though he was often disliked for it or mocked, as it was sometimes mistaken for arrogance or pride, he was friendly and I never saw him be unkind or looking down on anyone. I think that is because Pat instilled in her boys that she had total confidence in them. She placed a burden of trust on them, but also required them to do certain things to show care for her. In her lifetime, if she ever pumped her own gas, you would never get her to admit it. I don't think she ever did pump gas. If the tank ran out, she would call her husband or boys to come and get her and to take care of it. It was understood that gassing the vehicles was their job and if they drove the car they were to bring it back with enough gas in the tank so that she wasn't stranded. It was very old-fashioned of her, but for her it was a part of being cared for and ensuring that her boys understood that there are some things you did for your wife simply to show her your care.
I find it hard to imagine that either of her daughter-in-laws leave all the gas pumping to their menfolk, but there may be things that for them they do not wish to do because they are women and prefer not. I would imagine that Jeff and John were trained to understand and to take care of those things.
I cannot do justice to Pat here. I only know a part of her life, and while she shared stories with me over the years, I'm sure there are so many more that I do not know.
Mother's Day is coming up and will be bittersweet this year. I sometimes would bring Pat a card or a flower to commemorate her place in my heart, such as I would bring or send to my own mom. My children do not understand what happens in the heart of a mom when their kids remember them, so I have tried to busy myself and care for others on that day so that I don't let unfilled hopes ruin my day. I want to treasure what they DO, not spend time being upset with what they do not do. It isn't always easy, but I think Pat would approve of removing my expectations from them and living in a little place I like to call reality.
This is a bit rambling tonight, as I try to pull together the many thoughts I have running through my head. It's not easy to condense the tremendous impact Pat had on me in one small entry. What did she teach me? One, to relax a bit. Two, to be realistic and biblical about what I should expect from myself, from others and from God. Three, to be more real with others around me and not to pretend that things are okay when they are not. Four, to be less concerned about what others thought or their criticism, but to think instead about what I should do or shouldn't do, what I was designed and gifted for regardless of what others reaction might be. Five, that there are some things that you cannot change, and when you get to those, you better quit beating your head against a wall and wishing they were different. Live in the real world! Six, to be kinder to myself. Seven, that God loves me and is delighted by me. I didn't really grasp this very well, but I tried.
Oh and she taught me to patiently wait while God does what he wishes in our lives. We do not have to understand our trials, but we need to accept that they come from the hand of a loving God. Pat did not understand the long time she was forced to sit in a chair day after day, nor did she understand when she went into hospice, what she was doing laying there so helplessly. She didn't like those things, but she accepted them with grace. Not that she was perfect, but she trusted God no matter the hardship.
Her service will be in a few days and I wonder, will all the men and women she touched be there? Will they honor her with their time as she poured her time into them? Many will find themselves too busy, others will not see the point, some find funerals too uncomfortable and so they don't go, but I believe that we are taught differently. Ecclesiastes says that it is better to go to a house of mourning than a house of mirth because a wise men will take it to heart. A wise man will understand that the end of all men is the grave and will take it to heart. Many people avoid funerals and memorial services. Do they think that by turning away from it that they will avoid death in the end? Or do they love the foolish way they are spending their days so much that they do not wish to examine it? I couldn't tell you. My bible teacher shared this verse with me in high school and it has stayed with me all these years. When I have the opportunity to go to the funeral of a loved one or to the service of the loved one of a friend, I always go. I go for a few reasons. One, I believe that it is one concrete way you can show that you care. Two, I think it is a comfort to me to be in the company of others that loved the one I loved. Three, it does cause me to consider my life and the days I have left, and re-order my priorities. There are many pieces of equipment that require periodic recalibration. Funerals are one of the ways my spirit gets re-calibrated, that my choices are examined and my priorities get tweaked.
I am terribly conscious that I have fewer days ahead than I have behind. The choices I make are so important now, more than ever before. I am on the countdown side of things, on the downhill slope. If there is a chance to become a truly godly woman it is imperative that it be now. It cannot wait.
We all need the reminder of the death of a loved one to teach us to number our days rightly. I may not look it, but I am in the middle of my life. I have past the midpoint. My dear readers, please take the opportunity to decide how to spend the only life you have. Determine what is truly of worth and set your aim there. Yes there is a lot to juggle, but when you have your gaze set firmly on where you need to go, it does make it a bit easier to make choices. Well, I have gone on long enough this evening. I have passed midnight and am into Friday. Whew!
Please leave me a comment. I know there are some of you reading this, but I'm not hearing from you. If nothing else, please let me know who is reading. Since comments are moderated, just put a note in if you do not want your comment published. I understand. And...if this is of value to you to hear what is on my heart, please share these posts with others. Thank you very much for the time you are giving to my words.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thoughts on death and dying
My friend, mentor, and second mother lays in a bed tonight and likely will breathe her last in the next several hours. Her road has been a long one, and over the last few years has been difficult. She has had a bleeding aneurysm in the brain for a while, a slow seepage or trickle that caused her to have a terrible fall a few years back with breaks in the thigh from the hip to the knee, requiring hours of surgery, multiple pins and much physical therapy. She has never been the same. At some point she had a stroke which caused her to lose function of her left eye and the right side of her body from the neck down. She could feel touch, but could not move her arm or leg.
PT determined that nothing would restore the function, so she was helped to get up, dress and helped to walk to her chair where she sat for day after day, unable to cook or clean, and requiring help for many personal functions of life. I don't know why she had to endure this. Her brain was still doing great, but her voice became softer and her strength waned.
I was priviledged to visit with her since her fall on many occasions. I wish I could say I was faithful, but sometimes months would pass between visits, yet each time I drove the major roadway between her house and mine I would try to figure out when I was going to be able to see her again.
It troubles me, but such is the way of the working, that her best times for visiting were during the work week, at times of the day when it was terribly difficult to get away. I should have set aside a weekend a month to get to visit her, but often I did not.
Still, when she got to hospice I visited her quite frequently, and when she was moved from there into a more long-term hospice/nursing facility, I was priviledged to be able to visit her nearly every week. She was so good to me over the years, it shames me that I was not more faithful.
The beauty in watching my dear friend withdraw from this life is that it helps me to "number my days aright" as it says in Psalm 90. I have fewer years ahead of me than behind, in all likelihood, so the time must be spent wisely and in pursuit of things which truly matter.
Pat invested her life in people. She was kind, wise, organized, insightful, had a great sense of humor, loved music, loved to read mysteries, kept an orderly household, and despite what she may have thought was a good student. She ran businesses efficiently and she did what is a great thing. She obeyed what she knew in Scripture. She may not have known everything, but what she knew she obeyed. She and her husband are known for that.
Sometime very soon, Pat will have slipped the bonds of this earth and will be face-to-face with Jesus. She will be dancing and singing and clapping and enjoying the heavenly choir as she worships with them with such joy.
I will miss her, but she has taught me so much that I can remember and fall back on. I truly do not want her to suffer and be trapped in her mortal body any longer. I don't want her to struggle to make her needs, wishes and thoughts known anymore. I don't want her to struggle to have a drink, or to suffer the indignities of her condition any longer.
I hope, dear friends and my dear children, that you find people throughout your life that you can learn from in this way. I don't know if our marriage would have survived without Pat's gentle teaching, showing me how to navigate the troubled waters we were in. I don't know if I would have recovered enough to have known happiness and contentment again. I have been blessed by knowing some wonderful people along the path who helped me in difficult times even when they did not understand what I was going through. Several times one wonderful person or the other helped me through a really trying patch in our marriage. Mostly, they have helped me to see that my unhappiness was only partly about my husband. Most of it was about the anguish of my own heart, my own sin, my own selfishness, and my own damaged spirit. These people have each shown me something of God I did not know before, or shown me what truth looked like when you lived it.
There is a sweetness to the pain and loss I feel tonight. I am happy to go through the sorrow, because it means that I knew and loved such a wonderful person. My thoughts are on heaven tonight and I pray that her suffering will soon be over.
PT determined that nothing would restore the function, so she was helped to get up, dress and helped to walk to her chair where she sat for day after day, unable to cook or clean, and requiring help for many personal functions of life. I don't know why she had to endure this. Her brain was still doing great, but her voice became softer and her strength waned.
I was priviledged to visit with her since her fall on many occasions. I wish I could say I was faithful, but sometimes months would pass between visits, yet each time I drove the major roadway between her house and mine I would try to figure out when I was going to be able to see her again.
It troubles me, but such is the way of the working, that her best times for visiting were during the work week, at times of the day when it was terribly difficult to get away. I should have set aside a weekend a month to get to visit her, but often I did not.
Still, when she got to hospice I visited her quite frequently, and when she was moved from there into a more long-term hospice/nursing facility, I was priviledged to be able to visit her nearly every week. She was so good to me over the years, it shames me that I was not more faithful.
The beauty in watching my dear friend withdraw from this life is that it helps me to "number my days aright" as it says in Psalm 90. I have fewer years ahead of me than behind, in all likelihood, so the time must be spent wisely and in pursuit of things which truly matter.
Pat invested her life in people. She was kind, wise, organized, insightful, had a great sense of humor, loved music, loved to read mysteries, kept an orderly household, and despite what she may have thought was a good student. She ran businesses efficiently and she did what is a great thing. She obeyed what she knew in Scripture. She may not have known everything, but what she knew she obeyed. She and her husband are known for that.
Sometime very soon, Pat will have slipped the bonds of this earth and will be face-to-face with Jesus. She will be dancing and singing and clapping and enjoying the heavenly choir as she worships with them with such joy.
I will miss her, but she has taught me so much that I can remember and fall back on. I truly do not want her to suffer and be trapped in her mortal body any longer. I don't want her to struggle to make her needs, wishes and thoughts known anymore. I don't want her to struggle to have a drink, or to suffer the indignities of her condition any longer.
I hope, dear friends and my dear children, that you find people throughout your life that you can learn from in this way. I don't know if our marriage would have survived without Pat's gentle teaching, showing me how to navigate the troubled waters we were in. I don't know if I would have recovered enough to have known happiness and contentment again. I have been blessed by knowing some wonderful people along the path who helped me in difficult times even when they did not understand what I was going through. Several times one wonderful person or the other helped me through a really trying patch in our marriage. Mostly, they have helped me to see that my unhappiness was only partly about my husband. Most of it was about the anguish of my own heart, my own sin, my own selfishness, and my own damaged spirit. These people have each shown me something of God I did not know before, or shown me what truth looked like when you lived it.
There is a sweetness to the pain and loss I feel tonight. I am happy to go through the sorrow, because it means that I knew and loved such a wonderful person. My thoughts are on heaven tonight and I pray that her suffering will soon be over.
My hope index is up today, brought on by spring. A few days of temperatures in the 60's and 70's, a bit of time spent clearing the dead leaves out of the garden beds and planting the first of my lemon balm--ah, life begins anew. With it my allergies soar, my sinuses fill, and I have a headache which will last until the dead of winter returns, but I am reminded that all things begin anew.
Disturbing some of the plants to clear out the debris released the fragrance of sage, lavender, lemon thyme, sweet woodruff and mint, and the joy that comes from the scent of things to come...
I am reminded that much in this world is merely the scent, or the promise of things to come. There is coming a day when this earth shall pass away, with its sin-stains, sorrows, sickness and grief, and a new earth will be formed in perfection. C.S. Lewis said that the wistful longing, the tears that come in the midst of the joy of a beautiful sunset or a striking scene of natural beauty is because there is something in us that longs for that in its perfected state which is to come.
I don't know about that, but I know that these things remind me of what I have already learned of God and hint at wonders I have yet to discover. As I stir up and remove the debris of the past, the fragrance of hope at what can be is released and my soul, my very being rejoices that I can be renewed, healed, restored.
There is a portion of my garden that was fouled by an oil spill a few years ago. At first it smelled and killed the herbs growing there. I removed as much of the fouled earth as I could without killing the plants, and have waited to see what will happen. I had read a report of an oil spill, where the seas and sands have been cleaned by natural processes without human help, and I wondered what would happen.
For the past couple of years, the area that was spoiled was simply dead. None of my plants seemed to recover, though the roots and the dry tendrils remained, but this year there are small signs of life in that previously dead-looking patch of ground. I'm not entirely sure what has happened, whether the plant is rejuvanating, or if the parts that were still alive elsewhere are simply spreading into what was defiled, but either way there is life beginning where there was death.
So I am thinking today about renewal and cleansing and fresh starts. Forgiveness for the past, looking forward to the future. It's all good.
Some damage goes deeper than a bit of motor oil, like the scars from strip mining on the front range, visible from many miles away. These scars, this spoiling and desecration, takes much more concentrated and deliberate effort to restore but there is progress being made there. The scars are still visible, but less so, and perhaps one day they will be unrecognizable, perhaps not. I am thinking though that no matter how deep the damage to us, even though there may be scars, our scarred and ruined places can be redeemed if we are willing to work at it and speak life into the lifeless places. How? Well, we must examine old ways of thinking, patterns we developed in childhood or in poor relationships, things we told ourselves, vows we made to protect ourselves from further hurt, and rebuke them, change our thinking through the deliberate memorization and meditation on Scripture, choosing to think and act in healthy ways.
I used to have written on my bathroom mirror, "Do the healthy thing." It was a reminder to me that to become healthy, in our physical, emotional, mental, spiritual or social beings, we must emulate what healthy people do. Does a healthy person eat salad instead of fries? Then we choose to eat salad. Is a healthy person super-sensitive? Then we choose to tell ourselves to get over it. Whatever that choice is, we emulate a healthy person. Eventually, eating a salad will become the normal thing for me; ignoring small slights will become normal; taking a walk becomes normal; turning off the TV becomes normal; getting out of bed, taking a shower and getting dressed when we are depressed becomes normal, and helps beat depression. Whatever the healthy thing, whatever the good thought, the better choice becomes more and more normal for me as I practice healthy living. For me, that is the way we bring life to the deeply scarred areas in our lives.
I refuse to be depressed anymore. That refusal is not a mere "I won't," it is a determination with a plan. For instance, I will wash my hair every day. That may seem like a silly thing, but for me, it is an important sign that I will not neglect taking care of myself. I have to be deathly ill before I will allow myself to stay in my pajamas all day. Some of my friends stay in their pajamas on a Saturday as their de-stress thing. For me, getting dressed is a sign to me mentally that I will not be a sloth, particularly important with my physical difficulties.
These may seem small, but they are some of the things I do to heal those "scars on the mountain" in my life. Some of those things may always be visible to others, but I am actively choosing life over death, victory over defeat.
And that is what Spring reminds me of...that life returns, that death doesn't win. The past is just that, the past. Hey, I've got enough to deal with just living in today, right?
Disturbing some of the plants to clear out the debris released the fragrance of sage, lavender, lemon thyme, sweet woodruff and mint, and the joy that comes from the scent of things to come...
I am reminded that much in this world is merely the scent, or the promise of things to come. There is coming a day when this earth shall pass away, with its sin-stains, sorrows, sickness and grief, and a new earth will be formed in perfection. C.S. Lewis said that the wistful longing, the tears that come in the midst of the joy of a beautiful sunset or a striking scene of natural beauty is because there is something in us that longs for that in its perfected state which is to come.
I don't know about that, but I know that these things remind me of what I have already learned of God and hint at wonders I have yet to discover. As I stir up and remove the debris of the past, the fragrance of hope at what can be is released and my soul, my very being rejoices that I can be renewed, healed, restored.
There is a portion of my garden that was fouled by an oil spill a few years ago. At first it smelled and killed the herbs growing there. I removed as much of the fouled earth as I could without killing the plants, and have waited to see what will happen. I had read a report of an oil spill, where the seas and sands have been cleaned by natural processes without human help, and I wondered what would happen.
For the past couple of years, the area that was spoiled was simply dead. None of my plants seemed to recover, though the roots and the dry tendrils remained, but this year there are small signs of life in that previously dead-looking patch of ground. I'm not entirely sure what has happened, whether the plant is rejuvanating, or if the parts that were still alive elsewhere are simply spreading into what was defiled, but either way there is life beginning where there was death.
So I am thinking today about renewal and cleansing and fresh starts. Forgiveness for the past, looking forward to the future. It's all good.
Some damage goes deeper than a bit of motor oil, like the scars from strip mining on the front range, visible from many miles away. These scars, this spoiling and desecration, takes much more concentrated and deliberate effort to restore but there is progress being made there. The scars are still visible, but less so, and perhaps one day they will be unrecognizable, perhaps not. I am thinking though that no matter how deep the damage to us, even though there may be scars, our scarred and ruined places can be redeemed if we are willing to work at it and speak life into the lifeless places. How? Well, we must examine old ways of thinking, patterns we developed in childhood or in poor relationships, things we told ourselves, vows we made to protect ourselves from further hurt, and rebuke them, change our thinking through the deliberate memorization and meditation on Scripture, choosing to think and act in healthy ways.
I used to have written on my bathroom mirror, "Do the healthy thing." It was a reminder to me that to become healthy, in our physical, emotional, mental, spiritual or social beings, we must emulate what healthy people do. Does a healthy person eat salad instead of fries? Then we choose to eat salad. Is a healthy person super-sensitive? Then we choose to tell ourselves to get over it. Whatever that choice is, we emulate a healthy person. Eventually, eating a salad will become the normal thing for me; ignoring small slights will become normal; taking a walk becomes normal; turning off the TV becomes normal; getting out of bed, taking a shower and getting dressed when we are depressed becomes normal, and helps beat depression. Whatever the healthy thing, whatever the good thought, the better choice becomes more and more normal for me as I practice healthy living. For me, that is the way we bring life to the deeply scarred areas in our lives.
I refuse to be depressed anymore. That refusal is not a mere "I won't," it is a determination with a plan. For instance, I will wash my hair every day. That may seem like a silly thing, but for me, it is an important sign that I will not neglect taking care of myself. I have to be deathly ill before I will allow myself to stay in my pajamas all day. Some of my friends stay in their pajamas on a Saturday as their de-stress thing. For me, getting dressed is a sign to me mentally that I will not be a sloth, particularly important with my physical difficulties.
These may seem small, but they are some of the things I do to heal those "scars on the mountain" in my life. Some of those things may always be visible to others, but I am actively choosing life over death, victory over defeat.
And that is what Spring reminds me of...that life returns, that death doesn't win. The past is just that, the past. Hey, I've got enough to deal with just living in today, right?
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