Cease Striving: Release, Rely, Relax, Receive

I discovered this article online when investigating the wording of various translations for Psalm 46, specifically 46:10 ("be still" in the NIV vs. "cease striving" in the NAS).  Granted, it is a bit of a read, but I still felt compelled to share it here. My primary "aha moment" was in regard to the emphasis on releasing. I think it's all-too-easy to jump to relying on God while still hanging on to a particular issue with human resolve, and thus without truly giving it to the Lord!!!  Then relaxing never comes (too much tension) and receiving is lessened.  I welcome critiques of this author's insights...

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Cease Striving

By Omar C. Garcia

December, 1990

Kingsland Baptist Church

Katy, Texas

"Cease striving and know that I am God..."

Psalm 46:10a

   Here we have recorded in capsule form the secret to successfully dealing with the issues of life. The advice the Psalmist gives in this verse however, runs contrary to our human nature. It is our human nature to instinctively strive whenever we encounter difficulties in life. It is our human nature to wrestle and struggle and calculate and contrive to whatever extent we feel necessary to handle life's difficulties. Such fruitless activity often leaves us feeling frustrated and robs us of the opportunity to see how God can deal with the same issue. The expression "cease striving" means in the Hebrew to "let your hands drop" or to "let go" or "relax." God will not put His hands on a difficulty until we take our hands off. It is only when we take our hands off that He can begin to work in such a way that we come to understand afresh and anew that He is indeed God. There are four things we must do in order to live the truth of this verse.

   First, whenever we encounter a difficulty we must release it into the care of the Lord. Psalm 37:5a states, "Commit your way to the Lord." Psalm 55:22 declares, "Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken." We read in I Peter 5:7, "[cast] all your anxiety upon Him, because He cares for you." Whenever we encounter a difficulty we should first take the matter to the Lord and entrust it into His care.

   Second, we must rely upon the Lord. Psalm 37:5 declares that we must first "commit" and then, "Trust also in Him, and He will do it." Proverbs 3:5 states, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And do not lean on your own understanding." Whenever we encounter difficulties in life the temptation to strive and to lean on our own understanding is great. We must act opposite of our own human nature however, and release the matter into the hands of the Lord and then rely upon Him to guide us in the resolution of the matter. Such a resolution may require activity on our part or a great deal of patience. We must be prepared for both.

   Third, we must relax. This is not a reference to inactivity or unconcern. It is rather, a reference to waiting upon the Lord to work things out in His time. Psalm 27:14 declares, "Wait for the Lord; Be strong, and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord." This is difficult for us to do in our instamatic society. We do not like waiting. We abhor lines at the traffic light, at the grocery store, and at the amusement park. Our modern society is geared to taking the wait out of life. Everything is becoming faster by virtue of automation and self-service and great technological advances. But in our spiritual lives waiting is important. We cannot hurry-up waiting! Waiting is a key ingredient in the development of character and spiritual maturity. And so, once we have released a matter into the hands of the Lord we must rely upon Him to work matters out in His time, which requires us to relax.

   Fourth, we will receive God's provision. God's provision or solution to the matter will come in due time. If we will release (commit), rely (trust), and relax (wait), we will receive God's provision. Upon receiving God's provision or solution to the matter we released into His care, we should be reminded that He is God. It is when we receive God's provision that we begin to grow in our understanding of who God is and how faithful God is. We experience growth in our understanding of God when we commit our difficulties and impossibilities into His care and trust Him to deal faithfully with them. There is absolutely no situation that we can release into His care that can baffle Him. God knows exactly what to do with every conceivable issue of life. Thus the secret to successfully dealing with the issues of life is to release (commit), rely (trust), relax (wait), and receive, and then to continue in this cycle as a matter of life.

Foodie-ness Strikes Again

I’m not sure how it happens exactly, I just always end up in the kitchen making stuff to feed people: this or that or several of these or those.  I guess that means I’m an official Foodie.

After all, what would I be if I weren’t FEEDING someone??? Perish the thought.  Identity crisis.

Like any other do-it-yourselfer with visions of creative grandeur, I tend to bite off more than I can chew.  (pun intended) “I’ll just make a fun lunch to take to my friends at the wellness center tomorrow,” I said today after calling to make sure it would fit with their plans. 

It seemed so simple from a conceptual point of view – a couple of sample entrees, several nicely diverse fresh salads, two breads (for both the white and wheat eaters), and a drop cookie and bar cookie. I had all the supplies on hand, so, no biggie.  After all, I used to turn out mega-volumes more than this every single day when I owned the bakery!

Well, it’s simple and no big deal until considering the HOURS it takes to make everything from scratch – by yourself – with no dishwasher - in a dinky kitchen that is in the process of being remodeled!  (Nails scattered on the counter where I roll my dough, etc. etc., let your mind run wild.) I’m not complaining, just explaining that I surely must be crazy.  In my own self-defense though, I think I have dominant kitchen genes flowing in my blood (not my fault), and/or I’m being prepared for an eternity of heavenly food preparation in the next life. 

Words Behind the Words

As I held the phone to my ear, a familiar and dear voice on the other end sounded just as I expected: comfortable and inviting.  As we chatted, I also continued fidgeting and doodling with my pen and jiggling the foot at the end of my crossed leg – silly habits of preoccupation. 

A few minutes clicked by. I was flattered, knowing how valuable time can be, and provided opportunities for the other party to bow out gracefully.  They were ignored.  At some point an unexpected awareness swept over me, and I began listening, or receiving, more deeply.  Did other unspoken, but very real, words, lurk behind the obvious ones?

I stopped fidgeting.  My foot stopped bouncing up and down.  

Yes! The other message, like some mysterious silent sign language of the heart, expressed more than spoken words could say.  If it could have become tangible it might sounded like a muted Gregorian chant wafting on a warm breeze laden with spring smells – hauntingly beautiful but in an enriching way that defied obvious translation.   Something intangible was also refreshing and musical, stirring and inspiring.  Gripping.

It said, “I care.  It is important to stay in touch. You matter. I don’t see you often, but I want to spend this time with you right now.  Everything else on my end can wait. Don’t hurry through this conversation on my account.  Feel free to open up and share as little or as much as you like – I’ll listen.  Or if you need to go, that’s fine, too.  Whatever you want, whatever you need.  I’m here for you.”

Khumili and Eseza

Khumili, a beautiful, slight-of-build 8-year-old girl, belongs to the Dalit (or “Untouchable”) caste in India. There are over 160 million Dalit in India and over 15 million bonded child workers who are often severely mistreated. Living conditions for the Dalit are beyond deplorable.  Despair is a way of life, with no opportunity for change.

Hilly Tripura near Bangladesh is home for Khumili.  Here thick forests fill the high country and swamps and thick jungles consume the lowlands.  The average annual rainfall is 82 inches, and temperatures vary between 50 and 95 degrees. 

Just this week we’ve begun sponsoring Khumili, who is fortunate enough to be attending a crudely built but carefully staffed school affiliated with Gospel for Asia’s “Bridge of Hope” outreach ministry for children.  While we can do little long-distance, our relatively small monetary involvement will support a daily meal (no small thing), periodic medical care, curricular and spiritual education, and clothing for attending school – reasons for Khumili to believe in, and hope for, lifestyle improvements that were previously impossible.  Of course the caste system is what it is, and yet HOPE is everything.

We are particularly “sold out” to this ministry because of its Christian roots and influence, but also because 100% of our donations go directly to meet Khumili’s needs.  How? Gospel for Asia holds other fund-raisers targeted toward corporate donors that support its film ministries, Gospel literature distributions, radio broadcasts, church plants and Bible schools, and administrative needs.  I like that.  Individuals taking care of individuals; corporate agencies taking care of the bigger gears behind-the-scenes.

On another note, I’ve been a pen-pal for several years with tender Eseza, another beautiful young girl with dark eyes as deep as the night sky, who lives in Uganda, Africa.  This affiliation is facilitated by another Christian organization: Orphan Justice Missions.  There is no money involved in my relationship with Eseza, just personal communication.  I’ve enjoyed getting to know this talented and creative artist whose only supplies are a few colored pencils (crayons melt in Africa!) and typing paper.   Her letters are often decorated with elaborate border designs and sketches of animals.  I’ve sent her a few sheets of colorful stickers as well as some pretty papers and stencils (I’m limited to flat items that fit in a regular business envelope) that she seems to relish.  Such small things, but they mean so much! 

So we now are linked to two similarly-aged dark-skinned beauties in Africa and India: Khumili and Eseza.  In both cases, the bottom line seems to be encouraging them with reasons to HOPE.

“Come, you blessed of My Father,

inherit the kingdom prepared for you

from the foundation of the world:

for I was hungry and you gave Me food;

I was thirsty and you gave Me drink;

I was a stranger and you took Me in;

I was naked and you clothed Me;

I was sick and you visited Me:

I was in prison and you came to Me…

Assuredly, I say to you,

Inasmuch as you did it to one of

The least of these My brethren,

You did it to Me.

Matthew 25:35-36,40

P.S. to "Sitting for the Grand-dog"

Here are a couple of pictures of Lexi, Grand-dog Queen for the weekend!

Sitting for the Grand-dog

Sitting for the Grand-dog

There are grandchildren (the kids belonging to our kids) and then there are grand-dogs (the dogs belonging to our kids).  Currently we’re babysitting one of our grand-dogs for an extended weekend.  In the past we’ve boarded Riley (a Golden Retriever) and Titus (an Australian Labradoodle).  But this time it’s Lexi’s turn (a brindle mutt).

Lexi is a matronly old gal who has been around the (canine) block.  As a pup and emerging adult she lived with our son-in-law in a house in the country full of similarly-aged college guys, one of whom was our younger son.  Eventually she shared her man with a new wife - our daughter.  And inevitably she became second (and third) fiddle to two baby girls - our granddaughters who are now nearing their first and third birthdays.    

I'm not sure of her exact age, but Lexi has seen a lot of change in her lifetime.  Having reached her semi-golden years, she’s surrounded with so much tail-pulling, little-kid LIFE that she hardly has a chance to get old.  She strikes me as wise (no point snarling at those rambunctious kids, they just don’t know any better) and bordering on elegant and refined, if dogs can claim standards of etiquette.

Her cataract-clouded eyes don’t seem to trouble her, and she displays a tail-wagging disposition that asks only for an occasional scratch on the head or a pat on the back.  She’s not chewy, nosy, barky, or bossy – just a sweet old lady. 

“Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable.  They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well.” -Bonnie Wilcox, Old Dogs, Old Friends

Golden Oak to Cocoa Brown

Today Plan A didn’t work.  As part of our kitchen facelift, I’d planned to makeover a shelf above our kitchen cabinets with “Golden Oak” stain.  But after careful sanding, conditioning, more sanding and staining, the results were disappointing.

“We’ll just have to live with it,” Fritz said in an attempt to be consoling.

“I’m not living with THAT.  It’s unacceptable,” I replied with indignance.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

After some silent gnashing of teeth and a few private moans and groans in the bathroom followed by a flash prayer and quick trip to Google, I learned I could re-sand the wood, prime and PAINT it.  Our paint closet fortunately held some leftover Cocoa Brown semi-gloss that had been used as trim elsewhere in the house, so I decided to give it a try.

Wow!  Tonight the end result is AWESOME - much more striking and finished-looking than what I’d envisioned with Plan A!

There’s a moral here. When I’m working on a writing assignment I sometimes have to write 4 or 5 pages just to discover the ONE PARAGRAPH that will become the nuts and bolts of my essay.  The rest gets electronically blued-out and deleted. Evidently this same principle applied to the paint job today.  I had to go through the Golden Oak to get to the Cocoa Brown.  Plan B and Cocoa Brown would never have dawned on me otherwise.  And yet it was just the right thing.

Dessert Minus the Borpy Feeling

As I type this blog at 8:30 p.m. after a challenging day of painting in the kitchen, I’m sipping (well okay, they’re big sips) a comparatively guilt-free smoothie made in my ultra-whiz-powerful Vita-Mix blender.  I’m SURE it is just as tasty as any for-real milkshake, and as I near the bottom of my tall glass I don’t notice that brick-in-the-stomach feeling that accompanies, say, a DQ Blizzard. Although I didn’t keep track of proportions, the ingredient listing follows:

Milk

Whole fat yogurt

Flaxseed oil

Frozen bananas

Frozen unsweetened strawberries

Vanilla

One teeny scoop of stevia

The result turned out thick and ice-creamy, rich, fruity, sweet – it covers all the bases!  YUM!  Here goes my last swallow….mmmmmm….

Pleasantly Surprised

Her crinkly blue eyes smiled when she entered the room, and long, straight gray hair framed her angular but welcoming face – strangely reminiscent of my own fine, dishwater blonde locks back in the 70’s.  The pin-on nametag on her clinical white coat said “Dr. Mann.”  I guessed she was in her mid-50’s.  Her technician, Patty, also personable and just as willing to entertain questions and conversation, was probably in her 40’s.

It’s always a little bit of a shock to me when I run into overt compassion in a medical situation instead of the usual contained, professional, stick-to-the-statistics norm.  Today Dr. Mann and Patty listened, considered, educated, discussed, and yes…even hugged me right there in the digital mammography dressing room of Kalamazoo’s huge Bronson hospital.  Not just once, but at different points in my visit.  And they weren’t fake hugs, but rather hey-I-understand-you-have-some-weird-medical-history-involving-exposure-to-active-radium hugs.  I-want-to- come-alongside-you hugs.

Angels.  Both of them.   Public servants who mercifully understood with reach-out-and-touch-you realness. 

After some re-takes the news was all good – wonderful, even.  A suspicious calcification had changed for the better during the last 10 months – become “coarser” according to Dr. Mann – and there is no cause for concern or follow-up.  

Looking back over the past year-and-a-half since this issue first erupted, I can see an emerging sequence I didn’t recognize as it was playing out.  To summarize, fear can be intimidating, even immobilizing.  Trust in God’s sovereignty and faithfulness, and confidence in His leadership through rough terrain, can be liberating and enabling.  When the two come together, there is synergy - great possibility for physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological transformation.  

Senior Woman Climbs Mount Refrigerator

How many 61-year-old women do you know who climb refrigerators?  Hmmmm?  Maybe….just one?

Okay, here’s the truth. In the picture posted here I’m perched on top of the refrigerator, true enough, but for a very good and sane reason: to prime the wall above the kitchen cabinets in preparation for a new warm brownish top-coat. (Note the new color already on the wall UNDER the cabinets.)

The top of the refrigerator is actually a nice place to work, preferable by far to the wobbly, ready-to-splinter-at-any-moment ladder, with a great view of the whole herd of fuzzy dust bunnies living in profusion (and seclusion) above the cabinets.  However I wouldn’t want to spend more than 10 minutes at a time up on the frig – my back and neck couldn’t take it.

But to finish the story, when I climbed down via the rickety old wooden stepladder (the bottom rung is literally held together with duct tape, no kidding) and returned to solid earth, er linoleum, I made a new discovery: the wisps of gray in my hair had suddenly multiplied while on Mount Refrigerator!  Had aging accelerated up there? 

Nah, I just bumped into wet paint (of course).  Looks sort of classy, doesn’t it?  A nice senior-style highlight?  Maybe I could start a new style.  Stranger things have happened in hairstyle fads!

Beauty and the Beast

“Beauty is defined by a pure, clean heart devoted to God,” our teaching leader said this morning during BSF. “Time spent with God develops greater beauty than time spent doing anything else.”

I believe that.  Some of the most beautiful people I know are wrinkled and saggy and old according to birthdays, but have practiced living by faith and trust in God for years.  Inner peace shows in their eyes, their attitudes, and their strength and compassion for others in the midst of their own physical weakness.

She went on to say, “Sin, or rebellion against God, is like a cancer – it spreads and spreads.  It is possible for a person to follow the ways of the world to his or her own internal destruction.”

I believe that, too. I’ve known people who are relatively young in years, but have already succumbed to self-diefication – the beast of prey that consumes their hearts and leads to despair.

Contact Cement

Memories came flooding back as soon as I unscrewed the cap on the brown glass bottle this evening.  Ah! There was the attached flat-ended broom-of-a-brush, just as I remembered.  A distinctively strong rubbery smell ushered me back in time as I stared at the syrupy-brown goop: contact cement. 

A clerk at Home Depot suggested contact cement for the job-at-hand - regluing peeling oak veneer on cabinetry.  I honestly wouldn’t have considered contact cement; somewhere along the way it had been left behind as child’s play.  As an adult, I opted for wood glue for projects involving wood, Elmer’s Glue-All for paper, super glue for ceramics and such, and a hot glue gun for anything else.  But as I stood in my kitchen dabbing the smelly childhood throw-back on a strip of loose laminate, the fumes rose and overtook me.  La-la-la-la-la.  Pretty soon I was daydreaming.

When I was a little girl, Mother kept contact cement in her writing desk that sat directly in front of several large panels of French windows.  That desk was a fun place for me to visit, mostly because of its many cubbyholes and small drawers full of stamps, paperclips, thumbtacks, rubber bands, and this-and-that.  It was also my resource place for craft supplies.  The shallow but larger drawer across the front held very long, pointy scissors, a letter opener, lead pencils and a few stray colored pencils, an art gum eraser, various sized pieces of scrap paper, and a squat bottle of contact cement.

We didn’t have Elmer’s glue, or glue-sticks, in those days – just library paste (a thick, gummy white paste, sometimes lumpy, almost always disappointing) or contact cement.  I used library paste exclusively at school during the elementary grades, and occasionally at home as well.  It crinkled my papers.  It crumbled as it dried, and sometimes released when it shouldn’t. But a meticulously thin layer of Mother’s contact cement – ooooohhhhhh!  It magically held magazine clippings to white typing paper almost perfectly! This was an important factor for one who was always cutting-and-pasting as a solitary activity.

I crossed over to good old all-purpose Elmer’s as my kids grew up; they never knew any other options.  I forgot about contact cement.  And yet tonight as I opened my first bottle in half-a-century, I simultaneously  imagined myself standing before my mother’s desk at about age seven or eight.  I think the smell transported me back in time - that one-of-a-kind, unmistakable odor.  

Allow me to take you there for just a minute.

In my mind’s eye I envisioned Mother’s jug-of-a-lamp with its homemade yarn-edged, almost-pink shade squatting on the top of her desk …my sisters’ wood-framed pictures…the big blue blotter with its tattered edges…letters stacked to one side…leaky cartridge fountain pens standing in an etched glass...the little drawer in the middle where the silver dollars and Mexican jumping beans slept.  (Some of my baby teeth were in there, too.) To the left of the desk I imagined the tick-tocking grandfather clock that Mother wound every morning.  To the right I saw the face of my great-grandfather in his civil war uniform staring with gutsy resolve.

Now the repair job is done, and the memories have returned to wherever they'd been hiding before I opened the jar of contact cement.  I hadn’t thought about that desk in years – actually, decades.  It was fun to be surprised. 

Friends and Favor

A few weeks ago I discovered a powerful, prolific early teacher in the Christian Church, St. John Chrystostom, whose influence is still felt in the liturgies of Byzantine Catholic and Orthodox services.

In the following excerpt he pinpoints friendship as a sort of lens that clarifies and enhances the rest of life.

“Such is friendship, that through it we love places and seasons; for as bright bodies emit rays to a distance, and flowers drop their sweet leaves on the ground around them, so friends impart favor even to the places where they dwell. With friends even poverty is pleasant. Words cannot express the joy which a friend imparts; they only can know who have experienced. A friend is dearer than the light of heaven, for it would be better for us that the sun were exhausted than that we should be without friends.”

-St. John Chrysostom

I love this, as it seems to speak to a deep and intense quality of relationship – something that gives perspective to the inevitable challenges we all face.

Jellybean Blues

On my better days, I’m sort of a raw food freak.  Or at least I lean that way.  My refrigerator bursts at the seams with bags of green leafy stuff.  Raw nuts spill out of the frig door shelves.  I try to prioritize fresh produce and firmly believe whole, unrefined/unprocessed/unadulterated food is our best medicine and the key to vibrancy and longevity.

BUT.

Brach’s original jellybeans (not those horrible spice bird-egg ones) can shake my purist resolve to the core. Even worse than chocolate brownies.  (For more on brownies see my blog entitled “It Happened AGAIN” posted March 6.)  In my opinion, jellybeans should be banned from the face of the planet. They inspire gluttony.  They take over.

This is why I must not go near them.

But what if I do succumb to jellybean oblivion? The spinach, carrots, broccoli, romaine, kale, and zucchini momentarily lie untouched in their plastic bags in the refrigerator.  I am terrorized and overrun by SUGAR.  A fugitive running from myself. 

Since confession is good for the soul, perhaps I should admit right here and now the things I can do over, for, with, and to a bag of jellybeans.  I’ve been known to obsess over the very thought of them, contrive for them, hide them, and eat them in mass quantities.  Like the whole bag.  Yes.  The Veggie Queen can fall this far into the depths of sugar-depravity.

It’s actually rather pathetic.  This is why I want jellybeans outlawed.

Encouragement

Yesterday my heart danced a little jig, actually sort of a 1920’s flapper-style Charleston - lol - when I received favorable judging results in the weekly FaithWriters contest!  A nice perk since some of my other recent efforts slithered by unnoticed, sort of like slugs leaving behind an almost-unnoticed trail (just a list of titles on my profile page).  It’s humbling in a good and motivating let’s-try-harder-next-time way when my efforts do NOT merit a place, but it IS sure encouraging when they receive recognition.

ANYWAY, here’s this entry, and the topic was “minute or minutes”  and the title is “Love Letter.”  It received a 5^th place.

____________________________________________

Love Letter

Dear Sue,

Minutes can be counted with sweeping second-hands or square digital numbers.  They can also sometimes stand still.

I remember the day I met you.  I was standing by an elevator with a briefcase under my arm when my life changed forever.  My watch said 2:26; I had a 2:30 appointment.

The clip-clipping of your high heels echoed as you appeared from a side hallway and hurried toward the drinking fountain.  You wore black slacks and a billowy white blouse, and an aura of candid authenticity accompanied your otherwise professional demeanor. I guessed you’d just come from an executive meeting. When you bent over to sip a drink, shoulder-length blonde hair cascaded over your face like a waterfall and a gold cross pendant fell and struck the stainless fountainhead – a tinkle-clink reminiscent of the bells on a church censer.

We were both strangers to the big city who had come to do business and were keeping our hectic schedules amidst that lobby’s fluorescent lights, ceramic tiles, synthetic ivy, and cheap art hung on sterile walls. Before you arrived I’d been watching the elevator’s flashing numbers as it descended – eight, seven, six. It had stopped momentarily at the fifth floor when my attention shifted to the water fountain. 

You looked up while holding your hair to one side.  Still bent over, you wiped an escaping drip from your lips with delicate harpist-looking fingers.

Time stopped as our eyes met and we blushed involuntarily.

I checked my watch.  It said 2:27.  No time for distractions.

We simultaneously trained our eyes on the blinking elevator numbers, as if they required careful surveillance.  Eventually the elevator came to rest on the first floor with a muted thud.  The doors rolled back, grinding like the stone covering Jesus’ tomb.

I entered and you followed; the doors methodically closed with a clunk.  We were alone.  Wonderfully, uncomfortably, and completely alone.

Your perfume filled every inch of the enclosure like a fragrant embalming spice.  I felt light-headed, intoxicated.  “What floor?” I asked with manufactured composure.

“Six, please.”

“Six?  Really?  Me too.”

“That’s funny.”

“Yes!  I’m going to the Monroe Company meeting.  And you?”

You seemed visibly shocked.   “I’m also headed to that meeting.”

I could think of nothing else to say.  I punched the number six on the appropriate key and continued staring at it.  My throat seemed full of dry saltine cracker crumbs; my head spun.  Meanwhile you immersed yourself in the instructions posted on the elevator wall explaining what to do in case of mechanical failure – a legitimate distraction.

We were lifted higher and higher as the lights inside the elevator flashed – two, three, four, five – until we arrived at the sixth floor.  The doors dutifully opened.  It seemed as though we’d been isolated in that elevator forever.  My watch read 2:28. 

I tried to step outside into the hallway but remained frozen in place.  You seemed equally stuck.  Perhaps we weren’t destined to reenter life?  The doors began to shut, but I reopened them with my briefcase.  Your gaze penetrated well beyond my eyes into some deep crevasse of my soul.  I returned it. 

Time stopped again.  Surely we were being transported beyond chronology into an eternal dimension.

“Shall we?” I ventured, offering my free hand.

“Thanks,” you replied with a smile that heightened my pulse.  Your fingers slipped through mine - a polite social gesture - and you continued walking.  I followed like a puppy on a leash.

We slipped into the already-full meeting room at 2:29.  Had it only been three minutes since I first saw you?  Hadn’t our elevator ride lasted a lifetime?  Was this all some sort of dream, or was it real?

That memory is now over five years old.  Think how many minutes have passed since then, and how many others seemed to stand still – when we knelt at the marriage altar, when our baby girl cried with her first breath, when we discovered I had cancer with a statistical prognosis of only weeks to live.

The doctors say it will soon be time for me to ride another elevator - the heavenly one - and take it all the way to the top this time.   It will happen in a flash, like that moment at the water fountain.  I’ll leave you as quickly as I found you.  And yet … when it’s your turn, I’ll be there.  And I’ll welcome you home.

I love you,

Jim

Birthday and More....

Yesterday evening seven family members gathered to celebrate Fritz’s 62^nd birthday complete with a celebratory fish-fry feast (featuring pan fish from our lake, oven fried white and sweet potatoes, corn and red peppers, steamed broccoli and cauliflower with cheese sauce, cole slaw with my signature homemade dressing that gets thrown together every time without a recipe but turns out okay, and homemade white and wheat yeast rolls).  Also featured were 60’s music, gifts, party hats, and candle-studded homemade cherry cobbler AND frosted chocolate brownies!  Goodness.  What a gala event.

Party hats can be worn in many different ways!

Another hauntingly beautiful winter sunset struck its pose on the western horizon over a still-icy lake, and as Grampa unwrapped gifts and I ran out on the deck to quickly capture it…

After the birthday festivities, Grampa and I shared the division of labor!  He snoozed in the recliner with his party hat still intact (an important job for sure) while I washed mountains of dishes and generally recovered the mayhem (a necessary job for sure). 

Today more ice is receding on the lake, and the open water is covered with millions of little choppy blades.  There’s so much MOVEMENT out there after the stark stillness of the winter ice!  I can’t quite put words to it, but the effect is stimulating…invigorating…renewing…hopeful.

(P.S. An aside re: yesterday’s entry!  I don’t have an edit function on my blog – I don’t know  why or how to fix the problem – so anything that gets posted is stuck there forever.  I have no idea why the word “reprint!” ended up in yesterday’s title. The blog was original to yesterday and was NOT a reprint!)

Renewal (reprint!)

I noticed a patch of open water night-before-last as the sun was setting over the western horizon.

Today the thawed area is much larger.  A couple of swans are happily camped out there with their tails in the air, scrounging for whatever winter-wilted seaweed delicacies they might find.  As their heads bob back to the surface periodically, they’re greeted by morning sun that promises further thawing and larger expanses of open water. 

Scenes like this encourage me if I just take time to soak them up until they sink into my soul.  Just now I daringly wandered outside for a minute without a coat and walked down to the lake to take my fill.  Standing on the seawall like a wary turtle just out of hibernation, the sun beat on my back.  I gulped the water-smells, the first since before the ice went on in December, and relished a sense of renewal.

Anniversary Plans

We’ve been casting about for ideas to celebrate our upcoming 40^th wedding anniversary, and just today some pieces started to fit together.  The parameters have included travel distance (not too far away), expense (not prohibitive), and appealing (low-key-but-different and outdoorsy, and preferably near a body of water). We started by considering an Alaskan cruise and have whittled down and down to what seems small in comparison, but perhaps even better!

How does this sound for a water-logged couple who have been consistently sold out to waves and wind and open sky ever since their first date in 1967??  A visit to a historic Great Lakes lighthouse renovated into a bed and breakfast in a small-and-sleepy little town!  We could also include side-trips like a chartered sail on a reproduction of a 1910 merchant vessel, a kayak excursion into peaceful back country rivers and lakes, and a guided jeep trip to remote waterfalls.  And of course there’s a half-mile of beach in front of the lighthouse and 40-some acres of forest with hiking trails behind it.  Hmmmmm. 

Another perk is that the destination would be within a long day’s drive. It’s sounding pretty good!

Hold Fast to Dreams

Hold Fast To Dreams

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow -Langston Hughes

Inspiration via Violin and Basketball

I sometimes reserve a particular word to express my reaction when I am especially moved: I’m INSPIRED.  I’ll often say a pastor or speaker is inspiring when I am touched to the core by a presentation.  Or a day with an old friend might be inspiring, or an especially striking sunset. 

But please know I don’t use the word lightly. I don’t say someone or something is inspiring unless I’ve been enlarged, energized, quickened, challenged, broken apart/shaken down/opened up in some way.  The word INSPIRING is one of the highest compliments I can give because I’ve been awakened or challenged or changed, or maybe all three, or maybe something beyond all three.

Yesterday and today we visited our daughter, Emily, and her family. It was INSPIRING.

This morning I visited 10-year-old Caleb’s group violin lesson.  Of course there was a primary focus on discovering precisely what is required to make a violin sing, but only in the context of learning that stretched far, far into other realms.  I found myself vicariously being challenged to embrace and live out uplifting attitudes and goals.  To respect, express, create, and honor.  To value life and music and learning and other people.  To appreciate individuality and the opportunity to harness it in order to work in unison to produce something more beautiful than you could produce on your own.

It was a lesson in living.  A quality lesson.  It took me far beyond the left-brained, rote, predictable, cookie-cutter approach of most Westernized education.  It was a breath of fresh air.

After violin lesson we went to Caleb’s final basketball game of the year.  After a near-perfect season, his team lost this final game.  The coach met the gloomy boys afterwards with inspiration that may well last a lifetime.  His thoughts were well-articulated in a way that made us all (kids and adults alike) think about the inevitabilities in life: disappointment, frustration, opportunity, acceptance, optimism, hope.  Teamwork.  Growth. 

An all-team party complete with pizza, soda, and cupcakes with mountainous frosting ended the season for good.  Then we went home to a rousing basketball game in the park when Caleb and one of his teammates pitted themselves against a team of three adults (two regulars and one substitute when Grampa got tired).  Here’s a picture of Caleb stealing the ball from his mom.  This small split-second in time reveals a tiny glimpse into the human experience.  It speaks to me of motherhood, a sacred calling that requires a woman to sacrificially share everything she is, everything she has, and everything she hopes for the future: to dare to live without restraint.  It reminds me that when a mother loves and gives her all, it is returned and more.  I have been in my daughter's shoes and yet....she inspires me. 

No Worries

Don’t you know?  Haven’t you heard?  There’s no reason to be discouraged! Even when circumstances, or maybe physical or emotional health, seem to be spinning out-of-control!  The eternal Lord God created every particle of dust and every drop of rain, the whole earth and all of its inhabitants - even every tiniest part of each of us as well as the most majestic mountains.  As creator He has always been, is, and will be ultimately in control.

Granted, He is beyond us in every sense – should we even try to understand? - and yet He is here with us and even IN us. He will never abandon His creation; He is not turning His back even now in the midst of whatever seems so difficult!  He is not overwhelmed with issues on earth and will not grow tired or weary in dealing with them.  We can count on Him.

-applied paraphrase of Isaiah 40:28 (for the New Testament Christian)

Safety Pin Trivia

The origin of the safety pin dates back to the Mycenaeans in the 14^th century BC when it was a type of decorative brooch called a “fibula.”  (Huh?  Isn’t that a bone in the leg?)

Among successive cultures, designs on fibulae were symbolic, especially in regard to status or profession.  Some Roman fibulae designs represented ranks in the Roman legion.  Sometimes the pins were worn in pairs and linked with a chain.

The modern-day safety pin was the brainchild of Walter Hunt, who decided to invent something new in order to make money pay off a $15 debt to a friend.  On April 10, 1849, Hunt was granted US patent #6,281 for his safety pin made from a piece of wire coiled into a spring at one end with a separate clasp and point at the other end.  He sold the rights to the patent for $400, paid his friend back, and had $385 to spare.  Then he watched his latest brainstorm go on to become a million dollar moneymaker for someone else.

A confession: I am woefully dependent on safety pins.  I’d rather pin a raveled hem than sew it.  A long row of safety pins currently holds up the sagging bed skirt in our guest bedroom.  (This is sort of a sad reality, I know, but until now I don’t think anyone knew or cared but me.)

I’ve discovered many novel uses for good old modern safety pins, my most recent being shoe repair.  Note the picture below displaying creative applications to my old walking shoes with gaping split seams.  Thank you, safety pins! No more cold air vents.  No more wet socks from invading snow (yes, we still have snow in Michigan in March). Very nice.

 

Lent, Part II

During the last couple of days I’ve been compelled to search for Lenten prayers/teachings/meditations from various sources, some very old and others just sort of old.  (I like “old” in the sense of “tried and true.”)

The following is a sampling of my findings, hardly exhaustive but rather representative, introduced by a general comment by St. John Chrysostom about prayer followed by a Lenten prayer written by him.  (John lived and preached in Antoich from 349 to 405 and later came to be known as "the greatest preacher in the early church.”  His last words are said to have been, "δόξα τῷ θεῷ πάντων ἕνεκεν" or “Glory be to God for all things.”) 

“Prayer is a great weapon, a rich treasure, a wealth that is never exhausted, an undisturbed refuge, a cause of tranquility, the root and source of a multitude of blessings.”

—St. John Chrysostom

________________________________

O my all-merciful God and Lord,
Jesus Christ, full of pity:


Through Your great love You came down
and became incarnate in order to save everyone.


O Savior, I ask You to save me by Your grace!


If You save anyone because of their works, 
that would not be grace but only reward of duty,


but You are compassionate and full of mercy!


You said, O my Christ,
"Whoever believes in Me shall live and never die."


If then, faith in You saves the lost, then save me,


O my God and Creator, for I believe.


Let faith and not my unworthy works be counted to me, O my God,


for You will find no works which could account me righteous.


O Lord, from now on let me love You as intensely as I have loved sin,


and work for You as hard as I once worked for the evil one.


I promise that I will work to do Your will,
 my Lord and God, Jesus Christ, all the days of my life and forever more.

Prayer of St. John Chrysostom

_______________________________________

I prayed
,

"Please Lord,
 my life is a mess,
 let your love flow through me 
and bring healing."


And like a river
, cool refreshing water
 you flowed through me.
 Not as a gentle stream,
 a rivulet of hope, 
but a torrent,
 sweeping debris away.
 All those broken branches, 
rust-encrusted items, 
and accumulated debris,
 which were holding back the flow
, swept aside in a torrent of love,
 flooding through my veins,
 pouring into my heart,
 filling my life.
 This is healing.


”Thank you, Lord.”

- author unknown

 ____________________________________

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despondency, lust of power, and idle talk;

But grant rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to thy servant.

Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother; for blessed art Thou unto the ages of ages. Amen.

The Prayer of Saint Ephrem the Syrian

 ________________________________

.Father of light, in You is found no shadow of change but only the fullness of life and limitless truth.  Open our hearts to the voice of Your Word and free us from the original darkness that shadows our vision.  Restore our sight that we may look upon Your Son who calls us to repentance and a change of heart, for he lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

International Committee on English in the Liturgy (ICEL)

_________________________________

No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting it, not by giving in. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later.

That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, p. 13

_______________________________

O Lord, who hast mercy upon all,
 take away from me my sins,
 nd mercifully kindle in me
 the fire of thy Holy Spirit.
 Take away from me the heart of stone,
 and give me a heart of flesh, 
a heart to love and adore Thee, 
a heart to delight in Thee,
 to follow and enjoy Thee, for Christ's sake, Amen

St. Ambrose of Milan (AD 339-397)

 ______________________________________

I demand from you deeds of mercy which are to arise out of
 love for me. You are to show mercy to your neighbors always s
and everywhere. You must not shrink from this or try to 
excuse yourself from it (Diary, 742).

Like the gospel command, "Be merciful, just as your Father 
is merciful," this demand that we show mercy to our
 neighbors "always and everywhere" seems impossible to 
fulfill. But the Lord assures us that it is possible. "When a 
soul approaches Me with trust," He explains, "I fill it with such 
an abundance of graces that it cannot contain them within 
itself, but radiates them to other souls" (Diary, 1074).

-Maria Faustina Kowalska (Patron Saint of Mercy)

____________________________

O Lord,
 The house of my soul is narrow;
 enlarge it that you may enter in. 
It is ruinous, O repair it !
 It displeases Your sight.  
I confess it, I know. But who shall cleanse it, 
to whom shall I cry but to you?
 Cleanse me from my secret faults, O Lord,
 and spare Your servant from strange sins.

St. Augustine of Hippo (AD 354-430)

______________________________________

Lord Jesus,
You are my righteousness,
I am your sin.

You took on you what was mine;
yet set on me what was yours.

You became what you were not,
that I might become what I was not.

-Martin Luther

_____________________________________

O Lord and Master of my life,
 give me not the spirit of laziness,
 despair, lust of power, and idle talk.

But give rather the spirit of sobriety,
 humility, patience and love to Thy servant.

Yea, O Lord and King,
 grant me to see my own transgressions 
and not to judge my brother,
 for blessed art Thou unto ages of ages. Amen

St. Ephraim the Syrian (AD 305-373)

___________________________________________

Father, we offer only what we have been given by you: our bodies and our selves.  Show us how we can worship your through our bodies and the giving of ourselves.  We want to live for others as your son has taught us.

G.K. Chesterton

Commentary:

…Perhaps Chesterton’s point in the quote above is that we are always free to give up pleasures we consider good and are drawn to do so out of love for others.  As you go through your day, think of pleasures you would like to give up for the sake of another.  Would you miss an hour of sleep to speak to someone who needs your attention? Is there something else that you love but are willing to give up because you love some other person more?

____________________________________________

 Hanging as a vine upon the Wood,
 O Christ our Saviour,
 Thou hast made the ends of the earth
 to drink from the wine of incorruption.
 Therefore do I cry aloud: 
I am darkened always by the hateful drunkenness of sin;
 Give me to drink from the sweet wine of true compunction,
 and grant me now the strength, O Saviour, 
to fast from sensual pleasures,
 for Thou art good and lovest mankind.

St. Joseph Studite, Lenten Triodion 

___________________________________________

Is not this the fast that I choose:


to loose the bonds of injustice,


to undo the thongs of the yoke,


to let the oppressed go free,


and to break every yoke?


Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
 and bring the homeless poor into your house;


when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Isaiah 58:6-7