We Need Healing

Just a word.  Blogspot has changed everything.  I cannot place the pictures.  I will be searching for a new blog website.  If you have a suggestion, please contact me.  

I live in the northwest part of the United States.  We are on fire.  My city has been enveloped in such thick smoke we have been told to stay inside.  Our air quality is considered hazardous.  Day after day goes by without a drop of moisture.  As of four days ago, 4.6 million acres had burned.  

 

That’s a lot of fire. 

 

Even as I write this, my mind turns to the other side of the United States.  Hurricane Sally has produced enormous amounts of rain.  The flood gates of heaven were opened.  Some places received 30” in a matter of hours. 

 

That’s a lot of rain. 

 

Rain is available.  For some reason, the northwest has not been blessed with it.  As I watch the devastation caused by the inferno, my mind turns to other dynamics destroying our country, very clearly caused by humans.  The rioters are intent on demolishing structures, vehicles and statues.  

 

That’s a lot of rage. 

 

Our land needs healing.  Just as the blazes consuming everything in their path need an outpouring of rain, the hearts and minds of our people need the restorative power of God to set us on a new path.  

 

We need healing.  

 

“If my people who are called by my name humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.”  2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)

 

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The Air I Breathe

As I sit here at my desk, I can see out the patio door.  At 1:00 pm the air outside is an otherworldly color.  It’s like looking through those yellow sunglasses.  It’s filled with heavy smoke from the many fires burning throughout the west.  Our air quality index says, “Hazardous” and we have been urged to stay inside.  

Basically, we have already been told to stay inside since March, when the virus struck.  And now, in September, we have a double reason to not go outside.  

I’ve never had breathing problems, so considered myself blessed to avoid that type of issue.  However, yesterday I went outside long enough to water my plants…maybe 15-20 minutes.  Instant headache and cough.  When they say, “Stay inside”, they mean it for everyone.  

I can’t imagine what it’s like for those with compromised lungs.    

As I’ve been thinking about the ugly air blanketing my house, my city, my state and several other states, I realize I have no control over that air.  All I can do is establish preventative measures.  

But there is more to life than just the physical breathing we do.  We are also spiritual beings.  Being under a “lockdown” of sorts, gives us plenty of time to consider the source of our spiritual breath.  

God’s air is pure and abundant…and available for everyone.  

“…He Himself gives everyone life and breath…” Acts 17:25 (NLT)

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Power Outage

Everything was fine one minute.  Then suddenly the lights blinked off, the printer made noises and the television went black.  As all that was registering in my brain, the lights came back on.  We had experienced a brief power outage. Of course, it was long enough to make the clocks flash and the computers request a sign-in password.  I traveled from room to room, getting everything up and running again.  

Who knew such a brief interlude of no power could affect so much?  

Once again in the TV room, words bounced around on the screen.  Words I didn’t want to see.  Receiver is re-starting.  And then something about the connection had not been achieved…try again.  Those words were repeated in a cycle.  

That was the start of a very long evening.  

Even though I am a novice when it comes to techie things, I tried to resolve the issue myself.  I Googled.  I followed instructions.  No luck.  I called my guru friend who knows all things techie.  He Googled.   We tried for probably 30 minutes.  No luck.  When the words “Step 1 of Step 2 – This is will take a minute” stayed on the screen for much longer than a minute, we stopped trying.  So, no TV for the night.   

My plans changed.  

The next day I called Customer Service to ask for help.  The pushing of numbers and responding to a robot was not pleasant to say the least.  Finally, I was talking to a real person.  He instructed me to do all the things I had done several times the night before.  Even though I told him that, he had me repeat it.  When the words Completing Step 1 of 2 were displayed on the screen, he said, “Very good”.  I burst that bubble by telling him it had said that for two hours the previous night.  We waited and waited.  Finally, he said, “I need to transfer you to a specialist”, and promptly disconnected me.  That phone call had taken 26 minutes.  

Back to the pushing of numbers and answering robots.  

 

The next guy wanted to start all over again.  I said, “No, we’ve already tried all that.”  He repeatedly put me on hold to try stuff on his end.  After 23 minutes, he said, “You need a new receiver.  I will have one shipped to you.  You will receive it in 3-5 days.”  All of that because the power flicked off and back on.  

Life is just like that. 

One minute you are sailing along and then suddenly your plans are changed.  Sometimes it’s just a bump in the road and you are back on track in no time.  Other times, no matter what you try it just doesn’t fix it.  

But we have Someone we can call who is always available…no pushing buttons or answering robots.  He understands the problem and has the answers.  Sometimes our spirits are calmed, and life continues after a brief talk with Him.  Other times the answer isn’t so simple.  It takes effort on our part to reach a solution.  It may even take longer than 3-5 days.  But the result is always worth it.  

I’ve turned to Him many times.  

“Rejoice in our confident hope.  Be patient in trouble and keep on praying.”  Romans 12:12 (NLT)

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The Diminishing List

From birth until my marriage at age 17, there were two men in my life. 

My brother, Tony, lived with my mother and me until he graduated from high school.  I wrote about him in a blog in February, when he passed away.  We had remained connected to the end…and beyond.  His loss is still very fresh.  

The other man was my brother-in-law, Norman.  He lived in the same Kansas town as me, was married to the only sister I was close to, and I spent a great deal of time in their company.  I called his parents grandma and grandpa.  When I had my tonsils out, Norman was the one who picked me up at the hospital and took me to his parents to convalesce.  And a week later, when I was pronounced healed and could eat anything I wanted, it was Norman who took me for a hamburger and chips. 

In my younger years, occasionally I was allowed to spend the night at my sister’s.  I felt loved there.  We watched Alfred Hitchcock and I Love Lucy.  Not sure mother ever knew that.  TV was forbidden.  Sometimes when they took a vacation, I tagged along with their two daughters.  He worked the late shift, so we would leave Kansas in the very early morning when he got off.  Our goal was to get out of Kansas before it got too hot.  The car had no air conditioning.  Boxes were placed between the front and back seats to make a bed for the three children.  

In high school, I was given driver’s ed using simulators.  When I received my Learner’s Permit, Norman was the one who took me in his car and let me learn to drive the real thing.  One time, after we returned home, I let the very heavy car door close on my finger.  He’s the one who drilled a hole in my nail to relieve the pressure.  He was like the dad I never had.  And when I married, he sang at my wedding.  

Ten years later, when his wife died and my husband left just a few months apart, Norman still lived in Kansas and I lived in Nebraska.  He would drive to my home and do the needed repairs.  I would feed him a home-cooked meal (it was his wife who had taught me to cook) and send him home with cookies.  

 

I received word last night he passed away.  Tears were shed.  

He had been in my thoughts quite a bit recently, since August 4^th was his birthday.  In his 90’s, he succumbed to the virus.  I reflected on his life and how intertwined it had been with mine in those early years.  But life passes quickly.  It has been probably 40 years since I saw him.  That does not lessen the impact he had on my life.  

The list of people left in my birth family is diminishing.  That’s what happens when you’re the baby and you get old.  

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Passing the Baton

As the youngest of nine children, the history and memories of my family had been deposited in the minds of my older siblings and my mother.  Since mother rarely talked with me, she didn’t offer much in the way of family history.  Some sisters passed away before I was of the age where I was curious about my predecessors.  Some sisters never lived in the same state as me and I saw them maybe twice in my life.   

That left me with two brothers who were like a vault of information.  Both of them had researched the genealogy of our lineage for generations previous.   I really didn’t care too much about the name of my great-great-great grandfather, which I think was Joshua Jehoiada.  But tales about names familiar to me were of interest.  

Both brothers were storytellers.  

Just listening to them was fascinating.  They embellished.  Their narratives were full of humor.  Unknown relatives came alive as they spun their yarns.  They both wrote books full of memories.  

One passed away five years ago and the other one in February.  

So, when I recently received an email from (if I’ve figured it out correctly) a great-niece, the realization hit me.  I’m the older one now.  I’m the storehouse of history and memories.  It’s surprising to me to be in this position.  I’ve been the youngest for all these years.  How did I get here?  And can I do it justice?  

I never knew of her existence.  

As the emails fly between us, it’s been enlightening to hear her side of the stories contained in my repertoire.  And we are just getting started.  

The baton has been passed…and I’m running with it!  

“But watch out!  Be careful never to forget what you yourself have seen.  Do not let these memories escape from your mind as long as you live!  And be sure to pass them on to your children and grandchildren.”  Deuteronomy 4:9 (NLT

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Purging

We gathered around a burn barrel behind the church.  As instructed, I had my one bracelet, some barrettes, and my roller skates.  We were to bring anything unholy and not of God…to be burned.  One person after another dropped items into the barrel.  As a lover of books, it was hard to watch as volume after volume was tossed into the flames.  Some teenagers had several bracelets, rings and necklaces.  A few, the horror of it all, had lipstick.  

Our church was being purified.  

My insides trembled as I wondered if I had remembered everything I needed to bring.  I knew the roller skates were evil.  When I turned twelve my mother had explained roller skating was a form of dancing.  I was now twelve.  God would be very angry at me if I kept any wicked article.  

Sixty-five years later, those sights and smells, shouts of praises and crying of children are permanently etched in my memory.  In the past few weeks, that remembrance has emerged again.  

I viewed a documentary called American Gospel.  

Transfixed by the scenes unfolding before me, I sat motionless as one hour and then two passed.  The true colors of pastors and speakers I admired were being revealed before my eyes.  I had read their books and our church had participated in their studies.  Blindly I had followed their precepts, without any research of my own.  

Their books and DVDs were available for purchase at Christian bookstores.  That meant they were alright, didn’t it?  

In one interview, a well-known pastor explained that going to heaven was easy and the road to hell was very hard to travel; just the opposite of what the Bible says.  Books written by people who say they died and went to heaven were compared.  No two views of heaven were the same.  One author has now totally admitted he made it up.  The “heaven tourism” books are big sellers.  

I have been purging my bookshelves.  Even though it pains me, I am no longer comfortable owning books written by what is known as a false teacher.  So, I’ve made a few trips to the dumpster. 

I’ve learned a lesson in accountability.  I am responsible for what I allow to enter my mind.  

“And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing.  Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.  Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.”  Philippians 4:8 (NLT)

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Finding My Rhythm

I sat in the swing on the shaded patio, enjoying the breeze and early morning bird songs.  I have a wonderful life.  My mind wandered back over the last five years.  That thought about my wonderful life was a hard-earned sentiment.  

I had wondered if I would ever get here.  

Oh, don’t take me wrong.  I was living life.  Friends.  Family. And before the virus…travel.  And yes, my brother had recently passed away.  But the “wonderful” in my life I was referring to was so much deeper than those things.  

 

My beloved moved to heaven five years ago.  At the time, I was numb, moving through my days like a robot.  Half of me was missing.  I was no longer the same person.  But who was I?  As the weeks and months passed, my mind began to partially function again.  

I knew I needed to find a purpose for my days.  

My second year the frozen parts of me began to thaw. That brought pain.  Such pain.  Yet, I knew I must go on.  As a Christ-follower, I turned to Him without ceasing.  Please show me the way.  

I was very aware that everyone’s grief journey is different.  I read many books describing others’ journeys.  There were no rules.  It was necessary for me to travel this path at my own speed.  Each step of the way, I felt God’s love holding me up. 

I began to write.  

It was during year three I felt God speaking to me.  First through the words in a book.  It spoke of a thousand slender threads coming together, strands of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming.  That’s where I was.  As the days passed, I began to feel writing was my purpose…my ministry.  

So, over the next two years I published two books.  But they were words I had already blogged.  There wasn’t much thinking involved in placing them in order and printing.  The third book was sent to the publisher, but once again they were words already written.  

Book four was going to be written from scratch.  

I was unprepared for how hard that would be.  I didn’t know how to start.  The jumble of words in my head were just that…a jumble of words.  Normally, I don’t procrastinate.  Normally, I find time in my day for what matters to me.  Normally, I feel I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.  In every other area of my life that was still true.  

Book four was still a pile of papers and binders, items to help trigger thoughts and even some notes in my husband’s handwriting.  The book was about him…his cancer journey.  My aspiration for my words was that others would see how God had traveled that journey with us.  

It was overwhelming.  

Here’s where the Coronavirus comes in.  It was a pattern interrupt.  My daily routine got changed.  Which made me stop and consider my priorities.  As an organized person, I like to have a slot for everything.  So, I tried a new routine.  

Didn’t work.  Still no writing.  

 

As the weeks of isolation continued, so did the changes in my routine.  Days were becoming smoother.  The peripheral activities had fallen away.  The marginal pursuits were replaced with meaningful endeavors.  My focus was no longer scattered.  

I’m making it sound like I’m about to write an epic manuscript.  That’s not what this is about.  

I have discovered a life rhythm that works for me in my new normal.  It’s like the radio is finally on the station.  (That dates me doesn’t it?)  God is still in control.  My inner peace has remained.  I have continued to sleep soundly every night.  But as I move through this passage in time, my days have achieved balance. 

Hence, I can sit on the patio and savor this wonderful life I’m living.  

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Reflection and Renewal

Arrangements had been made for me to fly from Washington to Texas for my brother’s funeral.  When the ticket was purchased, the term coronavirus had just begun floating around.  As the time neared for my trip, I was concerned it might be canceled.  Our world was infected.  But all went as planned.  

Upon my return home, I was soon made aware of the plight my state was in.  Deaths were already occurring.  That’s when I understood I could possibly be infected.  I had no clue who I had been around that might have been contagious, so I put myself in quarantine for 14 days.  

After the intense time I had just experienced, a time of solitude did not seem unduly harsh.  

Emails, texts and Facebook were full of people expressing their frustrations and sense of isolation.  Others talked of how they were eating everything they could find.  Tempers flared.  Accusations raged.  

Yet I felt none of that. 

I established a weight-loss goal.  I filled my days with praise music, writing, reading and exercising.  When I wanted a change in activity, I turned the music off and listened to podcasts while I worked a jigsaw puzzle.  And I spent time on the patio meditating and journaling. 

Each day I placed a thermometer on my temple to see if I had that symptom.  Nope.  

Regularly throughout the day, I paused to give God thanks for watching over me.  I set an alarm on my iPhone to pray once a day for the President and our government, our leaders and country.  I asked God to bring a revival…to cause the people of our United States to turn their hearts toward Him.  When I laid my head on the pillow at bedtime, I fell asleep talking to God.  

At the end of 14 days, I remained symptom free.  And I had lost two pounds toward my weight-loss goal.  

By then we had been given the “stay at home” order.  Some people were in a panic mode.  Others just seemed to spew hate at the governing officials who were taking away their freedoms.  I abided in peace.  

My time of renewal had just been expanded.  

I lost another three pounds.  I put the finishing touches on my third book and sent it to the publisher.  I became familiar with the term “streaming.”  My daughter, who lives three time zones away, and I attended church together.  We took notes and discussed the sermon.  I relished my quiet time.  God and I talked a lot.  

And then the perfect storm materialized with a knee on the neck of a black man.  Virus and riots…deaths from Covid-19…deaths from shootings…lootings and vandalism.  Businesses that were already shut because of the stay at home order were destroyed by those who weren’t staying at home, intent on revenge.  

Our world exploded.  

In the three weeks since then, I’ve watched the news in horror.  Beautiful cities devastated.  Out-of-control mobs attacking anyone and anything in their path. And due to Covid-19, elderly loved ones dying alone.  

Our nation will never be the same.  

In a time like this, I’m so grateful for my peace.  If I allowed my focus to be on the turmoil whirling around me, I could become depressed and suicidal.  But God is still in control.  All of this havoc has not been a surprise to Him.  

He is still the Prince of Peace.  

My heart goes out to those who are suffering; perhaps the loss of a loved one or maybe just due to the isolation.  But this season can be used as a time of growth for the Christ-follower.  So many of the distractions and interferences have been removed.  For me, because of the solitude, I have experienced a deeper level of peace.  

We don’t know the end result of all the chaos.  But we do know where the Shelter is as we ride out the storm.  

“I would hurry to my place of Shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”  Psalm 55:8 (NIV)

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Pondering

Recently, a very good friend told me I liked to use the word “ponder”.  It’s true.  I ponder (contemplate, deliberate, muse, think about, mull over, and meditate) a lot.  At my age, there is a lot to ponder. 

With the recent passing of my brother, I am the only remnant left of my birth family.  Lots to mull over there.  And last week the first of my 19 nieces and nephews departed this life, with another one under hospice care.  My situation is a little different than most.  I have two nieces and one nephew (the recent death) the same age as me.  Most of them are grandparents and even great-grandparents.  As near as I can figure, the youngest of them is in her 50’s.  

I sat down and made a list.  As I looked at the names, I became very aware of the fact that I really don’t know any of them very well.  Some I have no idea where they live.  Others my brother had kept me informed about.  

Suffice it to say, we were not a close family.  My two brothers were the exceptions.  Their love for me supported and encouraged me through some pretty rough waters.  

That’s where my pondering came in.  What happened?  Why?  Once I married in 1960, I didn’t live in the same town with any of them.  I do know that religion played a part in some of the separation.  I definitely was a black sheep.  In the 70’s, I actually cut my hair and began to wear slacks.  Getting a divorce did not help.  

 

As I worked on becoming a person, not a robot, I had a strong desire for family to be different for my children.  Over the years, we have established close, loving relationships.  I am blessed to be their mom.  

But I have discovered that not all family is related by blood.  I have women friends who are far closer to me than my sisters were.  One I call my “daughter from another mother”.  I have men friends who would come at a moment’s notice if I needed help.  They are my “village”.  Before my husband passed, we talked about what life would be like for me when he was gone.  He was secure in the knowledge that my children and my village would take care of me.  

My hope is that you have “family” surrounding you.  

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Bucket List

I’ve never really had a bucket list.  My husband, John, had one, which I discovered after his death.  We had covered it pretty well.  With the anniversary next month of five years since his passing, and the recent death of my brother, I’ve been doing some pondering.  At the age of 77, I do not feel old.  But lately I’ve become aware that in earth years, I am.  

So, what would I put on a bucket list?  

I would like to take a road trip that includes Crazy Horse, Mt. Rushmore and Devil’s Tower.  John visited them on a motorcycle.  We had discussed returning there with me…in a car.  Didn’t happen.  And since I would be in the area (relatively), I would like to swing by Yellowstone.  My brother mentioned on more than one occasion his love for Crater Lake.  As recently as November, he talked of it again.  That would go on my list. I have some of his ashes to scatter there.  

Traveling to Israel had been a desire of mine for years.  I just felt drawn to that area.  Five months after John’s passing, I visited for the first time.  Two years later I returned.  In a conversation the other day with a daughter, I mentioned that the big 80 would be coming up for me in a little over two years.  

“How about I go to Israel for my 80^th?  

And now that thought is in my head.  I’ve gone with two different tour groups, but would love to see some non-tourist sites.  There are so many variables between now and then.  Right now, Israel is on lockdown.  That hurts my heart.  There is always the issue of finances.  And for “old” people; health.  

I have a feeling the longing to go to Israel will percolate for a while.  Like maybe two and one-half years.  

But there is more to a “bucket list” than just travels.  My physical health goes on there.  I would like to live out my days in relatively good health.  I do what I can to take care of me, but I know the results are beyond my control.  My mental health is another area to ponder.  Again, I do what I can to keep my mind in shape.  People  already tell me I’m crazy, so how will they know?  

But most important is my spiritual health.  My list includes a deep longing to know more about Christ every day.  As time passes, I’m amazed at the depth of His love and peace available to me. As we currently experience a worldwide pandemic, my soul is at rest.  But I will never be able to place a checkmark by that one.  

I will always be a work in progress.  

“Finally, brothers, rejoice.  Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.”  2 Corinthians 13:11 (ESV)

 

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