Teach Us to Number Our Days.

IMG_5692

I’m in Edmonton, Alberta this week. Autumn has begun here. Coloured leaves fall like rain when the wind shakes the elm trees arching over the streets of the older districts. This morning thick green hostas and a few remaining flowering perennials lined the flower beds outside my mother-in-law’s apartment building. This evening they are gone. This afternoon volunteers pulled up and chopped back the greenery, then toted away bags of vegetative debris for composting as they prepared the beds for winter.

I was shocked. They were still green and blooming. I guess the calendar says summer is over so the volunteer gardeners went to work while they had time. Somebody has to do it.

IMG_5702

I think seeing the bare beds reminded me of my own pain this week. It is becoming increasingly clear my husband’s elderly mother is moving into a new season. It’s a bit of a shock. We knew it was coming, but still… She doesn’t recognize – or remember – the ominous signs of declining health that make it unsafe for her to continue to live independently.

She is not happy with her sons and daughters-in-law or grandchildren right now. We don’t want to deprive her of freedom. There are still areas of her life that are green and thriving, but at 91 she has suffered noticeably from the shock of her second son’s death a few weeks ago. We know it is time for her to downsize so we can provide more care for her.

Because she lives in a different city than her surviving sons there is no ideal arrangement that will not involve more loss, especially of possessions that carry so much meaning for her. Frankly, we don’t really know what to do. We need wisdom.  It’s a sad season and I hate the role I now find myself in. Pushy is not a characteristic I admire or ever wanted to acquire, but somebody has to do it. Sometimes love is costly.

The hardest part for me, after seeing my mother, then my father, and now my mother-in-law lose parts of themselves to failing memory, is to confront my own mortality. I’ve noticed that it is very difficult to change in old age. For those who have survived the trauma of war and famine and death of loved ones in youth, but who never completely escaped the tyranny of fear, old age can be utterly terrifying. Frightened people can hurt the very ones who are trying to help them as they return to child-like vulnerability. This is a time of testing for all of us.

IMG_5734

My prayer this week is that I will end my days with a healed and whole heart, trusting in the love of my heavenly father who has promised to never leave or forsake me. I pray that he will teach me to number my days, that I may gain a heart of wisdom before my final season in this body. I pray that I may burn with the colours of love right until the end and that I would be willing to change now in order to get there.

IMG_5728

It’s a big request.

The Next Season

IMG_5547Be of good courage,
And He shall strengthen your heart,
All you who hope in the Lord.
(Psalm 31:24)

Sometimes strength comes only after taking the first courageous step, not before. It is hope in the Lord that allows us to take one more step when we are not sure of what the next season will bring. Hope is about seeing the big picture – by faith.

Hope: vision-led endurance.

Step Home

IMG_3799

“In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, step home within yourselves and be still. Wait upon God, and feel His good presence; this will carry you evenly through your day’s business.”
– William Penn

This has been a week of rush and noise. Literally and figuratively.

Actually, it’s been flat out crazy. At times the stuff happening around us has been so over the top all I can do is laugh and say, “God? It’s yours. There is no way I can keep up to this. I know you have a plan and you can use anything as raw material so here you go. Take this noise in my heart and this worrisome rushing about because you paid for it. It’s not doing me any good. If you would replace it with your peace I would be ever so grateful.”

After a night of very little sleep I got up well before dawn to pray. I was ready to go into “war mode” when I felt him say, “Be still.” I waited. “In an atmosphere of quietness and confidence you will find your trust.”

In spite of the urgency of the situation this time I sat still and refrained from giving God advice as I waited for his presence.

I realized that IS war mode. Positioning ourselves in peace and confidence in the One who is faithful is like sitting on a huge rock beside a rushing river. The water changes course. The rock does not.

Later that day I received news that He answered in a way that was better than I imagined.

We face another situation this week to which I can see no solution that will be satisfying to everybody involved. This post is another sermon-to-self. I am reminding myself to step home within myself to find the One who promised to never leave. I am learning to wait and be still. It doesn’t come naturally, but He’s working on changing me.

His good presence will carry us through.

People of the Flame

torch flame ch IMG_5528

Someone asked me recently why I don’t take a stronger stand against evil. “All that’s needed for evil to prevail is for good people to do nothing,” they said. “If you keep talking about grace without warning about compromise with sin you can be held responsible for the consequences.”

Lately I’ve been hearing from a lot of folks who are sure we are about to be judged for the sins of our countries. “We’ve gone too far,” they say.

We do reap what we sow. If our pleasure or comfort comes at the expense of someone else (or even our future selves) eventually somebody’s going to get hurt. I watched the escalation of the squirt gun wars amongst my grandchildren this summer. If you squirt someone with water they have the right to shoot you back. You have set a precedent. How long do you think the fun lasted until there were tears and Grandma had to confiscate the toys? I can tell you the scenario was repeated often enough to establish the character of human nature. (Bless their hearts.)

The escalation of conflict in the world goes way beyond squirting each other with cold water. It’s a dark, ugly, scary place sometimes where even a child in his momma’s womb is not safe.

Sometimes I get the feeling some people think our countries are working on some sort of group project that is about to be judged by God’s big red pencil. The “achievers” are really ticked off with the “slackers.” The ones who feel responsible for doing everything right are running around yelling, “Now we’re all gonna fail! Aaaargh!” What if the test is not about a good mark on a paper about blood moons and calendars and court rulings and not being passively complicit in giving approval to sin? What if the assignment is all about learning to love?

I had to ask the Lord, “Am I a slacker? Have I compromised on speaking out about the consequence of defying Your orders for the way things are meant to be done in Your creation?

As I prayed I was reminded of a vision I had a few years ago. A picture flashed in my mind’s eye. A runner on a dark road in the night carrying a torch like we saw during the winter Olympics in Canada. It was a like a detailed short video and lasted only a moment, but it looked very real.

“Was that from you, Lord?” I asked.

“I miss the people of the flame.” I recognized His voice.

“What people? What flame? What happened?”

“It was buried under the bridge of compromise,” He said.

That was it. That’s all I heard. I pondered this event for some time wondering who the people were and what the flame represented. I couldn’t understand. Was this about having more fervency, more zeal? But I know plenty of amazing people striving to make the world a better place so who are these flame carriers you are missing? It didn’t make sense to me so I left it on the shelf for a while.

This week, as the memory of the vision came up again in the context of taking a public stand against sinful practices, I continued to talk to the Lord about it. I remembered a verse I learned as a child, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105)

Pointing to the darkness and saying “This ought not to be!” is like being the kind of doctor who can diagnose a complicated case, and may be able to treat some symptoms, but offers no cure. It’s like a physician who says “Those spots indicate a serious disease process. If you didn’t have those spots you wouldn’t be sick!” We walk away thinking about how to get rid of the spots instead of how to treat the root cause.

I wonder if a type of disappointment has been growing in our communities. Like yeast that fills a lump of dough I’ve noticed a pervasive cynicism has crept in. I see so many who have experienced disappointment in the ability of hard work, religious observance, law-abiding life-styles or the false charm of political promises to make lasting deep heart-change. I wonder if disappointment is an indication that we have replaced God’s priorities with our own. We are still working hard but it’s not going the way we envisioned. We have been striving to remove the spots in ourselves and in others in the hope it will lead to a healing of the heart. But the more we try the worse the spots get.

I wonder if the flame in the vision is about true hope. Perhaps the lamp, “the Word,” does not refer to more Biblical injunctions to quit sinning. The Bible tells us that the Word is Jesus Christ Himself.

Today I asked the Lord again if I have been in error by not standing up against sin more publicly. Have I been lazy, avoiding conflict, compromising? His answer to my heart: The people of the flame carried the light. They carried hope, they carried good news. They ran into the darkness, unafraid, because they carried the flame.

After Jesus died the people who had expectations that he would deliver them from the oppressors felt profound disappointment. “But we had hoped that he was the one…” said the two followers as they walked dejectedly to Emmaus, not recognizing the person who joined them was the resurrected Jesus. They did not understand that God had much bigger plans than improving their living conditions. These were the same people who, after the Holy Spirit came with wind and tongues of flame at Pentecost, abounded in hope in the worst possible circumstances, under severe persecution. They were not concerned with “preserving their way of life.” They did not point to encroaching darkness and announce God’s judgment on a place, nor did they sit down awaiting rescue from the planet. They did not deny the darkness. They picked up their torches and ran right into the darkness. The message they carried changed the world.

They carried hope. They carried the light. The light of the world is Jesus Christ.

We each face challenges of Olympic proportion. Will circumstances become more difficult in the future? I don’t know. All I know is that in my own small way, right where I am in this little corner of the world I can run into the darkness carrying the light.

I pray that God, the source of all hope, will infuse your lives with an abundance of joy and peace in the midst of your faith so that your hope will overflow through the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)

Hope Full

KELOWNA FLOWERS 2 WHITE ZINNIA IMG_5227

To live without hope is to cease to live.  – Fyodor Dostoevsky

The thief approaches with malicious intent, looking to steal, slaughter, and destroy; I came to give life with joy and abundance. –  Jesus Christ

If you are listening to a voice that says it is too late, that you are under judgment, there is no hope, you are listening to the wrong voice.

Jesus came to give life with joy and abundance -not mere happiness and more stuff.

Life.

 

 

Dinosaurs of the Plasticine Era

plasticine era ch IMG_4854

A new Facebook friend made a comment this week about how she, as a sensitive person, cannot watch horror movies. I can’t either.

I liked it better when the dinosaurs looked like they were from the Plasticine Era. This CGI stuff is just getting too real. Horror movies with their detailed scales and teeth, gallons of fake blood, strings of artificial mucous, creepy music and over-the-shoulder shots are abhorrent enough, but what really unsettles me is psychological thrillers. The grandmother/therapist/best-friend/baby did it? You can’t trust anybody! Paranoia on a stick. Why would anybody feed themselves this stuff?

Well, I did, or used to. My brother and I snuck out of our rooms after our parents were asleep to watch “The Outer Limits” or “The Twilight Zone.” We kept the volume on the TV so low we had to lean in to hear. The buzz of the old set added to the flickering light ambiance of tension — and the fear of being caught. After the show I would tiptoe back to bed and lie awake all night, planning what I would do if aliens landed in the backyard. For months I ran past lamp posts or neon signs that made that same buzzing noise, fearing I was being followed by something equipped with a death ray.

tv 1968 time

Nowadays, if the boys ask me to watch a horror or action flick with them I usually turn them down. I think even chick-flicks should come with emotional content warnings. My empathic tendencies have been traumatized by too many.

You see, I’ve discovered prayer doesn’t work in a movie (except to mercifully let the thing end or break the projector or something.) If I was running from a monster, scaled or coifed, I would be praying, “HELP!” or at the very least “OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod…” (How do people cope without being able to call on him?)

But God doesn’t respond to lies. He’s not afraid of computer-generated dinosaurs. He never falls for clay or cartoon creatures. He knows the hunter never shot Bambi’s mother because Bambi’s mother was never in danger. She was not real. Bambi was not real. Godzilla is no threat to Bambi either. Asking God to respond and save us from imminent hypothetical danger is like my two-year old granddaughter hiding behind my legs and squealing that her brother is going to gobble her up – with a plasticine monster.

“You’re okay honey,” I assure her. “It’s only a pretend monster.”

This got me thinking about how the Holy Spirit responds to fears that have us quivering behind locked doors as we read scary predictions in the media, both broadcast and social.

He doesn’t.

Sometimes I cry out for deliverance and there is silence. Sometimes, when I join Chicken Little’s persuasive campaign and yell, “The sky is falling,” the Lord hands me an umbrella.

“Will this protect me from the falling sky?” I ask.

“No. But there will be rain later – the same kind of rain that has been falling off and on for centuries. Get a grip, girl.”

I have noticed that Jesus never allowed himself to be caught up in hypothetical questions. “What if…” His answer? “I will never leave you.”

It’s not that bad stuff never happens to good people. The devil still prowls around messing things up. You still reap what you sow. Corrie Ten Boom told the story of how, as a child, her father never burdened her with the responsibility of carrying a train ticket until it was time to get on the train. I think grace for trials is like that. The Lord will hand us our grace ticket when we need it. There is no provision in advance for “what if” questions because there doesn’t need to be. Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil, but there is no provision of supernatural intervention in a situation that we created in our own fear-based mind.

“Lord! Help me! I am under attack! The devil’s got me in his sights! What’s that strange buzzing sound?”

“You’re okay, honey. Shut the TV off and go back to bed. And quit watching that junk. It’s time to rest.”

dinaosaur fashion

The Teacher

schoolhouse ch

The Teacher

Teacher, tell us,

they say,

clutching rulers and texts

against their chests.

Teacher, tell us.

 

Sun-scorched hands loose fettered bands.

Stigmata stretch to gather hatchlings

squabbling over foreign coins and spousal deeds.

Sand-ground feet tread foot-ground trail,

Stone pillow nights await grey dawn cleft.

Weeping flute unravels dancer’s shroud.

 

Broken bread,

water jug wine,

a table spread valley-wide

for open-eyed children.

 

Offered flesh receives frightened flail,

Honest heart meets jealous scorn,

Molested shoulders bear run-away shame.

 

Love, he says, sweating anguish.

Love, he says, bleeding sorrow.

Love, he says, opening arms.

Love, he says, dying.

Love, he says, rising.

Love, he says, pleading.

 

Teacher, tell us,

they say,

tightening robes

against the winds of his breath.

 

Teacher, tell us,

Will this be on the exam?

 

For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. (John 1:17)

The people were amazed at his teaching, for he taught with real authority—quite unlike the teachers of religious law. (Mark 1:22)