I can listen intently, take thorough notes, and have maximum motivation for implementing truth into daily life. My challenge is acting. I’m sure you’ve read about me in the book of James. I’m the person who listens well, stores up knowledge, but when the time comes to use it, I casually, yet often deliberately chose to forget it. I’ve been known on occasion to even run the other way.
I’m challenged by the following verses: “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in all his doing.” (James 1:22-25)
Do you find it slightly astonishing, perhaps even appalling that we choose to walk away from being blessed in all we do? The passage clearly states that the one who looks at the law and perseveres --who acts-- will be blessed in all he does. So, what is it that causes me to retreat when I’ve received such specific marching orders? Am I lazy? Careless? Clearly, I am a sinner. How I need to be more attentive, more diligent in allowing Scripture to penetrate the depths of my heart and mind.
Consider James 1:19-20: “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger, for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” I shout an “Amen” in my head when I read this. Yet shortly after, I find myself doing exactly the opposite. I find myself voicing and acting on my annoyances and irritations rather than displaying patience and love. I choose to look at offenses and hold people to them rather than overlooking them. (1 Peter 4:8) How can I believe something so strongly and yet live so contrary?
I believe it starts here: God is holy and I am a desperate, needy sinner. Only He can do this work in me, and only His behavior and His heart are worth emulating. Only His law is worth writing on my heart. And sometimes it’s a good idea to write it on all the walls of my house – to post it everywhere, lest my feeble mind forget it. My heart is deceitful above all else and cannot be easily trusted. I need to be constantly in His Word, training myself in truth, storing it up not just to know but to also use it. There must be application through the strength I receive by His Spirit.
I want His Word to be the morsel I long for and acquire. I want Him to be the refuge I run to not only when I’m needy, but also when I’m angry, when I’m disobedient, when I need forgiveness, when I need humility, etc. I want to spend more time in His Word and more time acting on it.
Proverbs 3:3-8 states, “Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good success in the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones.”
Refrain from anger and practice kindness. This type of love does not come from being wise in my own eyes; it comes from being wise in Him. I can acknowledge Him in how I display kindness to others and in daily circumstances. And how amazing to think that through this, I can receive healing in my bones, straightness to my path, and refreshment amidst a sin-sick world. I resonate with this.
I want to live faithfully. I don’t want to see a hypocrite or a liar when I see the reflection of my own heart. And, I know that only His Spirit and His Word can change me. This takes discipline and diligence. I cannot afford to be lazy. I can’t be so foolish so as to not care or not make it a priority. His Word is not motionless; it is living and active. I don’t want to be at a standstill; I want to see His Word living and active through me.
Titus 2:11 states, “For the grace of God has appeared, brining salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in this present age.”
Let’s not sit at a standstill – let’s allow His Spirit and Word to transform us.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Her Eyes
I am a dreamer by night, not usually by day. I have dreams of people and places, decisions, emotional dreams, spiritual dreams. I have dreams of my Mom.
This has happened many times before, but is often infrequent, perhaps similar to how my thoughts are of Mom from time to time. It may sound strange to the reader, but just as friends disappears from your everyday life and you don’t think of them as much, so does my Mom disappear from my thoughts quite often. She is not always on the forefront. Yet she is so deep within me that when I leave her presence, I often cry for the rest of the day.
Back to my dream. There she sat in her wheelchair and I next to her, longing for something more than her closed eyes and clutched hands. Some kind of communication. Some type of exchange. Then, something different happened. I saw her again, standing above her frail body, looking down upon herself. Healthy Mom, expressive Mom, talkative Mom, eyes-looking-at-me-Mom. There she was. And she looked at me and smiled, as if we hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. It was almost a look of pride, of affection, of all I hope to see in her when I visit. I was moved. And then she looked down and saw herself. She was almost shocked, saddened. She looked at me, trying to understand. I stared back at her puzzled eyes, and then I woke up.
I kept my eyes closed for a while that morning, staring at her face till I could not longer see it. I held on, trying to get back in that dream to perhaps have a conversation or just to look at her eyes again. But instead I was reminded of life now, of my dear husband next to me in bed, my daughter in the next room, and the day about to dawn. I was reminded of Mom’s reality. And I was reminded of the goodness of God to each of us in that reality. He has been so kind.
I told my sister the other day that I never miss Mom more than when I see her now. It’s painful. It’s all that I envisioned it to be. It’s the staring at blank, closed eyes. It’s the seeing her body change so drastically. It’s the watching saliva drip down from her lips and knowing her diaper needs to be changed or nails need to be trimmed. It’s the not having her know my daughter. It’s the not being able to pick up the phone and call her just to chat. It’s the missing her laugh and voice and tenderness. It’s that and so much more.
But I’m thankful for the dream for through it I remember her again. I want to dream a little more. How I miss her! How I miss those early Alz days when she was the most precious person you’d ever come to know. How gracefully she’s handled Alzheimer’s, by the grace of God. How He’s sustained her! And I know He sustains each of us. And I see how He’s working in our family because of Mom’s Alz. He is sovereign, faithful, and so glorious.
Far better than having her look into my eyes is knowing that one day soon, she will behold Him and see Him in all His glory! Even so, “Come, Lord Jesus!”
This has happened many times before, but is often infrequent, perhaps similar to how my thoughts are of Mom from time to time. It may sound strange to the reader, but just as friends disappears from your everyday life and you don’t think of them as much, so does my Mom disappear from my thoughts quite often. She is not always on the forefront. Yet she is so deep within me that when I leave her presence, I often cry for the rest of the day.
Back to my dream. There she sat in her wheelchair and I next to her, longing for something more than her closed eyes and clutched hands. Some kind of communication. Some type of exchange. Then, something different happened. I saw her again, standing above her frail body, looking down upon herself. Healthy Mom, expressive Mom, talkative Mom, eyes-looking-at-me-Mom. There she was. And she looked at me and smiled, as if we hadn’t seen each other in such a long time. It was almost a look of pride, of affection, of all I hope to see in her when I visit. I was moved. And then she looked down and saw herself. She was almost shocked, saddened. She looked at me, trying to understand. I stared back at her puzzled eyes, and then I woke up.
I kept my eyes closed for a while that morning, staring at her face till I could not longer see it. I held on, trying to get back in that dream to perhaps have a conversation or just to look at her eyes again. But instead I was reminded of life now, of my dear husband next to me in bed, my daughter in the next room, and the day about to dawn. I was reminded of Mom’s reality. And I was reminded of the goodness of God to each of us in that reality. He has been so kind.
I told my sister the other day that I never miss Mom more than when I see her now. It’s painful. It’s all that I envisioned it to be. It’s the staring at blank, closed eyes. It’s the seeing her body change so drastically. It’s the watching saliva drip down from her lips and knowing her diaper needs to be changed or nails need to be trimmed. It’s the not having her know my daughter. It’s the not being able to pick up the phone and call her just to chat. It’s the missing her laugh and voice and tenderness. It’s that and so much more.
But I’m thankful for the dream for through it I remember her again. I want to dream a little more. How I miss her! How I miss those early Alz days when she was the most precious person you’d ever come to know. How gracefully she’s handled Alzheimer’s, by the grace of God. How He’s sustained her! And I know He sustains each of us. And I see how He’s working in our family because of Mom’s Alz. He is sovereign, faithful, and so glorious.
Far better than having her look into my eyes is knowing that one day soon, she will behold Him and see Him in all His glory! Even so, “Come, Lord Jesus!”
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Something Lost, Something Gained
As each year passes, Christmas seems to change a bit in my heart and in our family. Perhaps it's the loosening of my grip on sentimentality of Christmas past. If it were up to me, I would cling tightly to the giddiness of Christmas Eve, to the new dress and doing up of hair, to the waking up early to unwrap treasures, to the packing up to visit family. I'd hold onto the dreaming and anticipation of what I would be receiving for Christmas. The eager expectation of what was to come. But what I've come to realize is that I actually had it all wrong.
I think we all seek to be pleased, to be happy, to get what we really want. I've written on that before so I won't go on too lengthily. But, my excitement of Christmas was really wrapped up all in me. My giddiness and anticipation, my dreaming and longing was all absorbed in what I would "get" for me. It was about what could be gained for myself.
This has been a slow progression of learning, but I think the first time this started to sink in was about 6 years ago when I lived at home with my dad and he forgot my birthday. I waited all day thinking that he would remember, but slowly realized that he probably forgot amidst all the responsibility in caring for Mom. At the close of dinner that evening, I looked up at him with tears in my eyes and said, "Dad, it's my birthday today." He truly felt sorry and tried to cheer me up and bought me a beautiful cake the next day, but I remember it all hurting so deeply. I remember feeling completely forgotten by both my parents. I had to try hard not to cry to S on the phone that night, so as not to appear petty. I was old enough to not need a cake and presents, right? Yet, I remember gaining such wealth from the pain of being forgotten. Perhaps it wasn't really about me getting. Did a birthday really require a celebration or gift? There was reason to reflect and celebrate but it certainly didn't demand a cake and icing. My treasure was not to be found in a present that I would soon forget. My true treasure could only be found and rooted in Christ.
So my passion and longing for Christ has deepened through the years. And, I suppose my enthusiasm for "the getting" has lessened a bit. I'm challenged to examine where I find my identity and worth. Is it in how I'm remembered or thought of? Is it it what I am given? Or is it in my identification as a child of God, freely and graciously forgiven by the Great High Priest, the One and Only true God? Astounding. I am precious to Him when others may fail or forget me.
This year, A and I worked on a Jesse Tree (http://www.rca.org/Page.aspx?&pid=1602&srcid=1600) for the season of Advent, and I am humbled and thankful at all that we learned and were reminded of about our Great Savior. It is one of the first years in which I truly anticipated the Savior's birth as we read Scripture after Scripture pointing to His great plan of salvation! (Next year, we plan to do a Jesus or Bethlehem Tree (http://www.desiringgod.org/Blog/2137_jesus_tree/ for a similar idea, yet a little different) as a family.
Consequently, S and I began to ponder our Christmas traditions this year -- why we do what we do and all that. Perhaps we'll re-write our up-coming traditions, tweak them a tad, so we can more adequately remember and focus our hearts on Him each year. Not a doing thing, but a heart thing -- to remember Him, to love Him, to look upon Him with irrevocable gratitude and love. For His grace and mercy know no end. His choosing us is no mistake. And we are so precious to Him. How precious, how cherished, how immeasurable we desire our love to be for Him! This is the gift we desire to bring Him each year. And how wonderful to know that in Christ, we've received all that we ever truly need.
I think we all seek to be pleased, to be happy, to get what we really want. I've written on that before so I won't go on too lengthily. But, my excitement of Christmas was really wrapped up all in me. My giddiness and anticipation, my dreaming and longing was all absorbed in what I would "get" for me. It was about what could be gained for myself.
This has been a slow progression of learning, but I think the first time this started to sink in was about 6 years ago when I lived at home with my dad and he forgot my birthday. I waited all day thinking that he would remember, but slowly realized that he probably forgot amidst all the responsibility in caring for Mom. At the close of dinner that evening, I looked up at him with tears in my eyes and said, "Dad, it's my birthday today." He truly felt sorry and tried to cheer me up and bought me a beautiful cake the next day, but I remember it all hurting so deeply. I remember feeling completely forgotten by both my parents. I had to try hard not to cry to S on the phone that night, so as not to appear petty. I was old enough to not need a cake and presents, right? Yet, I remember gaining such wealth from the pain of being forgotten. Perhaps it wasn't really about me getting. Did a birthday really require a celebration or gift? There was reason to reflect and celebrate but it certainly didn't demand a cake and icing. My treasure was not to be found in a present that I would soon forget. My true treasure could only be found and rooted in Christ.
So my passion and longing for Christ has deepened through the years. And, I suppose my enthusiasm for "the getting" has lessened a bit. I'm challenged to examine where I find my identity and worth. Is it in how I'm remembered or thought of? Is it it what I am given? Or is it in my identification as a child of God, freely and graciously forgiven by the Great High Priest, the One and Only true God? Astounding. I am precious to Him when others may fail or forget me.
This year, A and I worked on a Jesse Tree (http://www.rca.org/Page.aspx?&pid=1602&srcid=1600) for the season of Advent, and I am humbled and thankful at all that we learned and were reminded of about our Great Savior. It is one of the first years in which I truly anticipated the Savior's birth as we read Scripture after Scripture pointing to His great plan of salvation! (Next year, we plan to do a Jesus or Bethlehem Tree (http://www.desiringgod.org/Blog/2137_jesus_tree/ for a similar idea, yet a little different) as a family.
Consequently, S and I began to ponder our Christmas traditions this year -- why we do what we do and all that. Perhaps we'll re-write our up-coming traditions, tweak them a tad, so we can more adequately remember and focus our hearts on Him each year. Not a doing thing, but a heart thing -- to remember Him, to love Him, to look upon Him with irrevocable gratitude and love. For His grace and mercy know no end. His choosing us is no mistake. And we are so precious to Him. How precious, how cherished, how immeasurable we desire our love to be for Him! This is the gift we desire to bring Him each year. And how wonderful to know that in Christ, we've received all that we ever truly need.
Friday, July 31, 2009
well-suited
What's to Come
There she lay on the hospital bed, asleep, quiet, and might I add – beautiful. How can dying look so beautiful? It can. I assure you, it can.
Her death was not imminent, as in the near future, but it reminded me just how close it really is. She was having a very difficult day with a bladder infection and feeling very uncomfortable. And, yet seeing her lay there made us all realize – we’ll all be in that hospital room again, watching her lay on the bed, preparing for those final moments.
It’s odd to say that she looks more like my Mom when sleeping. I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand that, also. But, her eyes have not looked the same to me in a long time. And when I saw her laying there, eyes closed, resting – she looked just as if I walked into her bedroom years ago to wake her up to chat or play. She looked like all that I remember. Gorgeous. Dreaming. At rest. Healthy. Excited to see me.
What struck me even more was that she was resting. And, how I long for her to have eternal rest with our Lord. As much as I love seeing her, enjoy her presence, and don’t want to let her go, I long more for her restoration. Most of all, I long for His glory, and if that means more time for her here to accomplish His purposes, I readily agree and accept.
I came across a box of letters and photos the other night, and inside were three letters from my Mom. S walked in the room to find me in tears. I said, “I don’t even remember her anymore.” The letters were fragrant with her love, her fun spirit, her humor and sensitivity. And, they were lavished with her love and concern for me. How I miss that! How long it has been since I’ve sensed that or heard such things from her. And, yet I hear her in some things I say to my girl now. I’m reminded of her ways.
Alzheimer’s is so very long. It tarries. The clock ticks slowly. Come, Lord Jesus. And, remain our steadfast comfort till the end.
Her death was not imminent, as in the near future, but it reminded me just how close it really is. She was having a very difficult day with a bladder infection and feeling very uncomfortable. And, yet seeing her lay there made us all realize – we’ll all be in that hospital room again, watching her lay on the bed, preparing for those final moments.
It’s odd to say that she looks more like my Mom when sleeping. I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand that, also. But, her eyes have not looked the same to me in a long time. And when I saw her laying there, eyes closed, resting – she looked just as if I walked into her bedroom years ago to wake her up to chat or play. She looked like all that I remember. Gorgeous. Dreaming. At rest. Healthy. Excited to see me.
What struck me even more was that she was resting. And, how I long for her to have eternal rest with our Lord. As much as I love seeing her, enjoy her presence, and don’t want to let her go, I long more for her restoration. Most of all, I long for His glory, and if that means more time for her here to accomplish His purposes, I readily agree and accept.
I came across a box of letters and photos the other night, and inside were three letters from my Mom. S walked in the room to find me in tears. I said, “I don’t even remember her anymore.” The letters were fragrant with her love, her fun spirit, her humor and sensitivity. And, they were lavished with her love and concern for me. How I miss that! How long it has been since I’ve sensed that or heard such things from her. And, yet I hear her in some things I say to my girl now. I’m reminded of her ways.
Alzheimer’s is so very long. It tarries. The clock ticks slowly. Come, Lord Jesus. And, remain our steadfast comfort till the end.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
A Dream of Endurance
Early this morning, I had a dream that I was on a long and weary journey. I was greatly discouraged at just how difficult it had all become. I turned the bend, in great hope that the end would soon be in sight, but I saw the opposite. Before me was a great expanse of land: infinite miles; uncounted, unchartered, waiting for me. And my heart sank. I wanted to surrender and go no further. I was done. I had nothing left in me to endure.
I recall waking from the dream, knowing that the way out was actually sooner than I thought. There was some kind of pathway to an underground route taking me back home. But, there was no way of knowing that beforehand. The test of my faith was to endure no matter what I saw ahead.
I think it’s very easy for us to feel this way. Perhaps we’ve pre-scanned and labeled the trials we’d like to endure, and if things do not go according to plan, then our faith will not follow. We’ll abandon ship, or maybe instead sulk for the remainder of the journey.
As Psalm 73 and Romans 5 so clearly indicate, there is maturity gained through our trials. There is trust and encouragement and a depth that is fostered in the well of our hearts. James shares that we are to regard our trials with joy. We’re to look ahead at what may appear to be “bleak” and uncertain circumstances and say, “Thank you, God. Thank you. You know, you are in this, and I can trust you here.” How often do we experience the joy and peace in thanking Him for our trials? He has ordained them for us. He is so wise.
When we round that bend and see the infinite miles that may lie ahead, may we know that the end will result in praising God (1 Peter 1:6-7). And, He will see us through, often with great joy as we focus our eyes on Him.
Let us strive and long to be shaped in the image of Christ. He’s near and very, very good to us! And may we ENDURE.
“And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete,
lacking in nothing.”
(James 1:4)
Monday, June 15, 2009
No Comparisons
My brother said to me the other day, “I never want to grow old. So many awful things can happen.” I’ve always been a proponent for aging. I’ve loved the idea of having my hair change from brown to grey, of growing in wisdom, and of having more years under my belt. Certainly, though, my brother does have a valid point.
It seemed that right before we moved, my hair started to turn. Consequently, I now see silvery streaks sprouting all over my head, as if I have sprinkled seeds in the morning and water them in the shower. I notice more of them each day. Some are quirky, too, like tiny, untamable lightning bolts. I say to S, “I’m not sure, hon. I might cave and color it!” He still encourages me to let it come and enjoy it. What a treasure he is! We’ll see what we both think in a few months. LOL.
I also learned another lesson about aging three weeks ago when I dislocated my back. I’ve never done this before, but I knew immediately that something was wrong, when intense pain struck my lower back, pushing me right down to the floor. I should have taken more time to rest, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t just a muscle issue—it was actually dislocated. It’s extremely humbling to realize how much physical pain can alter my perspective in almost every area.
I’m reminded how much joy I find in mobility. In walking down the stairs, picking up the jogging stroller, and placing my little tot inside. In spinning her round and round, lifting her when she gets frightened by loud noises in a store, making her fly like a busy, buzzy bee. As I left my class tonight, I walked to the car with a whimpering lip. I’d been holding my tears in way too long. I just needed to let it all out. I readily admit two things: I love routine and I love serving my family. I can’t help but cry that in S’s busiest season of work, he must overcompensate for me. I feel so helpless.
It’s as if I’m looking at the washing machine and vacuum as friends that I haven’t seen in a while. I know, this may sound so funny, but I find great joy in being useful, using my hands, and serving my family. I love our new apartment and love seeing it shine in every way. I’m sad that I am spending all my time on the couch. It’s very hard for me.
But, the hardest part, beyond the weight it places on S, is missing this element with my girl. I don’t want to be concerned about pulling my back out when I pick her up. I miss each second.
I remember our pastor sharing a few weeks ago that we should not compare our trials. So, I won’t go on to say how someone else has it worse or better than me. But, I can assure you, I am challenged all the more to trust His sovereignty, rather than just blame myself for trying to move a dresser and bed by myself. He is in control. He is about a good work. I’ve seen some of that already, in how He’s made me available to others, given me time to rest, read, learn, and reflect. I guess my issue is being patient and being ok with being limited. He’s still in control. He doesn’t really need me to accomplish it all. And, it’s ok if His to-do list is different from mine.
I want to learn what it means to be patient and enduring, because I know He impresses such things on my heart. His Word assures me so in places like Romans and James. And, I trust His hand, as much as sometimes I don’t prefer the situations. I’m challenged to rest, trust He’s in control, even of my family. It’s not all centered in what I can do. He is far greater than my ability to mop the floor or even than the joy of spinning my girl.
So, the greys, I’ll take them. The pain, I’ll open my hands and accept. Because I know it comes from Him. The patience and endurance leads me to the wisdom, to the crown of silver. And, as much as I think I’m close when I look in the mirror, I really do have a long way to go.
It seemed that right before we moved, my hair started to turn. Consequently, I now see silvery streaks sprouting all over my head, as if I have sprinkled seeds in the morning and water them in the shower. I notice more of them each day. Some are quirky, too, like tiny, untamable lightning bolts. I say to S, “I’m not sure, hon. I might cave and color it!” He still encourages me to let it come and enjoy it. What a treasure he is! We’ll see what we both think in a few months. LOL.
I also learned another lesson about aging three weeks ago when I dislocated my back. I’ve never done this before, but I knew immediately that something was wrong, when intense pain struck my lower back, pushing me right down to the floor. I should have taken more time to rest, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t just a muscle issue—it was actually dislocated. It’s extremely humbling to realize how much physical pain can alter my perspective in almost every area.
I’m reminded how much joy I find in mobility. In walking down the stairs, picking up the jogging stroller, and placing my little tot inside. In spinning her round and round, lifting her when she gets frightened by loud noises in a store, making her fly like a busy, buzzy bee. As I left my class tonight, I walked to the car with a whimpering lip. I’d been holding my tears in way too long. I just needed to let it all out. I readily admit two things: I love routine and I love serving my family. I can’t help but cry that in S’s busiest season of work, he must overcompensate for me. I feel so helpless.
It’s as if I’m looking at the washing machine and vacuum as friends that I haven’t seen in a while. I know, this may sound so funny, but I find great joy in being useful, using my hands, and serving my family. I love our new apartment and love seeing it shine in every way. I’m sad that I am spending all my time on the couch. It’s very hard for me.
But, the hardest part, beyond the weight it places on S, is missing this element with my girl. I don’t want to be concerned about pulling my back out when I pick her up. I miss each second.
I remember our pastor sharing a few weeks ago that we should not compare our trials. So, I won’t go on to say how someone else has it worse or better than me. But, I can assure you, I am challenged all the more to trust His sovereignty, rather than just blame myself for trying to move a dresser and bed by myself. He is in control. He is about a good work. I’ve seen some of that already, in how He’s made me available to others, given me time to rest, read, learn, and reflect. I guess my issue is being patient and being ok with being limited. He’s still in control. He doesn’t really need me to accomplish it all. And, it’s ok if His to-do list is different from mine.
I want to learn what it means to be patient and enduring, because I know He impresses such things on my heart. His Word assures me so in places like Romans and James. And, I trust His hand, as much as sometimes I don’t prefer the situations. I’m challenged to rest, trust He’s in control, even of my family. It’s not all centered in what I can do. He is far greater than my ability to mop the floor or even than the joy of spinning my girl.
So, the greys, I’ll take them. The pain, I’ll open my hands and accept. Because I know it comes from Him. The patience and endurance leads me to the wisdom, to the crown of silver. And, as much as I think I’m close when I look in the mirror, I really do have a long way to go.
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