The Silent Day

Today is Good Friday. The day Jesus died. We have four detailed, meticulous, almost hour by hour accounts of this day. Jesus’ words, his pain, his ultimate fulfillment of every prophecy, his sacrifice to end all sacrifices are laid out in perfect clarity.

Easter Sunday, too, is examined from four different facets. The days after Jesus’ resurrection are recounted in detail, and eyewitnesses’ testimony offered as proof of these miraculous days.

But what of Saturday? Nobody has anything to say about this day of silence. It is as if everyone has skipped over to Sunday, unwilling to dwell on the misery and hopelessness. Or to speculate on what our God was up to. One may think he was just sitting on his throne, tapping his fingers on the armrests in barely restrained impatience for the anticipated victory. And maybe Jesus was just lying in his tomb, his spirit thrumming with impatience to be released from death and darkness.

No? Doesn’t fit the picture of an active, all-sovereign, constantly-working-for-good God? Then what was he doing on Saturday? What the heck was going on?

There’s one little verse from Revelation that presents an interesting idea. John writes of his vision of Jesus, a truly glorious and terrifying sight to him. Jesus comfortingly touches John and tells him, “‘Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.'”

“I was dead.” Hm.

What happened to the souls of those who died? Countless verses from the Old Testament speak of Sheol, a place where dead spirits went. Also known as Hades. Before Jesus’ redemptive sacrifice, we were all spiritually dead because of our sins. Our souls belonged to death, and so the souls of the dead went to Sheol. Jesus said he died, so his spirit probably wasn’t hanging around in that tomb, bored. He went down to Sheol. Death. Satan’s domain, where he rightfully held all those sin-bound as his captives.

Now, my NIV notes’ authors eschew the idea that Jesus descended into Sheol. He certainly didn’t have to follow the rules that apply to men, but can you tell me of any instance in the gospels where Jesus broke with the laws and commandments that bind men down to the very destiny of their souls? Why, at this critical juncture, would Jesus have departed from the human path? Was he not completely, fully the second Adam? And besides, there was something very important Satan possessed that Jesus was on a mission to claim: keys.

Yes, Jesus could’ve kept to the tomb, rose on Sunday, and made believers in the tens of thousands, but his mission would not have been complete. The people then living who became believers in this Messiah and all of us who have since put our trust in his saving power may very well go to Heaven after death, but what of those who died before the Resurrection? What of the souls still captive to death? Jesus needed those keys to death and Hades so he could set those poor souls free as well. They were counting on him. Their faith, their writings, their lives, their visions and dreams all counted on God’s promise of a Redeemer. And it would have been a broken promise if God did not redeem all those who trusted in him before Jesus’ saving sacrifice.

Jesus had to get those keys. He tells John in Revelation that he now holds the keys of death and Hades. He has always been more powerful than death, but he did not have the keys to death before he died and rose again. He was not able to render death powerless over us until he confronted it himself and rendered it powerless, laughable, in the face of his overwhelming spirit of Life.

Then “he ascended on high… [he] led captives in his train and gave gifts to men” (Ephesians 4:8). I’m curious — which captives are meant? Vine’s Expository Dictionary of Biblical Words proposes a couple meanings, one of which is that “[at] His ascension Christ transferred the redeemed Old Testament saints from Sheol to His own presence in glory” (88). There is the one and only explanation I have ever found that satisfactorily redeems the faithful OT dead. And that would be true cause for such a triumphant procession — the conqueror of death leading all who once were captives of death into their promised restored relationship with their Father.

That’s what I think was happening on Saturday. I think it was a brilliant storming of the gates of Hades, causing a gleeful Satan to choke on his mirth when Jesus held out his hand and said, “You lose. Keys. Now.”

 

 

This is Not Star Wars

The past few decades have seen several presidents who stood strongly for one thing or another, and the opposition has cried out for impeachment. Legal removal of the president based on legitimate transgressions. (I’m defining this for myself, too.) Although a few may have truly transgressed, none have been removed from office. With our current president, there’s been a dramatic shift in attitude and expression of disapproval. Louder than any cry for impeachment has been the shout of revolt. It’s dumbfounding how many people are calling for Trump’s assassination — in speeches, on social media, in plain conversation. And then there’s the new wave of bumper stickers like “Not My President” and “Rebel.” Rather than expressing disagreement, people announce their intent to rise up against the head of our government and those in office of the same political views. It’s gone from “I disagree with you and think you are mishandling our government” to “You’re not my president, and I wish someone would kill you.” It’s a leap from logic to emotion — a wild, crazy shoot-em-up rebellion.

But this is not Star Wars. President Trump is not an evil Emperor bent on the total submission of the entire galaxy, and there is no heroism in rebelling against the established government.

Somewhere in our recent history we have lost something important: understanding of and respect for authority. We’ve felt comfortable cracking jokes about our political leaders; creating goofy memes about them; and proclaiming endless opinions of their weaknesses, shortcomings, or whatever we find offensive. After all, we have freedom of speech, don’t we? We can say whatever we like, can’t we? And if we believe them unfit for public office, we can refuse to follow their rule and publicly condemn them, right?

Frankly….. No.

No, we can’t.

Those men and women are in positions of authority over us, whether they were elected or given their jobs by those already in power. All authority comes directly from God; “The authorities that exist have been established by God” (Romans 13:1). And after his resurrection, Jesus was given authority over every heavenly and earthly ruler (Matthew 28:18). He is the ultimate creator and distributor of authority, and every person on this earth who leads owes their authority to him.

Now what of the tyrants? What of the cruel, scheming, murderous rulers? What of those who have killed or connived to attain power? Why would God allow or tolerate that? Are you saying, Marta, that he gives them authority?

I don’t know exactly. But since God seems to operate on a higher level of strategy, I bet it’s a case by case deal instead of a formula. Our little brains would probably explode trying to figure out why he does what he does, but we can’t accuse him of evil. Maybe he allows evil rulers to be in power because people ignore him and choose these leaders, or at least choose a path that allows these men to take power. If a certain group of people or a country rejects God, he tends to give them their way rather than force his will on them. But he also withdraws his protection and his blessing. Happens again and again to the Israelites in the first few books of the Bible.

But one thing is quite clear: no one can take authority. It is only given from one who has the power to give. He also has the power to remove those in authority, and he’s done so quite frequently. A quick skim of history reveals a startling number of coups, losses at war, sudden madness, or imprisonment that results in the termination of an evil man’s rule. Sounds rather extreme, doesn’t it? It’s rather sobering how seriously God judges those in charge. They are completely accountable to him, and he will deal with them justly either now or later. We can rest assured of that.

Just as serious, then, is our response to those in authority over us. We may not like them as people, we may disagree with their political views, but “everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established” (Romans 13:1). There’s a direct chain of command here; God, earthly authorities, us. We are directly told to obey those who govern us, no two ways about it. We can’t claim God as our only ruler and ignore earthly authority. We can’t claim the right to overthrow leaders. We can’t refuse to follow the laws of the countries we live in simply because we don’t like them or think they’re stupid. All of these upset the natural rules of authority God himself created. And there are consequences; “….he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves” (Romans 13:2).

Whoa.

Have you read any passages where God sends judgment on someone? Korah and company were literally swallowed up by the earth. Ananias and Sapphira died immediately after their sin was revealed. And according to Revelation those who persist in rejecting God must endure all kinds of nasty diseases and horrid living conditions on a cursed earth.

Most of us have seen or experienced the merciful, loving, intimately miraculous side of God. I can’t fathom what it would be like to bring his judgment on myself.

So we shouldn’t even consider disobeying our leaders. What should we do then?

1 Timothy “[urges]…. first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone — for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness” (2:1-2). If we pray to the one who holds the heart of the king (or president) in his hand, we may see some astonishing changes. Both in our own hearts and in the lives our leaders. And notice the “godliness and holiness” part? This is how we uphold the chain of command and make our Father’s heart swell with pride. He encourages us to pray, and he acts when we do so in line with his will and his desires. For all their power and wealth, our leaders need our prayers in order to govern well. We have an important job to do.

We can also show them honor and respect by watching our words and refusing to join the tide of angry arguments; “Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men” (Titus 3:1-2). Well, that’s definitely not the American way. Candidates for office regularly make fun of or sling mud at each other, and the rest of us follow suit. Even Christians that I know and like have gone on angry tirades, posted derogatory jokes on Facebook, and lashed out at each other for supporting the opposing candidate. It’s awful and embarrassing. How can we claim Christ and do such shameful things? We look no different from anybody else, and we’ll gain nothing but sneers if we try to share Jesus after such behavior.

That’s great, Marta, but what about civil disobedience? What if the authorities require I do something that directly contradicts God’s Word?

There you have the only case I know of for disobeying the established law and ruling authorities. In the book of Acts the religious leaders in Jerusalem and political authorities command Christians to stop spreading the gospel, which went directly against the Great Commission they had just received from Jesus. I love how Peter and John responded; “Judge for yourselves whether it is right in God’s sight to obey you rather than God” (Acts 4:19).  Notice how humbly and respectfully they put this to the leaders, how gently they refused to quit doing what they knew was right. They left their fate in the leaders’ hands with the clear knowledge that they were right before God. “Judge for yourselves.” It is a submissive statement, yet unyielding of their beliefs. Always these godly men gave true and noble answers to the authorities who grilled them. Never once did the apostles or their companions lash out, ridicule, or even refuse to accept punishment from the authorities. Think of Paul and Silas in prison; they could have escaped once those doors sprang open, but they didn’t. Think of all the abuse Paul took — stonings, whippings, imprisonment, jeering, death threats. Not once did he rise up against those in power or encourage anyone else to rebel against them.

We are so blessed to live in a country that isn’t after our blood for following Christ or forcing us to choose between following the law or following our faith. Not yet. We must remember, with all the political and racial turmoil in our country now, that the people in charge are not our enemies; “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:12).  What you’re really fighting is an invisible enemy who likes to pit you against the people around you, who loves nothing better than to watch us tear each other apart. Rebellion and division are his tactics. And the most effective way to fight this evil is to pray to the One who has the power to defeat our enemy and sway the heart of the king. Or President.

 

 

 

Feelings, not Logic

Anybody besides me sick of all the drama, negativity, and fighting on Facebook? Yeah, haven’t been on in a while. I had made a pact with myself that I would only post positive, uplifting, encouraging and truthful things, and I did up until I quit checking in on a daily basis. And I stayed out of political discussions. But I eventually had to disengage because of all the nastiness. Problem is the nastiness is following me around. People and newspapers and random bits on websites I frequent are still pushing themselves forward spewing their junk. I’m tired of it. I might feel better if I just say my piece and have done with it.

Most of the stories and political positions are based on emotion rather than logic. Take for example a piece from the Ann Arbor News about a rally/protest for an illegal immigrant currently in custody and awaiting the court’s decision about his fate. There’s a picture of his young wife addressing the crowd through a megaphone, holding a toddler on one hip. Her world has been shattered, she says. Her husband might be deported, and what would happen to her and the child? There’s another recent article about a woman with three children who ran a cleaning business until somebody found out she’s an illegal immigrant. More rallies, more protests, more speeches. The focus is on how long these people have lived here, the families they are raising, and how they have done no harm. Accusations of fear and discrimination fly around with the claims that these people aren’t criminals and shouldn’t be treated as such. Tugs your heartstrings, doesn’t it?

But they are criminals; they have broken the law. Rather than honestly attempting to immigrate, they have sneaked in and taken something that doesn’t belong to them. It’s rather like a homeless man moving into a foreclosed home and claiming it as his own. Or a woman shoplifting because her children need clothes. A homeless man and a poor woman have needs, granted, but they do not have the right to take from others in order to fulfill their own needs. Neither do illegal immigrants have the right to live and work freely in our country. Citizenship isn’t a right given to all who set foot on American soil. The law of the land necessarily states there are consequences for illegal aliens, such as deportation. If one breaks a law, one should be prepared to take the consequences for that wrong. It’s a gamble these people took, hoping they wouldn’t be discovered and made to accept the consequence. Their spouses took that gamble as well. And these couples have placed their children in tenuous situations. It is not fear or discrimination that will tear these families apart; it is their own illegal actions.

The same accusations of fear and discrimination have been applied to the immigration ban placed on six countries where terrorism is running rampant. So many refugees are running for their lives, and they certainly need shelter. But have a look at what’s been happening in Europe. Those countries that have opened their arms to embrace refugees have not tried to filter out the men who drove them out. They haven’t been able to regulate all these people, and many have refused to recognize the laws of their host lands. So there have been stabbings, gang rapes, and all sorts of violence. Wouldn’t we be wise to learn from that example and set in place new regulations before we accept the tide of refugees? We must remember that some are genuinely helpless, some will not be governed by the law of the land, and some are attempting to infiltrate our country in order to do harm. If we do not take the time to set up new regulations and properly vet these refugees, we will leave ourselves open to harm. We will have failed to protect both ourselves and the true refugees. It is not a ban on Muslims the government is attempting to put in place – if “Islamophobia” was at the heart of the case, we would see actions taken against Muslim Americans. No, it is a ban on lawless, violent men the government would put in place, and our lawmakers need time in order to implement new protocols to handle new threats to our safety.

Then there is the latest statement from President Trump regarding the decision against transgender people serving in the military. Instantly a cry of outrage went up. “Discrimination! Hate! Inequality!” Well, back up a minute and think. Have these people who are shouting disapproval ever served in the military? Have they had to train men and women for war? Have they counseled soldiers dealing with depression and PTSD? What do they know of how the military operates? I know nothing about the military, but I do know Trump’s decision was made after consulting military men. These guys have been there and done that, and they know what it takes to be a soldier. They know the stress on body and mind, the discipline, the trust, the obedience, and the sacrifice necessary to be a soldier. They know what strengthens an army and what weakens it. It is their expert opinion that transgender people should not serve in the military, and they must have reasons for it. If anyone would care to listen to them. But too many are busy shouting because they feel such a decision is an insult to transgenders. Again, feelings instead of logic.  Emotions instead of facts.

That’s the real problem here – every newspaper article I’ve read, every discussion I’ve heard or been part of has been based on emotion. Nobody is thinking, asking questions about the other perspective, or looking for facts on which to base their opinions. And you may think I’m blaming it all on Democrats, from the issues I’ve chosen to address here, but I know many Republican who are just as guilty of thinking with their feelings instead of their heads. Everybody’s running their mouths and forgetting that God gave them two ears and a brain between them.

I’m done now.

Welcome to Zootopia

You know a post must be important if you have two migraines in a week and no computer access during non-kid hours. No more impediments! Here goes…

If you’ve got kids, you’ve probably seen Zootopia. Bear with with me a minute while I describe it for those who haven’t. Think I’m required to warn you: spoiler alert.

Zootopia is a fairy-tale existence for animals. All the animals live in peace and harmony with each other, the predators seemingly without the hunting instinct. A young bunny moves into the heart of the city to become a cop. There’s nothing much to do but issue parking tickets. Until animals begin to disappear. Each missing creature is a predator. When the bunny and her fox friend investigate, they find the kidnapped animals have reverted to their primal state; the creatures grunt and prowl in their cages and try to attack the cop. The evidence points to the mayor, who is promptly arrested. There seems to be no cure for the captured predators. Fear reigns in Zootopia. The animals eye each other askance — Will he attack me? and Will she put me in jail just for being a predator? 

Pause for a minute. Does this story line ring any bells? I’ll wait….

Okay, moving on. We’ve all noticed the change in atmosphere lately — tempers flare, words bite, mobs take to the streets. One mention of what was once simply a political issue will get you a verbal lashing. Disagreement? That means you hate. You are a hate-filled person. And the people doing this? Church members. Neighbors. That nice mom from my son’s elementary school. My favorite teacher from middle school. My normally compassionate friend. I was absolutely flummoxed. What happened to these normally reasonable people? Why are we attacking each other? What in the world is going on?

Back to Zootopia. Underneath the pandemonium is a rather clever plot hatched by a sheep who wants to be mayor. Her team used rifles to shoot drugs into the predators’ bodies, causing them to go wild. Fear, suspicion, and some clever manipulation almost gets her into power. But the bunny cop remembers a plant that produces a feral reaction in animals. She realizes what has happened to the predators and follows the trail to the real culprit. The power-hungry sheep is arrested, an antidote is made for the affected predators, and Zootopia is back to normal.

Well, maybe there is a reason for all the anger we Americans are experiencing. Maybe our friends and family aren’t entirely to blame for going on the attack.

Anybody else had someone take a shot at them on Facebook? That seems to be where a lot of the action is right now — rants, attacks, violent expressions of hatred. One of the recent ones I experienced went something like this: “If you’re really pro-life you should adopt or foster a child. Otherwise you’re not really pro-life.” Neither a fair or logical statement. My first reaction was anger — type a super-long defense and chide this person for posting such a thing! I didn’t do it, though. It might have thrown another log on her fire.

Another was a picture of a Syrian refugee, a young boy, face-down in the water of the Mediterranean. Drowned trying to escape the horrors of his homeland. My heart still hurts over that image, but the words…. The words that went along with it were a shot fired at those who agreed with putting immigration on hold in America. It’s your fault he died, was the message of that caption. You don’t care if they all die. I wanted to cry and scream at the same time because those accusing words held absolutely no truth. My instinct again was to react, lash out at the person who posted those nasty words. Again it would have been pointless to do so.

National Geographic recently published a story I knew I’d disagree with, but I read it anyway. Just to see what the arguments were. It all seemed absolutely silly. Where in the world did these people learn to think? And there it was again — anger. Why the heck was I angry? I knew before I read the story that National Geographic and I see the issue differently. I knew that. And I also know myself; I have an extremely slow boiling point. This flare-up wasn’t like me at all.

Something niggled at the back of my brain, something about all these encounters. Who else said, “If you’re really….?”  Where I have I heard that before?

“Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, ‘If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread’” (Matthew 4:1-3). Aha! There’s that guilt-trippy line, that hint of “You’re not really this unless you adhere to my definition of it,” that goad to act, that spur to do something you don’t want to do, maybe shouldn’t do. That is Satan’s line. Those inciting words about the picture? His tactics. That whisper to my heart about the article? Satan again. 

We are not each other’s enemies. Your friend? She’s been hit with a dart of anger, and that’s why she’s ranting all over the place. Your neighbor? He swallowed the bait and attacked you. Democrat and Republican, Muslim and Christian — we have the same enemy. He’s the one firing those little blue balls of anger at us and watching us take it out on each other. He’s been playing these tricks since the beginning of time. He loves it when we fight and kill each other because that is his desired destiny for us. He’d love nothing more than to see America, land of the free and home of the brave, tear itself to bits.

Now I do realize that it’s not just Satan at work here. Some people are simply angry people. Some people are out to destroy the U.S. Some people really are hate-filled. I don’t want to over-spiritualize what’s happening in our country, but I do want to examine the invisible forces at play here.

So. Enemy identified. Strategy revealed. Now what can we do when he fires those darts at us? What can we do when a friend or relative bites our heads off? One is to realize who’s doing the actual talking here; the person is not the enemy. It’s worked best for me to hold that thought and remain calm. Sometimes you can have a logical conversation, sometimes it’s best to actively steer it to another topic. Or leave if they won’t drop it. And you can talk to that indignant voice in your head — tell him to go away. Fight him off. Jesus battled with the words of Scripture, and he sent Satan packing. And for me, the media seems to be a major way anger tries to get at me. I’ve had to filter a lot of people out of my Facebook feed, and even now I only check in occasionally. Not reading newspapers or magazines that I know have a particular bent. And praying for help to be loving and reasonable, lots of help.

There are so many convinced that fear and hatred are tearing America apart. That’s largely based on emotion. If we all took a step back and examined the big picture, we’d see that nothing has fundamentally changed. Our reactions have changed, and those emotions color everything. It’s going to be hard to maintain our equanimity and kindness in the face of all this rampant emotion, but with God’s help we can be the peacemakers. We can be the guiding lights for our friends and neighbors.

Broken or Crushed?

My husband is an amazingly perceptive and communicative man. Most of the time I love and admire those gifts, but a few weeks ago I didn’t like it so much. He pointed out some key issues in my life. Nothing irks a perfectionist more than a wrinkle she can’t iron out. These flaws? Can’t change ’em, can’t cover ’em. But I desperately want to make them go away, whether that means hiding them under a smooth coat of perceived change or actually digging to the root of the issue. It didn’t help much that my husband said I didn’t need to change that instant — point was I didn’t know how to live with my flawed, unchanged self.

I halted my trek to the kitchen when my thoughts hit this wall.

I couldn’t fathom how to live with myself, and I felt in my bones the lack of power to overcome myself.

These words floated through my mind: “‘Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces, but he on whom it falls will be crushed'” (Luke 20:18).

Finally, FINALLY, I understood those words. I understood how my sin is melded with the rest of my humanity; in fact, it’s inseparable from the good parts. Then there’s the stain of others’ sin patterns on my life. Some have seeped in, others I’ve been able to wash away. But there is no process I can use to separate the beautiful from the bad — they are swirled together in a permanent design.

What does one do when confronted with that? What do you do with cold, hard truth? I bumped up against that hardness. I felt the inevitability of breakage, but there is also a choice.

“‘Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces….'” Jesus speaks of himself as the capstone — powerful, inevitable truth.  I can accept the fact of my deeply ingrained flaws, my inability to withstand his scrutiny, and fall on him. I will be broken. Undone. And it is scary, knowing everything I control, everything familiar and comfortable, my life as I know it may be lost. What will he do with my shattered pieces?

The alternative seems even more horrific: “‘he on whom it falls will be crushed.'” This truly frightens me. To become purposefully blind to my flaws, rigid in my thinking, ruthless with others’ hearts, inflexible and unresponsive to Jesus’ whispers. Every trial and temptation I encounter would serve to further harden me. At the end, I’d be crushed under the weight of the truth I hadn’t allowed in my life. Absolutely and utterly destroyed.  This I’ve seen playing out in the life of someone close to me. It is perhaps the one thing that gives me pause, that keeps me from instantly choosing to harden myself against truth.

So there is the choice: we can either let ourselves break against truth or he will eventually break us. Not because we are wrong and must either change or be eradicated. No, it’s because he himself is truth. And he lets us choose whether we will acknowledge him or carry on to our own destruction against him.

What will he do with my shattered pieces? I choose to let myself break, but I’m so nervous about the outcome. I know in my head he can remake me into something more beautiful. Have to let that get into my heart.

Diagnosis: Heartsick

Recently I took my 5th grade son on a tour of his new school, which happens to be my old high school. I hadn’t been there in years, and I winced at the possibility of flashbacks. Fortunately it was so altered I barely recognized it. I breathed an inward sigh of relief and thanks. Those teen years were some of the worst in my life. By the time I finished high school (crawled out, barely breathing, just survived), I had been diagnosed with ADHD and depression.

Small wonder. For years I had been verbally bullied, same kids since elementary school, no way to hide or escape. I internalized the pain, remembered every insult, relived every incident nightly. My heart was battered mute. And those last few years I went from a good student to just barely making it. Why? Where in the world had my talent gone? Why were the simplest homework assignments major struggles and timed tests nightmares? The final straw came in the form of an AP English class — something I should’ve reveled in, eaten up, breezed through. But I was floundering. I had no social life, and it looked like I would just squeak through my senior year. Small wonder the doctor prescribed Zoloft.

For five years I floated along, experiencing neither joy nor deep sorrow. A few laughs, a few tears, nothing serious. Took my vitamins, sat in front of a special “Happy Light” designed to mimic natural sunlight. I went through life in a slightly numbed state until my marriage. It was a new year of hope; God had been warming my heart, and I had a good man who really loved me. It seemed like a good time to try weaning off Zoloft, to take the risk of experiencing emotions again.

Slowly, so slowly and gently, I learned how loved I am. Each passing year has brought new depth to my relationship with my husband, an opening of old wounds so that truth could be applied, the revelation of my identity and worth as a person. Healing. Eleven beautiful years of healing.

Do you know what I realized? My heart was sick, and Zoloft only treated the symptoms. Vitamins and Happy Lights couldn’t repair the damage. I needed to be told that  I have worth and value in God’s eyes, that I could find my identity in him. I needed to be loved on, held, told how beautiful I am, told that those horrible words spoken to me were lies and I shouldn’t let them take root in me. I needed the men in my life to stand up for me and protect me, the women to share their love and affection and what it means to be a woman. All that beautiful medicine has been applied in liberal doses over the past decade, and I am no longer depressed. “Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life” (Proverbs 13:12).

 

I have to wonder how many of us are suffering physical symptoms of sick hearts? What might be cured if our doctors would look beyond our bodies to our hearts and minds?

 

 

Split Personality?

As a teenager I labeled nonfiction books Boring. Especially the self-help category.They would not, could not hold my attention for more than a few minutes. Dry as dust. Self-important. Dictatorial. BORING. I read fiction night and day — devoured mysteries, historical fiction, contemporary fiction, westerns….

Can I make a small, very tiny confession?

I have an idea for a nonfiction book.

For two, actually.

Okay, I admit it — I’ve been reading a lot of nonfiction lately. And liking it. I can’t make the font small enough to match my chagrin.

I LOVE writing fiction. Stories are my favorite! But I’m also excited about sharing what I’m learning as a parent and what I’ve discovered between the lines in the Bible.

So, readers, have you tried writing several books at once? How do you manage to split your time between two totally different genres? What drawbacks did you encounter?

A Small Tale

A few weeks ago I went to the library for some quiet writing time. I got comfortable in my crazy geometric chair and waited while my laptop whirred to life. I turned my head and just let my eyes drift unfocused over the shelves behind me.

You know that technique in film-making in which the camera zooms in and dollies out? And it looks like the world is suddenly rushing past the stunned character while he or she is still?  Well, that’s what that moment felt like. I saw each book as I see my own when I hold it — all the revolutions of rough drafts, the tears of frustration and grumbling over formatting, the many iterations of the cover image, the years of research I poured into it.

Each book has been cried over, laughed over, loved and hated, reworked, edited within an inch of its life, tossed in the trash and pulled out again, clothed in cover after cover until the perfect look is found. How many years of work are represented in these millions, billions of books? The ranks of silent words suddenly yelled at me of all the effort that has gone into making them appear on a library shelf for anybody to casually pick up, thumb through, or reject.

It left me breathless.

And my book is among them.

I felt honored. And now when I go to the library to write, I feel I am in good company.

Simple Arithmetic

It has been a very long time since my last post. Life has been bulging at the seams, and my husband and I have been trying to cut out the fat — all the extraneous activities and commitments that bog us down in busyness. So far we’ve been getting up earlier, sending the older boys to public school instead of homeschooling them, setting aside time for ourselves as a couple, and pulling (gracefully) out of various groups that devour our time and energy and give little back.
Good.
So why haven’t I been writing more? Correction: Why haven’t I been writing at all?
It’s all a question of simple arithmetic; marriage plus five children ranging from about eight years old down to four months plus housework plus a few church-related activities equals still every minute of every day spoken for. No time for me to be me and do the things I enjoy doing. Want to see that in an equation?
Marriage + 5 kids + housework + church activities = no leftover time.
It’s a common tale, isn’t it? We are all fighting the clock and losing. Years zip by in which all we do is take care of our families and count it a successful day if everyone is alive and reasonable healthy and happy at the end of it. Right. The problem is we are not meant to live like that. Correction: That is not living at all; that is existing. To treat our days and ourselves in such a fashion is to retreat into the barest semblance of humanity. At best, it is a faint shadow of the vibrant life we could have.
Well, I refuse to give up doing all the things I love merely so my house can be squeaky-freaky clean and my children attended to the second they discover a need. I refuse to become a robot. But that’s where I’ve been the last few months.
Do you know what I love to do? Write!
(Of course you knew that. I know you knew that. Bear with me a minute….)
Do you know what I’m like when I haven’t written anything in a while? Grouchy, subdued, apathetic, discouraged, bland.
Do you know what I’m like after I’ve had a chunk of time to scribble? Impish, witty, spontaneous, optimistic, almost energetic! It’s a morale thing. I can better handle what my five munchkins can dish out, a sleepless night, a frustrated and discouraged husband, anything with this lovely shot of adrenaline for my heart.
Why, why, why would I sacrifice that? I am a much better, more joyful, vibrant person, and isn’t that good for everyone around me?
So I must write. It is a requirement for me to live. Now how do I change that awful equation? I’ve decided to ignore everything that clamors for my attention for a few hours every week and just write. I claim this time as my own. May it bring life to myself and others.
You might have had all this figured out long ago, and now you are nodding your head in amused agreement. Well, thank you for sticking with me through this. I am glad there are people light years ahead of me in living a vibrant life — you are lighting the way for the rest of us.

Blessed for a Purpose

We desperately needed a vacation.

The kids romped in the yard while I dragged the suitcases, cooler, and backpacks stuffed with toys and books out the door. Got my purse, got my pillow, got my phone charger. Got the toddler’s cups and bib. Check, check, check it off the list.

Normally I’d be much more excited about a complete packing list (especially since I’d done all the packing by myself), but my grandpa’s death had completely dispelled the usual euphoria. More than anything, I just wanted to get away from everybody and everything familiar.

But we’d already committed to a surprise birthday party for a friend. I had to stuff my grief for a little while. The party was at a lovely home with beautifully landscaped lawn, ponds, and stone patio. Every part of the house carries an air of quality and appreciation for natural beauty. Like our hosts — straightforward, humble people who frankly enjoy sharing their tranquil environment with guests. This couple has worked hard, and they’ve been blessed financially. They seem eager to pass that blessing on by opening their home for various events and programs that enrich others’ lives.

From there we drove north to a cottage near a small lake. Our friends to whom it belongs described the place to us in tantalizing terms, offering it without any expectation of payment. Now, most of you who live in Michigan know that “cottage” can mean a sprawling, three-storied mansion on the sunset side of the lake. But knowing this couple, I expected a true cabin, something like the vintage ’50’s buildings with their wonderful rustic flavor.

I didn’t expect a place that felt like home.

Six peaceful, restful days in a pretty Cape Cod style house. Perfectly comfortable, extremely quiet. A small lake just down the road, and almost nobody there. My husband took the kids with him on outings, giving me a chance to rest and let my grief loose. 

Two marvelous blessings. I needed them, but I felt that I didn’t deserve them.

And what, I wondered, have I got that’s worth sharing? In and of myself, not much. No extra time or energy or money. Nothing to write that no other person on this planet has not thought, felt, discovered, or experienced. Unless God himself chooses to bless my gift of writing and use it to help others.

Ah, there it is. A gift meant to be shared. Writing is meant to be shared. It dies when shoved in a drawer or saved into a nebulous cloud drive and forgotten. When the written word is shared, it lives, breathes, sparkles, and kindles life in others. When someone uses their gift or shares generously with another person, it starts an awesome, life-giving ripple effect.

That inspires me to write and to share what little I own. I hope it inspires you to use what you’ve been given. Nobody else has your exact combination of gifts, talents, and skills! We all need you!