Archive for the The Journey Category

We set out with fresh oil in the truck, a recently repaired flat tire and a cab full of Christmas treasure. The lines on the road ticked beneath us like grains of sand from an hourglass while we amused ourselves with scenery. Green fields full of cows–and the occasional pony–grinned back at our wide-eyed gaze. But after a few hours, we wondered if the long journey was worth the destination.

We stopped to rest our weary heads at a lodging place in a historic village via Lexington, Virginia. Col Alto was built in 1823 and was a very long drive from Saint Charles, Missouri. The history was written in plaques on the wall, not far from the soothing warmth of a gas fireplace. I stood there, warming my hands and shoulders in front of the mantle upon which stood a tiny ceramic town of colorful buildings and even smaller people. Their little faces lifted in silent song amidst twinkling white lights and plastic evergreen branches. I yawned and we retired to a bed fitted with crisp, white linens and a perfectly snug comforter.

The rain fell like spittle on our Christmas Eve morning–as we tried in vain to keep our luggage dry. Still, we couldn’t resist the charm of the broad, brick arches. We climbed the old, stone steps and posed for proof that we were there. We didn’t feel the cold or the wet or the tired–only the joy of exploring something old, yet new-to-us. There is magic in exploring history, but we did not have time to unravel these mysteries. Still, we paused the hourglass for a time. We wanted to study the architecture of old homesteads now updated to modern times. If not for the steady drip of December rain, we might have paused indefinitely to explore the shops–oblivious to those waiting for our arrival.

The rain was intent on spoiling the roads but we persevered to our destination. Soon, we were wrapped in the embrace of those we love and shaking the wet from our hair. We filled our bellies with good food and settled in, reminiscing simpler times.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas Eve’s of yore. There is no candlelight service, no hymns, no driving to look at lights. The river of rain is trying to wash away our happy and we are grasping at hope like a cork in a swirling current. In truth, this new tradition feels like a new patch on an old garment. I should be in bed but sleep won’t come. So I’m sorting out thoughts that have spilled out like old buttons from a mason jar. And sadly, none of them match.

And the thing is, I’m lonely. I miss the people who have passed or worse–the people who have passed me by. I consider those faces who used to care for me but whose paths no longer intersect with mine. I miss the illusion of infatuation–the glittering glances of adoring faces who haunt the halls of my hungry heart. I remember when their gaze warmed my cheeks like the gas fireplace at Col Alto. But now, I feel the cold chill of reality. These feckless fellows have flown and I am the dust swirling where they once stood.

I am not bitter. It’s just that I remember. And remembering–while often sweet–can also sting like lemon juice on cracked skin.

The clock has just struck and it’s Christmas Eve no longer. In a few hours we will tear into packages and snap memories on digital devices. Everyone will smile and we will count our blessings like we eat bacon; ravenously. Because in truth, we have so much to be thankful for.

Soon, we will pack back into the truck, hopefully with hearts full of new memories. And we will start the hourglass again. But all the while I will be dreaming of the day when the journey finally ends. Because if home is where the heart is, my home is not here.

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” – John 14:3 

Psalm 68: 5-6 “Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. God settles the solitary in a home; he leads out the prisoners to prosperity, but the rebellious dwell in a parched land.”

Have you ever felt displaced? Alone? Abandoned? Have the comforts you knew fled, never to return?

I saw her picture on social media. Her family needed to find her a new home and I knew how hard it would be. First, not many people want a rabbit. Second, people don’t know how to take care of one. Third, who wants an older rabbit? I said a quiet prayer for her and moved on. Ever since my rabbit, Laddie, passed away three years ago, I have not wanted another bunny. He was a one in a million friend. And besides, I’m busy and don’t want to clean up rabbit poop.

A week passed and I saw her picture again. I knew the family was getting desperate and I had a feeling she didn’t have much time left. While there are plenty of good rabbit rescues (The House Rabbit Society, for instance) I felt a twinge in my heart that said she needed me—not someone else. So, I offered to take her.

She arrived with much anxiety and fear. She thumped and jumped—alerting me to her mental state: terrified! Her family explained that she had been a dear friend of their children and so I asked my son to pet and comfort her (because she wanted nothing to do with me). She calmed for a bit, only to rear up when he departed her vicinity. I tried to give her lettuce but she refused to eat. Nothing I did helped. So, I covered her cage with a dark towel and let her mourn.

Like people, animals grieve. They lament. They despair. And while we cannot see into the corners of their hearts, nor can they communicate what they feel, their behavior gives us a small glimpse into their world. So, when she got done being sad, she went on a rampage. My husband said, “Why is that rabbit so angry?” I told him the truth: she misses her family. She thinks they abandoned her.”

My friend has been living out of her car for two years. She was rejected by her husband. He divorced her and threw her out of his house. To make matters more painful, she was rejected by her daughter—who chose to stay with her ex. For a while, she camped out in parks, but when colder weather set in, fled to her native land: China. This year however, things are different. She is afraid to fly on a plane in close proximity with potentially infected people. So, she hovers on the fringes of society, isolated and alone. I reach out to her every so often to make sure she is okay. This past week I sent her a text message.

“I love you. Are you okay?”

She responded. “I love you too. I am ok.”

I typed, “Where are you?”

She said, “Near by you.”

So, I invited her to my house and she came.

Her English is not so good but we are patient and work through the challenges. Sometimes we use pictures from our phones when words fail, and other times we smile and nod. It is enough to be near each other and find solace in friendship. This visit is different. People don’t necessarily need words to express pain.

She kept apologizing for her tears as she described the past few months. Her beloved companion, a little Bichon Frise, passed away from old age. She was isolated—unable to “make new friends” because of the virus. She said, “People are afraid and angry. They don’t talk to me.” When I encouraged her to find work, she said she doesn’t want to get a job. She would rather live in her car than pay for rent. Sometimes she hides in a storage area with the remnants of her former life, but there is no heat or electricity. She feels utterly alone. I don’t know if it’s a cultural thing, but she was unable to contain her sorrow. She wailed and wept as she spoke. Her tears soaked into her mask though she dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel. I listened and ached with her. Then I told her she must stay. I said, “My home is your home.”

This year has been difficult for many people. Many of us put on a good front but old addictions have flared, grief has overwhelmed, and fear has infected our souls. We wake up and think, “Is this really happening to me? Is this the world I live in? What happened to the beautiful days of old? I miss my family. I miss my old life.

None of us are immune. We have all been impacted in some way.

Elisabeth Elliott defines suffering as “wanting what we don’t have and having what we don’t want.” That could be our refrain for 2020. But I choose something more hopeful.

“Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation. Our God is a God of salvation, and to God, the Lord, belong deliverances from death.” – Psalm 68:19-20

While my faith sometimes feels flimsy, God is strong. When my emotions overwhelm me, God comforts. When isolation incapacitates, The Lord of the universe condescends to greet me with words of compassion. When my eyes look on the desolation of the land and the hopelessness of our situation, I take refuge in the rock of my salvation. This is no fairy tale; he is real. I cannot put my trust in the things of this world because they are all “passing away.” Everything around me is dying—but God is everlasting life and light to those who believe. His love is absolute and all encompassing. No matter what happens—He is with me.

I named the rabbit Miss B. (It might have had something to do with her temperament.) But the “B” really stands for Beatrix, after the beloved children’s author, Beatrix Potter. I read her stories as a child and was enchanted by Peter Rabbit and his host of friends. I have persistently pursued Miss Beatrix Bunny and am finally earning her trust. Like me, the way to her heart is through her stomach. She doesn’t care for lettuce but seems to like rolled oats. I even got her to try a dried apricot—Laddie’s favorite!

My human friend only stayed one night but she has a standing invitation. While our home is not large, I want it to be a place of refuge. I have prayed for her and will continue to do so. God has promised to settle the solitary in a home.

Today, if you are struggling, take heart! You are not alone. You are not forsaken. You are loved! And I pray you find peace in the most unlikely of places—home!

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling.” – Psalm 46

^“And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.” Matthew 5:30

“The bible doesn’t really say that, does it?”

My son ran over to read the words on the page that I had just finished reading.

If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.” – Matthew 5:29

“That seems a little crazy.” He said.

Crazy, indeed. Just as crazy as a virgin giving birth. A prophet who eats wild locusts and honey. And a man who raises a dead person to life after three days. Who on earth can believe the stuff in the bible? After all, sometimes it reads like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

As strange as the bible and Grimm’s tales are, I have been thinking about a strange thing in my everyday life. It takes a lot of courage to admit this, but I have become addicted to monosodium glutamate. Lately, it is all I think about. And candidly, if I had the ability to carve out the piece of my brain that is screaming MSG all the time, I would totally do it.

Right now, you are wondering, has Margaret lost her marbles? Because there are marbles everywhere on this page and Margaret seems to be missing a few.

I have not lost my marbles, thank-you-very-much, but if I did, I’d blame it all on monosodium glutamate.

What is monosodium glutamate? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is the chemical otherwise known as MSG. It is widely used in processed foods as a flavor enhancer. And it is very, very effective. It makes inedible food taste mediocre, and mediocre food taste amazing. The FDA has approved its use and the US Government thinks it’s fine. And since we trust the US Government, we obviously should eat as much as we want. Right? Well, at the very least, MSG is not as harmless as you think it is.

I don’t eat much processed food because I try to avoid consuming preservatives, but there are a few things I eat occasionally that have recently become problematic. One of these is General Tso’s chicken from my local Chinese Restaurant.

I wanted to understand why every time I consume it I:

1. feel like I must keep eating even though I know I am stuffed to the gills.
2. feel mildly intoxicated
3. swell up like a water balloon
4. crave sweets to the point of madness
5. think incessantly about my next fix
6. feel depressed for the next few days
7. gain weight

I certainly don’t feel this way when I eat vegetables. Or fruit for that matter.

Whereas we used to get Chinese food once in a blue moon, I am now struggling to limit my purchase to once a week. I feel about this meal the way I used to feel about ice cream. Is life even worth living without it? But the moment I realized what was happening, I began to realize I had a serious problem. I already knew my pants were angry. Worse, no matter how much I work out, I can’t seem to lose make them happy. So I started to wonder—what exactly is in that stuff?

Monosodium glutamate!

And it’s not just in Chinese food. It’s in potato chips and cookies and pizza. It is a “flavor enhancer” which means they add to it most processed foods.

I don’t need to write a treatise on the ill-effects of MSG—others have done that. I am attaching links so you can research to your hearts content. But I will tell you, it’s really strange. And if you think about it, companies that add such toxic chemicals to food in order to hook consumers are evil. They are no different than drug dealers. I don’t care if what they are doing is legal—it is wrong to make people so addicted that they consume themselves to ill health or death.

Now, I realize I may have lost the average reader who read what I just wrote and thought, “What, give up Chinese food, are you mad?”

I’m glad you asked. Yes, I am mad. As in really, really angry.

Here’s why. This website chronicles exactly what MSG is and what it does.

This website is the fruit of one woman’s life long search to find healing for her chronic health issues –  most of which stemmed from consuming MSG.

I would venture to guess many of the health issues American’s face today are directly related to chemicals in processed foods, but I never realized just how bad MSG was. I thought I could safely consume it. I never imagined it would take such a hold on my life. But I guess this experience just proves some things cannot be consumed in moderation. Some things—like MSG—should never be consumed at all.

So, if you are struggling with depression, chronic allergies (or bronchitis) inability to lose weight, fibromyalgia, arthritis, Parkinson’s disease or any other neuro disorder, or like me – uncontrollable food cravings, take note. It could be monosodium glutamate. Take a few minutes to read about it. Get angry. And then cut it out of your life forever. MSG may not send you to hell, but it will certainly make your life on earth, hell.

It’s going to take some serious fortitude to break this cycle of treachery. My thoughts are “consumed” with my favorite meal. But it’s worth noting, Jesus came to set sinners free from their chains. And if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. I just need to keep reminding myself that living a life free from food addiction entails focusing on what I can eat—not what I cannot. And there are plenty of other food that give me joy and do not cause such horrible physical symptoms.

Today, if you are struggling with any kind of addiction, know that there is hope and healing. God will help if you ask him. Just like he raised Lazarus from the dead. Just like he sent Jesus through the body of a virgin. More importantly, he will save you from your sins (both past and present). Because he loves you. You can trust Him!