Archive for the The Journey Category

I was riding my bike through the hills and flatlands of St. Charles, MO on a warm and sunny day recently with a cavity of darkness in my heart. Everywhere I looked I saw the beauty of Fall. Sweet gum Maples shivered in various stages of undress and pin oaks held tight to crisp brown leaves while a lone falcon stood stalwart on quivering power line watching for prey. I pedaled my Jamis hybrid as hard as I could, but not as fast as the other cyclists who passed me with ease. I had awoken with a blackness in my mind and was pedaling with the hope that I would find some peace from the terrible tremors that shook me in the night. Sadly, all I felt was the numbness in my toes from a cold and callous breeze, and an ache in my sternum from hunching and gripping the handlebars of my bike. In addition to these physical pangs I experienced a loneliness I cannot quite put into words. I grasped at sanity like an arthritic woman grapples for her pain pills, but sanity would not be found and I was left with few options but to keep pedaling.

Sometimes we find ourselves on lonely highways with only a long stretch of cracked pavement in front of us. So it is with a friend of mine who is facing an unexpected surgery. So many of her hopes have been dashed by the cruel circumstances of life that this proposed surgery now rises up before her like a hoary giant with a spiked club ready to smash her skull to bits and pieces. Often it is not the sudden freakish illness that destroys our confidence, but rather the slow and steady drip of adversity over days and months that robs us of peace. As I listened to her trembling voice, I felt the echo of a thousand questions pulsating through my own mind. I prayed for words but came face to face with my own doubt instead.

Why doesn’t God answer our prayers the way we want (or need) him to? Why does he let the husband die suddenly from melanoma? Why does the womb of the woman longing to be a mother remain empty? Why does the infant die in the night? Why must we suffer with physical ailments that cripple us? These questions and more plague my mind on days when the sun is shining but my heart is heavy.

I recently read an article about The Hallmark Channel. The writer expresses her frustration with life and offers the sappy, Christmassy feel good movies offered up as a nostalgic escape from reality. I like these movies too! The handsome fellow always charms the girl, there is usually a sweet kiss at the end, and everybody lives “happily ever after”. These warm stories provide a way of escape from the real world. My problem is that when they are over, I look over at my husband and tend to feel I’ve lost out. I begin to question why he isn’t like the guy on the flashing box? Why aren’t my children perfectly manicured and articulate? Why doesn’t I wake up in the morning looking as fresh and crease free as the heroin? These same stories once led me to believe beauty was the antidote to loneliness, money was the cure for poverty, and romance was real love. Now I perceive these misshapen assumptions as broken down vehicles on the real highways of life.

Real and true sorrow does not abate on the wings of fantasy. Fake it until you make it only gets one so far. So when our loved ones are lying a hospital bed and the prognosis is grim, we fly to them and pray, “God, where are you? We need you to show up right now!” And because we are so accustomed to the fantasy happy ending we expect our fairy godmother god to show up and bippity boppity boo us to good health and happiness. The problem is, the real God doesn’t work that way and he wants more for us than our temporary, transient, easily pleased fancies could ever dream of.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.” (Hebrews 11:1,3)

There are some who believe there is no God. They reason that a “loving God” would not allow suffering, pain and death. I understand this sentiment but do not ascribe to it. Instead, I believe in a being who created everything and then allowed us to not choose him. He granted us autonomy and we are living in the sludgy mess of what that actually looks like. We told him to kiss off and then we wonder why out lives are bleak and grim. But the most wonderful truth is, he is not far from any of us. He is close. He loves us. And He is only waiting for our hearts to wake up and realize our blunder and run fast into his arms where he waits to comfort us.

I picked up a few cds at the thrift store a few weeks ago and have been listening to them. My favorite is Handel’s Messiah by the London Symphony orchestra. I was driving to work this past week and wondering how to keep going. When the darkness of physical and emotional pain consume my soul, often music is my only comfort. I was aiming at Christmas cheer on the drive to work and instead heard “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.” When the soloist sings, “and He shall give you rest,” I felt the dam break. The words come from Matthew 11:28, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

The rest that He offers is so much better than the schmaltzy stuff offered by the Hallmark channel. His rest is soul-satisfying and sweet. It comforts, consoles and heals the broken heart. It promises that one day we shall suffer no longer–not with physical ailments, empty wombs, or life-threatening seizures.

“And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matthew 10: 28-31)

So, dear friend, if you are reading this and feel defeated and without hope or solace, take heart. There is one who longs to comfort you and give you rest. He has promised to come if we call. He sees us traversing the cracked and broken highways. He knows we are pedaling hard and not really getting anywhere. And He is only waiting for us to invite Him into the empty cavities in our hearts.

Beloved, if you follow Jesus on the cracked highways of life, please know that you are never forsaken and you will never walk alone.

“Turn around bright eyes…but every now and then I fall apart!” – Bonnie Tyler

Did you ever have one of those days that turned into one of those weeks that turned into one of those months? Did you ever wake up one morning and say, “Enough!” only to experience the distinct feeling of Déjà vu? After about a month of these kinds of days, I’m feeling more than a little put out. All my coping mechanisms have been exhausted. I’ve eaten and exercised and prayed and screamed at my children and kicked my husband in his sleep and I don’t feel any better. So today, for the sake of my sanity, I’m opening my can of sarcasm and letting all the worms go free! And you, dear reader, are invited along for the journey.

Life is not like a box of chocolates – it’s like poo.

We pulled up to Tae Kwon Do practice last night and nobody was there. I take that back. There was a young guy in his white uniform standing there with his hand up saying, “Go home, class has been cancelled.” I was agitated because I had been looking forward to listening to The Ambassadors of Harmony practice their songs (they practice in the same facility as my son practices Tae Kwon Do and let folks listen for fun). They have been singing this song about Pirate Harmonies (part of their Christmas program line-up) and I enjoy it immensely. No practice meant no pirate harmonies. No scallywags, only, “Argh’s!” So as I was driving my teenage son home I suggested we stop by the library and get a book. Books make me feel better when I’m unhappy. But he refused to go into the library with me because he was self-conscious about his uniform. So I had to walk into the library by myself. In the cold. With no coat. Where the librarian reminded me that I have a $9.54 late fee.

Teenagers are stupid

Listen, I know what it feels like to be a teenager. I used to be one many moons ago. And I specifically remember my mother giving me a hard time about the poof on top of my head that I spent considerable time curling and hair-spraying in order to fit in with the “in” crowd. Only to have HER tell me I looked like a peacock. Now, I knew back then that she was a moron so that was okay. And there was nothing she was ever going to say to me that would convince me otherwise. As evidenced by her strict adherence to distasteful rules like putting ones laundry away the day it was washed, or picking up ones room, or not torturing ones siblings. She didn’t seem to understand that the whole reason siblings were born was to be the rump-squishing receptacle for my maniacal pinchers, which is why my sister cannot climb a flight of stairs today with someone behind her due to serious psychological childhood trauma.

Parental failure is inevitable

Rather than respond kindly to my son’s insecurities and encourage him appropriately, I devolved into juvenile behavior and began goading him. My poor, disappointed 16 year old was then put on the receiving end of the most juvenile of all adult behavior—manipulation therapy. Truth be told, I was only picking on him because I was in a bad mood and decided he should be too. If you have never done this to your child, well, you are a far better parent than I am. It’s shameful and wicked and I repented profusely this morning while pleading with him to forgive me. He gave me the grunt of acknowledgement so I know that he at least heard me, but it didn’t really make me feel any better.

Self-torture isn’t nearly all it’s cracked up to be

This morning I found myself on the elliptical machine of doom, panting and sweating and really regretting that late night bowl of butter-laden popcorn, because once again, I’ve gained 5 pounds. It’s not my fault of course, but rather stress, lack of sleep, and afternoon unhealthy snack breaks. All of these gremlins have conspired to fatten me, much the stern consternation of my pants. And since the pants hold the power of the universe in their sharp, zippered teeth, and have a way of making one’s life an absolute living hell, I resolved to appease them with 70 minutes of leg swishing, feet numbing, butt-busting activity that will ensure I won’t be able to walk at all tomorrow.

My children will be in therapy forever

After my workout and a litany of prayers, I resolved to be a better person and have a good day. And yet, not 30 minutes after begging my teenager to forgive me, I nearly ruptured my vocal chords hollering at my youngest child because he wouldn’t stop messing with the dog when I needed him to take his blood sugar. And then, because I was frustrated, I ran outside, slipped on ice that had formed overnight in the carport from the tipped-over bucket containing the real-live-Christmas tree my husband insisted on buying even though I told him it’s a terrible waste of money. I mean, we could get a used tree at any thrift shop for half the price and not have pine needles poisoning our nostrils, but I digress.

Now maybe at this point in the story you might be wondering why I didn’t just give up and go back to bed. I mean, obviously I am failing in every single area of my life and therefore the best decision of the day would be to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and protect the unsuspecting masses from the little black rain cloud over my head. The problem is, Friday is the busiest day of the work week and I have serious, grown-up stuff to do so I can make enough money to pay the mortgage. I can’t go around flopping in bed and pretending to be sick no matter how screwy my brain nor how sincere my psychosis. Nope! Time to pull up the big-girl britches and push through, Baby!

“Don’t be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, be the straw that feeds the camel.” – Randall Goodgame

So when I arrived at work and saw the blue screen of death on my boss’s computer, my eye twitched just a little bit. And when he asked me to try and reboot it, but it only blinked and crashed again, that was it. Game over. And it was only 8:00am.

So I decided that rather than take my aggression out on my co-workers, I would get coffee. I really know better than to drink coffee, after all, it provokes my anxiety. Still, I was really feeling crabby and I knew coffee would help. Of course I was interrupted 6 times and by the time I got to drink it, it was luke warm and mealy. But hey, it was still caffeine, and so, down the hatch!

And that is when I discovered that crabby + coffee = feisty!

Why are you looking at me like that?

Sometimes life is disappointing. It’s completing repetitive tasks that make us crazy, being nice to meanies, and working long, arduous hours that make us question why we ever wanted to grow up in the first place. We find ourselves dragging our buns across the finish line at 5:00 or even 6:00pm, only to run errands, make dinner and muster just enough strength to climb into bed and fall asleep just so we can wake up the next day and do it all over again. We say things we don’t mean, scream at the people we love and eat too many cookies, only to anger our pants, and end up torturing ourselves on glorified hamster wheels. Or is it only me?

I ran into a friend of mine at work this afternoon and she shared her own story of the little black rain cloud that could, only hers involved viruses and vomit. And I have to say, it’s awfully nice to know I’m really not the only one.

Sometimes our only recourse against the days, weeks and months of drudgery is comedy. Laughter is surely a simple solace for the suffering soul.

I combed through each blade of grass, searching for the small gold ring with a blue sapphire. I was 17 years old and terrified I had lost it forever. My senior class ring was a recent gift from my parents and I hadn’t even graduated yet. Somehow it had slipped off my finger while I was walking in the backyard and I held little hope of ever finding it. I crawled around on my hands and knees with tears dripping down my chin. How could this happen? Why did it fall off my finger? How would my mother react? What would I do if I never found it?

My youngest son recently turned 9 years old. He is a different kind of little boy, not like others his age, and he asked for a metal detector for his birthday. Ever the dutiful mother, I got on Amazon and found the cheapest—but most likely to actually detect metal objects—metal detector on the site and ordered it. When the big day came, he opened it and spent a good many hours scouring the yard with it. He had visions of finding buried treasure. My husband said he’d be lucky to find some bottle caps and old, rusty nails. As it turns out, searching for hidden treasure is a lot harder than one realizes. It takes time and patience and perseverance, virtues many of us do not possess in great abundance.

I have been walking through a terrible grief these past weeks. This grief has caused me to feel in my heart a terrible ache and longing, for what—at first—I wasn’t exactly sure. In the beginning, it was the terrible trauma of watching my good friend slowly die. I thought maybe his was a temporary illness, or at the very least, the simple aging of a tired body. As time passed it became clear that it was not a temporary illness and my friend would most likely not make it. I began to pray that God would let him not suffer any longer and then I waited for Him to respond by letting my friend die.

I sat with him on our last day together and urged him on. “Don’t stay here for me,” I said. “I will be okay without you.” I read to him Psalm 23 and I sang a song about flying to Jesus. I imagined him thus; flying to the One who created us and shedding—once and for all—this ephemeral body. He leaned against me and I felt his weariness. That was the last time I saw him alive.

I would like to say something flowery about him, like he had reached that perfect state of existence that some creatures do and become in the end so utterly beautiful, or that all of those things that used to annoy me or weary me about him fell away like a husk, and all that remained was a glimpse of a perfected soul as it left our broken world. But the truth is, I only felt his absence the way one experiences a black hole. And as the day’s pass, the loss grows only deeper and blacker than I could ever have imagined. And whether I like it or not, the truth is, the loss of my friend has wrecked me.
Suddenly I feel like I did when I was 17 years old and I lost my treasured ring. Here I am on my hands and knees peeling back blades of grass and begging God to help me find it. Instead I have found only black earth and gnats. My back aches and my legs are itchy. There are mosquitoes. And the sun is beating down on my neck. And I am thirsty. If you are reading this and have never experienced the loss of a loved one, maybe you think I am just full of hot air. Just wait. Your time will come.

In the process of trying to run away from this pain I have discovered a deep doubt in my heart that I did not know existed. I have heretofore been unable to verbalize this doubt in so much as heart wounds can ever really be explained or even understood. I think the best way to illuminate my feelings on the subject would be to start with the idea that God is not fair. It is not fair that I have to go on living while my friend is dead because the pain of missing him is so intense. At the very root of that feeling is the idea that God is not present, that He is hands off, or that He is uncaring. And underneath that layer is the idea that God is not good, because if he was good he would not allow me to suffer so. I suppose I am rudimentary, but I feel that if there is not a purpose for the pain, why must I experience it? It would be like beating a horse for no other reason than it was breathing.

I remember the day so many years ago when I gave up on ever finding that ring. I limped into the house sobbing, aware that I would never, ever find it. That is a little how I have felt about God for the past few weeks. Not that He lost me, but that I lost Him. Somewhere on the subconscious level, my pain and this deep doubt caused me to walk away from relationship with him. I have been unable—or maybe the better word is unwilling—to face Him. This pain has been so big and so unbearable that I just couldn’t trust Him anymore. It pains me to write that, but it is true.

I remember at 17 sitting in the house and looking out across the lawn. I knew that ring was out there somewhere. And I knew it wasn’t going to find itself. And I knew my mother would be devastated if I told her I lost it because I had it only a few days. I knew it was impossible to find, but I also knew I would never again be satisfied if I didn’t try. And so I went back out there and tried again. And again. And again.

That is what I did this morning. I tried to find God again. In my feeble, faltering way, I started sobbingly, stumbling toward him. The reason for this is simple, to live without him—having experienced the absolute joy and peace of His presence—is agony. The absence of Him is worse than the absence of my friend. To go on living without the One I love most of all, is an unbearable idea, one I am not willing to face. So even if I have to spend hours and days on my hands and knees peeling back individual blades of grass until I find Him, I will.

And the truth is, I’ll never forget the moment I found that ring. One minute my search was hopeless; the next minute I saw the sun sparkling off the blue gem. It’s the same way with God. He is not really so difficult to find after all.

Maybe you are reading this today and find that you have walked away from relationship with God because of loss or pain. Maybe on the surface you even think you are okay with God, but you silently question His motives or methods. Sometimes hurts expose the deep questions we have, but we are too scared of the possible answers and so we never ask them. We cower and cry, and throw out pleading prayers we know will never be answered because, after all, God isn’t really good because how could someone good allow us to feel so bad?

Today I opened a door I had previously closed and looked at the wound left by the passing of my dear friend. I considered how foul it was becoming, and how toxic it had the ability to become. Instead of closing the door and trying to ignore it again, I decided to invite God to have a look-see. Then I asked him to sit with me and hold me. Then I asked him would he please heal it.

Tonight I have peace because I know that He can, and I know that He will. That is treasure worth searching for, and I didn’t even need a metal detector to find it.