A "Shield" of Suffering

Many of us have some aspect of our lives which keeps us on our knees.  If at present, this is not part of your story, one day it will.  It comes with living in a fallen world.  I don't like it.  You don't have to like it.  But it doesn't change the reality.

I am rereading Timothy Keller's book on "Prayer--Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God."  There's a two-fold reason for re-entering its pages--

It's simply that rich

I long to grow in prayer

The story is told of Anicia Faltonia Proba who lived during the time of Augustine.  Anicia had the honor of knowing him personally.  He wrote two letters to her and one was written entirely on prayer.  Timothy shares this--

"Anicia Proba was a widow by her early thirties and was present when Rome was sacked in 410.  She had to flee for her life to Africa with her granddaughter Demetrias, where they met Augustine.  Her former life had been upended, and from what we know about her from the historical record, she never again enjoyed the secure life she had previously known.  Augustine, however, argues not only that we can grow in prayer in spite of these difficulties but because of them.  He concludes the letter by asking his friend, 'Now what makes this work (of prayer) specially suitable to widows but their bereaved and desolate condition?'  Should a widow not, he asked, 'commit her widowhood, so to speak, to her God as her shield in continual and most fervent prayer?'  What a remarkable statement.  Her sufferings were her 'shield'--they defended her from the illusions of self-sufficiency and blindness that harden the heart, and they opened the way for the rich, passionate prayer life that could bring peace in any circumstance.  He calls her to embrace her situation and learn to pray."

My sufferings a shield?

Your sufferings a shield?

Note that nothing is being said to infer that God causes our pain or wants us to bear pain.  Even Christ on the cross begged the Father for another way!!  However, for Anicia, and countless others, hardship came into her life and in various ways continued to plague her.  Augustine encouraged her to view this life of difficulty and sorrow as a "shield".

I think of my own life and its dips and turns and hills and valleys of my mental and emotional health.  I've ranged anywhere from cursing the darkness to believing the dark yields gifts of grace.
I have ever been aware that that the darkest night will bring me to my knees in ways that the light of day never can.

So while reflecting on my own edges of suffering as a shield of defense is not a new concept, it is a fresh and inspiring "hand on my shoulder".  And I always welcome this.

Let me be honest--I don't like pain and suffering.  I love the sunshine and rose of life.  I enjoy and desire ease and happiness as much as anyone else.

But.

If hardship brings me to the end of myself...

If it makes me abandon any illusions of self-sufficiency...

If it reminds me that I am merely a vapor of humanity in a redemption story beyond my comprehension...

Then I will humbly open shaky hands and claim suffering as a "shield" of defense.

Because I love my Lord.

The time between

Saturday March 14, 2020.  It was not on my radar to think that this would be the last time I would snuggle my precious grandson for three months.  I remember arriving at my sister's place to celebrate Mom's birthday and some of my family greeted us at the door wearing masks.  We all thought it was hilarious, never imagining what was just around the corner.  

Seaton was just a little over three months at that time and his happy place was snuggling in the arms of anyone who would rock him.  Those elongated "moments" were my happy place as well and I just drank in this warm little body burrowed into mine.

 

Then lock-down and three months of not having my grandson in my arms.  In all honesty, the ensuing weeks were less heart wrenching than I would have expected.  Yes, at times I cried and ached to feel his body against mine, but this was not the norm.  We were graciously indulged with pictures/videos daily and even enjoyed some lovely physically distant walks in Cam and Sonya's neighborhood.  I had this illusion that I wasn't missing anything.  I was still "watching" Seaton find his hands, learn how to hold a toy and reach for his Daddy's cereal and dump it.  I saw him roll over and get strong enough to sit on his own.  I listened to his sheer delight in sitting outside in the grass and become ever more observant at the world around him.  I wasn't missing anything--or so I thought.

Until the first time I held him and he no longer wanted to snuggle but for me to help him stand on my lap as he reached for my face.  He was much stronger and more unpredictable in his movements than previous  It caught me completely by surprise.  This was not the same baby!  While I was enjoying pictures and replaying videos on a screen, my grandson was growing and changing in real time and I had missed it!!  Brian and I took him for a walk that same day and I cried the first 15 minutes.  At the time I was unable to articulate why--only that "this" first tangible encounter was not what I had expected.

That was over a month ago now.  It has felt like I am getting to know my grandson all over again.  I have had to learn the best ways to hold him so that my back/hip are still able to move when I get home; he weighs quite a bit more!   He's been teaching me what peaks his interest and gets him excited and lets me know when he's bored of this and we need to move on to something fresh.  Every time I see him there is something new he has mastered and I receive such joy being a part of these moments.  I refer to it as "Nana therapy":)

Seaton Tadeo was six months old on July 5!  He's a little man who is eager to walk if only his wobbly legs would carry him.  For now he either stands holding on to something(with other hands at the ready) or he relies on whoever is willing to hold his little hands so he can slowly move across the floor.  I recall a phrase that goes something like this...."If I had known having grandchildren was this much fun I would have had them first!!"  haha  

Such a gracious gift of God.  I love him to pieces!!

80 Years Young

The birthday boy with his new boat!

This is my dear Dad.  It's often how I write my texts to him..."Hi my dear Dad..."  He is turning 80 years young on Tuesday July 14.  My Dad does not live his age!  He leads a far busier and active lifestyle than I do and that is not a stretch at all.  It does have something to do with him being an extrovert and myself leaning more on the introverted side but even with personality types aside, he is an extremely active man.  (Although he is a lover of naps and can doze off most anywhere.  haha).  He claims no aches and pains and enjoys strong, physical health.  Just in case you have somehow missed it in the pictures, Dad is also an avid fisherman.  In the winter it's ice fishing and in the summer it's lake fishing. 

My Dad loves God and he loves people and his life exemplifies this in spades.  He lives a life of earnest faith, and excessive love and generosity.  He is a man who freely shares his thoughts and emotions and in doing so his strength is revealed.  Dad has now lost two wives and though his heart aches, he presses on.  Dad lives life to the full.  He is all in in whatever he is doing!

Given the various guidelines and restrictions within our current reality, we as a family needed to be creative in planning a celebration.  So yesterday afternoon, we held a Drive-by Celebration at the end of the lane way at my brother and sister-in-law's home.  We could not have custom ordered a more comfortable day weather wise.  With great delight we watched cars line up and drive-by, stopping for a minute or 2 to give their love and blessings.  Friends and family took time to come and "love on my Dad" and it warmed my heart.

The last time people collectively gathered to express their love was this past February when we celebrated Mom's life and mourned her death.  Dad's birthday celebration gave all of us an opportunity to love on Dad and celebrate the life he continues to live.  Mom's absence was present in many "Mom" kind of ways. I know Dad had some tears as we began the day.  He would have loved to have her here to celebrate this milestone.

Dad, I love and admire you so much.  Happy 80 years of living life!! xoxo

Hesed--the perfect bubble

A number of years ago, my Spiritual Director introduced me to the Hebrew word Hesed.  In brief, it refers to the unfailing love of God...His lovingkindess.  Or said another way, His covenantal faithfulness.  She so passionately expressed the beauty and richness of Hesed that it has been transformative for me.  Ingrid has stated such truths as –

God does everything by covenantal faithfulness

His love is not a stingy Hesed

 (a truth highlighted in Psalm 85:10 “Unfailing love and truth have met together. 

Righteousness and peace have kissed.”)

I took it upon myself one day to note each of the times God’s unfailing love was mentioned in the Psalms.  I underlined and drew a heart to mark this.  I counted 127 times in the Psalms alone!  Indeed, God’s love is anything but stingy!

Psalm 32:10 has been as a warm blanket for me both in the past and increasingly in the present.  The latter part of this verse reads, “…unfailing love surrounds those who trust the Lord.”  Ingrid has so powerfully captured this verse with a stunning reality--“Hesed in the bubble in which we live.”

As of late the "talk of the town" is about who is in your bubble.   Stage 2 as directed by our government has now allowed each of us to be part of a bubble of 10.  Though it may sound simple, and perhaps for some, it remains this way, it’s not for me.  For myself, and the majority of people I talk with, creating and living within that bubble is complicated.  My therapist has aptly said, “There are no rules right now.”  The government has strongly recommended guidelines but black and white rules are few. 

The problem--

Some of us are stringent rule keepers and feel guilty “breaking” them

Some live with an expansive freedom and wonder why so many are anxious

Some have high risk factors and have made difficult choices to keep their bubble small

Some would like to have a family member in their bubble but for many reasons it wouldn’t “work” or it’s not safe.

One woman I know works in health care and continues to live in a bubble of one, distanced from those she loves.

And the list would be never-ending if I continued further.  It’s complicated. 

This “no rules time” is especially hard for someone like me who often lives under the illusion that control, perfection and order are in my grasp.  Beyond myself, I can’t steer anyone else to abide by my comfort level.  Nor should I!!!

Which is where Hesed comes in and this stunning realization that “Hesed is the bubble in which I live”!

This is what the Hesed bubble looks like--

Each new morning, I am awakened in His unfailing love and fall asleep wrapped in the same

The parameters of Hesed are set in stone.

His covenant is irrevocable to me, His daughter

The boundary line of sovereignty is eternal.

All the security I could possibly need is contained in the unfailing love of God

It does not help for me to pretend or deny that I am living a strange existence where relationships are slotted into bubbles or distancing.  I make space for the challenges, painful decisions and ensuing ramifications of the present.  But there is also a spiritual realm so other-worldly which can make this earthly struggle pale in comparison—if I choose to live in the Hesed of God. 

For the foreseeable future, the core way in which I live out life is going to be s t r e t c h e d.  Ingrid would urge me to see this as a "grace of God."  It's a grace of God that my "kingdom" of control and order is in  crisis.  That I am feeling this churning within is actually a good and yes necessary storm.  God longs for me to be free but freedom only comes from surrendering that which I hold on to with an iron grip.   

So I move forward with open hands, trusting Him to take hold and lead me.

Happy 25th Birthday My Girl!!!

My Ashley....I love you to the moon and back!

I'm not sure how this happened and yes I realize that EVERY parent has voiced these words and yet I suppose it is a result of the "tides" of parenting.  Most days the tide is out and the water "relatively" calm as your child goes through that process known as growing up.  One day blends into the next and while you notice changes, there is a level of normalcy to it.  Babies grow into toddlers and toddlers into preschoolers and preschoolers into public school, etc. 

But then one day, seemingly out of the blue, a milestone comes along and the tide comes in and crashes over you, leaving you sopping wet and thoroughly gob-smacked!!  You allow the water to settle and absorb the shock while you methodically do the math that if I am 55, it is highly probable that I have a daughter who is 25.  (especially given my son is going on 28!) You flip through the movie reel of her life, remembering the OB calling out, "It's a girl!" and all the ensuing chapters of friends and school and first job and leaving the nest and boyfriends, and trekking cross country.  You pause at "moments" which were painful, joyous, exciting, confusing and know that nothing in life is ever wasted.  Nothing. 

And you give thanks.  Deep, heart-wrapped, joyous, blessed thankfulness for this beautiful young woman who graced your life 25 years ago today.

Her Last Six Days

I wrote the following several weeks ago--

"I sat in Mom's chair yesterday.  Dad is gone on a fishing trip and so I am stopping in every other day to pick up mail and check on plants, etc.  I wonder if I'm having a taste of what it's like for my Dad to be there when she is not.  I'm aware of how loud the quiet is, how still it all feels without her.  And yet how very present she is to me.

From the vantage point of her chair it struck me!  This was her view the last six days of her life.  What I could see with my own eyes was all that remained of her world.  This beautiful home which she and Dad had created less than a year previous was her only landscape. The kitchen and living area, dining, the entrance, all staring back at her.
What was it like to watch this realm called earth fade from view?
Did turquoise pale in comparison to those early days of decorating excitement?

Did she close her eyes only to rest or to block out earthly things and allow heaven's beauty to come into view?
What did it feel like to no longer desire the smorgasbord of foods she once loved?
How does does one let go of all that once made life joyous, except that life's truest bliss was still to come?
Did she relive her life as on a screen, one episode at a time, until her season's finale was in view?
Did she have regrets or did Jesus simply take them from her hands so He could hold hers instead?
Did she know how much, oh yes, deep down, I think she knew how overwhelmingly she was loved!!  So many of us made precious space to tell her in her latter days.
Did she finally take it all in?

Did she know that Thursday that she was not leaving home but going home?
Did she say goodbye to my Dad that afternoon with a bright smile and "I love you" because this was the remembrance she wanted for him?
What vision did Jesus give her at 5 pm that afternoon?
What image or beckoning did He extend to make the final passage turn from dark to light?
What was it like to have life slow one breath at a time until there was no more?
Until new life and new breath and the light of the Son brought all things into focus.
How seeing in a glass dimly became face to face,
the knowing gloriously complete.

A Prayer of Desire

"Elohim, Creator God, 

El Elyon, God most high...

I am but a speck on this vast planet

yet created by You

for Your plans and purposes.

Seal my lips when I complain

that I am weak and frail,

timid and afraid.

Remind me You are the perfect designer and

I have been created to glorify You.

Tell me again of Your gracious gift of

salvation and redemption.

Instill in me that all my past

and all my present

is constantly being

redeemed.

Oh my I choose contentment in my circumstances

and

acceptance in Your design of me.

May I hear You sing over me

May I trust that weakness displays your power

May I believe that I give You pleasure

that You know my name,

that I am precious

and honored

and loved by You--

as I am.

May I trust that however long

or brief

this season of emotional toil is,

You
are

good

and have plans and purposes.

May I be comforted by the knowledge

that I am safe with You."

I Can't Swim!!

I was that girl.

You probably remember--the one who was always afraid to jump in the deep end of the swimming pool.  The one who cried when the instructor told her she was next in line to step off the diving board.  That was me.

Others had no fear and threw themselves with abandon into the cool, blue water.  I wanted to be that free; to be fearless, but I wasn't.  I'm still not.

The last few weeks have taken me back to my younger self and a gigantic swimming pool just waiting to swallow me up.

I was content.  I was emotionally stable and feeling very much alive and full in the midst of pandemic inflicted rules of isolation and restrictions.  Life for me was slow and simple and serene.  There was this spacious abundance that I was basking in.  And then our government leaders starting telling us we could start jumping in the deep end!  Never mind that for 2 1/2 months we were virtually forbidden to even dip our toes in the shallow end!  Forget the fact that you could not escape from the constant drone of  high pitched fear from any news feed available that if we jumped we were either going to drown or cause someone else to! That was sooooooo last week!!  Come on, don your bathing suit and jump in people!!!  It's time!!!!!!

Some individuals are exhilarated by the rush of the water over their heads.  It's what they've been pining after for months.  They've had their towel and trunks packed in the front seat along with the hand sanitizer, mask and gloves.  They're all in!!!!!

But I feel like that little girl again and when I jumped, I found myself way over my head, flailing and gasping for air--because I CAN'T SWIM!!!!!!!!!

So while many of you have been having the time of your lives(and I'm happy for you:you're a blessed group who live with little to no fear), I've been crying and praying my heart out trying to figure out some way to stay afloat.  Until that morning a few days ago when I could visualize Jesus jumping in to rescue me and carrying me to safety.  It was beautiful.

I'm all dried off now and my swim suit back in the drawer for a later date.  In the meantime I'm living in the book of Psalms.  It's where I feel most at home.  A good portion of the Psalms is not for the brave and strong.  It speaks to the weak, the fearful; the one whose emotions feel wildly out of control and yet still clings to the good Shepherd.  It's filled with countless records of a man named David who is said to be "a man after God's own heart".  And yet, he has a voice which cries out in fear and despair and trust and hope.  He laments and he celebrates.  He feels lost and alone and sheltered and held.  He protests in anguish and shouts in joy.  He makes horrible choices and follows the right path.  He complains bitterly and sings gratitude. I need to read of his own wild extremes to help make sense of my own.  I need to hear of the lovingkindness of His God, who is my God too, and know that I am safe and held and loved whether I can swim or not.

Guest Post

 


My Ethiopian son is getting in the shower after his shift at the local MCC Thrift Store. He is 15 and wading his way through the weeds of teenage years and prefrontal cortex limitations. He has the gift of mercy, happily buying pizza for a hungry man and helping out a fatherless friend who doesn’t have much cash. He is also making some not so great decisions as he decides what is permissible for him, and what he will reject. 


A few days ago, a man was murdered...treated unjustly because his skin was brown...just like my son. I don’t share the same colour of skin as our kids, as they came to call me mama through the gift of adoption. A black woman looked at our picture and said yes even though our skin was many shades paler. She saw love and family as we held our mixed race baby girl, rather than the ways we didn’t match. She obviously thought we could handle raising him...some days I’m not sure.

Especially when I see an older version of my son killed in front of witnesses by a man who is supposed to serve and protect. I’ve often wondered if black people look at me and doubt my white ability to parent black children. Admittedly, there are things I’ll never understand, no matter how hard I try. And these last few days have made me look within. It’s so easy to say I’m not racist and condemn the ones who so openly are when something this blunt and horrific happens. Then, when the stories posted on social media after the crime tell us what a great guy the victim was, somehow, the racism increases...as if racism is measured by virtues beyond race. And trust me...I’m heartbroken, horrified, shaken...AND I’m also convicted. 


Under the umbrella of racism is prejudice, and I’ve been guilty. I’ve called the 1-800 numbers and been annoyed to realize the call was answered in the middle east. I’ve struggled with “their” accent when I, in fact, also have one! I’m embarrassed to admit this, but also so grateful. One definition of prejudice is, “preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience.” In the last 18 months, I’ve grown leaps and bounds in my reason and actual experience. A job in global partnerships has broken down walls I didn’t even know I had built. I have developed friendships with beautiful humans in the middle east and learned the richness of listening harder to the words spoken through that, now beautiful, accent. I have learned cultural practices that are now an honour to honour, like kneeling before an older woman to show her respect and in return, being blessed by her. To respect the physical modesty shown by married couples in public and to humbly ask to be taught more. I have watched the man from the middle of Africa buy battery banks as surprise gifts for his wife and children because they are without hydro for hours everyday. I have been winked at by the Central American and he isn’t flirting with me! Do you know what the best sound is in any language made by any tongue? It’s laughter! Nothing reduces pride and prejudice better! 


But amidst the laughter, prejudice and racism still exist and my guess is it’s far more prevalent than we realize. Don’t think so? During the teachers labour dispute, my guess is you chose a side and voiced some opinions about ECE’s, teachers, unions and government. You have thoughts on who deserves COVID-19 premium pay, what businesses are essential, death counts and economics and, truth bomb...most of your thoughts aren’t based on reason or actual experience. University vs college, professional vs the trades. Is a farmer less valuable than a teacher or a lawyer more respectable than a mechanic? We sling stones at Trudeau, Ford and Trump with really no clue what it’s like to be in their shoes. Safe injection sites seem bizarre to me, but my friend Pam...who has a clue...tells me otherwise and I am reminded once again that my lack of information in an area should be directly connected to the amount of words I speak about said area. 


But when it comes to people and the color of their skin, I know this. We should only have the human race. A couple years ago I took my son to the bank to open an account. The teller asked me if I was his guardian? Why didn’t she speak to him and ask him who I was? Truth be told we walk streets with no fear, but my kids both like larger cities and I wonder if it’s because they are more diverse? For a couple days, I’ve had the quote, “BLACK LIVES MATTER” on my facebook and a few people have commented, “All lives matter.” As I read that comment, I thought to myself, “well obviously.” And then it hit me...obviously, it’s not obvious. This is why we have to say it. African Americans and Latinos are treated with deadly force far more often than White people, and authorities held less accountable. Just ask my blonde, dutch friend whose husband is olive skinned and dark haired which one of them gets through security quicker EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. THEY. FLY. 


But please, let’s be careful. How easy it is to pick a side and lump everyone together because of the actions of one. Be honest...how has your opinion of police officers been affected this past week? What about American’s? I have met police officers who are the epitome of public servants and others who are arrogant jerks on a power trip. Police officers have been wrongly accused by people who “think they know what they saw.” I remember a story told by a police chaplain. One day the chaplain got a phone call. A police officer responded to a call...a woman speeding the wrong way down a major highway. When he finally got her pulled over, she attacked him physically and verbally. No one smelled the drugs and alcohol. No one heard the words or felt the fists. They just saw a man restraining a woman. We form prejudiced opinions about race, sexism, class, religion, politics...even age.

Now...to complicate the matter even further. I’m a Christ follower...and one verse especially in my Bible demands attention this week. Micah 6:8, asks, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” To live this out, I must stand up against injustice and oppression without standing on top of the oppressor. Practically it means I will stand and weep at George Floyd's grave and then go visit Derek Chauvin (the police officer who held Floyd down) in prison when he is lonely. I must name wrongdoing while offering to show a better way. Justice, mercy and humility are tricky to balance and so I must remain close to Jesus and seek His wisdom and His opinions rather than my own so as not to tip the scale too far and have one of these traits slip out of the proverbial boat of humanity. 


Think about how boring a rainbow would be with only one colour, or sunset skies and flowers. Mountain peaks and rivers, forests and fields catch our attention because of their varied colour canvases. It’s time to see all the beauty that surrounds us and look deeply into those eyes and souls until we are moved with compassion, equality and justice. 


My childrens' lives depend on it...so do yours.

Written by my sister--Charmaine Stulp