A Heart Full of Holes

 

Five years ago on a beautiful March Day, my life changed forever when I walked into the heart failure and transplant clinic.  The name on the door startled me and I almost turned around to go back to work, but something was seriously wrong with me, and I needed answers.  A week earlier I had received a diagnosis of pulmonary hypertension and my heart was beginning to fail, the question of the day was why?  

For approximately three hours I underwent multiple diagnostic tests ending in a bubble study, an odd one which required an IV injection of agitated saline (to create bubbles), that would find its way into my heart.  A nurse was brought in to administer the IV and the previously chatty echocardiogram tech suddenly stopped talking as she intently concentrated on the sonogram screen. I wondered what she was looking at because I was quite sure my heart was IN.MY.THROAT. instead of my chest by that point.  After two saline injections, the right and left atria, aka the top 2 chambers of my heart, filled entirely with what looked like smoke. As it cleared, even my untrained eye could see what turned out to be a large hole between them.

 

                                                

A doctor was called, and in walked a heart transplant surgeon. I was so scared that I forgot I was half naked, and as a "never nude" that is saying something! (if you are a fan of Arrested Development you will get the reference. 😜) When he walked in my heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach in 0.2 seconds. How in the world did I find myself on that table, talking to him?  I was too young, just a few weeks shy of forty-seven! Why was he saying things like, "that's odd?", and "why would it do that?", when talking about MY heart?  He left to consult with the critical care pulmonologist, and I was allowed to get dressed and then escorted to an exam room.  The pulmonologist gently explained that I was born with a congenital heart defect. The good news was that I would NOT need the heart transplant surgeon, but I would need more tests to determine the size of the defect and why blood was shunting left to right.  I had NO idea what that meant but it sounded bad. My tears were abated by a deep state of shock, and I was released to go about the rest of my day.  

It was surreal. I had walked into that clinic with what was originally thought to be a lung disease and walked out with a diagnosed heart defect. As I walked outside to find my car, it did not take long for me to spiral into a panic, and I struggled to hold myself together. I called a friend, maybe my youngest brother; the details are fuzzy.  Soon enough I blamed myself for failing to maintain my health. I had tried, and had gone to so many doctors seeking help, but they blamed me and were uninterested in digging deeper. Most told me I was anxious and depressed. A few told me I had mild asthma. One hinted that I was a hypochondriac. One told me I was lazy.  After years of seeking help and being failed by the medical establishment, I started to believe that they were right.  I labeled myself as a fat, lazy, depressed hypochondriac.  And I became many of those things.

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Although it was a heavy thing to find out something was seriously wrong with my heart, the defect explained so much.  I found myself crying from relief that I WAS NOT crazy.  I was NOT a hypochondriac.  I was sick!  There was a cause and effect.  My heart had done the best it could until it simply could not do anymore and went on strike.  

Click on the links below to read some of my favorite blog posts about my experience: 

http://rustyglasses.blogspot.com/2018/04/365-days.html

http://rustyglasses.blogspot.com/2018/09/walking-away-from-miracle-forgetting-to.html

http://rustyglasses.blogspot.com/2020/04/waking-up.html

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Monday, April 4, 2022, marks five years since my surgery.  Inexplicably this anniversary is stirring up more emotions than I was anticipating. I thought this year would be like the others, but it is not. Yes, I am grateful to God for healing, rescue, mercy, GRACE upon GRACE - yet I am unsettled, tired, afraid, generally out of sorts. The past few years have been difficult.  Grieving and years of recovering from the damage the defect had on my body have been grueling.  Other heart holes have been revealed, just not physical in nature.  Most I have tried to fill myself, others I have ignored, and they have caused damage, but God in his mercy is "helping" me face a few of them now.  I would rather not, because heart surgery, whether physical, spiritual, or emotional involves a lot of recovery time. 

In this season of Lent, I am more aware than ever of my flaws and my failures. Growing and changing is challenging work and the process can be overwhelming, emotional, messy, and immensely difficult, but God still shows up for me in big ways and loves this flawed creation of his.  Oh, how I hope that this year will see me resting in him and increasing my faith as I allow him to love me deeper still.  

If you find yourself facing your own heart full of holes, just remember, new growth is possible and Easter is coming.

Engulfed

Ten years. As the anniversary approaches it feels raw and fresh. I close my eyes as the smoke rises in my memory. A deep breath later, and the acrid smell fills my senses so convincingly that I'm lost. Instantly confused, blinded by toxic smoke, stumbling in the inky blackness. Choking. Suffocating. Burning. Wondering if rescue will arrive before the grim reaper.  

I catch myself and come to my senses just before I start to fall. Heart racing. Terror pounding in my throat. Remembering. Trembling. Thanking God for rescue. Oxygen. Breath.  But still the feeling of being engulfed persists. It haunts. Teases. Tortures.

I have no idea how long I was in that stairwell. It had to be forever that I was suspended in time, falling slowly into the arms of a firefighter, but reality says it happened in seconds. Twenty more and I would not be here. Hard swallow.  

Engulf: so as to surround or cover completely...to overwhelm

The word "engulf" has a negative connotation in my mind. I think of all the times I was engulfed in terrible situations, stuck with no escape, desperate for rescue. Powerful feelings when combined with memories and flashbacks of terrifying things beyond my control completely overwhelm me.  

Yet God's grace is evident even in the severest of mercies. He never leaves me to fend for myself. Instead, he engulfs me with an abundance of beautiful things. Good things. Important things such as unending love. New mercies. Fathomless grace. Abundant hope. Infectious joy. Unearned kindness. Himself. 

 

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This year, instead of letting myself become engulfed in the fear and flashbacks, I am remembering the sweet mercies birthed in incredibly tragic situations.  I am celebrating. Waiting. Thriving. Abiding. Hopeful that God is not finished with me and is leading me to something sweeter than I can imagine. Who knows what I will be doing on day 3653? It's a safe bet that come rain or shine you will find me engulfed in the goodness of God. 

 "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine..."  Eph 3:20

  

Winging It

 

Recently, as I was working on my shoulder exercises during a PT visit, I was pretty excited, prematurely it turns out, that I was accomplishing the movement with minimal pain.  Then I did it again and surprise(!) my old friend pain kicked down the door I thought was deadbolted shut.  As I winced, my PT, Mike, quickly and patiently reached over and repositioned my shoulder.  Ugh, I was embarrassed that after seven months of work, I STILL had to be reminded how to hold my shoulder properly.  Duh, should have learned better by now, but as he always tells me, it's muscle memory. Apparently mine have a photographic memory when it comes to doing the wrong thing.

The thing is, for ten+ years I nursed damaged shoulders and severe nerve pain all related to degenerative disc disease in my neck. After neck surgery I had periodic steroid injections, but they only brought temporary relief.  The pain was worse on the left side, and I learned to cope by rolling my shoulder forward, literally winging my shoulder blade.  

Tearing my rotator cuff added insult to injury. For weeks, the pain was so intense that I couldn't get through a day without a steady supply of pain meds.  I finally had a sedated MRI, where the nurse almost killed me with too much medication (true story), but at least the tear was confirmed. A few weeks later, and three days after my mother died, I started PT.  It's safe to say I was a mess, with a capital M.E.S.S.  Mike noticed but was up to the challenge and has become one of the only health care practitioners who has actually helped me.  He is the reason PT has been and continues to be a positive, lifechanging experience. It has admittedly been a slow process because I also developed frozen shoulder and continued to reinjure myself with more falls, seven total in 2021. It has been a vicious cycle of winging it and reinjury over and over again.    

        Still, I continue to wing it because it FEELS better, not because it IS better.  

Thankfully, I am learning SO much about pain and physical health that, at the ripe old age of fifty-one, I am finally learning to listen to what my body is telling me.  Some pain is necessary and needs to be worked through to heal; some pain is detrimental and needs to be treated and relieved. The trick is learning to tell the difference. For example, it hurts to pull my shoulder back, to "unwing" it and work on mobilizing it, but it is necessary to reach my goal of unfreezing it and getting back my range of motion. However, acute, sharp, or throbbing pain needs tending. Sometimes with ice, sometimes with pain medicine, but it should always be addressed and not pushed or ignored. I now recognize that my efforts to avoid, ignore and/or protect myself from pain have caused more damage.  This past Monday was the first time that I didn't ignore treatable pain and asked for what I needed. It was sweet relief, and I was proud to see even a little progress, proving that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.   I am no longer my own worst enemy.

This journey is long and daunting, longer than this blog post!  It often frustrates me, especially when I look back and recognize that I only sought help because I had an obviously terrible injury. Sadly, I chose NOT to treat the nerve pain for a decade because I was not equipped to fight for myself. Years of being brushed off by doctors and physical therapists left me feeling like a whiny wimp, and I was raised not to whine. I grew a thick skin and honed a "suck it up buttercup" mantra, which did me no favors. Finding a skilled, compassionate, and attentive PT has caused me to do a lot of internal reflection and make a lot of positive changes. Things I have heard for ages are finally clicking for me, and I am changing for the better, hopefully permanently.  I no longer want to suck it up if the pain can be relieved.  Who knew going to PT would be so full of important life lessons?!

A few years ago I read "The Body Keeps the Score".  It was eye opening and one of the things that struck me was how emotional pain manifests itself in the body physically. There is an emotional component to physical healing, and a physical component to emotional healing often overlooked, at least in my life. I won't get into the details here, but I will say that as a child, I learned to cope with unspeakable things out of desperation and I sport the emotional and physical scars as a result.

For several years I have been attempting to learn healthier coping skills so that I can take care of my whole self.  It feels like I'm trying to climb Mt. Everest in a blizzard, okay maybe not that bad, but it feels insurmountable at times because I am a lot of work! I know I'm not alone. All of us experience triumphs and heartbreaks in this life.  We are shaped by good and not so good experiences. In our most acutely painful moments, we are required to do whatever is necessary to cope with the pain.  There is nothing wrong with that, it is necessary for survival.  But to thrive instead of simply survive, those old self-protective methods must be unlearned.  We must be braver than we ever imagined we could be.  We must persist and face the pain head on, sometimes pushing through it, and sometimes treating it, but always honoring it, learning from it, and moving forward.  

I refuse to be sidelined by ailments that others may dismiss either because they don't know me well, have not suffered the same, or because I hide them well, but I know what I have overcome and the miracle it is that I am still breathing. So, I will hold my head a little higher (partly because I CAN thanks to my PT), and I will continue to reflect on how physical and emotional healing intersect so I can grow into who God imagined me to be at my inception.  I hope the same for you.   

Catching My Breath

 

Photo by Daisa TJ from Pexels

Next week marks three months since I said goodbye to my daddy.  Sometime in the next seven to ten days I will sign the papers that finalize the sale of his home.  It was the only single-family home he and my mom ever owned and they were so proud of it.  Last night I stopped by to pick up a few remaining items and sort the mail that I still haven't forwarded.  Something in me needed to say goodbye to that space. As I found myself wandering inside the empty rooms, patio, backyard - all devoid of the laughter and love that filled them for almost thirty years, I remembered my mom's excitement at getting to paint and put up wallpaper.  I remembered my dad buying ALL THREE of his outdoor sheds so he could make and fix things. I laughed as I remembered the time we didn't have turkey for Thanksgiving because my dad almost blew up the house trying to fry it.  I remembered the sounds of my nieces and nephews playing in the backyard, spending many weekends being loved and spoiled.  I remembered the many years it took my nephews and my dad to construct a new fence. My mom's last words to me as she lay dying in her purple bedroom.  My dad responding to my voice before he took his last shallow breaths. I also remembered their excitement as they filled their home with laughter, family, mementos of their own childhoods, and memories for those of us who would outlive them.  

It was cathartic to remember good times and bad times, laughter and tears. As I walked in silence, tears streaming down my cheeks, I let go of the hard things and envisioned each room filled with their presence. Then I found myself talking to them, asking forgiveness for my failures, thanking them for their sacrifices, telling them how much I miss them and how proud I was/am to be their daughter.  It was a special time in their space, and it brought a measure of peace to my heart.

Grieving is an exercise in reflection. It can be depressing and it can be joyful, or both at the same time. No matter what though, it is crucial that it be honored and indulged.   It is okay to grieve.  It is okay to feel sad and not try to spin it to fit the constructs of other people's comfort with how you do it. As I watched Andrew Garfield talk about the recent death of his mother, I found myself enthusiastically nodding when he said, "I love talking about it by the way, so if I cry, it's only a beautiful thing.  This is all the unexpressed love.  The grief that will remain with us until we pass because we never get enough time with each other...so I hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that I didn't get to tell her."  

So now I find myself reflecting on the past decade and wondering how in the H.E. double-hockey sticks I survived. Finally recognizing that I really NEED and have earned at least a minute to catch my breath and care for myself now without apology. 👏👏 Finding myself at a crossroad. Wide-eyed, curious, tired, hopeful. At times certain I will be swallowed whole and forget to breathe, and then blissfully dreaming again and proudly owning the strength and determination that keep me moving forward, albeit with a limp. 

So, forgive me if I take a step back to spend time with and care for myself.  Forgive me if I decline sincerely made offers that I WILL accept someday soon.  Forgive me if I withdraw to a quiet, safe space with no demands because this world is hard to navigate. Surviving is hard. Watching others survive is hard. Living in this broken mess is hard. Breathing and exhaling is hard. Life, death, and everything in between is hard. Pain. Loss. Grief. Doubt. Fear. But there is good that beckons from the Father. Love. Joy. Peace. Grace. Mercy. Hope. Beauty.  Life can be as horrible as it is thrilling, and as painful as it is amazing. You can find peace in the middle of chaos.  Faith in the pit of doubt.  Hope in the moments of despair.  Beauty in the ashes of what was. You need only to train your eye to look for it, and your ears to listen to the sweet whispers of the Holy Spirt. Don't ever give up but DO give yourself time. Give yourself freedom. Give yourself permission to go catch your breath if you need to and be proud that you are still needed in this world.  

From Is to Was

The Ryder Cup is being played this weekend.  Something my parents and I have watched together for ages.  My dad was really excited about watching it this year, but he just missed it.  So far, I can't find the courage to turn it on and watch it this time because he was supposed to be eating popcorn and watching it with me.  I'll probably feel the same about the World Series.  Those were things we were both looking forward to watching together.  It's hard to separate them from him, or even my mom who really enjoyed both events.

In some ways my family's grief was expected.  Even before my dad was exposed to and so suddenly taken from us by COVID, I had texted my brothers to call or visit soon.  I could see that he did not have much longer. It was getting harder to care for him, even for my strong nephews who could get him out of bed easier than I could.  To be sure, we all knew that death would be the end of our caregiving roles, but it was still a shock when he died.  He was supposed to be here for a few more months.  I had planned to spend as much time as possible with him.  To laugh, and watch stupid Westerns, and to let him eat whatever his heart desired.  Patty Melt? No problem.  Biscuits and Gravy?  You've got it.  Cinnamon rolls?  Absolutely.  Tacos?  How many??  Ice cream?  You bet.  I enjoyed spoiling him and trying to ease his own grief over losing my mom.

Grief hits people in different ways whether it is expected or not.  I don't know about you, but for me one of the hardest parts of grieving is the shift from "is" to "was".  The mind shift from present to past tense is a humdinger.  I find myself forgetting that both are gone. I think of them in the present tense. Surely this is just a bad dream.  To be orphaned and all alone after so many years together and to lose them both just four months apart is grief upon grief.  I mourn them separately, and together, and then separately again.  Instantly all their failures are forgiven.  Their annoying habits endearing.  Repeated stories that used to drive me mad are now soothing.  Their goofy, quirky personality traits are now my absolute favorites, and I wonder why I didn't appreciate them more in the here and now, instead of waiting until they became mere memories.

Loss of those we love cannot be reversed.  It is final.  The days go on; our lives continue; we bravely put one foot in front of the other, but everything is different forever.  And gosh there is a lot of loss going around.  Whether near or far it is an overload to our senses. Surreal. Endless. Senseless. And so very human.  

As a Christian I believe that there is hope of a reunion in heaven someday.  I believe that my parents are in the presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, holding hands in perfectly restored bodies.  There is no doubt in my heart or soul.  But even though I rejoice for them, the sucker punch of missing them nearly knocks me to the ground every morning.  They are not here, and I know I will always miss them.  I love you mom and dad.  Until we meet again!

Heavenly Bling

Almost seven years ago my dad had his first stroke and not long after my parents asked me for help. They were afraid of ending up in a nursing home and wanted me to ensure they could live at home until they met Jesus. It was a big ask. By their request I became the executor of their will and assumed responsibility for their finances and health care. In the early days that involved going to almost all of their medical appointments, cooking, and spending a lot more time with them. As they declined their needs grew exponentially. There were lots of falls and health crises that required regular hospital stays. As time went by, I purchased the ambulance "Passport Plan" for the ridiculous number of ambulance rides (it seriously saved them hundreds of $$$ each year!) and greeted the hospital staff like old friends. BONUS! I learned to "enjoy" the hospital cafeterias. By the time 2017 rolled around their needs ramped up and my own health dramatically plummeted. 

In March of 2017, as my dad was in the ER yet again, I was reeling from my own diagnosis of Pulmonary Hypertension the day before.  In a deep state of shock, I dutifully went to the hospital and tried to help my parents and meet with doctors, while literally struggling to breathe. My brother took over and I went out to dinner with two of my besties because I could not handle anything else that day.    

There was no way for me to know what was to come the next week, when after a battery of tests, the Pulmonologist, yes, a lung doctor, diagnosed a heart defect that a cardiologist had missed for years.  A new cardiologist confirmed that I was in the early stages of heart failure, the root cause of the Pulmonary Hypertension.  And then the hammer struck a viscous blow: my parents revealed that they learned of my heart defect when I was a baby and chose not to treat it.  I nearly crumbled.  It felt like a terrible betrayal on top of some other pretty big failures when I was a vulnerable child.

Let me be very clear, at that point I did NOT want to help them, I did NOT want to be nice.  I did NOT want people to have sympathy for them. I wanted to be snarky.  I wanted to punish them.  I was angry, trapped, wounded.  But they really did need help, and there were no other viable options, not to mention I loved them.  My nephews began helping three and a half years ago. My brothers have pitched in. Many friends have brought food and shown up offering countless prayers and unofficial counseling sessions.  Yet the responsibility has remained squarely on my shoulders.  And through it all, people repeatedly tell me that I am earning jewels for my heavenly crown.

Growing up I heard many church teachings about Christians receiving crowns when they get to heaven, up to five different crowns to be exact. All awarded after the final judgment. And for those overachievers who were really good on earth, well they could earn extra jewels for their crowns. So, theoretically in heaven there will be gobs of people (well, at least 144,000) walking (floating?) the streets of gold, wearing a crown, or five, as they go about their heavenly business. And all the rest of us will immediately know who was the cream of the crop, the best of the best, those "Mother Teresa" super-servants, because they will have extra bling for their crowns.  And who knows, maybe it's even true (😕doubtful.)  But it just doesn't make sense to me.  Serving Jesus is not a competition to see who gets a better reward or bigger mansion inside the pearly gates.

Oh, to be sure, I have been dazzled by big sparkly crowns. Yes, I rode that weird walkway thing at the Tower of London to view the famous "Crown Jewels".  They were certainly pretty, HUGE, and very flashy.  It was so fun to repeatedly (I had to do it multiple times to get a good view!) glide by on a moving walkway to see them behind all of that bulletproof, alarm-censored glass. Gorgeous indeed, but in all honesty, they do not appeal to me, okay, maybe one, or two...  

The state of my heart is rather self-centered. I wonder if circumstances had been different would I have helped my parents so much? Would I have really forgiven them if I had not come to know them differently because I cared for them? Would I have really sacrificed so much of my own wants and needs if they had enough money to pay for 24-hour care? Or if they could have moved to an Assisted Living Facility that was better than the Medicaid options? There is not much evidence to suggest that I would have done much if I did not have to. And what little I have done for them or others is not motivated by eternal rewards.  The only crown I am worthy of is covered in thorns, and because of immeasurable grace and mercy, Jesus, wore it in my place. 

As I sit here gazing at my bedridden dad, I am keenly aware of how rich I am now.  My heart has softened from years of sacrificing for him and my mom. I no longer feel anger, resentment, or betrayal. I recognize the redemption borne of serving them. It no longer bothers me that there is no monetary inheritance coming, it is enough to have my dad grab my hand, kiss it, tell me I'm a good girl, and that he loves me very, very much.  (I always cry when he does that.)  It was enough to have my mom's final words to me be the very thing I needed to finally hear and believe about our relationship.  

What I have gained from these last seven years is far more precious than jewels, that while flashy, offer no human connection, touch, laughter. They cannot tell me how much I am loved. The here and now has given me memories, precious moments, healing, growth, deepened faith. The opportunity to give and receive forgiveness, grace, mercy. And to sacrifice for my parents to honor the sacrifice made more me.  Loving and caring for them as they loved and cared for me, mistakes and all on both of our parts is the real reward.

If there is a crown for me, it will likely look like this one.  Full of rust, devoid of jewels.  Perfect for me.  

Looking for Peace in All the Wrong Places - Advent Week 4

Advent Week Four in Review 

For some reason, writing about peace is hard for me of late.  Maybe because it is difficult to articulate when the world we inhabit is groaning.  2020 has repeatedly kicked us when we were down.  I don't know about you, but it literally brought me to my knees in desperate prayers to the God of all peace.  There have been a lot of "why" questions; anxious moments full of doubt; anger at the selfishness sprouting in my own heart; and overall fatigue at the never-ending beatings this world has dealt us.  Knowing that it isn't over yet AND is unlikely to improve at the stroke of midnight on January 1, 2021 deflates me.

Peace means different things to different people.  What does it mean to you?  Is it a time of quiet and tranquility?  The absence of disturbance?  Perhaps harmony without war or conflict?  Likely you have experienced moments of peace throughout your lifetime.  We all have.   Most of us can remember peaceful times free of conflict and full of harmony with others.  Or the glimpses of freedom found while enjoying nature, relaxing on a beach, hiking, looking and listening to God's creation as it offers praise to the Almighty. Those things are all AMAZING.  But sadly, they are only temporary manifestations of the divine inner peace we seek and will fade at the spark of disagreement or reentry into reality.   We are left empty-handed from looking for divine inner peace in all the wrong places.

So, if we tend to get lost along the way, where can lasting peace be found?  There is no Utopia.  Wars will continue to rage, and people will continue to suffer and die.  Marriages will crack and families crumble.  Addictions may poison and destroy us.  Dogged pursuit of our unmet desires will consume us if we are not careful.   Viruses will still ravage nations and destroy the living.  And people will fail us and break our hearts. Is there really peace to be found when we are in dire straits? 

Yes!  It is found in the Prince of Peace born so long ago.  The same tiny baby who slept peacefully swaddled in rags, with a full belly, clean bottom, and his mama nearby.   The one whose birth we celebrated a few days ago.  The one who grew into the very Messiah who loved us enough to conquer death and rescue us from ourselves.  The one who bridged the divide between heaven and earth.  

Make no mistake, peace is not resigned acceptance of our fate or ignoring the pain and turmoil in our lives or the lives of others.  It does not mean denying the plight of those less fortunate.  And it certainly is not a life lived apart from harsh realities.  Neither is it always free of conflict.  Sometimes the conflict is necessary and spurs us to grow and change so we can find it, finally.

Divine peace is found only in the presence of God.  It comes when we know him so well, trust him so completely, listen to his still, small voice so keenly, and recognize that we are most fully ourselves when we are completely known and loved by him.  It is an inward reality of deep faith.  It honors the pain and suffering inflicted on us by a cruel world, and sustains us THROUGH it instead of letting it destroy us.   

Peace is a gift.  

"Peace I leave you, my peace I give to you.  Not as the world gives.  Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid."  John 14:27

Skipping Lambs - Advent Week 3 Joy

          Advent Week Three in Review

Have you ever seen a lamb skip?  If not, you should drop everything and watch some videos posthaste. Trust me when I tell you it will be the most DELIGHTFUL diversion from all that is 2020, and unless you are heartless, it will make you laugh out loud, giggle, squeal, and feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  Go Google it now, I'll wait.  

Adorable, right?  The epitome of joy!  I looked up photos labeled as "joy”, and do you know almost all of them were of people leaping with raised hands and irrepressible smiles?  Why do depictions of joy usually include skipping, jumping, leaping, arms up, etc.?  What is it that drives us to break free from societal constraints and leap into the freedom of joy?                 

The pursuit of joy is shared by all people, in all cultures, within all faiths and belief systems.  We find glimpses of joy when we see a baby delight in finding his or her toes; when someone dances with abandon; when we taste our first piece of chocolate, or sip of Dr. Pepper.  😃 

Maybe it's just me, but I think we often mistake happiness for joy, and pursue it because it instantly satisfies.  For Christians, the promise of joy is so much more than a momentary feeling that we chase around in frantic circles, like an addict in search of the next hit.  It is not an emotion triggered by temporary pleasures, but a state of being attained exclusively in the presence of God.  Joy is soul deep when focused on the God of our salvation.  It stays with us through thick and thin.  It gives us strength (Nehemiah 8:10).  It gives us direction by putting us onto the path to God's presence.  (Acts 2:28).  It is the second fruit of the Spirit, (Galatians 5:22) sandwiched between love (last week's Advent focus) and peace (next week's Advent focus.)  Can you imagine one without the other?   Love is found in the person of Jesus, leading to joy, which brings peace.  

In this season of anticipation of the birth of our Savior, I think back to the first one who leaped for joy at the coming of the divine babe.   Luke 1:41-44 tells the story of his cousin, John the Baptist, who while still in Elizabeth's belly leaped for joy when he heard Mary's greeting.  He leaped when he was in the presence of divinity.  He leaped when he recognized that Jesus was near, the very King who was growing in Mary's tummy.   

Today was spent with my aging parents.  My mother is declining more rapidly of late and is frequently talking about death and wanting to be with Jesus.  She told me that Jesus had spoken to her today and her face was glowing as she spoke.  When she gets agitated, talking about Jesus not only calms her down but brings her back to the present.  There is joy in his presence and I guarantee you she would leap and dance and sing loudly if she could!  

A few weeks ago, I enJOYed my favorite concert with an EXCEEDINGLY small, socially distanced group.  Watching some of my favorite musicians usher us into the full story of Christmas from Genesis through the birth of Jesus brought me joy. There is something special about corporate worship, it must be a precursor to heaven.  All the musicians at that concert were insanely talented, but this year one of them caught my eye.  He was so obviously enjoying everything, even songs he had not played until a day or two prior because the regular player was quarantined at the last minute.  You would think he would have been focused on playing the chords perfectly, singing at the right time, etc.  Maybe inside he was, but you wouldn't know it by the way he played, laughed, sang, and LEAPED around on stage.  I could not stop watching because his joy was contagious, in the only way ANYONE wants to be contagious right now!  

This year we have all had to look harder for true joy.  The things that used to masquerade as joy have been stripped away.  Can any of us really binge watch more Netflix?  Or indulge in more takeout?  There is nothing inately wrong with those things, but they have proven to be lacking.  In a year like this I can tell you that there IS sheep-skipping joy out there; it is found in the presence of God.  If you haven't found it yet, dig a little deeper and ask God to lead you into the fullness of joy found only in HIM.  You don't have to leap around life if  you find it, but you may find yourself wanting to because it is the MOST beautiful discovery, and once you find it you don't really care what anyone thinks!

 

 

What Kind of Love is This? Advent Week 2

                        Advent Week Two in Review

                    Love is patient. (endless)

Love is kind. (generous)

Love does not envy or boast. (genuine)

Love is not arrogant. (humble)

Love is not rude. (understanding)

Love does not insist on its own way. (selfless)

Love is not irritable. (compassionate)

Love is not resentful. (forgives)

Love does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. (honest)

Love bears all things. (perseveres)

Love hopes all things.  (believes)

Love endures all things.  (present)

Love never fails.  (fearless)

What kind of love IS this???  

It is otherworldly.  Borne of sacrifice, and mercy, and grace.  The kind of love we should strive for, to be sure, but also the kind we are incapable of without help.  After failing spectacularly time after time, I learned to read this passage as the way GOD loves THROUGH us.  

The same God who decided so long ago that it was time to send redemption in flesh and blood.  To dwell among his beloved creation.  To mingle, laugh, enjoy, cry, hug, heal, and teach us.  He chose to suffer, die, and descend into the pit of hell for us.  His victory over death, confirmed with a miraculous resurrection and appearances to doubters, proved his divinity.   After ascending to heaven, he sent the third part of the Trinity to help us.  He saved us from ourselves and modeled unconditional love.

This week, although I failed miserably, I witnessed love on display.  One of my besties lost her mother, but God loved THROUGH her as she held her mama's hand until her dying breath.  My friend bore the pain of watching her mom pass into glory because she LOVED her more than her own comfort or fear.  Sometimes love means saying goodbye.

Another friend is remembering the stress of caring for her ailing husband this time last year.  She has struggled to get through this year without him and memories and grief threaten to swallow her whole.  But she LOVES the son he left behind fiercely and will bear whatever she must to ensure he can grow through the pain of losing his father.  Sometimes love means leading by example.

My mom had a fall this week and my nephews and brother went to the house to help her up off the floor and into bed.  They sacrificed their bedtime to drive to her house late at night, help her up, check her for injuries, wait for me to get information from hospice, and tuck her into bed before leaving.  And the MINUTE they pulled out of the driveway, she got right out of bed.  Sigh.  Sometimes love means sacrificing and enduring.  

Still others are in the middle of divorces, struggling to love teenagers, or surviving other emotionally difficult, draining and broken relationships.  In all things, loving responsibly is two-sided.  We must learn to love well AND forgive well.  Just like Jesus did/does for us.  Sometimes love means living with heartbreak.

Wherever you found yourself this week, whether succeeding or failing to love others, remember this

"Love covers a multitude of sins."  I Peter 4:8

Hope Deferred - Advent Week 1

 Advent Week One in Review

Photo by George Becker from Pexels

Advent has arrived, the much-anticipated tradition that signals something better is on the way.  Better than we can ever dream or imagine, and I don't know about you, but living in 2020 makes me desperate for better.  This week it became crystal clear that my hope had been misplaced in lies that posed as hope.  Identifying and digging them out was daunting and depressing, much harder and darker than I anticipated, and I'm pretty sure there is a lot more digging in my future.  Sigh.  Isn't hope supposed to make you happy instead of leaving you in a muddy puddle of discontent?  It took some time, deep personal reflection, and repentance, but the promise wooed me back to perfect peace: hope in Jesus.  It felt like a warm, GIANT bear hug.  Something this particular single woman is sorely lacking.   Dang pandemic.   

 

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs13:12-14

  

Hope is a big word.  There is a lot riding on it.  It can often be frustratingly illusive, but it springs eternal, so we keep on keeping on.  We desperately want to hope in something or someone.  Over and over, we misplace our hope in the expectation of things turning out the way we want, or the way we think GOD wants.  But 2020 laid bare all of our expectations.  Most of our desires have been crushed.  We have been left with deep wounds and defied at every turn, even the generations of privilege and nations of excess have felt it.  In a year like this it can be easier to place our hope in tangible things instead of Jesus.  He seems archaic and out of touch.  Dare I say that to some he even seems irrelevant.

Instead, we place our hope in politicians.  Jobs.  Relationships.  Money.  Churches.  And many other things that are mostly out of our control.  Sometimes our candidates win, and sometimes they lose.  And guess what, most of the ones who win STILL disappoint us.  Hope deferred.  

Jobs are not as secure as we thought and years of work may go up in flames with one misstep, or a pandemic that shifts the bottom line, and all of your labor is disregarded in an instant.  Businesses close, or restructure and the next thing you know the job disappears.  Hope Deferred.  

Relationships, no matter how healthy still have dysfunction that slaps us in the face.  We dutifully play our roles, and yet, misunderstandings abound.  The people we love most don't always bow to our expectations or love us like we want or need to be loved.  Hope Deferred.  

Money masquerades as security.  We strive to achieve the American Dream or buy our latest "need" (and I did PLENTY of that this week), but the euphoria of scoring a deal comes with a price tag.  We have to pay up and sometimes it is overwhelming.  We quickly learn that our security can crumble at any moment, we can lose jobs, overextend ourselves, and eventually become slaves to the thing we thought would free us.  Hope Deferred.  

Even our churches become fodder for gossip, and bitterness, and broken relationships because try as we may, we cannot function when our hope is in our faith leaders instead of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  When the fault lines appear and our humanity is most obvious, we draw lines in the sand and leave a trail of tears as we walk away.  Let me be the first to say that I am as guilty of this as anyone.  Hope Deferred.

 

Almost all of us have had to hard swallow these bitter pills.  I too have railed at God and tried to walk away from his mysterious force.  Sulked and whined and raged at the state of this world, and not just in 2020.  But the really beautiful thing in all of this reflection; this brutal look at the blackness living in my heart is that the deep dive into the Scriptures about hope show me that it is NOT deferred when it is placed in Jesus.  Because Jesus the immortal became Jesus in flesh and blood.  He inhabited the fragile body of a baby, the pre-pubescent skin and raging hormones of a teenage boy (for that he gets EXTRA points), the strong muscles and body of a young laborer doing hard workday in and day out. 

 

He came for us in the flesh THEN and he pursues us in the Spirit NOW.  That is the HOPE we all need.  That is the HOPE we are missing even if we don't know it.  That is the source or love, joy, peace and complete acceptance.  He loves us in our messes, our brilliance, our selfishness and our sacrifices, our loyalty, our betrayal, our panic, bitterness, joy and loneliness.  He just loves us.  As we were, as we are, and as we will be. 

 

I know it seems crazy; believe me I understand, but shockingly So.Does.God.  He is not offended or afraid of your hopelessness, questions, doubts, fears, or anger.  In fact, he will meet you in the middle of your own muddy puddle of discontent.  This season, whether you believe as I do or not, I pray that you make room for genuine hope.  It will bring you perfect peace.