Giving Hope

Beautiful days turned suddenly sodden are happening everywhere.  Tragic moments appear in the midst of the most calm.  No one is immune, no one is singled out, and no one knows why in the middle of perfect joy can come the bleakest moment that rips a hole in your heart.

You struggle for words of comfort, wise words of hope, even when you cannot come to grips with the insanity of the situation, the disappointment, the seeming unfairness.  How do you overcome the untenable, the hopelessness of not being in control, the gut-wrenching pain of ineffectiveness? 

Books by the dozens offer consolement, but who can adequately put themselves in a position they know not the depths of?  So at best we falter with empty words, trying at best to put an encouraging thought on a hurtful situation.  More often than not, we fail.

To be compassionate and to commiserate, you must know the alarm of fear and time-warp of senses when the proverbial rug is jerked out from under you.  You must recognize the stages of hope and grief, and the patience required of both.  Because the pit left when the rug leaves is...massive, devastating, real, leaving you prostrate and defeated.  And there are days when you feel you are in this pit alone, no matter the "noise" surrounding you.

Cliché phrases will not suffice, even when one knows the truth of them. I defer to an article more adequately and eloquently spoken:  We Do Not Lose Heart.  

Especially on my heart today are the children fighting hideous diseases and injuries through no fault of their own, their mothers and fathers who are anguishing over their pain and feeling helpless to overcome, and all the caregivers who must watch and work professionally even while their hearts must be breaking every moment. 

To friends and friend of friends facing the ravages of disease and the futility of the pit that comes with it, you are filling my heart and it overflows with prayers to the Father.  When words fail, the Spirit rescues:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  (Romans 8:26) 

This Joy

I know you, I see your tears and I know your pain.  Your hopes and aspirations are evident to me, as well as your worries and distress.  I see beyond the outward cloak of your mantle to the beauty of your inner being.  You are loved, you are respected, you are essential to my well-being because of the love we share and the dreams we dream, of the hope we have for our children and grandchildren.  

Your pain is my pain and your laughter echos within me.  There is joy abundant when in your midst, and our hearts sing together as one.  You are my friend, my confidant, my encouragement on the bleakest of days.  You are my sister in Christ and I am so blessed to call you Friend.

Thinking of my sisters this morning after a wonderful evening spent in fellowship and study.  No doubt God was in our midst!  I love you all!

Sleep...It's Not All That!

I love snow when it's falling.  I even love it after it sticks...as long as it's off the roads in a considerably short length of time.  Snow may be the best thing about winter...or the only thing.  Well, there's the bug kill-off, but I'm not certain if that actually happens.  Probably some attempt to make us feel better about freezing temps without snow.

Cold temps and short days make for excellent excuses to nap.  That is, unless you have a demanding job or family or if you find yourself in a persistent, chronic, irritable and totally dysfunctional sleeping pattern that has appeared out of the blue.  Memories of sleeping late on Saturday mornings are so faded, the possibility of them being real is in question.  But I YEARN to experience them again!  Apparently, sleep patterns change as we age.  Who knew?  And, yea!

Regularly fortified with Advil PM, the first hour of bedtime is more or less comfy and sleep is somewhere right under the surface line of daydream and wakefulness.  With one cat at my feet or curled next to my body, the second cat proceeds to tiptoe - yes, it can happen - between my hubby and me to stop between our pillows.  The purring is loud and I am bemused.  Until turning onto my side and finding within centimeters of my face a very furry head with whiskers....which is LAYING on my pillow!

Unable to sleep in one position long, the constant turning and repositioning seems to be annoying to the  felines - bless their hearts - and effort is made to disturb as little as possible and avoid stripping all the cover from my blissfully sleeping spouse.  Right.  Stretching out one leg to still the arthritic stabs announcing their rightful place, I am suddenly pushing against a brick wall...nope, it's the Sassy cat who has decided she cannot share a pillow with restless me and has looked for a roomier space.

Then there are the innumerable trips to the potty...I must stop drinking sweet tea at bedtime.  Each time, disentangling myself from the lounging animals, sitting on the edge of the bed looking sideways at the clock (never look directly for the disappointment of the early hour will produce in-som-ni-a), the cats think I am getting up to feed them and begin to meow.  Shushing them as quietly as possible, tip-toeing quickly across the tile floor (cold!), keeping the eyes closed as tightly as is safe, the errand is finished and I am once again in the bed...with the sleeping husband and two cats who take as much time getting comfortable again as me.

This routine goes on through the night until exhausted, I relinquish the bed for a walk through the house and a cup of coffee.  I have gone from a sleepy head you had to drag out of bed to an aging lady very familiar with four o'clock mornings watching the dark turn into light.  Amazed that my life could span such extremes, I am reflective, valuing my time and thankful to be alive, albeit a tad sleepy.  

I'm thinking the Lord knew I have wasted too much of my life in excessive sleep.  So, it's over.  Time to do and think and reflect and respond.  Time to experience pain which makes for more compassion for those who ache pain and misery, even of the mind.  To honor those of the golden years because of the graver appreciation of wear and tear, the slowing down of processes, both physical and mental.  To understand and commiserate with the woes of others.

As I regretfully yet forcefully  leave the comforts of my bed, I realize that the bodily discomforts of bad make way for good...as in more time to turn inwardly for assessment, evaluation of shortcomings and needful confessions, and perhaps an adjustment of attitude in acceptance of things out of my control.  I'm thinking the Lord knew I needed this...and I am thankful.

Letter to Santa?

The lights blaze outside my windows...of polar bears, deer, presents, lighted trees and Frosty, of course. The house is quiet except for the familiar words coming from It's a Wonderful Life on the television.  All the children and grandchildren are elsewhere with last minute celebrations before the big night, but my thoughts are with them during this wonderful celebration we call Christmas.

Peace reigns in my soul and the moment turns to wonderment of my numerous blessings.  Who can say why one who deserves the least is blessed with more.  

Grandson Caleb writes his letter to Santa asking him to pray every day.  He's seven.  He's blessed. He can teach us all something, can he not?

I read of a child whose cancer led to a liver transplant.  Her name is Gabbi.  Now, with complications following the transplant, our awesome God is being deluged with prayer requests to intervene, to provide the solution needed for this child, to grant this miracle so desperately wanted and needed...all the while acknowledging and accepting the supremacy of God and knowing His plan for all of us is far better than anything we could devise and trusting in His love and comfort.

This night of peace, reminding us of the birth of our Saviour, can be overcome with fear and anxiety when life intrudes, when the brightness of our lights dim with uncertainty and the inability to dictate the terms of our lives.

I cry with the beauty of my peace because I cannot share it with those who grieve or live with distress this night.  I can only offer my prayers to the one who can give the comfort and peace each soul craves.   

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. ~ Psalm 18:2

Ornament of My Life

My Christmas tree is loaded with a variety of ornaments, some new and some old, some silly and some works of art.  It is a hodge-podge mixture that pleases me because it is familiar and comfortable.  Gazing at the ornaments brings memories, feelings...emotions.

Christmas can be the most joyful or most depressing holiday.  Joy can be riding high but brought low immediately by a change in circumstances - two grandchildren having RSV means that family will be absent for our family gathering!  - Reading a story or watching a video brings tears...but of happiness.  The mood that follows is influenced by the emotions cruising through the body and mind.  

Whatever emotion is prevalent today dictates the manner in which other people are addressed, listened to or tolerated.  Pain brings on its own set of emotions demanding tremendous effort to overcome.

Emotions rule...don't they?  If everything we think, touch or feel is affected by our emotions, the outcome is directly related to some particular need of my soul that very hour.  Perhaps the trick is to identify the emotional source and separate it from actual happenings in life. 

Emotions are likened to fuels.  Producing the right response to someone hurting or in need is appropriate and welcomed.  Emotional outbursts of indignation or temper suggest an unhealthy fixation on one's self and satisfying the constant urging of self-pleasure and self-interests...all to the exclusion of other people and things.  

Emotions can dim judgment, skew factual consideration and crowd out healthier thoughts.  Emotions should fuel our lives, not steer it!

The Christian is one who bases his whole confidence in God and His work of grace, then the emotions 

become the beautiful ornament of the life, not the source of it. ~ Oswald Chambers

Today, my tree of ornaments and hopefully, every facet of my life is ruled by the light of this world.  I can see, feel, touch, think nothing without God's influence because my confidence, my trust, my purpose lies with Him.  

Not all the ornaments on my tree represent growth or maturity.  But when I choose to look upon them through the grace of God, I see them differently and my emotion is always joy!

May Your Day Be Full of Thorns

With Thanksgiving Day coming up, I'd like to share a story with you.  Please pass it along to someone you know can benefit from the message.

Thanksgiving Roses

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her Birkenstocks when she pulled open the florist shop door, against a November gust of wind.

Her life had been as sweet as a spring breeze and then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a "minor" automobile accident stole her joy. This was Thanksgiving week and the time she should have delivered their infant son. She grieved over their loss. Troubles had multiplied. Her husband's company "threatened" to transfer his job to a new location. Her sister had called to say that she could not come for her long awaited holiday visit. THEN! Sandra's friend suggested that Sandra's grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer.

"She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder. "Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?" she wondered. "For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life, but took her child's?"

"Good afternoon, can I help you?" Sandra was startled by the approach of the shop clerk.

"I....I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra. "For Thanksgiving? Do you want the beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the 'Thanksgiving Special'? I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving?" "Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you."

Then the bell on the door rang, and the clerk greeted the new customer, "Hi, Barbara...let me get your order."

She excused herself and walked back to a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and what appeared to be long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers. "Do you want these in a box?" asked the clerk. Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers? She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again." She said, as she gently tapped her chest. Sandra stammered, "Ahh, that lady just left with, uh....she left with no flowers!" "That's right, said the clerk. "I cut off the flowers. That's the 'Special'. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet." "Oh, come on! You can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that!" exclaimed Sandra. "Barbara came into the shop three years ago, feeling much as you do, today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had just lost her father to cancer; the family business was failing; her son had gotten into drugs; and she was facing major surgery." "That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk. "For the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too much debt to allow any travel." "So what did you do?" asked Sandra.

"I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for the good things in my life and I NEVER questioned Him why those GOOD things happened to me, but when the bad stuff hit, I cried out, "WHY? WHY Me?!" It took time for me to learn that the dark times are important to our faith! I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of my life but it took the thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort! You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted and from His consolation we learn to comfort others."

Sandra sucked in her breath, as she thought about the thought that her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is, I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God." Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" the clerk greeted the balding, rotund man. "My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement...twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.

"Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously. "Do you mind telling me why she wants a bouquet that looks like that?" "No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago, my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we trudged through problem after problem. The Lord rescued our marriage. Jenny, here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she had learned from "thorny" times. That was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks for what that problem taught us.

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!" "I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all too...fresh."

"Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that the thorns make the roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns." Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on her resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out. "I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute."

"Thank you. What do I owe you?" "Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first."

The card read: My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant."

Praise Him for the roses, thank Him for the thorns.

Who, Me???

Caught off guard, the chastising was a shock to my system.  The shock lasting through my exit, the ride home brought forth feelings of being vilified, unfairly heard, and then unfortunately, resentment.  Sleepless that night, the myriad of emotions flowing through the following day ran the gamut. 

You see, I wanted the true object of their dissatisfaction to step up and take the blame, to rescue me from this perceived blemish on myself, to return to my deserved elevation! 

Enter the deceiver:  telling me to withdraw...after proclaiming my self-righteous denial to these leaders by a copiously written email perhaps...but to remove myself from duties that I have loved so much.  Spiteful, revengeful thoughts which I knew to be at the very time they appeared but unable to stop the flow.

Retreating to my Kindle and hoping to immerse myself in reading instead, I opened to this page:

"The sobering reality is that proud, unbroken Christians have done far more damage to the church of Jesus Christ than any sinners outside the church could inflict."

Pride?  Again?  Did I let myself fall to pride's prey again?  In my want to protect my own image (hardly a humble position,  right?), did I miss the very heart of the gospel and God's grace?  Was it coincidence that I was already reading a book on Brokenness, Surrender, Holiness?  I think not.  Thanking the Lord for remembering me, for knowing my needs before I did, the tears fell and His Spirit flooded my entire body.  

When you think you have learned it all, you are reminded of how little you know.  When you think you have mastered a fault, new situations may give rise to an old sin.  When you think you are invincible, invaluable and mighty, you are reminded of how much you need and depend on the Savior.  That is brokenness!

"As wax or clay must be soft and pliable in order to be molded by the artist's hands, so the broken, contrite heart is easily molded by the hand of God and does not harden itself against the circumstances God chooses to mold it."

And,

"Broken men and women have nothing to protect and nothing to lose." 

You see, a broken and contrite heart has no room for pride, bitterness, rebellion and  self-righteous indignation!  Proverbs, James and 1 Peter tell us that God resists the proud but pours grace on the humble.  

"Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you." (James 4:10)

I thank the Lord for His faithfulness in exposing my weaknesses, for His mercy and forgiveness when I fail, and for His promises to lift me up when I fall.  I thank Him for the leadership in the church, and I pray blessings on each one and his family.  I thank Him for reminding me when I am not being a blessing to my church family and when my self-worth comes before His truths.  I thank Him for His Spirit that has become a mirror for my soul, showing always the right path to take, the right spirit to maintain. 

Are you a proud or broken person?  Sometimes, it's hard to recognize.  I'd love to talk with you about it. Drop me a comment or email me directly at ann.annieevans@gmail.com.  And thanks for dropping by!