Branches and Trees

Musings on Marriage

Page 15 of 22

Lecrae

Dear Daughters,

I love reading stories about people – especially autobiographies – because I believe that truth is stranger and often more interesting than fiction. Although you know I am a C S Lewis junkie, devoted to the Chronicles of Narnia, I almost equally love to read about other people’s real life adventures.

Anyway, I just finished Unashamed by Lecrae, a musician who happens to be a rapper.  I have long enjoyed his music and have always been curious about his story, which has been just recently published.  His memoir is vulnerable and honest.  Few people would be willing to open the pages of their lives to the public like he has.

Although many may see the life of Lecrae simply as a Boy in the Hood to riches story, it is mostly about confession and a desire to love better.  It’s his story about not fitting in anywhere –  not in the hood where he grew up, not around the gangstas in his family, not in college, and not even in the music industry.

Lecrae

Growing up without a daddy, sexually abused at age 6 by his babysitter, physically abused by his mom’s boyfriends, he grew up in a culture encouraging hardness and machismo.  So, of course, like anyone else with an experience of rejection, abandonment, insignificance and insecurity, he lived out what he had learned so well.  Abuse begets abuse, violence creates more violence.  He naturally became an instigator of many acts of anger and rage. Seeds were sown in him as a child and started bearing much fruit.

While in college, Lecrae faced the familiar frustrations of young adults who go away to a place with daring opportunities and like many others, abused his freedoms.  Hoping that because he was physically distanced from his childhood neighborhoods, his emotional past would be left behind as well.  But he soon learned that life’s early experiences don’t go away.  They are like wounds, and just like wounds not treated, they simply grow and fester.

At college he was befriended by various Christians, causing him to be intrigued by their peace and joy – something he had never experienced.   He invited Jesus into his life, but soon was caught back up again into the old life he had lived.  It was certainly not a happily ever after relationship with God.

What amazed him, though, was that those same Christians reached out to him even when he went back to his old addictions and self-destructive ways of living.

cross

Lecrae shines a light on the dark struggles of faith we’d rather keep hidden.  Tottering between the temptations and memories of his old life and the periodic peace he would feel from his newfound faith, there was always someone who would challenge him back to Jesus, continue to encourage him in spite of his anger and inability to change on his own.  For years, he continued slipping back into the mind-numbing drugs and alcohol he had depended on for so long.

Music, and specifically hip-hop, was obviously his gift – it had been the language of his entire life.  As a young man, he found comfort in writing and rapping – trying to make sense of all the mess in his life.  So he kept on rapping and writing with honesty, and little by little Lecrae experienced the grace of God. It was something he had heard about as a child from his Gramma (Big Momma), and finally found that it truly existed as God had promised, and it changed his heart completely.

Lecrae bravely started rapping about his failings, his struggles and his doubts.  Because of his honesty and exposing his dark side, his music attracts others with the same stories.  He gives people hope that their lives can be changed as well.  There is absolutely no one who is outside of Jesus’ incredible reach of grace.

Red (4)

Even though Lecrae is a well-known name in the rap world, he still doesn’t quite fit anyone’s mold.  He is now, just like he felt as a child:

An outsider.

A misfit.

An anomaly.

I think many of us, myself included, feel like an anomaly – human but distinct, not fitting in any specific mold, a follower of Christ but still not a cookie-cutter person.  I think that’s how God means us to be.  We are each unique, different skin color, different views, diverse backgrounds and cultures, different stories.  But we all have the same need in our heart – in need of respect and healing, knowing that we are beloved of God and yet still terribly broken.  As Lecrae recently said in a blog post:

Hang out with me long enough and I’ll let you down.

We are all at a different place on the continuum of life, and Lecrae’s story has reminded me to never ever write anyone off, as dark as their life may look at any particular point in time. God’s fingerprints cover all of our lives – our husband’s and children’s lives –  and just like snowflakes they are unique, creative and distinct in each of our stories.

snow-5

Before he goes on a concert stage he always gathers his team around to pray:

Father, allow us to use our gifts to paint an accurate picture of Your creativity and Your goodness tonight.  Help us to stay out of the way of Your will being done.  We want to play a role, but we don’t want to take the lead.  We are extras in Your movie, but not the star of this show.

May we be humble.

May we be grateful.

May we be unashamed.

Amen.

Sounds like a good prayer for all of us to pray.

I don’t claim to understand God’s grace, it makes absolutely no sense to the rational, scientific human mind, but I know it’s true.  Mostly because I have seen it at work in my life, Lecrae’s life, and yours.

Never give up and never let go of that priceless gift.

Love, Mom

 

 

 

 

 

Death is Not an Emergency

Dear Daughters,

It’s quiet in the house.

We buried Grandma on a snowy blustery day with 25 mph winds howling around us, trying to keep Grandpa warm with blankets and grandchildren shielding him.  When Dad, Grandpa and I pulled into the cemetery – late – the suburban carrying the casket had not yet arrived, icy roads slowing them down as well.

Grandma would have hated being out in that cold, she never walked outside if there was even the slightest breeze.  But now there was no need to have her slippers on, not even a blanket.   Her earth suit had been shed, just like a caterpillar slips out of its cocoon to become a butterfly.  Grandma was no longer laying in the coffin, not needing that worn out, nonfunctioning body, but celebrating and enjoying her new, perfect warm home.

The graveside service was short, ending with the singing of

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him all ye heavenly hosts

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.  Amen

 cemetery

Later that evening, my mind wandered back to the past few months when Grandma’s mind was fading so rapidly.  Toward the end, it was getting difficult, bizarre, unpredictable.

weathervane

When the mind is being eaten away by disease, life doesn’t make sense.  Sunlight, moonlight, every light of the day is confusion.  Mealtimes make no sense because there is no hunger.  She frequently asked to go home, asked where her husband was when he was sitting right next to her.  Grandma often called for help, yet when I came there was nothing I could do to comfort her – holding her hand, talking to her, singing, praying – still she moaned.

There were many days I wanted to run away, far far away and not come back until it was all over.  I had seen the geese flying south and longed to be carried on their backs, flying to warmer, more pleasant places.  I’ve always wanted to run away when life becomes hurtful and hard, when I can’t fix or change anything, and this time it was intensified.   There was only one reason I was able to stay here taking care of Grandma, and that because of a single verse in the Bible:

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.

 I would repeat that verse in my mind over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, week after week.  I felt some small part of Mother Teresa’s pain:

There is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead…I do not know how deeper will this trial go – how much pain and suffering it will bring to me.  This does not worry me anymore.   I leave this to Him as I leave everything else…Let Him do with me whatever He wants as He wants for as long as He wants if my darkness is light to some soul.

candle

Then when I thought I could not take one step more, Hospice came.  Yes, I had Dad’s help and other friends who helped, but still the bulk of the responsibility lay on me.

When Staci, the intake nurse, walked in the door – snow swirling around her – I could sense the compassion and the ray of light she brought to our home.  She treated Grandma with such care and respect, giving her a swab of water when I was unable to get even a sip into her mouth.  Staci was calm, professional, taking notes and contacting all the necessary people.  Then she stopped to comment,

Death is not an emergency.

 With that one sentence spoken, my body relaxed, I was able to breathe, drink up all the teaching and encouragement she gave and carry on.

A little after Staci left, Jean the RN came, teaching me how to administer morphine and other meds to give Grandma comfort so she could relax and lay and sleep.  No one was dismayed with Grandma’s behavior, they simply accepted her as she was, willing to walk the last days with us.

Then another knock on the door and Chaplain John was there with his guitar.  He came into the bedroom where Grandma lay, took out song sheets and a guitar and started boisterously singing Christmas carols.  There were several people in the room with us, so we sang in the midst of weary tears, Grandpa leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut as he mouthed the words by memory.

We sang hymns of comfort –  In the Garden, Be Thou My Vision, His Eye is On the Sparrow…  John’s presence was not one of sorrow but of joy, assurance and peace.

Death is not an emergency.

 Carolyn came to give Grandma a bath, treating her with respect, tenderness and dignity.  She slept soundly that night. The next day Jean was back again, monitoring Grandma’s vital signs, answering my various questions and teaching me more about how to give comfort in the midst of dying.

candle-2

That night you four daughters made a conference call, all of you living in different cities, and sang His Eye is on the Sparrow.  When one voice would falter, another would pick up the melody and continue on.  There were good-byes and I love you spoken all around.  Even though by that time Grandma was in a coma, she still responded ever so feebly to the singing.  I am sure she heard you and was blessed, as was I.

On the last day, there were people in the house coming to say good-bye, quietly, respectfully, helpfully.  We took turns singing, praying, holding her hand, whispering our farewells.

The last minutes before death are messy, holy and painful.  Yet when I was thinking later about those sacred moments I was reminded that the last few minutes before birth are the same – messy, holy, painful.  In a way, Grandma was being birthed into a new world, a better world.

Everything good in life is hard.

As Grandma took her last breath and her chest lay still for the first time in 84 years, I gave thanks amidst tears that she was now free of pain, free of a cloudy mind, and best of all – safe in the arms of Jesus – her Savior and her Lord.  Till we meet again…

Love, Mom

 

…and a time to die

Dear Daughters,

Last night I watched Grandma take her last breath, held her hand and said good-bye.

Throughout the evening various members of the family were taking turns sitting, singing and praying with Grandma.  It was obvious the end was near, the breathing becoming more shallow and fitful.   During the past four days we have had so many beautiful memorable moments with our friends, our flesh and blood family along with our new-found Hospice family.

As Grandpa said, What would we do without family?  That is a question I’m glad I won’t ever have to answer.

Mums (7)

Grandpa was the first person to come into the room after Grandma passed.  He had made the trip from the den to the bedroom, where she lay, countless times in the last few days.  He would come in, gently touch her and walk out again.

When I told him she was gone he sat down next to her and crumpled.  I have never seen Grandpa cry before but he sobbed, saying

It was too soon, It was too soon.  I was supposed to go first…

PopsnMums

When it comes to death we don’t have a choice.  Thankfully we have a loving Heavenly Father who knows what is best for us; His timing, His ordering of every detail is impeccable.

I was just thinking  tonight about the last words Grandma said to me before she fell into the final coma.  Those words were

Thank you.

Her life was a life of gratitude, and those words were uttered by her countless times each day after every little thing I did for her during the past two years.

Mums (2)

I thank God for her life, her legacy of music given to us as a family as well as countless sacrificing acts of love that she gave to everyone who came near.

Thank you, Mom, for your life.  Enjoy the beautiful music you are experiencing right now with a clear mind and a sound body.

I love you.

Love, Mom

The eternal God is our refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Deuteronomy 33:27 Mums (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bag of Rags

Dear Daughters,

My friend, Ann, always makes me laugh.  She is a storyteller extraordinaire, and somehow even sad stories end up funny when Ann is the narrator.

A few years ago in December, Ann prepared Christmas gifts for her and Ed’s employees, just as they do every Christmas.   She carefully placed each employee’s bonus and gift inside brown paper bags.  It is always Ed’s job to deliver the bags to the employees.  Strangely, after distributing all the bags, he had one leftover.  Ann knew she had the correct number of bags ready for Ed, so they were both wondering how he ended up with an extra gift bag.

So, Ed decided to call each employee personally and ask if he had received his Christmas gift. Yes, the first guy received his, and the next and the next.  Finally he called the last guy, and his response was “What did I ever do to offend you?”

Ed and Ann’s daughter worked in a beauty salon and periodically brought hair-dye stained rags home to her dad because he could always find a use for them in the barn.  Those rags were always brought home in a brown paper bag.   Apparently, he had picked up that bag of rags with all the others and …. well, you can figure out the rest of the story.

Ann and I laughed and laughed, but on the way home I got thinking about the bags of rags we give to each other at one time or another.

Wreath (2)

About ten years ago, you and your families were at our house for a Christmas celebration.  As our tradition has been for many years, every person has to hunt for one of their presents.  We are all given 10 clues and at the end of the search a gift is the reward.

Well, this particular year I successfully got to the end of my ten clues and for whatever reason, the gift spot was empty.  Immediately the words came into my mind:

Yep, this is always your life.  You try hard, work hard, but there will never be any prize for you….

I put on a happy face and tried to laugh about it but inside I was weeping, hurt and trying not to believe those ugly words in my head.  I knew the empty spot was not left deliberately that way, but it was still empty and the words ricocheted through my mind.

To be fair, this happened during a year I was going through menopause, rejection from people I loved, and a chronic illness.  But whatever your back story is, hurts – either perceived or actual – always hurt.

Snow (2)

We have all received rag bags of ugly, stained words from those we love, and we have all given bags of rags to those we love.

I have given many rag bags to Dad over the years– words said in anger, frustration and sometimes bitterness.  Bags like “You always forget my birthday” (yes, a few times he did) or “You have lists but you don’t ever do them” (he does much of what is on his lists but not always what I want him to do). Some of the rag bags I have given to Dad have been deliberate, others have been unintentional.

It goes both ways. Dad has given me bags of rags as well, but since this blog comes from my perspective and not his I will refrain from speaking about those.

Because we live in a fallen world, offense comes often and intense. We cannot predict or control which bags of rags we are given, but we are responsible for our reaction to them.

We can believe those thoughts and words that are spoken and creep into our mind – that we are worthless, unlovable and a failure, that all our efforts are useless and wasted,

Or

We can choose to believe that we are loved by God, a chosen, beautiful child of God.  When we fail, when we hurt, when we pray for better relationships we can believe that He is for us and not against us.  He is always working for our good.  We can forgive and move on in our lives, knowing that Jesus never allows anything in our lives that will not make us stronger and more like Him.

NativityScene

When Jesus came down to earth many centuries ago, He came directly into our bag of rags.  The world at that time was corrupt, brutal, dark, inhumane and heartless.  Interestingly, he didn’t start explaining the rags and why they were there, He simply came into it (Immanuel – God with us) and showed us a way out.  He presented a better way to live, the way of love even in the face of unjust tyrants and religious hypocrites.

When you are given a bag of rags, invite Jesus into it.  His specialty is making good come out of suffering, righting wrongs, making all things new, and above all –  teaching us to trust Him.  When we love freely, forgive abundantly, and give those bags of rags to Him, we will find joy, freedom and contentment.

The employee who received the bag of rags that Christmas still carries the offense around with him.  He hasn’t come to see it as an accident or even a humorous error from his employer.  Of course, his bag was replaced with the intended beautiful Christmas gift, but he still hangs on to the rags in his mind.

Remember, remember that you can always get rid of those bags of rags and trade them in for a good gift.

Love, Mom

AllIsWell (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a Friend….

Dear Daughters,

Grandma is declining.

There are people all over the world who are failing today, there were yesterday, and will be tomorrow.  Why does impending death not affect us unless it is someone we love, someone we have history with, someone who has deeply impacted our life?

The beautiful whistling that has been Grandma’s trademark for decades has now been replaced with moaning and groaning and cries of Oh Lord, help me, help me.  Several months ago, she was able to play piano for an hour or more at one sitting.  Today it was 5 minutes, then she needed a nap.

Mums Piano

A few weeks ago, she accused me of waking her in the middle of the night to have tea time, asking Grandpa if I woke him up as well.  She wanders around the house at 2 p.m. looking for her pajamas (which are hidden in my room so she doesn’t put them on mid-afternoon). She will often walk up to Grandpa and ask if he is her husband.  She claims that everything around her is crazy and confusing and oftentimes asks to go home when she sitting in the very house she has lived for 36 years.

Going home.

I wonder if she is looking to go to her heavenly home, the place where her mind will be sound, her new glorious body whole and strong, and she will laugh again as I remember and am reminded by the pictures dotting the hallway wall.

As Madeliene L’Engle reflects, we die many small deaths during our lives:

Our lives are a series of births and deaths: we die to one period and must be born to another.  We die to childhood and are born to adolescence; to our high school selves (and if we are fortunate) to our college selves; we die to our college selves and are born into the “real” world; to our unmarried selves and into our married.

When we have children, we die to ourselves as we give life to a totally new person.  When we as a family moved from place to place we had to die to one way of life and be born into another place and community.  When dad and I moved from Michigan to Idaho two years ago, it was yet another step in the dying to one way of life and being born into another.

There are other deaths over which we have some choice and freedom: we can choose the death of self-will, the death of self-indulgence, the death of self and the living for others.  It is through dying these lesser deaths that may make us more fully alive, not less.

Maybe if we practice these smaller deaths during our lifetime it will make the actual moment of our transition less difficult.  On the other hand, there is nothing that will make death easy.   Even though dying is natural and happens to everyone, it still stinks.

corn-4

 

yellow-12

Yesterday my friends Betty and Theresa came over to practice a trio we will be singing soon – the words of What a Friend We Have in Jesus to the tune of The Rose.

For the past few days I had been having a difficult time doing my work here, the emotions of the end-of-life care weighing heavily.   But singing those words with friends helped my spirit to soar, reminding me again about the necessity of giving my griefs to Jesus.  They are not mine to bear alone:

What a friend we have in Jesus,

All our sins and griefs to bear

What a privilege to carry

Everything to God in prayer

Oh, what peace we often forfeit

Oh, what needless pain we bear

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.

 I consciously talk to Jesus throughout the day, but sometimes I need people to help carry the load by singing with me, coming for lunch, stopping to chat, listening to stories – some funny, some sad, some frustrating.  Even though I have Dad to help with the work – staying behind while I go away, shopping,  listening to and encouraging me – I need more.  I need a community.

Thankfully, God has provided for us.   Yes, it is still lonely at times but we all have those times, the simple nature of being human.  I am grateful to you, my daughters, for your part in lending me your ears, your time, prayers and encouragement.

Givethanks

 

Dad brought Grandma into the living room yesterday while Betty, Theresa and I were practicing.  She sat quietly, her face expressionless throughout the entire song.  After we finished she shouted out Amen! the best applause we could have been given.

I admit in the past when friends of mine have shared with me the end-of-life stories of their parents, I had listened but not really understood what dying is all about.  Now, however, Jesus is graciously teaching me how to care, not only for Grandpa and Grandma, but to feel the pain of others going through similar times.

At night, I often tuck Grandma in bed and pray Psalm 23 over her.  After I finished the other night she asked,

What is your name?

I replied, Shari.

She said Thank you, Shari.

 Even though she doesn’t remember who I am, she is appreciative for all I do most of the time.  Sometimes, however, when I get her up to walk the hall a few times she calls me a slave driver – in jest I hope.  Just a few weeks ago, she was able to walk all the way down the lane and back.

We may have months, maybe less, with Grandma – no one knows.   In the meantime, Dad pointed out this verse to me the other day and it brings me comfort:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting,

For death is the destiny of every man;

The living should take this to heart.   Ecclesiastes 7:2

 It is good to keep eternity in the forefront of my mind.  I think it helps me live better today.

Love, Mom

Shepherd (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clod Picking and the Election

Dear Daughters,

A late summer job after my junior year in high school was titled Clod Picker.  As you might guess, I was involved with the potato harvest in Idaho.  The job went like this: A huge potato harvester was brought into the field of ripe potatoes.  On top of the harvester was a conveyer belt bringing up stones, dirt clods, sand and potatoes from the land beneath us.  My primary job was to discern which were potatoes and which weren’t and toss out the latter.  Difficult as it was to determine the difference between those objects, I must have caught on quickly because Mr. Hohnhorst kept me on for the entire harvest – great job security.

Rock (2)

Oddly enough, as I watch the election process in our country I am reminded of my summer job decades ago. I am saddened, not only by our choice of candidates but  the judgment and blame that is being tossed from side to side.

I have read many op-eds from all viewpoints and I lament that we Christians are sounding way too much like the world.

As I remember, Jesus never criticized or condemned Caesar Augustus, Herod, Pontius Pilate, or any other governing leaders of His time. I also don’t recollect any time when we as the church are instructed to go out and ridicule, debase, or mock our leaders.

Jesus never disparaged the barbaric Roman government in which He was under authority.  He never said, Those Romans, they are the most unjust, deplorable people ever.  There is racism, no respect for life, our taxes are out of control, in fact that older Herod even ran my family out of the country when I was a baby.  He wanted to kill me!   

Jesus knew He belonged to another kingdom and was under the authority of His Father the King.  He obediently prayed for wisdom and went about doing good as the Son of God.

Kari (15)

I wonder what this world would look like if instead of judging, slandering and dissecting every news clip, we prayed for those in authority over us as instructed in the letter to Timothy:

I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession, and thanksgiving be made for everyone –  for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.  1 Timothy 2:1-2

And also in the letter to Titus:

Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men. Titus 3:1-2

I am continually amazed at the hate, trash talk, and arrogance in many videos, FB posts and articles that abound.  It seems like we are bent on destroying each other, ripping apart and dividing our country from within.

And, of course, how does any country/business/church/family/marriage fall apart?  From within.  Bickering, slander, gossip, ridicule, distrust and judgment.

If you read the history of Rome, Russia, Israel, and any other country that has collapsed, you will find that  people became decadent, each person doing what was right in his own eyes, paying no attention to the law of the land, but only demanding their rights, not taking responsibility for themselves or others.

Whenever absolute truth (right and wrong) is lost, everyone becomes their own god, making up the rules as they go.  What feels good and makes me happy is the only barometer by which to measure living.

The natural end of such is anarchy, resulting in totalitarianism.  The masses of people are deemed unworthy of making good choices so there is chaos, which gives rise easily to a dictator to control people who are out of control.

Kari (14)

In the early primary stages of the Presidential election there were many fine men and women from which to choose on either ticket.  They were people of character, of honesty, simplicity and substance.  But here we are today, and many are mad.  Mad enough to not vote at all.

I am reminded of a quote by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr:

The real problem is that through our scientific genius we’ve made of the world a neighborhood, but through our moral and spiritual genius we’ve failed to make of it a brotherhood.Dounto

Now as Christians, if we are a part of another Kingdom – the Kingdom of Heaven – shouldn’t we behave differently than the ways of the kingdom of the United States of America?

I believe that Solomon, King of Israel back around 950 B.C., although a flawed human being just like all of us, had the wisdom of God revealed to him in a dream when He spoke the following:

If my people, who are called by my name, shall humble themselves and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and heal their land.       2 Chronicles 7:14

So, if we are truly followers of Jesus, the first thing we need to do is to humble ourselves. God will not humble us, He may bring about circumstances to help with that, but we need to deliberately humble ourselves under His authority.

Turn from our wicked ways.  I was quite offended when I first read that verse many years ago.  I thought, I’m not wicked, that’s those other people who are violent, murderers, drug dealers, child molesters…  How can a child of God be wicked?

Any 12-step program will require that you take an honest assessment about yourself.  So I read the list of things God is displeased with: haughty eyes, greed, gluttony, gossip, a lying tongue, slanderers….  I was guilty and saw many of those attributes in myself.

In fact, true religion, says James, is caring for the orphans and the widows, the outcast, the foreigner, the poor and forgotten.

Pray and seek the face of God.  That doesn’t just sound like good moral living, does it?  It means to continually pray for wisdom in our every word, action, and attitude.  There are people all around us who are lonely, discouraged, weak, hopeless and despairing.  If we are followers of Jesus, we are required to treat others with kindness, grace and respect.  In others, we see the face of God.

If we truly took our faith seriously, we would not have time to criticize, demonize, or judge those who do not think like or act like us.

The most amazing thing about this verse, though, is the ending.  It says if we do humble ourselves, confess our sins, turn from our wicked ways and seek God’s face,

He Will Heal Our Land.

OK, now I’m thinking you are saying sure, that is going to heal America?  Don’t we have other things we can do that will help more?

FB_IMG_1460910673675

Remember Gideon, the obscure weakling written about in the book of Judges? It certainly is not a well-known story, but amazing nonetheless.

As the story goes, an angel came to Gideon one night and said “Hail Mighty Warrior!”  Gideon looked around wondering who the angel was talking to, because he replied, Oh, I am from the weakest clan of Israel and I am the youngest in my family. 

God told him to get an army together to fight their enemies, the Midianites- who had been oppressing the Israelites for years.  Gideon turned up with 32,000 men.  The enemy armies numbered 135,000.

True to God’s character, he said Gideon’s army was too large and began to pare it down.  After sending away 22,000 men who were afraid and fearful, Gideon ended up with 10,000 to the enemies’ 135,000, so now they were outnumbered by only 13 to 1.

Again God said there were too many in the army, so he cut it back to 300.  Now that is a ratio of 1 to 450.  Impossible, I would think, to win a battle.  But when the battle started, God caused the Midianites to flee in confusion and destroy each other. Gideon’s army won – a completely unexpected outcome given the ratio between the armies.

That’s how our God does battle.

Kari (18)

Now, back to the clod-picking job.  My work was to hold on to the potatoes, not keep throwing the dirt and sand and rocks around at my fellow workers.  What I see is dirt, accusations, tweets, rocks, retweets, talking heads, videos, sand, and much else flying around.

Hold on to the good, do good, humble yourself, pray, turn from evil…..

Try to remember – We are in a wrestling match between good and evil.  But our struggle is not against flesh and blood, it is against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.kari (25)

I wonder – if we all started humbling ourselves, confessing our sins, praying for those in authority and caring for the weak – what change would occur in our country?

I’m willing to do my part, will you join me?

Love, Mom

 

 

Cracked Pots

Dear Daughters,

Your cousin Charlene gave me a cracked piece of pottery she made a few months ago.  Although it is still quite beautiful, the flaw makes it unmarketable in her shop.  People want only items that are close to perfection.

pot

crack-2Unfortunately, we tend to expect the same in people.  But as we all know, we’re not going to get it.  We inevitably desire faultlessness (or at least improvement) in our husbands and ourselves, yet time and time again we get hurt, disappointed, wanting more.

We bear the desire of our once shimmering selves that lived in the Garden of Eden.  The desire for perfection, which our human mother and father once were, still lives within us.  At the end of the age we shall be perfect, as our Lord is perfect.  Until then we bear the marks of the fall.

So…how do we deal with the cracks in ourselves and others?crack

 

The following story is a beautiful image of our value despite brokenness:

A water bearer in India had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.  One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of a long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house.  Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.  But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.

“Why,” asked the bearer, “what are you ashamed of?”

I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half of my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house.  Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work and you don’t get full value from your efforts, the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said,

“As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers on the side of the path,” and this cheered it somewhat.  But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot,

“Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side?  That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it.  I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them.  For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table.  Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

IMG_20150707_190549772 (1)

Flowers (10)

lily-3

We are all cracked pots, whether we like to admit it or not.  Some of our flaws are more obvious than others’, but Jesus uses them all if we are willing to admit the cracks are there, then give ourselves to Him to use in His wisdom.

How often do we get angry, despise them or try to cover them up?

For years I saw the chronic fatigue I struggle with as a detriment, a waste of time, an annoyance and a burden to others.  Over the years Jesus has opened my eyes to be content with my disability, seeing it as a gift from Him.  I had to learn that I needed to be humbled – allowing Dad to care for me, learning to intercede and showing compassion to others who don’t have fit bodies, having lots of time to read and talk with people.  I didn’t have the energy to be efficient or busy.  I have found what has been better for me – to lay at the feet of Jesus, give thanks, and learn from Him.

One day I thought about the disability Jesus took on when He came to earth – the humility of having to live in a suit of flesh when He was used to roaming throughout the universe, bringing into existence galaxies, mountains, insects and people by using only His words.  It was certainly not a waste of His time coming to earth  – we needed Him.  He  became broken because His father willed it,  for a greater purpose.

I am learning the grace of yielding to His will, trusting that He will get done whatever He needs to do in my life.

He has given me strength to do what I have to do, no extra energy.  But you know what?  It’s OK.

Thank God for your cracks, your less than perfect body, your weaknesses, and He will do marvelous things.

From one cracked pot to another,

Love, Mom

kari-30

Photo by Kari Matthews

 

 

 

What Do I Do?

February 28, 2023

During the snowstorm last week I was thinking about Grandma as she was nearing the end of her life.  It’s been over six years since she’s been gone, but the memories are still vivid in my mind.  I learned so much from her as she lived in weakness and confusion…

September 15, 2016

Dear Daughters,

The other night Dad invited Grandma to dance with him after dinner.  Almost every night after we have cleared the dishes she asks “What do I do next?”  And almost every night Dad’s answer is “Dance with me.”

So he put his arm around her shoulder and started doing the quasi-Rockettes kick while she stared at him in disbelief.  Grandma looked over at me and said “You live with this guy?  I think I’ll send you a sympathy card.”

The same after-dinner conversation happens often, but of course she doesn’t remember that it happens often.

daisies-3

Grandma asks many times every day

What do I do, what do I do

She simply needs direction and instruction about what comes next in her day since she wanders if left on her own. 

One day I came into the den when she was waking from her nap.  She was almost in tears saying,

Lord, what do I do, what do I do?

Confusion reigns in her mind as it has become tangled and disobedient to her commands and desires. But as I was walking away I thought,

What a beautiful picture of what we should be doing every minute of every day.  I cannot live my one life well unless I am connected with Jesus, always asking Him,

What do I do?

when I am confused, frustrated and unsure of how to respond to a hurtful word or a discouraging day.

Darkblossoms

Whenever I ask God

What should I do?

the answer is typically

Trust Me.  Give thanks because I am working for your good,

even when it seems there is darkness is all around.

During the day I have many tasks for Grandma to do: water the flowers, empty the dishwasher, put tomatoes on the dehydrator trays, walk down to the road, fold clothes, set the table, take a shower, play the piano, whistle her favorite songs.   When I instruct her to do the work she is usually eager, although with a few moans and groans now and then.  But if there is no direction from me she has no idea where to go or what to do.  If I am out of her sight for more than a few minutes I hear her calling

Help! Help!

Topmatoes

Grandma’s confusion has recently taken a new twist.  She is often quite mixed up about the time of day.  Yesterday I heard her walking down the hall at 2:00 in the afternoon (when she is usually napping), shuffling in her bathrobe and slippers and wearing no dentures.  She apparently woke from her nap early and somehow thought it was close to bedtime so proceeded to get ready.

I stopped her in the hallway, asking why she was in her pajamas.  She matter-of-factly said “It’s almost bedtime.”  I suggested that we go back and change into her clothes since it was a long time until bedtime.  I tried showing her the clock and reasoning with her, but she still wouldn’t believe me, continually insisting that it was bedtime.

Normally she is quite compliant and will cheerfully do as I say.  But yesterday she adamantly said

I don’t want to change my clothes, just let me do what I want to do.

Hmmm, now that sounds exactly what I say to God now and then.  I get tired of waiting for Him to answer my prayers the way I want Him to.  Sometimes I get weary of doing what is right, of being responsible.  Some days I want to whine and complain, throw a pity party.  I am tempted to give up and pray no longer.

But the same verse always comes to me – the time many of Jesus’ disciples turned back and no longer followed Him when life started getting difficult.  Jesus asked the Twelve “Do you want to leave too?”  Then Peter answered him,

Lord, to whom else shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.

Yep, that’s the bottom line.  Who else but the Creator of your soul loves you and is looking out for your good and your growth?  So I cut short my pity party, continue to be faithful and responsible, keep on praying and giving God thanks.   They are simple disciplines, but important.

Eggplant

Grandma teaches me so much these days.  Even though her mind is foggy and forgetful, Jesus speaks through her life into mine.

Look to the weak people of the earth,  wisdom is there for us all.

Love, Mom

Don’t Drop the Baton

Dear Daughters,

The Olympics are over (sigh).  So I guess I won’t be watching TV for another two years when the Winter Games return. As you know my typical TV viewing is rather rare, but I do love watching the Olympics.

One of my favorite events, next to gymnastics, is the women’s 4 x 100 relay, simply because of the history of team USA.

At Athens in 2004, the USA women’s team failed to pass the baton within the 20- meter exchange zone so was disqualified, no second chance.

During the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, both the USA men’s and women’s relay teams were plagued by baton drops and, of course, were disqualified yet again.

Finally, at the 2012 games in London the American women ran the relay beautifully and captured the Gold Medal.

The 2016 women’s 4 x 100 meter relay was fascinating.  In an unusual race, the Brazilians were disqualified when one of their runners ran into Allyson Felix’s lane during the baton exchange, causing the US to drop the baton and lose the prelims.

Amazingly, the U.S. was given a second chance to qualify for the finals, running the race all alone on the track.  Qualify they did, even though they had to run the finals in lane 1, the least desirable of all lanes.  But…they came back and won the Gold.

Kari (14)

Every one of those women on the earlier disqualified teams were champions in their own right: Marion Jones, Lauren Williams, Allyson Felix, English Gardener….  Yet, it is never one person alone who is able to win a relay.

The clincher is always the handoff of the baton.

All these interesting years of relays got me thinking about a talk that Christine Caine gave a few years back.

Christine mentioned the saddest verse in the Bible, Judges 2:10.  This verse was written at a time in Israeli history when Joshua had just died.  Joshua, the guy who led the army around Jericho and watched the walls fall down.  Joshua, who was in the minority to believe that God would lead them into the promised land.  Joshua, who saw the Red Sea part.  He watched the Jordan River stop flowing long enough to let thousands of Israelites walk through on dry land. He asked God to stop the sun from going down for an extra 24 hours – and it did.   Joshua, who ate the manna and the quail that God miraculously provided for his people for 40 years, saw water come out of a rock, who had an entire book of the Bible named after him, and the stories go on and on.

Yet, just after Joshua died, the next verse says:

After that whole generation had been gathered to their fathers, another generation grew up, who knew neither the Lord, nor what He had done for Israel.

Joshua was an amazing, incredible leader and man of God, but he and the others didn’t pass the baton on to the next generation, the reason this verse is so sad.

How could an entire generation immediately after Joshua, not know the Lord or what He had done for Israel?  They had been children when all those miracles happened, but perhaps it had just become normal to have manna on the ground every morning. It was an everyday occurrence to see victory after victory when Joshua was leading them.

Just like the sprinters in the Olympics, each one of those runners are amazing and incredible in their own right, but when they run a relay the most important act is passing the baton from one runner to the next.Jackfence

We can look at our own lives as a divine relay, not an individual sprint.  Each one of us is gifted and talented, but the most important detail is not only that we run our leg with integrity, but that we pass the baton of faith on to the next generation.  There can be no egos in a relay, unity is the bottom line.

When a sprinter enters the 20-meter hand off zone, the runner coming in must slow down because the runner going out is just accelerating.  We too, in the midst of our individual sprint must slow down and talk to the next generation about Jesus Christ and the larger story in which we live.

This life is not just about us.  We have Jesus and a whole crowd of witnesses cheering us on, encouraging us to model in our everyday lives selfless living, devoting our hearts to our Creator God, and learning to listen for His voice everyday of our life.

We are living in a much bigger story than our day to day frustrations, a bad hair day, annoyances of our husbands, worries about what people think about us.

Every action that puts others first, every prayer we pray for our enemies, every compassionate word of forgiveness that we speak, is working out God’s plan for the ages.  Our words and actions, especially to those younger than us, are how we pass the baton to future generations.

I admit that when I was younger and you girls were at home, I often let my preoccupation with teaching other children take precedence over my teaching to you about the kind and marvelous God we serve.

I sometimes think God has given me a second chance, just as the 4 x 100 relay team was granted another run in order to participate in the finals.

I pray that you will not make that same mistake as I.  Speak to those younger than you about the unending grace of Jesus Christ.  Tell your stories of God’s love and faithfulness in your own lives.  Let them know that even when we fail, He is strong and loves us still.  Let them know that when we think there is no forgiveness for our past, our God is the God of second chances (and third and fourth…)

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders, and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance, the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who through the joy set before him, endured the cross, scorning its shame…so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. 

Hebrews 12:1-2

Love, Mom

 sunset (3)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blue Shirt

Dear Daughters,

A few months ago I read a short but powerful story entitled Blue ShirtWritten by Steve Spoelhof who is a runner of marathons, the story is about a race he ran last spring.  Apparently he got bogged down physically and mentally at the 21-25 mile range.  Close to exhaustion, he noticed there was a runner in a blue shirt who seemed to be keeping a good steady pace.  So he allowed the guy in the blue shirt to dictate his stride, and was eventually able to persevere and finish the race in good time.

After the race Steve noticed Blue Shirt walking around so he thanked him for being the encouragement that he was during miles 21-25.  Surprisingly, Blue Shirt immediately answered,  Thanks for pulling me through 17-21.  Steve was completely surprised that he could have been an encouragement to another when he was struggling so much himself.

Flowers (9)

 

A few weeks ago a friend told me of a song about marriage by Casting Crowns and encouraged me to listen to it.  I pulled it up on Youtube, amazed by the simple yet profound lyrics of Broken Together.  It’s a song about marriage; honest about the challenges and heartbreaks that go along with those vows we all said so naively.

Words are easy to speak, faithfulness to those same vows in the hard times is not so easy.  The words from the chorus are:

The only way we’ll last forever is broken together. 

I cried when I heard those words sung because it once again reminded me that we are all so broken.  Sometimes I tend to think I am more whole than Dad, that I have to put up with more than he does, but then God quietly and patiently comes and shows me my own brokenness, failings, and pride.  I tearfully admit that I am fragile, needy and on some days, a royal mess .  I have tried to keep those words – broken together –  in the forefront of my mind.

Anniversary + Family 2016-4

Broken together.

It brings us back to a level playing field when I am often tempted to think that perhaps my level of thinking is a bit better than his.   Why is it that we are always so quick to think it’s our husbands’ fault when something is frustrating in our marriages?

Whenever a difference of opinions come up I am eager to edit the argument in my favor.  He was being insensitive to my opinion.  Of course I’m right, how could his even be considered?  How can he not see that mine is the better idea?Anniversary + Family 2016-18

So, you may be wondering why I paired this story and song together.  First of all, I want to thank each one of you – my daughters – for being a Blue Shirt to me during difficult times in my life, especially the last few years.  Many times your phone calls or visits, coming far to us in Idaho,  were exactly what I needed when things looked so dark in my life.  You have pulled me through, encouraged me to keep on going, listening to my heartbreaks and disappointments, while sharing with me your own griefs and victories as we have prayed for each other.

Anniversary + Family 2016-75

Nobody is always the Blue Shirt; instead I think we become Blue Shirts to each other at different times in our lives. 

I have come to enjoy the song Broken Together in a bigger picture than simply marriage.  As members of a family we are also broken together.  We hurt each other, speak before we think, at times annoy each other, and yet many times  bring joy and happiness to one another.

Anniversary + Family 2016-25

Because we are all broken we can never expect to get it right all the time, but to see us as broken and together is indeed a beautiful picture to me.

Love, Mom

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.  Psalm 147:3

 

 

 

 

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2026 Branches and Trees

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑