T.L.C.

The night before last, there was a "cat explosion" in our house.

They happen frequently. The three cats are sitting within sight of one another, and nobody knows who starts it, but it seems that all three of them jump as if zapped by electricity and they all race off in different directions. It's comical to watch! 

But this last time, someone zigged when they should have zagged. And one of the cats got hurt.  Of course, cats are not all that good at showing that they are in pain, but the kitty in question did have her hair all poofed out longer than usual for this type of event. Later, we saw her limping - and we thought she'd hurt a joint in her ankle in the back. We helped her, made a little bed for her in a large dog-crate with some litter in there and a couple of food dishes, so that she wouldn't be tempted to try to jump up on things or do too much, and today, she went to see the vet to get checked over. 

It turns out that it was a hip problem - a stretched ligament or tendon most likely - and the vet gave her an anti-inflammatory shot and gave us some medication to give in her food. 

This is our little Eris - named after the
goddess of Chaos in Greek mythology.
The photo was taken in April 2016.

We were concerned that her "brothers" - who are both bigger than she is - would take advantage of her weakness and try to bully her.

Quite the opposite. There has been quizzical trilling, sniffing, and reaching out paws to her, and one or the other of them is not far from her crate, keeping her company whenever they can. The oldest perched on her crate this morning, and was there most of the day (except for when she was at the vet's) guarding her and letting her know he was there by occasionally hanging his paws in front of the door, letting her sniff them. 

Both of the boys have been very gentle with her, and have not tried to engage her in playing (which to them means roughhousing!) They have stayed close, and have changed their favourite perches so they can see what she is doing in the crate.  What a tremendous model of tender loving care! The whole family has been so concerned for her, looking after her, making sure she is fed, comfortable, and settled down. The vet says that she will need to take it easy like this for another week and a half, and wants to check her over again on Monday just to see if there has been any improvement. 

Such care and love expressed toward a little seven and a half pound ball of cuteness... who has melted our hearts over and over again... and seeing her brothers take such good care of her is so heartening. It's so not what we expected, such a surprising display of concern and caring, that we are in awe.

It's so encouraging. I'm so grateful to have them all in my life. :-D



 

Never Alone

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others,
 for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness, 
 and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you
 are never alone."    - - Audrey Hepburn

You know, it's funny - I guess it ISN'T funny - what people will say to others without thinking it through. 

I was having a conversation with a dear friend earlier today. This lady has been my friend for about 15 years, and she is the kindest, sweetest soul who came into my life when I needed such a soul in my life. 

And right now she's hurting - mourning the loss of a family member. A family member who just so happens to be a beloved pet, one she has had for over 17 years. And she was telling me what some folks have been saying to her. 

They don't bear repeating. Suffice to say that the comments have been dismissive and unthinking, diminishing the importance of her pain because the loved one she lost had four legs instead of two. 

I wanted her to know that she was not alone. That there are people - fortunate, sensitive, and beautiful people (like us) who see the good in others (no matter what the species), who speak words of kindness (yes, even to such unthinking humans) and who have walked the path that she is walking now ... who know the pain of losing a beloved family member, be that two-legged or four-legged. For ... as I told her earlier, grief is grief, and it means that we have loved someone or some creature enough to feel something when he, she or it leaves. (Queen Elizabeth II once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love.") 

There is much to be said - when someone has experienced a recent loss (especially of a pet) and a person just can't understand "why there is so much fuss about it" - for silence, for being comfortable with NOT understanding, for NOT giving "pat answers" that might snuff out what little bit of hope the person might have. 

Photo "Lonely Woman On The Beach" by
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Loneliness kills. The pain of loneliness is something that outlasts physical pain. A person can feel isolated and abandoned in a crowd, and he or she can feel the loneliest when nobody appears to understand his or her experience.

Let's sit with those who've experienced a loss, and let them feel the pain, talk about their loved one. 

Let's just LISTEN. That's all. 

That's the most comforting thing a person can do is just to BE there and let that friend know that whatever he or she feels is normal. It's normal!! It's healthy to be sad when you've lost someone. The important thing for a grieving person is to know that that person is never alone, that there is someone to talk to, that there is someone who cares. That "being there" can give someone a tremendous gift: dignity ... self-respect ... the feeling that what they feel and think matters.

There is no need to ask questions in those moments of fresh grief about "what happens now." The time will come when those questions can be asked, but not now. Not yet. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Feelings are not bad or good. Feelings ARE. And people have a right to feel them. Being told that we shouldn't feel bad (or good) is a form of abuse that reaches down into the core of who we are. We were hard-wired for feelings, for relationships, for love. And when we remember that we are not alone in this experience, it makes getting through it so much easier.

Life is not a competition. It's a journey. It's better to go through it together in cooperation than trying to prove who's right and who's not.

It is better to look for the good in others, to speak only words of kindness, and to let each other know that we are never alone.

Letter to Arielle

Your sister and you (in 2008)
knowing that I was going to take a picture.

Good morning sweetheart.

It dawned on me last night before bed that I didn't write on your wall yesterday - for the first time since we learned of your accident ... on October 22, 2013. 

But ... I know you don't mind, because it means that I'm starting to heal. Just a little tiny bit. A friend shared with me yesterday in a way I could understand inside my heart ... that you want me and your dad and your sister(s) and everyone - ALL who love you - to comprehend that you are supremely happy and safe and at Home where you now are. Deliriously happy... beyond human understanding. And that you still want us to be happy, to look after ourselves, to look after each other, to enjoy every day of our lives. Every. Single. Day. Like you did. 

Even when things were tough.

I remember how just a few weeks ago,I texted you as you were living in your car, like I did several times a day. That week, I was SO not looking forward to Thanksgiving. It had always been a family meal, with you sitting across from me at the table and stuffing you mouth as full as you could get it, as full of as many parts of the meal as you could get in there, until your cheeks were puffed out ... that I just couldn't get into the holiday now that you were homeless, running on empty all the time, waking up freezing every morning. :(  

I told you I was seriously considering cancelling Thanksgiving. 

You wouldn't hear of it.

"Oh Mom. Don't give up your Thanksgiving spirit. I'm here and I don't have much. But I'm still thankful for what I have. You and my family and friends. So don't give up on Thanksgiving. Please." Your attitude gave me the strength to at least do a chicken up and have someone over for a meal.

And now you are gone from us.

You KNOW that I ... we ALL ... miss you. You KNOW that. You have watched us as we've been broken, shattered because of losing you from this earth. But as we are learning even more how incredibly amazing you were while you were here, we're starting to see life, and people, the way you do. That's your legacy. What a tremendous gift! I wanna thank you, princess. So. Much.

Here's what we're learning.... SO far. 

It doesn't matter whether a person is "red or yellow, purple, green, black or white or in between" as we used to parody "Jesus loves the little children of the world". (And you'd roll your eyes, teasing us.) It didn't matter to you if someone was gay or straight, male or female or something else, overweight or rake-thin or anything in between, Christian or atheist or Buddhist, wore a 3-piece suit or a thong.  You accepted people. ALL people. You loved them - you loved us all - just the way we were: warts and all. 

You hated it when people took themselves too seriously, more concerned with appearances and protocol than they were about compassion and mercy, about celebrating who somebody was. You hated hypocrisy and condemnation; you'd gotten too much of it in your short life and you knew how that felt. Thank God there is no condemnation at all where you are. 

You gave of yourself until it hurt; you seriously went without ... to the point of giving up food, clothing, toys, money ... so that others could have. Over and over I am hearing the stories now. The lives you touched. The hearts you mended. Your deeds - done in secret - are now being proclaimed loud and long.

And now it's YOUR turn to be given to. For all eternity. Although ... I am pretty sure you'd find a way to give it all back. ;)

I saw a new post on your Facebook wall this morning from one of your old crew here - Anthony - his first time on your wall since the accident. He told you that he remembered how you were there for him after he had a bad motorbike accident last year ... an accident that made him unable to walk for quite a while. How you went to see him in the hospital ... and worked so hard to get him outside of himself (and his house) after he went back home and got into physiotherapy. 

That's so typical of you. 

You inspire everybody who knew you. You inspire me.
I only hope that someday I am worthy of the lessons you are teaching me.

Love,
Mom

The Acid Test

The term, "the acid test" has been around since the days of the early gold prospectors. They needed a way to determine if the metal they found was real gold or some other metal. So, they would mark the metal with nitric acid, which would melt other metals; gold, not so much. That term came to mean the way by which someone would know if something was genuine or not - from merchandise to someone's promises or beliefs. 

I got to thinking about this expression this morning as the face of this one person came into my mind, someone to whom some people react one way while others react the opposite way.

I first met Joseph in the late 1990s. He's an itinerant - a man who chooses to be homeless. He has a "home base" - the home of a relative in a different province - but he only goes there once in a while to catch up on his mail. Most of the time, no matter what the season, he walks and sometimes hitch-hikes from place to place.  He has a full beard, wears layer upon layer of clothing (because there's no other place to put it) and smells of spruce, wood smoke, and sweat. He makes no apologies for his appearance or his lifestyle. He sleeps in the woods, sometimes in a sleeping bag and sometimes not. 

It's intriguing to see the reactions of different people to this man. The first time I saw him, I was a receptionist at a church office. He walked into the office one day in 1998. My immediate impression was that he was a homeless man in his mid-fifties, in need of a bath, a good meal and a change of clothes.  There was something about him, though - something in his eyes, which contradicted what my sense of smell was telling me. My boss at the time, a wonderful pastor, caught sight of him and came out to greet him warmly. I decided to watch him, talk to him, and get to know him a bit better. 

Taken at Picadilly Circus, London.
Thanks to photographer Mantas Ruzveltas
for this photo, "Homeless Man" - obtained at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Over the course of the next week, as he used the woods behind the church to sleep in (with the pastor's permission of course!) I learned that he loved his life, that he enjoyed country and western music (well, nobody's perfect), that he was a diabetic, and that he had the most gentle, humble character you would ever want to meet. I instinctively knew that if I ever needed anyone to look after my preschool children, I could trust him implicitly to guard them with his life. 

I began to look forward to his visits; he was always so full of joy, so content with his chosen lifestyle, so grateful for every bit of help offered to him, and so accepting of others. About once or twice a year he would show up, stay a few days and then move on. Whenever he did, he'd stop for a church service on a Sunday morning. He'd usually sit at the back, close to the door, so that he could slip to and from the washroom unnoticed. It was there that I noticed the varied reactions to his presence. They were much like my original impression had been - except that they were a bit more (how shall I put this nicely? oh never mind) "in your face."  Some reactions were downright visceral; they were clearly repulsed by this man and got as far away from him as possible. 

Many of these people are the first to attend prayer vigils and go to spiritual retreats, talk about the glory days, and tell others exactly what they believe. 

But Joseph is the acid test  -  his very existence challenges people and he isn't even aware of it; he just is who he is. Yet the challenge hangs in the air, "Do you really believe what you say you believe?"

A few months ago, as winter melted into spring, I found myself wondering where Joseph was, if he was still out there tramping the roads and touching lives with his uniqueness. 

And then one Sunday morning recently, I saw him - sitting by himself in the back near the door. His hair and beard were more gray; his face was more gaunt, but it was him. He was beaming, basking in the simple but profound pleasure of good music and shelter from the rain. When the service was over, I rushed over to where he'd been sitting, but he was gone. Disappointment settled on me like a wet blanket. I made my way back to my seat and began to pick up my purse and other items.

Then I turned and saw him, not ten feet away! He'd been in the washroom (most likely) and was coming up to the front to talk to the pastor and ask for a drive. My eyes misted over; what a beautiful soul. I shook hands with him and was delighted that he remembered me - his grip was a little weaker, but still firm. He was wobbling a bit with age and the ravages of life on the road - but it was the Joseph I remembered. His eyes were still as bright, and his smile as ready as it always was. 

Given the rainy day, the pastor asked a young man (a student interning at the church) to drive Joseph to where he needed to go next - across town - and I wondered if yet another generation would come to appreciate the inner beauty of this simple man ... and pass the acid test. 

I sure hope so.

TL4E

Hubby listening to someone
tell a story

Today I celebrate thirty-two years of marriage with a man I love more and more as time goes on. In a day when even TWO years seems the breaking-point for some, some folks marvel at our time together and wonder what our secret is, given all we've been through together.

The key word is together - it is not some great secret. We are best friends first, and while each of us has his or her own interests, many of them overlap and we can share them and enjoy each other in the sharing. We spend our spare time together. We agreed long ago that any lengthy social event that would separate us (especially overnight), even if it were to be touted as "good" - was not something that the person invited would attend. This has not been a sacrifice for us, but a happy choice, because it gives us more time with each other. That time is precious to us because there are so many mandatory things that demand our time (work, for example) that we treasure the opportunities we have to spend time with each other - even if it's sitting in a room saying nothing while each is doing something different on the computer.

Together we have faced so many things better than we would ever have done apart: for example, among other things, severe financial difficulty, early parenthood, and family-of-origin issues for both of us, not to mention the frustrations inherent in working with others (misunderstandings, people playing politics, bullying, fatigue). We support each other and gain strength from each other. We pray with and for each other. We put each other's needs before our own. We don't approach the relationship from the perspective, "What can I get out of this?" but rather, "What can I give?"

That's love. TL4E - True Love 4 Ever.

If there's a secret, it's that love is not about getting what you want, but giving what you dare not keep.

Happy anniversary, sweetheart.  ♥ 

Respect - Right and Reward

Respect. 

Everyone wants it. Not everyone gets it. And ... sad to say, not everyone knows how to give it. 

"Find out what it means to me," go the lyrics of R-E-S-P-E-C-T sung by Aretha Franklin. 

Find out indeed. 

There have been some frank discussions in our household over the years about respect. Some believe it's their right; others believe it must be earned. Who is right? Who is wrong? 

Both beliefs, I'd venture to say, have a little truth to them.

Respect - the Right
Every human being has the right to be treated with respect. This is a basic, "do no harm" respect that recognizes that no matter who the person is, how much money they make or don't make, where they live or don't live, what their skin color, race, religion, or sexual orientation, regardless of how others feel about any of those things, this individual has the right to have an opinion, be heard, and not be mistreated. 

It's easy to treat someone with respect when he or she agrees with you. However, let that person espouse a belief (be it religious, political, sports-related, lifestyle-related or whatever) that is diametrically opposed to yours, and what happens? That's a gauge of how much fundamental respect is there. 

This kind of respect comes into play in everything from the way you treat your boss to the way you treat the person in front of you in the grocery store checkout line, from the way you treat your employees to the way you treat the person who serves you coffee at your favorite coffee shop. Courtesy, respect, and acceptance are some of the foundational rules of engagement for any relationship - no matter how superficial ... or how close ... it happens to be. 

This kind of respect can best be understood by thinking of property lines in the suburbs. Everyone in the suburbs lives on a certain parcel of land - usually 80 x 100 or 100 x 150 feet. People's property lines abut against each other. If you are respectful of property lines, you wouldn't (at least I HOPE you wouldn't!!) dream of walking your dog and cutting across my property as a short-cut to get where you want to go ... not unless you'd cleared it with me in advance and agreed to pick up your dog's mess along the way. That's showing respect. 

It's the same with personal boundaries. Everyone (within the bounds of legality) has the right to his or her own choices, opinions, and actions - as long as those do not infringe on the right of others to have their own choices, opinions and actions. 

And that means that those same people have the right to bear the consequences of those choices, opinions, and actions: not those of others, but those that they themselves choose, think, and do. 

That's basic respect. Everyone needs it and everyone has the right to expect it.

Respect - the reward
One thing and one thing only can erode and destroy respect. 

It is a lack of trust.

If someone has proven - through consistent action - that he or she cannot be trusted, then trust must be earned back before those people (who were lied to or deceived in some way by this person) will be able to respect and accept what he or she says. 

Honesty is oxygen for trust and for respect. If it is lacking in someone, trust and respect for that person will become weak - and eventually die. 

For many years, while my husband was in active alcoholism, lies were a way of life for him. Over the years, my trust in him, in what he said to me, wore away, got weak, and died. It got so I mistrusted everything he said to me, not just about "not drinking" but also about so many other things. I was suspicious of everything - literally everything - that he said to me. Especially when he told me he loved me. It was a horrible time for me ... AND for him. 

I often thought about leaving the relationship, it was so unlivable. It didn't mean that I didn't love him; I did. It was just that I couldn't stand the constant lying. The lying - to me - was way worse than the alcoholism itself (even though that was awful enough!) 

When he first got into recovery, (as did I - from trying to control and manipulate people or let them walk all over me - never a happy medium!) he embraced a new way of living which demanded rigorous honesty.

Although I really hoped that he would be able to stop lying, I was skeptical. I didn't know if he could. I was never sure that he was telling me the truth. For months, he patiently went about proving to me that what he was saying to me was true... even to the point of showing me receipts for items he'd purchased, allowing me access to see his bank account and credit card usage, and keeping a breathalyzer in the car. He kept on keeping on, in spite of my disbelief. He gave me permission to "call" him on areas where I knew he wasn't being completely honest ... which I did at times. When I did, he was fairly quick to recognize the error, or explain in more detail what he meant, so as to clear up any misunderstanding.  And during that whole time (and ever since) he did what he had to do in his own private recovery journey, so as 0to develop and maintain his spiritual condition. 

"Serpentine Pathway Stones On A Park Lawn" courtesy of arturo at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The process took months - about 15 months to be more precise. As he proved himself in one instance, it was like a paving stone in a walkway of trust. Every paving stone increased the strength of that trust. Respect was the reward for all those little stones - my respect for him. 

I'm  happy to say that - although it took many months of consistent honesty on his part - I did indeed learn to trust him again, and with that trust came the respect I had lost. I am so glad to have it back - and so is he!

Occasionally someone in my life will destroy the trust and respect I've come to have for him or her. Though the relationship might be a different one, and have different rules, the process of rebuilding that trust and respect is the same. And, the key to building that back - the lesson I learned vicariously through my husband's experience - is that it takes a lifestyle change and consistency in behavior and in intention before such a precious commodity can be restored. 

Basically put, it takes more than words. It takes attitudes and actions over time. Sometimes a long time. 

When I have broken someone's trust, and I have on occasion, it takes a lot of time and effort to gain a hearing with that person. Often, it's frustrating to know you are telling the truth and you still are not believed.

I keep the following things in mind when I know my motives to be pure.

• Gaining the respect of others is absolutely impossible without self-respect.
• Seeking the respect or approval of others can be a trap because it can lead to chameleon-like behaviors, changing who I am to fit in, and therefore a loss of identity. 
• The more comfortable I am inside my own skin, the less it matters what someone else thinks of me. 

One thing is certain: it takes far less time to destroy trust-based respect than it does to rebuild it.  This one fact is one of the reasons why, in my own life, I seek to be scrupulously honest and trustworthy. 

I can't afford not to be. 

Off Centre

One of my favorite things to do with my school supplies when I was going to school was to play with my geometry set.  I'd trace around the protractor, the two triangles, and draw circle after circle with my compass.  

Drawing the circle was tricky on thin paper because it was so very easy to allow the central point of the compass to shift in the middle of drawing it. The result would be anything BUT the circle I intended. The ends wouldn't meet, and it would look sloppy.  It took practice to get it to stay put while the pencil went around and formed the circumference, touching exactly where it started. That central point was the anchor of the whole thing.  It was tricky to get it to work!

Spirograph art - here's the link

A similar diversion was my old Spirograph set. Yes, I had one!! I eventually lost the pins to hold the anchor bracket down to the paper, but that set of little plastic rings, cogs, pins and pens brought me more hours of "whoa-isn't-that-cool" than almost anything else in whatever free time I was allowed to have growing up.  

But the problem with the cogs and the ring was the same as with the compass. It depended on everything staying where it was supposed to stay.  I ruined countless Spirograph artworks because the cog - or the pins - slipped out of the anchoring ring.  The result - usually a dark mark bisecting the entire masterpiece - was not salvageable.  And that was in the days before erasable pens.  ;) So, I found the best way to do it successfully was to make sure it was all anchored well before starting, and to take my time while allowing the cogs to carry the pen - while I concentrated on keeping the pressure against the wheel steady.  Just as I had learned with the compass.  

Everyone needs an Anchor that won't slip away or shift.
I know Who mine is.
I wonder what - or who - is yours?

Remember Me

Someone recently commented that it was patently unsatisfying to reduce the Lord's supper to a little wafer and a half-swallow of juice - that we were meant to celebrate Him and that it should be so much more than that. It should be a feast.

I must admit that I never saw it along those lines before, because it was the symbolism that always got me, not the amount or tastelessness of the bread. (Okay, those wafers really taste awful.)

But my friend had a point. Sometimes we do things a certain way just because it's always been done that way. There isn't any good reason for it. When Jesus first instituted the Lord's supper, as we call it, He didn't give them a little bite. He told twelve men to share the "loaf" among themselves - yes, Judas hadn't left yet. I put "loaf" in quotation marks because of course this was the Passover and all that was available was unleavened bread...matzoh.

I personally believe the "loaf" He used was the middle one - the one the Jewish people saved aside during the Passover meal and put between two layers of cloth (unknowingly symbolizing the second person of the Trinity going into the ground). It was kept sacrosanct, uneaten - nobody knew its purpose. And He married another Jewish ceremony into the mix to highlight the reason why He would soon die for them : a betrothal ceremony - see my post "It's Just like Jesus" (click here for the link).

What He wanted when He instituted communion was one thing only: "Remember Me." In other words, always be grateful: never forget what I'm about to do for each of you, the price I'm going to pay for you, the lengths to which I will go in order to have an intimate, personal relationship with you. Remember that - often. Remember Me - together. Don't let your remembering turn into a dead ritual. Keep it alive. Don't "observe communion." Behold the Lamb of God.

Like a Little Child

"Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them." 
     - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

A few weeks ago I accompanied my hubby to a music practice. Someone was late and the person in charge asked a friend of mine, who had her first baby this year, to fill in for her. So she brought her baby to me to hold it while she went up on stage.

It had been a very long time since I'd held a baby that age - around 6 or 7 months old - it had been many years. I sat her straddling one of my legs, facing away from me so she could see her mom, and leaning her back against me. The little girl and I just enjoyed the music together. She could not speak and I chose not to as well. Yet we communicated. Every once in a while she would look up at me and then back up to the stage. It's like she was saying, "This is fun. I like this. Thank you for letting me watch everything." She demanded nothing. All I provided was a safe place for her to be while she enjoyed that moment. Lived in the present. No regrets, no worries.

I've thought about it since. I believe that babies are much more intelligent than we give them credit for being. They have a way of cutting through all the façades we adults put up; it is one reason why they are able to turn most adults into blithering idiots in the space of two minutes. They have, I believe, a vital connection with the Almighty, but since they don't have the power of speech yet, they can't communicate that to the grown-ups. Jesus knew that little children had life nailed and He said that unless we became like them, we couldn't enter into His kingship over us - His kingdom.

There is a sense of wonder, a newness, a thirst to learn, an inherent trust in the present moment, that characterizes a young baby. I think that this is what Jesus was talking about. We tend to complicate things so much. We get concerned, fret about the most unimportant things. We beat ourselves up over the mistakes of the past. We wonder about the future, about whether people like us or not, about whether we're playing by the rules and doing what's expected of us. Babies don't do that. They just are. Period.

I've found myself wanting to soak in those unspoken lessons from them, to sit at their feet if you prefer that analogy, and open my heart to the voice of the Spirit, draining away all the extraneous, and focusing on the most important thing: relationship with Him. (I saw a video clip earlier today and the person who was talking, was wearing a T-shirt that said, "It's against my relationship to have a religion." I like that.)

I wonder what life could be like if we lived in the moment, in relationship with Him, not trying to impress anyone or influence anyone. If we truly opened our innermost selves to Him with no masks, no façades, no games.

I just wonder.

Pillow Talk

Maybe we need to rethink our whole concept of prayer.

We are in a relationship with God. Jesus is our Bridegroom. He has proven to the ultimate degree His love for us, His passionate desire to enter into intimacy with us.

What if prayer is just talking to Him? There's a concept. Not pleading, not manipulating, not groveling, not demanding. Just talking. Talking based on relationship, on a love that is strong and sure on His part, and can only grow deeper and more pervasive on ours. It wasn't by some whim that God has referred historically to His people as His spouse, His bride. We get to know Him intimately, and we know what makes Him pleased, sad, frustrated, joyous. As our love grows for Him we find ourselves not wanting to make Him sad or frustrated by our behavior. And not because that's what we "should" do - but because He loves us and we love Him. We let Him into the deepest recesses of our being; we allow Him to "know" us, the real us - not what we want to show Him or others, but the deep-down stuff. The relationship, the intimacy, is too important to us to want to jeopardize it. We look for His smile, we live to hear Him laugh.

From that place of intimacy, our prayers begin to look (and sound) different. Gone are the trappings of changed vocal tones and repetitive chanting, gone are the petulant and selfish demands, gone are the attempts at sanctified arm-twisting, it's just "Jesus and me - talking." Like best friends, like husband and wife having a bit of "pillow talk." That's when what really matters to us comes to the fore, and all the barriers and façades are stripped away and we share our heart with Him. Not what someone else is doing, not what the accepted prayer format is, not anything less - or more - than just talking about real things with Someone who's real and who really loves us far more than we can even begin to understand. And He begins to share His heart with us, to gently teach us what matters to Him.

I was reading the Psalms this morning in the Message. Psalm 25:14 jumped out at me. "God-friendship is for God-worshipers; they are the ones He confides in." Our picture of "what worship looks like" aside, it is basically seeking His face - not for what He can do for us but because of who He is: love, compassion, gentleness, goodness, acceptance, grace, - everything. Those very things make it possible for us to have a relationship with Him in the first place. To walk with Him, as Adam did in the cool of the evening before the fall of humankind, and as Enoch did in the days before the law was even given.

Not because we are worthy of it; we aren't. Not because we have a right to it; we don't.
But just because He is ours and we are His - we're wearing His ring in our hearts.

Peril to Passion

We watched a 2007 documentary this morning on the Learning Channel about the 1982 British Airways Flight 9 - which flew through a volcanic ash cloud and eventually lost all engines. It was the first time anything like this had ever happened. Nobody knew what was the matter as the cabin slowly filled with smoke, and the engines glowed with what appeared to be a blue flame - and eventually cut out.

Every person on board KNEW he or she was going to die. People were writing notes to their loved ones in case the salvage crews would find them. When the pilot and crew descended under 6,000 feet and were able to restart the engines, the sense of relief on board was obvious. And when they landed the plane in Jakarta in spite of not being able to see through the wind screen (the ash had sand-blasted the glass), and everyone realized they were all going to be okay, there was cheering, clapping, and more. Much more.

Perfect strangers were brought together through a shared peril and knowledge that they were saved from certain death. They hugged, laughed and cried together. And twenty-five years later, they were still meeting once a year to maintain contact. People from different walks of life, with varying abilities, beliefs, and plans, in those few hours, became - a family.

It was beautiful.

It got me to thinking. (I guess I think - a lot.) Perhaps the reason why so many Western churches are powerless, floundering in backbiting, gossip, power struggles and lovelessness, is because we've lost our first love : Him. We've forgotten the very basic reason we're all together in the first place.

We were all facing certain death. There was no escape. But He brought us to safety - to a place of hope, peace, and love where before, there was none of these things. That place is called Golgotha!!

We all share this marvelous deliverance, in spite of our own powerlessness to save ourselves. BECAUSE of our own powerlessness to save ourselves. Our Deliverer loved us so much that He brought us out of the place of despair and hopelessness into His Father's presence. Have we lost sight of that? where is our gratitude? has it all become about our comfort, our agendas?

Perhaps it's time to go back to the place of the Skull. To take a good, honest look at the One willingly dying there... for us : to rescue us from a fiery eternal death, just to open up a way for us to have intimacy, relationship with Him. Being able to commune with us was that important to Him! It's time to remember our utter hopelessness. To revisit our amazing deliverance. To refocus our faltering attention. To recapture our First Love. To overflow with gratitude, with joy!

Appearances, agendas, and position mean nothing. He means everything.
Gaze with me upon the Lamb. (click the link to read the story...)

Standing on Guard

"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance."
- Thomas Jefferson

I've quoted this President Jefferson quote before; I used to think that what he said didn't make sense. In my healing process, though, I've realized that it takes a watchful eye to maintain this kind of lifestyle: a spiritually-based lifestyle of rigorous honesty, with the freedom to feel one's feelings, the responsibility to not nurse resentments, and the intense desire to draw closer and closer to God.

There's a Bible verse that is very largely misunderstood; well, at least I misunderstood it, for a lot of years. It says, "Keep your heart above all things, for out of it spring the issues of life." (Proverbs 4:23) I thought it was cross-referenced with "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked..." (Jeremiah 17:9) - but in fact, the opposite is true. Proverbs 4:23 in the Hebrew literally means, "Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life." (NASB) The underlying meaning is that the heart is so important and so precious, being the seat of emotions and will, that its well-being and health must be guarded at all times.

The Jeremiah passage refers to the unregenerate / godless heart. But Solomon (in Proverbs) was giving advice to his son whom he raised to respect God; he encouraged him to guard the center of his mind, will, and emotions at all cost so that it was functioning the way it was designed to work, so that his insides would serve him well. That takes work. HARD work.

Complacency is the lazy cousin of arrogance - and it's one I know quite well. Yes, I've come a long way in what can be considered a very short time. But that in no way means that I've arrived; there is always more to discover, more to turn over to God, more layers of manipulation, of self-deception, of powerlessness in me. The tyranny of the urgent takes over. Boredom slimes its way into my daily routine. The "insanity" of my addiction to "fixing" or "rescuing" people, very easily returns when complacency creeps in.

Something I hear quite frequently sounds like this: "It is easy to let up on our spiritual program of recovery and rest on our laurels. We are headed for trouble if we do. For our addiction is a subtle foe. We are not cured of our addiction; what we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition." (The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, adapted) That passage reminds me of something a Bible camp counselor told me one time after I described a spiritual awakening I had when I was a teen: "The problem with a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1) is that it keeps trying to crawl off the altar."
The process of healing (or 'recovery' as I like to call it) contains spiritual tools that can be used at any time as needed for maintenance. It's just like fixing up a fixer-upper. That refurbished house is going to need upkeep in order to keep it looking good and to keep the leaks of air and water away. If someone hurts me, or hurts me again, and I've let resentment creep back in, then I need to work through the process of forgiveness - and rely completely on God to give me the strength to deal with that. If I screw up - and I do, often - I need to become willing (through God's strength) to apologize, and then go do it. It keeps me humble, dependent on God for everything.

Maintaining my spiritual condition is crucial to my continued recovery. If I'm not progressing, moving forward in my walk with God, then I'm losing ground. There is no "holding pattern."

I've tasted enough of this lifestyle and the benefits of it to motivate me to work at my relationship with God, press in to His heart, receive His love, love Him in return, and let that love spill over into my relationships with people. But it all starts with relationship with Him and repeating whatever step in the process I need to repeat in order to maintain peace with Him. This is "laboring to enter into His rest."

Rest. Yes, that's worth it.

Pathway to Happiness - Getting out the Broom

The list I made of people that hurt me, the one that also listed what part I played in my own demise, called to me.

There was unfinished business. I'd asked God to remove the defects of character that led me to treat people the way I had, to react the way I did. But those people were still out there. With some people, I was already prepared to ask forgiveness for my behavior and attitudes. And in some cases, it was much harder. For these people, it was more difficult because I had to get past the "but they hurt me first" hurdle. I had to become willing - and this was not in my own strength but as a direct result of my prayer for God to remove my character defects - to not only ask forgiveness of these people but begin to treat them differently: with respect rather than with contempt. That was a tall order in some cases. I had to let go and trust that God would bring me to that place. I've never been a big fan of "fake it til you make it" theology. This had to be real or it wasn't going to happen.

My journal helped me keep track of all of this as it unfolded. Slowly, the list of people to whom I knew I had to make amends, started to have little check marks beside them. As I went on I knew - for the most part - who I could approach and who I couldn't. Not primarily because I was scared, (okay, well, the whole thing scared me - I've always hated confrontation even if it's not about me!) but also because of their own fragility and poor self-image. With these people, it was enough just to begin to see them differently, to treat them with more respect and kindness. However, the times I refrained from apology were few and far between; usually God would (I was going to say hound) keep gently reminding me of this person or that person on the list.

My kids were on the list too. I remember what happened as I sincerely apologized to my oldest (who was near the top of the list). She took the brunt of a lot of my "stuff" in her growing-up years. Now she was 20 years old. She listened carefully to me. And she forgave me - no holds barred. We talked for a long time after that, heart to heart ... Finally she said with tears in her eyes, "Wow, Mom. That really means a LOT. I'm so glad you came to me and we could talk like this - it all makes sense now!"

As I took that step of going to people individually and apologizing for specific things and general attitudes, there was a feeling of vulnerability in me; it became so strong that I could almost touch it. But as people I loved forgave me freely, one after another, there was a growing sense of freedom as well, and - yes, I'll say it - happiness. There was an inner lightness, a delight to which I was not accustomed.

I was curious about the feeling of vulnerability, until I realized something - again from the story of Lazarus. Once the wrappings started to come off, guess what was underneath? He was naked under there! So here he is, still stinking of the slime from the mummy-wrappings (I'll leave that to your imagination; if you've ever watched a crime scene investigation show on TV then you'll know what I'm thinking). He's standing there totally naked, in front of friends and family. Someone else has to give him their cloak probably - (and believe me, they won't want it back!!) to cover his nakedness. He'll have to spend 7 days purifying himself of the filth because that is what a practicing Jew did if he even touched a dead body. He WAS a dead body.

So I learned to live with that feeling; it was a sensation of being exposed for what in many cases was the first time. It meant the wrappings were loosening and coming off.

That feeling of happiness was worth my new-found transparency - and discomfort.

Whenever I'm tempted to hold onto or grab back some of those resentments and dance with them - and I am tempted because I lived like that for so long that it's familiar, even comfortable, I inevitably feel the maggots start to gnaw at me again. So to avoid that return to the limiting, one-sided, narrow-minded and dogmatic prison I was in, I TRY to remember the smell of death. I TRY to remember the wrappings. The bondage. The pain I put people through. And I TRY to remember the new depths of relationship to which God has brought me and the promise of even deeper intimacy with Him.

Do I really want to sacrifice that freedom ... to go back to the tomb ?

God wasn't finished, however. There was even more.

Pathway to Happiness - Forgiveness

[image removed because of possible copyright infringement] 

I had originally picked a beautiful photo for this post. (edited December 2012)
 
The photograph I originally chose was of an artesian spring continually bubbling up from the ground, so much that it had formed a freshwater pond. The water from the spring was pure enough to drink.

I've said before that the pathway to happiness, the pathway to a lifestyle of living in today, is not by burying the past, nor by wallowing in it, but by exposing it.

I'm not talking about exposing to the general public the horrid details of who did what to whom, deciding whose fault it was, or seeking justice for all the wrongs experienced at the hands or lips of others. I'm talking about dealing with the feelings and beliefs about ourselves that past experiences have produced in our lives, and being free of them.

Hiding those feelings is what got me into trouble in the first place. I know that the self-protecting behaviors, the beliefs I developed about myself all those years ago kept me in slavery to awful, soul-shrinking words like "should", "must", and "bad".

One of the steps in my healing process was that on a list that only I would ever see, I listed all of the people in my life who had ever hurt me, what they did, how it made me feel and what behaviors it produced in me as a result. It was a long list; some people took up more room than others. And the list took a few weeks to complete. The reason I had to make this list was that it wasn't enough to bring to God the issues I had with these people and come to a "blanket" forgiveness for all of them. No, this had to be specific, because in each of these experiences, I had allowed my hurt to develop into resentment, and bitterness had taken root. I held onto these hurts; they shaped me and turned me into who I thought I was.

I had been accused of having a "victim mentality." I fully admitted that I had such a mentality. I thought it was fine to have one, if you were really a victim. I believed that the abuse I suffered at the hands of family members and others made me a card-carrying "Victim Club" member!

But slowly I began to see that the roots of the behaviors I hated in me were from the attitudes and beliefs I developed as a response to those things I suffered - and that the only way to be rid of them was to deal with the abuse itself. In specifics.

I won't lie to you. It was a painful process to bring up to the surface buried memories of things I would have just as soon forgotten. In my case, I had to remember in detail - and allow myself to experience all the emotion that I should have expressed at the time but couldn't because of my situation. My counselor explained to me the reason why I couldn't express those things at the time; I already knew that it was because I was a child and didn't have the emotional maturity to handle these things - things that shouldn't happen to anyone.

But God used my counselor to put His finger on the reason why I developed the behaviors I did, in terms I could understand for the first time in my life. My counselor used the analogy of a soldier in a modern war zone - you're in constant danger of attack, never knowing who is a friend and who is a foe, always having to be on guard, witnessing horrible things happen to others and being glad it's not you, yet feeling guilty for making it out of there when others didn't, not allowed to react to the atrocities that would make most people weep, expected to work for the same people who made you go there and see that, resenting the very people (in the soldier's case, the army) who are such a part of your identity ... it made perfect sense to me. Then when you come home from the war zone, that mind-set is still there: "Gotta protect myself. The world is not a safe place. They're being nice now, but they will betray me eventually. How can they even spend time with me? if they knew who I was, what I've done to survive - they'd never give me the time of day."

So part of my recovery was going back into every one of those experiences and allowing myself to feel all the anger, all the hurt, all the rage and sadness that were appropriate to feel for what I went through. The path to forgiveness is sometimes talked about as sweetness and light, daisies and butterflies. Not when the hurt goes deep, driven down inside by years and years of abuse. The first admission to make in the process of forgiveness is the admission of having been wronged, and that it was that person's fault, not the fault of the (I'll use the word) victim. No excuses made for the person who did it; making excuses is a counterfeit for forgiveness - not the real thing at all. What he/she did was wrong and it hurt me. It hurt me in ways that until now, I have not been able to express, and it made me believe this thing about myself and do that thing to other people because of it.

Until I realize the wrongness of what was done to me, it really can't be called forgiveness when I eventually get there. It is normal and healthy to BE angry, to BE sad, to BE hurt by those things. It doesn't mean I'm a bad person; it means I'm human. I learn to reject the message I got from that person's treatment of me. I speak words of comfort to that hurting, frightened and suspicious inner child (see my recent post "Beautiful" for more information about that). I realize (for real, not just pay lip service to it) that even if the person wanted to give back to me what he or she took from me by treating me that way, they couldn't. The moment they took it from me, it flew from their hands and disappeared. And finally, after all that, I make a decision to NOT make (or expect) that person pay me back for the offense. That means they never have to make the first move and say they're sorry. I literally let that person off the hook. I write off their debt to me.

This process can take months. It did for me. I can only tell you that it is worth it. As I dealt with those experiences, releasing every experience, every person into the hands of God who saw it all anyway, I was finally able to fully forgive the people on my list (which I kept, by the way - as a tool for later on and as a reminder of how far God has brought me). It doesn't mean that I was able to re-establish relationships with all of these people; some of them continued to spill poison out of themselves onto me, and I realized it wasn't healthy for me to re-enter that atmosphere. But the resentment and the bitterness ... was gone.

As new things happen or old things creep back in, I go through that same process. It's not easy, and it doesn't get easier with time and repetition. But having experienced the benefits, I am more willing to go there and do what needs to be done in order to be free.

Freedom. I like the feeling.

. . . . to be continued...

Just Daddy and me

I love to watch babies interact with their dads. There is an openness, an inner delight, that each gets from the encounter. It touches something deep in my spirit. I must admit that there have been times - not lately of course - when I've been in church and have listened more to the sermon being preached from the pew ahead of me where a father and his baby were interacting, than the sermon being preached by the minister. There is a unique love-language, a special bond, between dads and their infants. What a privilege it is to witness it! It's relationship. Relationship based on total love (provision, protection, nurture, attentiveness) on one side, and total trust (helplessness, dependency, expectancy) on the other.

That's a model for relationship with God. It's why Jesus said we had to become like little children. LITTLE children. Babes in arms. Totally honest and open before our Father. Exploring Him, looking only to Him, gazing into His eyes.

What a wonderful way to show us what He is like, what we are like when we are dependent on Him. No wonder He loves it when we trust Him. It's why He created us.

Prayer

PRAYER
--------

PRAYER is a bloody battleground

PRAYER Satan trembles at the sound

PRAYER is where victories are won

PRAYER talking with God's precious Son

PRAYER a place where God exposes sin

PRAYER His Spirit dwelling sweet within

PRAYER where we lay our burdens down

PRAYER where God's blessings will abound

PRAYER praising God's own Holy name

PRAYER thanking Him who took our shame

PRAYER seeking guidance from above

PRAYER weeping for the ones we love

PRAYER asking for His cleansing power

PRAYER gives us grace for every hour

PRAYER lifts our spirits from despair

PRAYER sends us soaring in the air

- - - - - written by Skip
- - - - - born December 30, 1950 ----> died June 7, 2010

Utter Dependence

Yes, I admit it.

My love affair with rats began when I was in grade six. It was the last day of school and "Al" was about to be sent to the vet to be euthanized. He was a white rat whose home had been in one of the school classrooms.

"Oh don't do that!" I cried, and offered to take him, cage and all, home with me. Thus I discovered the intelligence, quirkiness, and absolute cuteness of the humble rat. Albino Al would do little tricks I taught him... and as long as he lived in the house, the wild mice avoided our house like the plague. (Oh, that was a bad rat pun.) My mother liked that the mice stayed away, even if she didn't like the smell of his cage.

So when my oldest daughter decided over a year ago that she wanted to get a couple of female rats (they are social creatures so if you get two, make sure they're both female - males will fight and one of each will start a rat farm) I agreed and we set up the habitat for them.

It's amazing how quickly one can become attached to them, how they chatter their teeth when they're content, how they wash their little faces and groom each other.

But the night before last, one of them had a fairly serious stroke and can no longer get around by herself. She can't eat seeds (can't coordinate her chewing), and can't climb the bars of the cage or even walk in a straight line. She mostly shoves herself around on one side. So my daughter took it upon herself, since all this little critter needed was to be taken care of, to take care of her. She spoon-feeds home-made soft food to her. It's a mixture of ground-up rodent pellets, banana, tapioca pudding, and raspberries or strawberries. Little Tsuri (pronounced Surrey) loves it. She shoves her face in it and licks until it's all gone. She takes water out of a medicine syringe because she can't reach her water bottle.

This is a picture of utter dependence. She doesn't understand why she can't make her body do what it's supposed to do. But she is grateful for her caretaker and she accepts without question the food and water, the washing, the physiotherapy, and the stroking that we give to her. Without this care, given to her with no expectation that she will be able to play or participate in the relationship, she would starve to death.

That's us. Whether we want to admit it or not, we are absolutely powerless to effect any change in our lives, and we are completely dependent on God. It is from His mercy that we are not left to our own devices - to die. He loves us that much. Nothing we can do will make Him love us any more ... or less. He is patient enough to let us make a mess of ourselves when we try to do the right things and fail miserably, and longsuffering enough to clean us up and help us do things we have no way of doing on our own. Like everything.

What a wonderful Saviour!!

You and I were made to worship

A while back I was watching and listening to Hillsong’s “Glory” on Youtube.
Listen to it here
... and these were some of the thoughts I wrote down while I listened ...

Such a blessing it is to see people worshiping God freely!! The song itself is a vehicle to bring the heart back to what’s most important.

Often, people in the course of a week can accumulate layers of caked-on filth, like people long ago used to accumulate on their feet when they walked in sandals on dirt roads. Praise and worship – especially worship – is like the water that washes that contamination off. More often than not, it takes a good soaking to loosen the dirt of cares and burdens that comes from our contact with the world, and let it be washed away. In practical terms, two or three songs often isn’t going to touch that place in us that really needs to be touched and cleansed so that we’re receptive to what God wants to do to move us inside the outer court of our flesh, into the spirit realm where He can meet with us.

I'm now listening to "related links" - as one song finishes I click on another in the same theme.

We underestimate the amazing power of corporate worship. We underestimate it because that’s what the enemy of our souls wants. He used to lead worship in God’s throne room, before his fall to Earth. He knows how powerful it is. That’s why satan targets worship and worship leaders before anything or anyone else. He knows that in real worship (there with unveiled face beholding a reflection of the glory of the Lord) we are touched in our spirits and there, transformed from glory to glory. That’s the last thing he wants. So he uses our human need for structure, perhaps our concern with how we are being received by people, and our tradition – especially our tradition (focus on time constraints, order of service, doing the “right things”) – to fool us into thinking that worship is what we do to get ready for the sermon, or to fill in time until everyone else is there. Even if we understand the power of worship, he uses our discouragement that nobody else is “getting it” to make us not pursue the face of God ourselves or be interested in pushing past the barrier of the layers of self-protection that people bring to church.

As I’ve been typing, and therefore distracted somewhat (aren’t we all distracted somewhat when we come into the sanctuary on Sunday morning, distracted from the happenings of the week in our various backgrounds?), I have been listening to song after song, and now it’s some six songs I’ve heard. At first I was opening my eyes to the beauty of people worshiping. Then my mind was challenged by the message I knew I had to communicate regarding the importance of worship. Only now am I opening my spirit to the presence of the Almighty One. And I’m musically oriented. Music is who I am, what I do, how I identify myself.

How much we miss, how greatly we rob ourselves of experiencing God’s vast and amazing love and grace ... by not tarrying in His presence!! It’s all well and good to preach and teach, to exhort people in righteousness, but the power to do all that comes from the Spirit of God. Without connection with the Spirit – through intimacy with God (and one powerful vehicle for that intimacy is through worship), there is absolutely no power to accomplish the things we are told we “should” do...and we end up frustrated and desolate inside. That’s no way to live. I know because that’s where I lived for decades. No more.

The services at our church used to start at 11 am. Sunday school at 9:45. Then church at 11. Then we moved Sunday school to Wednesday night, and moved church from 11 to 10:30, a half-hour earlier. Why? Because we wanted to be able to devote more time to worship and still have people out of the building by 1 p.m. One o’clock. Not twelve. Same reason for moving the evening service from 7 to 6:30. I remember – I was there. After a while, people forgot the reason, and thought it might be a good opportunity to have more time for themselves Sunday afternoon and Sunday night after the services.

Have we in the Western church become so paralyzed by the clock, by tradition, by our own little schedules, that we are afraid to go beyond our comfort zones?? Have we forgotten what it’s like to be so enthralled with God that we feel that the line-up at Swiss Chalet can go fly a kite?? Have we stopped expecting God to show up in power and anointing in our meetings?? If we have, then why would we go? As Moses said, "If You don't go with us, Lord, we don't want to move forward at all."

These are some of the thoughts I’ve had during the last few weeks, thoughts which have been slowly gelling.

Be blessed with the awareness of His presence, today and always.