Goodbye, Jon

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them" (Revelation 13:14)

When I lived in Minnesota, a man and his wife in a church that I was visiting, invited me home for lunch after the service. They must have recognized that "I'm lost and alone, please be my friend" look I probably had, and they took me in. Jon and Colleen lived way out in the country, and had a beautiful red barn that had been used in a butter commercial. It was the most picturesque, lovely old thing and was a shiny red. Jon and Colleen's house was over a hundred years old, and they had lived in it for a long time. I immediately felt at home there, and wished I had been able to spend time sitting on their front porch more often during my Minnesota sojourn.
Jon and Colleen invited me over several times, and when Sam and I got married and returned to Minnesota, they invited us over. When they visited Indianapolis, they invited me to join them for a potluck at their son's house. They could not have been kinder to me.
I really like both Jon and Colleen, but Jon got into the cockles of my heart. Jon was a very kind, generous man. He was quick to tear up and reach for someone to hug. He had the most twinkly eyes and hearty laugh that made me want to tell him jokes and be witty just to hear him wheeze and laugh. Once during a sermon that went on and on, we were almost in tears from laughing on the sly. The pastor had exhausted nearly all the texts on a particular topic and suddenly, as our stomachs began to growl for lunch, he started in on another long list of texts. Colleen later said that we shouldn't sit together because we were a lethal duo.

I probably only spent time with Jon and Colleen six or seven times, but they were always welcoming and eager to spend more time with me. A few months ago I learned that Jon had just been diagnosed with advanced liver cancer. I sent him a card telling him that I was praying for him and fervently hoped that he wasn't suffering.

Today I found out that Jon died a couple days ago. His funeral is in two days. The picture that I was sent in his death announcement showed him wearing a hat over what I suppose was a head bald from chemotherapy, and with his arms around his two sisters, and a very broad grin on his thinning face. He was wan but happy and full of life.

The Bible says that those who "die in the Lord" are asleep until the resurrection. That comforts me tremendously at times like this. I know I will see Jon again. Jon and Colleen, one of the most loving and in love couples I've ever met, will again be reunited, to love again forever and ever. I believe that Jon will spend eternity making others happy, just as he did here.

Sweet rest, my friend. I hope the Day comes soon.

Peace in the Uproar

Today is the Sabbath.
I don't know how people manage to survive week after week, month after month, without having a regularly scheduled day to relax, guilt free. As I look around my box-filled livingroom, red tape garishly slapped over the edge of boxes containing fragile items in them, it's a pleasure just to sit and relax. No packing today, no bother with what to clean next, which papers to start to grade, what project we need to get done before we move in two weeks. Just quiet and rest today.
Last night Sam and I were able to lie in bed and read together, then talk into the night, undisturbed by television or radio. It was quiet and pleasant, with the windows open and rain-drenched breezes wafting through the upstairs.
As I write this morning, Sara Groves' voice fills the house and my heart is once again at peace and reaching for God.

That's what the Sabbath is: a gift of time, rest, and peace.

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, 10but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)

Sounds

A hollow of shrill schreeping—crucifix peepers
—my father showed me one May evening in the bog near our house;
A wisp of a black cross over an amphibious back.
Treble waves of a screechity-sweet chorus
rings in my ears as I walk in the dusk tonight.

A wind eddy of leaf skeletons—swirling, rustling at my feet;
Somnolent dueling cicadas overhead in the catalpa tree.
Swooping tuxedoed barn swallow’s whirring wings into barn branches;
Muted popping of cornstalks reaching upward in the paralyzing August night heat;
The wheezy, whiffling snore of a fat black cat on the foot of the bed.

These he no longer hears—my father—
with beige hardware writhing into both ears;
no longer privy to understatement and background.
Life strikes his ears with blunt force, sometimes oversized
in a plastic sort of way.

Have I been mindful enough to savor and memorize
So that when my ears are impervious, like my father’s,
This heavy summer night air can draw me back to a time
when the voiceless murmur of one sleeping against my neck
was louder than the entire world?

Goodnight, Jim.

Tonight I was given the very sad news that my friend and mentor, Jim, died earlier in the week. When I got the call, there were so many images that filled my mind. And now, while I should really be asleep in bed, I can't stop thinking about him.

I first got acquainted with Jim when I was a therapist intern, learning how to do therapy after obtaining a master's degree in counseling. Jim is the consumate professional, and was an excellent model for a novice like me. He was absolutely unflappable, regardless of patients with eratic behavior, threats by grandiose narcissists, or despondent individuals threatening to kill themselves. Jim always knew exactly what to do and had a wonderful way of talking with patients until they actually wanted to make good choices.

Jim was from West Virginia. I have known few men who could come close to his quiet, genteel ways. His slow drawl and twinkly eyes could both sooth and motivate. And I loved to make him laugh during our supervision hour. He made this funny inhaling sound like a seal when he laughed--very loudly--that made everyone nearby laugh just to hear him.

When, as a new therapist, I was invited to the position of a director of a counseling service, a group of psychologists with whom I worked decided that they should have the position. They actively lobbied the administrators who hired me to hire them instead. Jim was the only colleague who stood behind me and opposed them. He had faith in me, but he also would not tolerate violations of integrity in either personal or professional life. Because of his support, I held a terrific position for three years under his supervision, and obtained excellent training in administration and therapy services.

The last time I saw Jim, I was interviewing for my job at the university where he teaches. He didn't see me, and I decided not to make myself known at that time. I thought I would just invite him and his wife over for dinner after we had moved and gotten settled into his town. He would be able to finally meet the wonderful man I married. Sadly, this can never be.

I keep thinking that if I could just frame a lofty enough commentary about Jim and my experience of him, that I will stop feeling bereft. But alas, this is not true. Jim has died, and I will miss him terribly.

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18).

Good night, my dear friend. I'll see you in the morning.

He is Faithful

(You can read more about this coin here)

In my Bible study this morning, I was reading the parable of the vineyard owner who went into the village to find workers to go to work for him (Matthew 20:1-16). Some were called to work at 6:00, some at 9:00, 12:00 and finally, some at 4:00 p.m. Those who know this story will remember that everyone got paid the same thing--a denarius. A day's wage, whether they worked for a day or an hour.

The Kingdom of Heaven has different rules than we earthlings have. What is fair is a matter of perspective, apparently. God reserves the right to be generous at times by giving people more than they deserve, and at other times, allowing the results of their actions to play out--just what they deserve by earthly standards.

In thinking about this parable and how it applies to my life, I realized that it is easy for me to feel envious of people who serve God in the same way that I do, with similar fervor and enthusiasm, and who have received more from God's hand than I have, materially speaking. This is true, sadly enough, even though I have received tremendous blessings from God in terms of spiritual vigor and more than my share of energy, creativity, optimism, and happiness. Intelligence and persistence are other gifts that I would not trade for anything. But touch my wallet, and I begin to think that others who have an easier life than I do, must be spiritually inferior in some way, or that God has been unfair to me. And that is faulty thinking.

As far as I can tell, God has promised us just what we need for today--not all that we need for tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Just for today. And today I have all that I need and plenty more.

When I went back to school for my PhD, I moved across the country to a place where I didn't know anyone, didn't have a job, and had very little money. I had a job in a week, which meant that I had a week to unpack my belongings and make my apartment comfortable. Typical of new jobs however, I didn't get paid for two weeks. I can remember having enough money to buy a few groceries. For two weeks I ate oatmeal for breakfast and had spaghetti with green peas and parmesan cheese in it. And I was as happy as a lark (and dropped off some weight that needed to come off!) I had everything that I needed. I even had a dime in my wallet--no more, no less. But I didn't need anything beside what I already had. I was as blessed as those who had all sorts of other things besides what they needed. I had no reason to complain.

Today I'm thinking about how grateful I am for a God who has given me all that I need, and whose promise for the things of life are good, just for today.

Great is Thy faithfulness,Great is Thy faithfulness,

Morning by morning new mercies I see:

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Finally, a Home

The last two days have been full of mounting consternation for my husband and me. The moving company continues to ask where they are to deliver our household goods, and we haven't had a destination. Real estate costs are out of sight where we're moving, and we haven't been sure what we'd do. We've looked at condominiums and houses 25 miles away from where we'll be working, just to find something affordable. We finally located a surprisingly spacious condo for a half-way affordable rent. I asked the man to describe, among other things, what one sees when looking out the front door. He said a bit proudly, I thought, "You look right out onto the front doors of Walmart." End of story.

The last two days I've had a very heavy heart, reminding God that He owns the cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50:10), and that a home for us should not be a big issue for Him. I even gave up the idea of having a yard of my own to work in, garden space for my personal therapy, or even how badly I want an apricot tree and space in the yard to entertain. Being like Abraham and setting out for a destination yet unknown has not been something I've liked to think about, but we have been close to that.
Today I received an email out of the blue, from a colleague's sister who lives in our new city. She offered a rental home to us within our price range, and that is much lower than area costs. She apologized that it has a home office in the garage (how many weeks have we looked for a place where I can have a home office?!), and that the gazebo around the (working) jacuzzi in the back yard needs repairs and that they're tearing out a tree on the side lawn and I'd be welcome to put a garden there if I was so inclined. However, she pointed out, there are four bedrooms and the living area is perfect for entertaining (what about my repeated requests to God for a place to bring home colleagues and students?!) In addition, the apricots and apples on the trees in the back yard would be in season when we arrive. The persimmons and tangerines and limes would come on a bit later in the season. It has a very large yard for that particular area, and the back is full of mature trees. I will have my trees and a place for my birdfeeder! It won't be like living in the desert! It is in a lovely, safe neighborhood and is only two miles from our jobs.
Yes, it is a small home, but it is perfect for us in so many ways.

God truly gives us exceedingly more than we think or ask for, and once again He has shown me that He can more than provide for my needs. I only need to ask, and wait in faith for Him to work. We are so fortunate.

Mommy....

Yesterday I went shopping for a new dress. Sam suggested that I find a new dress for church, as he is as sick as I am of what hangs in my closet. That meant I could throw responsibility to the wind and take the afternoon off--when I should really have been grading papers.
I went to Macy's. It is one of the nicer stores in our area. Indeed, there were lovely sales and lots to try on. I loaded up with about twelve items and headed for a dressing room. It can be a bit hard on the ego to try on some of today's dress designs, particularly for "women of substance" like me. As I squeezed myself into a garment that made my breasts point north and south, I was reminded of a picture I saw once, of some kind of torture by binding. I fought my way out of the bodice gripper and picked up a sensible type of skirt. Not to be confused with sensible shoes, this skirt looked appropriate and sensible for a middle-aged woman. Alas, it had some sort of loop affair at the waist and up between my legs that made me want to walk on my toes for comfort. As I struggled out of that one, I heard a woman and child enter and take the handicap stall at the front of the dressing room.
"Mommy," chirped a boy of about four, "This is pretty. Puhritty!"
"Yes, honey. Let's see if it looks nice on mommy."
I could heard rustling and zipping sounds as she worked her way into whatever it was.
"Oh my word," was her startled response as she apparently looked at herself in the mirror.
"Mommy, don't wear that" the budding designer reported. "It's too small for you. You have too big tummy."
"Yes honey." There was a don't-talk-so-loud quality to her response. "I'll find something else."
There was more rustling and hard breathing before finally I heard a "pfh!" and a zipper going down.
"What's the matter, mommy?"
"I couldn't get the zipper down. It's hard to reach." Mom was slipping out of the dress.
"Owww! Honey, don't push on me like that!"
"Why do you have shiny things on your tummy right there?" There was such innocence in his voice. Stretch marks, that must be what he's talking about. I glanced down at my own tummy, grateful not to have any.
"Mommy, why do you have such a big tummy?"
"Look at all the pretty colors on here, honey." There was intentional distraction in her voice. More rustling fabric sounds.
"Mommy, why are you fat?"
There was a long sigh. "Mommies have big tummies sometimes."
And so do women who don't have babies, I thought ruefully, as I replaced a skin-on-a-baloney dress on its hanger.
"Do you have a baby in it like Sarah's mommy?"
"No."
"Why? Why you can't fit that dress?"
By now this conversation had my full attention. I was just reaching for a death by polyester number and couldn't wait to hear her answer.
"Just because, honey."
"Oh....Can we go to the park now?" I could hear their stall door unlocking and junior deliberately scruffing his sneakers across the floor as he was directed out of the dressing area.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My ego felt suddenly robust. It was only me and the mirror, no little commentator.
Leaving the women's department, I passed a woman browsing through a rack of sale dresses. Whirling round and round next to her was a little brown-haired boy saying over and over, "Fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-fat....fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-fat-"

I saw you

Yesterday morning on the quick drive to the office, I went past a housing development that is going up on the edge of town. I had to pause to let a big tractor-type machine lumber out of a driveway, spewing mud in all directions. As I sat there fuming because I'd be late, I noticed a 40ish-aged man sitting on his back porch--his new back porch--so new that there still were boxes all over and no fence around his yard. There he sat on a metal folding chair hunched over with an open Bible in his hands. He was so absorbed in what he was reading that he didn't see me staring at him or even seem to notice the behemoth machine leaving the development. He would read a few moments, then shut his eyes as though he was looking at something in his mind's eye, or praying--I couldn't tell. But I took notice.

I had been in such a rush that morning leaving the house that I hadn't spent any time with God. I was talking aloud to God when I had to stop for the tractor, but whatever insipid conversation I was having wasn't of the quality that the man in the metal folding chair was having. I drove on silently.

When I got to my office, two blocks further, I was ready and eager to talk to God about substantive things, and to spend time with my open Bible. The man on his new porch has no idea how his example spoke to me.

Skinny Calories

Today I started on an eating plan that I hope, will allow me to drop 45 lbs. Yep...I have lots to drop. I ate 1299 calories--not one more, not one less. And they were very skinny little calories, but I loved every single one, I can assure you!
This morning I woke up with a nagging headache. By the time I got to school, I was hurting, even after three Advil. At 10:00 I was fighting nausea and at 11:00 I came home, sick, clutching a wastebasket and waiting to heave. But I didn't want to give up even one of my already eaten skinny calories. So I climbed into bed and fell asleep for several hours and they stayed put.

My life is simple. I am committed to stay with this and behave myself, regardless of what my head and stomach does.

The Great Hen in the Sky

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing. Matthew 23:37

When we were children we had chickens. My father decided that we needed to have this experience when we moved to the country. So the neighbor gave us several pullets and my brother and I became mothers to our baby chickens. In a streak of creative genius, Brother named them One Spot, Two Spot, Three Spot and Four Spot, though none of them really were spotted. Sometimes the rest of us could tell which was which, but only Brother really knew who was who in that brood. That was because he was their mother. They had imprinted on him, and wherever he went, they went.

He found a chick in the woods once, under a doghouse that a wind storm had overturned, killing the mother and ruining all the eggs in it. Except this one little chick. Brother became his mother, too, and chick came home in his shirt pocket to live in the big empty chicken coop, all alone. I used to creep down the stairs and out to the chickenhouse after dark, bringing him back up to my room to sleep inside of an old white glove, tucked under my chin. He was quiet and (I thought) rather grateful to get to sleep in my bed every night. But then he outgrew the glove and another morning he woke us all up with an croaky, adolescent crow, and he was banished from the house by my mother. By then, chick had become Giovanni, the great Rhode Island Red rooster of Large Road. Since he had grown up being around humans, Giovanni felt that he was a human. When we were outside working in the garden, Giovanni was close at hand, pulling up worms and offering them to us with excited clucks. When we went for a walk down the road, here came Giovanni after us, running on his stilty long legs, eager to be part of things.
The funniest sight involving Giovanni happened every Sunday at our house. Dad would go out to mow the lawn on the riding lawnmower and Giovanni felt that he should sit on my father's lap for the duration of the task. But Dad would (on purpose) head off down the lawn, leaving a wide mowed swath of grass upon which Giovanni ran with great determination behind the lawnmower. After running for several lengths of the property, my father would swoop him up and put him on his lap. Giovanni would nestle right down against my father and content himself with delicately picking flecks of grass off my father's shirt, or giving cackling commentary about birds overhead or sudden noises from running over tree roots. After all, my father was Giovanni's mother, too, and he could not be content without being near, Dad's arm wrapped protectively around the 20-lb bird, holding him up against his side.

As we think about Mother's Day, it is not only women whom we celebrate. Jesus, in His impassioned comments over the city of Jerusalem, proclaimed Himself the greatest mother there ever was: our Mother-Father God.

So to all who provide solace, cheer, inspiration, or protection, for all the children, students, cats, chickens, men, or any other living thing: Happy Mother's Day. May you mother others and allow the Great Hen in the Sky to be your mother, too.