A difficult conversation

What can one say to a fellow believer whose heart no longer trusts in the Lord? Whether through a disappointment or crushing blow or unseen event causes them bereavement. Friends may rally around with cards or phone calls, both earmarked with kind offers of encouragement and support:  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” (Proverbs 3:4-6) or “Those who know your name trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.” (Psalm 9:10). “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13).

Yet I wonder sometimes if people have really put their trust in God. Is the Holy Spirit pushing through the dredge and mire we wallow in when we lick our wounds, or have our ears been seared through the trials themselves?

Most people I know in the faith heed God’s word. They struggle while taking their lumps and then turn them over to God, casting their cares upon him, knowing that he can be trusted with healing their hearts. But all too frustratingly, sometimes people go the other way. It seems like they can’t hear the Lord calling to them. They remain deaf to his word.

This past year, I’ve gotten to know a woman from my church, along with her granddaughter. The child has been living in her home for the past two years in what is called a “foster kinship” program as, sadly, both of the child’s parents are addicted to drugs, and their lives are spent mostly in prison.

As she, along with her husband, walked along the quiet tree-lined street where they live while holding hands with their granddaughter on the way to church together, their adoration of the child is evident to everyone in their sphere. Her physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being have been their highest priorities, and to even a casual observer, the little girl thrived in her environment with swim lessons, ballet class, t-ball, etc.

At some point, I noticed their absence from church. During a call to my friend one day, I learned her granddaughter was no longer living with them. She’d been taken away by the county court system. I tried to put myself in her shoes, to understand the situation—the frustration of dealing with an apparently blind social welfare system. Their plans to rear the child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord now thwarted by an overzealous case worker, who abruptly placed her with a professional foster family without any apparent reason. Now with their granddaughter gone from their custody, they feel God has abandoned them and no longer put their trust in him.

The bitterness they feel toward God for this situation has left them hollowed out and miserable. In my feeble conversations with my friend, I try to let the Holy Spirit do the talking, lest my own words come up dry—words that admonish her to have more faith, more trust and to not focus on the problem but instead trust that God is in control.

As much as I want to shake the upset feeling from her and beg her to be joyful, convict her that she is wrong to leave God behind or to blame Him, I know that all I can do is pray. While I want to persuade her to come back to church… to guilt her into coming (isn’t God worthy?), there is one question I leave with her: Does your granddaughter belong to you or does she belong to God? While you’ve trusted God for salvation, have you trusted Him for everything else in your life including the welfare of your granddaughter?

In answering this, we must realize that everything belongs to God. We are just the stewards of what we’ve been given:  children, grandchildren, spouses, material things. In subsequent conversations, as much as I long for her bitterness to fade while accepting this trial as the Lord sees fit, I realize that is His job, not mine, and the lesson turns around on me.  I, too, need to trust that  they also belong to the Lord, and I need to let him convict them in his timing.

When I hang up the phone, it’s always my prayer that the family is reconciled one day as the Lord wills. Certainly the Lord knows what’s best for us as we entrust our hearts to him. And most certainly, if he  owns the “cattle on a thousand hills,” how much more our lives?

Winning the war

Years ago, I hesitated to join Facebook. I already had a social media outlet called Myspace. I loved my Myspace account. I decorated the walls, inserted cool music and even had a flashing sign to welcome visitors to my page. Why have two accounts and what could Facebook offer that I didn’t already have?  Fast forward nine years and here I am on Facebook.

There’s nothing wrong with Facebook–it’s a nice vehicle to stay in touch. I appreciate the game aps and the ability to converse with people otherwise impossible to reach. However, below the surface, there is a whole marketing machine in place to prey upon us as consumers.

Our personal information–where we live, demographic, affiliations, likes and dislikes are all carefully and schematically noted, filed, underscored and collated. Some refer to Facebook as actually being dangerous. I prefer to just call it insidious. What the info hustlers are gaining, we don’t know. For now, I’m just enjoying playing Scrabble whenever I want.

Back to the ability to converse… While I am fairly adept at making my viewpoints on religion and politics, I have to remember not everyone takes the same p.o.v. While it’s tempting to want to clobber people with my opinions, the Lord is attempting to teach me that I don’t always have to win the battles that I so easily entangle myself with.

I can always tell a knee-jerk response on Facebook–both mine and others. The tension can be felt right through the computer. In my efforts to convince others to my side of the fence, I’ve come to realize that some people–actually, most people–do not want to change their position. They only enjoy telling their point of view–most times, not with any love.

Whether we believe our p.o.v. is the correct one, if it’s not shared with love, it’s worthless. I speak to myself here and hope that I can adopt 1Corintians 13 in all of my speech in life and especially on Facebook.

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A new day, a new year, a new President

While listening to the president-elect make a speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial this evening on the eve of his inauguration, it was hard not to feel emotional. The music and fireworks that followed were enough to engender a renewed hope that America will continue to stand as a nation.

Most recently, the USA has stood at the crossroads of remaining the land of the free. Our federated republic is both strong and fragile. Our constitution keeps us in the former position while progressive leadership can break the bonds that hold the nation together. We must stay vigilant to the pressure of swaying too far from what  brought us together in the first place.

The country has faced many trials over the course of history and, hopefully, something has been learned through each of them. What is necessary is to not repeat the same. While the country has been through tough times and countless missteps, it appears that God still blesses the United States of America.

Whether you are a democrat or a republican doesn’t matter but what makes America great is that we remain allied with each other, united in spirit, intent on one purpose.

Our purpose is to love one another with the same love with which Christ loves us. That is what true freedom is all about.

Colors of her Generosity

Her hair bronzed like Cola
in a vat of firelight—
her smile as Pink as the sky.
These shades, so special, they could never be found
in my crayon box no matter
how many pictures I drew of her, my Mother.

Her wisdom spread
like a table cloth covered in salt and light,
draped on the edges of her heart
etched in many days of bread and labor,
teaching us to walk with God—her life,
the picture drew.

When I grew up, she put reluctance away
and spread wide her arms, let me go
to draw the pictures I’d seen on billboards,
to touch the world I’d painted Gold…
places I couldn’t scrawl with my crayons—
dreams drawn in Pearl and Onyx.

I drew away to where city lights
danced in every glass, where neon greetings
glittered in tinsel-charms of Silver.
But like the shadows of lost gems,
those pictures dimmed in time…
the wax lent to Bittersweet. Her picture not among them.

When her portrait emerged again, this time from the clouds—
brighter, clearer, and more alive than Blue-green or Green-blue
had ever colored my childhood oceans.
I remembered her words. her voice, they set my heart to Crimson.
The sky broke in hues borrowed from God’s palette,
colors that even Heaven couldn’t contain.

The rainbow drew her name.

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My mother and grandmother, Lucy and Lena, will forever be in my heart. This poem was recently published in In Celebration of Mothers, 2016.

A bittersweet homegoing

On the first day of this new year, our beloved pastor went home to be with the Lord. Under a crystalline blue sky, we left church with heavy hearts and the knowledge that today would probably be his last day on earth. A bittersweet day.

While we consider the loss of this godly man, who’s come to be like a father to many of us, it’s grievous to think of our church without him. The scent of his cologne, his warm greetings, his sermons, his smile.

The only problem with focusing on our loss is the ignoring of our pastor’s gain. Right now, he is alive and well. He has no cares or concerns or health issues or pain. That is just what we can fathom. Within our finite minds, we’re really not capable of understanding an infinite God’s perfection in a place so far removed from our earthly home.

To ponder our dear pastor’s home going, it’s my prayer that our bittersweet feelings dissolve into just sweetness and that our hope is fixed on that blessed day when we will be reunited with him and all of  our loved ones who’ve gone home before us.

In the meantime, I say, Maranatha, Jesus!

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.”- Psalm 116:15

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