Dreaming in Color

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March is coming in like a lion with more snow and cold temperatures in the forecast.  This year has been dubbed “Snowmageddon” since it has been one of the snowiest in recorded Indiana history.  The last time I remember a season like this was the winter we experienced “The Blizzard of ’78”.  Over the years, it has taken on legendary significance.  Even with our improved snow removal, I believe a storm of that severity would shut Indianapolis down today as it did then. This winter has been quite a challenge too. We have had so many repeat storms dropping up to 10″ of snow at a time, that most Hoosiers are groaning and just saying, “Not again”!

The dark days and the bland landscape of browns, greys and white can tend to drag us down.  Don’t get me wrong though. After a snowstorm clears out and the sky is a crystal clear blue, the carpet of pure white is beautiful.  The trees at times shimmer with their icy coating in the sun.  The problem is this beauty doesn’t last.  The snow gets dirty and just plain yucky as we trudge to and from work in our multi-layered apparel, praying that we don’t get stuck or slide off the slippery roads.  It just gets old.

So as we storm into March, I’m dreaming in color.  My soul is longing for spring. Even though we can barely see it yet, things are changing.  The days are slowly getting longer and the pollen counts are actually going up.  We’re seeing more and more Robins at the bird feeders. It never ceases to amaze me that the trees and the birds are getting ready for spring long before we humans see it coming.  The promise of spring is one of rebirth and of resurrection.  The things that appear now to be dead, come alive again in glorious rainbow colors all around us.

I remember the first winter that Shadrach was with us.  I think he was always cold that year even with the large down coat we had purchased for him.  He had not experienced anything like this in equatorial Liberia.  He worried about the trees since they all appeared to be dead.  I reassured him that spring would come at last and he would be amazed how everything survived the long, cold Indiana winter.

It is no coincidence that Easter falls in the spring.  God’s promise of rebirth and resurrection is reenacted every year when the grass turns a brilliant emerald green and flowers pop up in shades of amethyst, ruby red and gold.  No wonder that the apostle John in the last pages of Revelation describes the new Jerusalem as the colors of precious gems with streets of gold.  When the new heaven and the new earth arrive, their colors will be more spectacular than anything our eyes have beheld before.  John had trouble describing their beauty so he compared them to things he knew.  The foundations of the Holy City were decorated with jasper, sapphire, agate, emerald, onyx, ruby, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, turquoise, jacinth and amethyst. The gates were pearls and the streets were gold transparent as glass. There was light everywhere shining from the glory of God.  Can you picture it?  It’s a rainbow of colors shining for all to enjoy forever.

In “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” written by CS Lewis, when the lion, Aslan returned, the long continuous winter imposed by the witch came to an end.  The snow began to melt, birds began to sing and the flowers to bloom.  The promised return of the King arrived with the spring.  The witch’s control over Narnia was over.

It may not look like it but spring is coming.  Soon the snow will begin to melt, the birds will sing and the flowers start to bloom.  We can count on it, just as we can count on Jesus’ promise that He will return.  Evil will be no more and we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Redefining Womanhood

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I grew up during the time period when women’s rights came of age.  I graduated from high school in 1976 and opportunities were just opening up for females in male dominated fields.  It had not been long before that people joked about women going to college to get their “MRS” degree.  When I first began talking about going to med school,  I’m not sure anyone really took me seriously.  Even after I was accepted into Indiana University School of Medicine, my grandmother kept referring to me going to nursing school.  At that time med school was still primarily a male domain and I don’t think it registered with her that this was even a possibility for me.  During my interview with IU, I was asked how long I planned to practice medicine and if I would continue after I had children.  This type of questioning would be frowned upon now but in the late 70’s, it was the norm.

When I started in medical school, it was expected that the females would emulate their male counterparts. Our femininity was set aside to be able to compete with our peers.  Accepted behavior was to remain detached from our patients and to not let our emotions show.  It was stoic paternalism at its worst.  It wasn’t long before all of the students, females and males, began to question this among ourselves.  When one of the patients cared for by my team at the VA,  who was only in his 30’s, died of a viral cardiomyopathy that destroyed his heart, we were all devastated.  We had become quite attached to him since he had been in the ICU for over a month under our care.  On the night he died we were on duty and every single one of us cried at the loss.  How could we not?

Staying detached really became impossible after I graduated and began seeing patients in our Family Medicine resident’s clinic.  As I saw these patients regularly over that 3 year period, I enjoyed learning about their families.  They would tell me stories of their lives. I delivered their babies and shared in their joys as well as their losses.  I became attached to them as much as they did to me.  I came to realize that my femininity was actually an asset, not a liability as I had been brainwashed into believing in med school. A sense of nurturing and caregiving was absolutely necessary in primary care, not characteristics to be shunned.  The assumption of my mentors in medical school was that we had to remain detached from our patients so we could make objective decisions for them.  I would contend that if I remained detached, I really would not know my patients and it would be impossible for me make informed, objective decisions with them.  You might note that I used the word “with” not “for” my patients.  So much has shifted in the thinking about the doctor/patient relationship over the last 30 years.  We now talk of mutual decision making by both the physician and the patient.  Women physicians were doing this all along because this was how we communicated with our patients in the first place.

It took me some time to break out of the mold defined for me in the world of Medicine when I first began this career.  It was an epiphany when I came to realize that what I brought to the table by the very fact that I was a woman was good and that I should not be ashamed of myself in any way.    I believe many women of my generation went through this same process of redefining their womanhood.  Yes, we stepped into man’s domain but we did’t have to become like men to succeed in it.  We just needed to be ourselves.  We enhance our careers by bringing a feminine way of thinking into them.  We don’t need to dominate over the men in our chosen fields but we need to add to the mix an insight that only women can.  We only ask for acknowledgement  that we are capable, not by turning ourselves into men but by being the women we were meant to be.

Unfortunately I see a different kind of confusion about womanhood in the young women of today.  Whereas my generation erred by trying to remake ourselves into our male counterparts, many of the millennials present themselves as overly feminine in a sensual way.  They dress in scanty, revealing clothing in the name of fashion.  Whereas we tried to move away from women being seen as sex objects, the present generation seems to not realize that their actions move us back into this mindset.

How can we find a middle ground? I believe the solution is for women, young and old, to be confident in who we are.  We need to stop trying to be people that we are not. We must embrace real womanhood, not hiding behind a facade created to please society.  Women bring beauty and softness to the world.  We are a nurturing, caring, persistent group who stand up to fight for those we love.  Let us not forget who we really are.

Overcomers

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I hear the words of Christian music artist Mandisa in my head as she sings on the radio, “You’re an overcomer.  Stay in the fight until the final round. You’re not going under. ‘Cause God is holding you right now…”  How many times have I felt defeated with the circumstances of life but a deep inner voice speaks to my heart these same words, “You’re an overcomer.” But even though I know God is right here, I can feel so alone.  We all feel knocked down and beat up when things are not going our way. Or we feel ashamed when a choice we have made has consequences we didn’t anticipate.  There are losses that are difficult to share even with those who love us: the promotion that never happened, the hoped for relationship that fizzled out, the baby that was never born.  They leave us with a sense of inadequacy and failure that is difficult to shake.  Does God really care about these feelings of defeat?

The Bible tells us that when we’ve seen Jesus, we’ve seen the Father.  Jesus cared for the defeated.  He announced His ministry when he read a passage from Isaiah that stated, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because He has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.  He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives, and release from darkness for the prisoners…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

Are you held captive by a sense of failure and brokeness?  Does despair surround you like a blanket of darkness?  Jesus came to release you from all this and give you beauty for ashes.  He wants us to be more than conquerors.  We are overcomers.  We choose not let failure get the best of us but to get up, wipe the ashes from us and try again. Often this is not from our own strength. We are lifted up by God’s people loving us when we are having a hard time loving ourselves.  This is how others will recognize God’s people by how they love one another in good times and bad.

Remember all of us have experienced failure even those the world would consider to be successful.  Most great people failed multiple times before they attained the status of greatness. The only difference between them and others is that they didn’t let defeat, defeat them.  Abraham Lincoln is considered one of the greatest US presidents of all time but he went through trials that would have stopped most people.  When he was yet a young boy his mother died suddenly.  He was fortunate that his father re-married a woman who would encourage him to learn and better himself.  When he was still a teen ager, his beloved sister Sarah, died in childbirth. She and her baby are buried together in the little cemetery near Lincoln’s boyhood home in southern Indiana. His family left Indiana and moved to Illinois in 1830. He first ran for the Illinois State legislature in 1832 and lost. He went into business with a friend in 1833 and it went under shortly thereafter. He could not pay the debt when it came due and his possessions were seized by the sheriff. He ran for the State legislature again in 1834 and won.  He was able to pay his debt with his salary from the legislature and a position as a postmaster in New Salem, Illinois.  In 1835 his sweetheart, Ann Rutledge died and left him heartbroken. He was re-elected to the State Legislature in 1836 and 1838. He was licensed to practice law in 1837 and was quite successful. He gained a seat in the US Congress in 1846 but didn’t run for a second term due to erosion of support back home in Illinois.  He did run for US Senate but failed to gain a seat both in 1854 and 1858. However in 1860 he was elected as President of the United States. During his presidency, the country was divided over the issue of slavery in a great Civil War. In 1862, while he was serving in the White House, his son Willie died.  He was again elected to the presidency in 1864 but was assassinated in 1865 by John Wilkes Booth while he was at the theatre with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln.  His life was tragic by any definition but he was known as a man of faith and great wisdom. It is thought that a raft trip as a young man down the Mississippi with a friend to deliver goods to New Orléans gave him the impetus to later implement the Emancipation Proclamation to abolish slavery.  It was there that he witnessed slaves being bought and sold on the auction block. This experience so affected him that he stood up against great opposition to use the power given him for good.  Even though his life was one of great loss and numerous failures, he moved beyond these obstacles to make a difference in the future of our country and it’s people.

But what it is that makes one an overcomer like Lincoln?  I believe we are given the power to become overcomers by the Spirit of God when we recognize that we are a part of a bigger story: God’s story.  Every joy and triumph, every loss and failure molds us into who we are meant to be.  These experiences give us the means to play a role in “God’s Grand Story.”  As Mordecai, Queen Esther’s uncle told her when he asked her to risk death by approaching the king to save her people, “Do not think that because you are in the king’s house you alone of all the Jews will escape.  For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish.  And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?”

You might think that you are not a president or a queen with such responsibility but neither Lincoln nor Queen Esther came from positions of wealth or power.  God moved their once simple lives into these positions for a reason. None of us know what part we are to play in “God’s Grand Story” but every good and bad experience in our lives moves us into the role we are to play.  We become overcomers when we realize that whatever lies ahead for us, we were born “for such as time as this.”

 

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing but in rising up every time we fail.”                          Ralph Waldo Emerson

Remembering Sacred Places

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I imagine that we all have idyllic places from our past that we hold dearly in ours hearts.  Scales Island in Lake of the Woods, Canada is one such place for me.  It was owned by my cousins’ grandpa, “Doc” Scales.  I have many fond memories of vacations spent there exploring the 5 acre island of wonders.  My first trip was when my father and mother flew me up there at just 11 days old in our single engine Beechcraft Bonanza.  The legend goes that Doc Scales held me the entire trip home since I was so young.  He was one of the physicians who gave me the motivation to pursue a medical career by his example of caring and compassion. In the years of my youth, It was a great gift to spend time with extended family out in nature’s glory.

As kids we had every inch of the island mapped out and named for its significant feature.  There was a small sandy area we used as a beach, a mossy log for relaxing and a wild blue berry patch where we could gather luscious berries for pancakes.  I happened to be the unlucky one who sat down on a sandy spot unaware that it was a giant ant hill. I don’t think I have ever stripped off a pair of pants any quicker than I did at that time to kill the numerous ants biting me under my clothes!  My cousins laughed about this for years.

One beautiful, sunny day while up at Scales Island in 1969, plans were made for my parents with my Uncle Chuck and Aunt Diane to go out on a sailboat owned by the Salvador’s who lived on a neighboring island.  The grandfathers, Doc and my grandpa Earl were planning to take the older grandchildren fishing.  This included my cousins Brad and Mona and myself.  My sister Beth and cousin Sheryl were judged to be too wild for fishing so they stayed on the island with Grandma Mazo and Grandma Rose Alta.

Everything was going well until we began to see dark clouds forming across the bay and the wind began to pick up.  We had seen the sailboat carrying our parents in the distance.  Suddenly we couldn’t see the bright white sail on the horizon any longer.  We realized that the sailboat had turned over in the harsh wind.  A decision was made by our grandfathers to travel to the sailboat to see if we could help the situation.  It took some time to motor across the bay to them since we were only in a small fishing boat.  Little did we know then but the sailboat had capsized and was completely upside down.  My Uncle Chuck was able to pull my Aunt Diane out from the cabin as the sailboat went over but my mother was trapped underneath. Luckily there was an air pocket left for her to breath since she tried several times to swim out but couldn’t because she became tangled in the ropes and sail.  Bill Salvador was able to swim under to bring her to safety while we were yet motoring to their aid.  When we arrived I remember seeing my dad sitting on the hull of the boat and my mom, Aunt Diane and Lucia Salvador trying to stay afloat in the cold Canadian lake water.  We were able to get my Aunt Diane into the boat and were attempting to come around to pick up my mom and Lucia when the boat was accidentally put in reverse.  My mom dove under the water to escape the propeller but Lucia was too close.  The thick Canadian sweater she wore caught in the boat’s propeller stopping the motor.  The men untangled her not knowing how badly she was injured and were able to get her into the boat.  We made our way back to Salvador’s island with heavy waves lapping up over the sides of the boat.  The air was sharp and brisk unlike the beautiful, warm morning earlier in the day.  My cousins and I were shaking from fear and the cold, too upset to even speak.  We were able to get our small vessel to the dock and Lucia into her home for Doc to examine her wounds.

As we waited for what seemed like an eternity, my cousin Mona and I walked outside holding onto each other while tears flowed down our cheeks.  We didn’t talk much but  prayers were being lifted up to heaven by our young hearts for Lucia’s wellbeing.  When we were told that Lucia’s sweater had saved her from any open wounds, we were greatly relieved. She had deep bruising under her skin but no more serious injuries! We were in a remote area, far from emergency medical care.  It would have been extremely difficult for Doc to treat her even with his medical expertise if she had had a serious back injury.  A miracle had happened before our eyes!

A seemingly inconsequential choice of whether to take a heavy sweater while sailing had made all the difference between life and possibly death that day.  I’ve often heard it said that coincidences are situations that appear to be random chance but are really God choosing not to make His presence known. Did I feel that this coincidence was random then or now?  Absolutely not!

In the Bible, it was customary for people to build an altar or monument at the spot where they had encountered God.  Jacob did this after he wrestled all night with God and prevailed.  His name was changed to Israel that day because he was a changed man.  When I have encountered God up close and personal, I may not build a physical altar to Him but a place of remembrance is set up in my heart.  The hand of God was with us that day long ago in the cold waters of Lake of the Woods, Canada. This will remain a sacred place in my heart forever.

 

Letting Kids Be Kids

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Some of my best memories involve the carefree days of childhood.  By today’s standards, it’s a miracle I survived to adulthood.  The creative energies of my cousins, Brad, Mona and Sheryl, and my sister, Beth and I were unstoppable.  A few blankets over some tables and chairs made a fantastic cave.  With discarded cardboard boxes, we designed forts.  When we were older, some old boards and nails scavanged from the garage were used to build a tree house.  We had an obstacle course in the barn that tested our agility.  If we could round up a few of the neighbor kids we had impromptu games of softball and croquet in our front yard.  When the weather was bad, we had running games of monopoly that went on for days.  Our favorite books would be made into plays.  Mom would usually be our audience.  She was our stage manager, supplying needed props for our productions.  Mom was supportive but she generally stayed out of our way so we could create. She was housewife and stay at home mom rolled into one.  She had better things to do than watch our every move since she also did all the accounting for my family’s aviation business.  I for one am thankful that she didn’t try to micromanage us.  By stepping back, she allowed us to become independent, creative thinkers.  I believe we all are better adults for it.

Granted I come from a different generation, a part of the “Baby Boomers.” My children are “Millennials.”  They have grown up with personal computers, cell phones and video games.  I can always count on them to answer all my technology questions and some I didn’t even know to ask.  They have a multitude of choices from television channels to latte’s at Starbucks. They can use their phone GPS for directions and an app to tell if their airline flight is on time.  When I was young, our phone hung on the wall of our kitchen and if we weren’t home no one could leave us a message.  They just had to call us back.  We survived without being able to text our every move and send photo ops on Facebook for every occasion.  Dad did have this massive movie camera that he would use to film us at special events like birthdays and weddings.  It had such bright lights that we would all be squinting to look into the camera. It was quite a production and hilarious to watch now.  Times have certainly changed.  But have the needs of our children really changed?

The times when my children reminisce involve memories that have nothing to do with technology.  They fondly recall adventures with their cousins too like tobogganing at Pokagon State Park and canoeing down Sugar Creek.  They remember the time they put baby blue birds in a shoe box when they fell out of their nest and I attempted to return them as mama blue bird dive-bombed me while I was running across our yard.  Their hearts long for butter bread sandwiches and corn meal mush lovingly made by our elderly neighbors, Dick and Jo.  These events could have happened in any generation. They are timeless.

But none of these memories would exist if my children had not been given space just to be children.  I followed the example of my mother and gave them the chance to create themselves.  They weren’t scheduled for one activity after another. We did not travel from soccer to dance lessons to violin.  Generally they had one major activity at a time and they had to prove they were committed to it.  They were given free-rein to explore and to generate their own play dates with neighbor kids who happened to include their cousins.  Grandma lived just down the road and she was usually ready to make banana splits when asked politely.  They could stop over to visit with Dick and Jo and play with their numerous barn cats.  There were hundreds of possibilities to choose from to entertain themselves.  Were they all safe? No. Occasionally there would be cuts and bruises from their escapades.  Once my son, Garrett returned with a broken thumb after a sledding incident.  His cousin Lauren had stuffed his hand back in his glove after it had been injured and they continued sledding!  With freedom there is the possibility of poor choices.  However, I would contend that this freedom is worth it.

As a physician, I have witnessed too many parents who do everything for their kids in the name of “good parenting”,  The kids are enrolled in numerous activities for their enrichment. Mom and Dad are carpooling them all over the city, eating fast food night after night because there is no time for a sit-down dinner. Homework and school projects are being completed by the parents so their children can remain competitive rather then giving them sole responsibility for success or failure.  Children are sheltered from failure by setting up a false “everyone wins” environment.  But we are not helping our children by coddling and micromanaging them.  We are just setting them up for failure later in life. We wonder why a number of our youth flunk out of college or move back home because they can’t make it on their own.  As parents, we must be able to step back to allow our children to think independently, make choices and have the opportunity to fail before they are away from us.  Learning to handle failure is a lesson well learned when there is still a safety net under them.  If we don’t allow them up on the tightrope but always keep them closely tethered to the ground as youth, then they will never learn the skills needed to keep their balance as adults.

So I challenge this next generation of new parents, to really look at what it means to be a “good parent.”  Sometimes less is better.  If your goal is to raise your children to become independent thinking, creative adults, then they must have the space to grow into their potential. Give them the props like a great stage manager and then stand back. Let them have the freedom to produce their own life.  But make sure to be there with the applause!

 

True Heroes

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The day after the Super Bowl for the avid football fan has to be a bit of a let down.  After the hype from competing commercials and the fanfare of the singing of the national anthem to the grand production of the half-time show, we are overwhelmed by it all.  For a day football is king and its players are our heroes.  I imagine most of them would really rather not be put on this kind of pedestal. Society is quick to put an elite athlete or movie star in this high position just to knock them down the next moment.  It’s a tenuous spot at best.  Peyton Manning, the gentleman that he is, handled defeat like a hero.  I imagine he learned this by watching his dad, Archie who was a tremendously talented quarterback on a losing NFL team year after year.  The Manning family character is to work hard and give it your best effort, win or lose.  It’s all a part of the game.

Most heroes don’t share the limelight with those like Peyton Manning and his family.  They live quiet, ordinary lives until the circumstances of life call upon them to be heroes. Sometimes it’s a split second decision that leads to courageous action. Other times it’s a decision to hold on when most others would have given up long ago.  No matter what, all heroes have the common characteristic that they are willing to sacrifice themselves for others.  This is not a trait that just happens without effort.  It comes little by little in decisions every day to give more than they get.  Then when those circumstances arrive that call for courage, there is no question what action they will take.

Who are the true heroes?  Some are famous but most will never be noticed by anyone other than those who have benefited from their actions and example.  My heroes are the numerous patients and friends who have fought cancer, sometimes for years.  My friend Brenda always had a smile on her face and a kind word to say, no matter how much pain she was enduring as she went through one treatment after another for breast cancer.  She was an example of true grace as she passed from this life into the next.   Her grandson thanked me recently for being one of those who helped to care for her.  I could see her smiling face through his and I know that a part of who she was is being passed on to the next generation.  What a blessing!

My heroes are Denny and Pam at my church who tirelessly care for Denny’s mother as her memory continues to fade.  As Denny slowly leads his mom up to the altar for communion, his love and care for her is a light to all who witness it.  It’s not easy day after day for he and Pam to carry out all the little things the rest of us take for granted, making sure that Helen is bathed, dressed and fed.  This is a sacrifice that they choose to give.  My own mother did the same for my grandmother for years before her death. It’s family caring for family even when it is difficult and often times unappreciated.

My heroes are the teachers at Sandy Hook who sacrificed their lives to save the children in their care and the eight year old boy who ran back into a burning trailer to rescue his disabled uncle after already saving several other family members.  They could not wait to ponder their decision to act.  They had no idea ahead of time that they would be called upon to give their lives that day.  My heroes are the firemen who ran into the Twin Towers to save others only to lose their lives moments later as we watched in horror when the buildings collapsed.  Our firemen, police officers and military train endlessly to be physically and mentally ready at a moments notice to put their lives on the line for all of us.  It is a choice to give one day after another.  They don’t know if this day may be their last.

Most of us are not talented enough to be professional athletes or called into service professions like our firefighters.  We may have ordinary jobs behind a computer or a cash register.  We may be a stay at home mom trying her best to raise her family day by day.  However, we all have the opportunity to be heroes. I propose that all these heroes I have mentioned have one characteristic in common. Giving was a part of who they were everyday-it was a daily choice. So when circumstance called upon them for courage and endurance, there was no question what they would do. In essence, being a hero is a role each of us has a choice to play.  But don’t wait until the time for courage comes upon you or you will not be ready.  Chose every day to give more than you get. Use the example of our ultimate hero, Jesus as your guide.  He never sought out acclaim or comfort for Himself but chose to give to others up until the moment of his death on the cross. While He was suffering so, He entrusted the care of His mother to His beloved disciple, John. He voluntarily walked toward His crucifixion so that we could live.  We are not perfect as He was perfect but we are made in His image, a reflection of His nature.  There is a hero waiting to be born in each of us.  Chose to be that hero for someone in your life today.

 

Self-Confidence or God-Confidence

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So much of western culture is “me” oriented.  We have manuals to boost our self-esteem, to promote self-actualization and to bolster our self-confidence.  We are convinced by shrewd advertising that “I’m worth it.”  We buy into this thinking and enthrone ourselves as our own gods.  When we make ourselves into gods however, we cannot allow the rightful King to rule our lives.  Jesus told his disciples, ” If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”  This is not an easy task. Self-denial is certainly counter to the culture in which we live. How do we remain self-confident in what we do here in this world yet die to self? What if rather than seeking self-confidence, we are “God-confident”?  What would this look like?

Instead of being solely dependent on our own abilities, we would depend on God working through us.  Our focus would be outward, not inward; looking out for others, not ourselves.  We would not be doormats though because we would stand for what is right.  Jesus was certainly not a doormat as He stood His ground with the religious leaders of His day.  Our leadership would be enabling and encouraging others to be all they can be.  We would not worry about material things but would be confident that God would provide what we needed.  This would free us to take risks for good.  We would be creative beyond our own ideas  because we could be open to the creative energy of God flowing through us.  We would be co-creators with God.  I believe this is really what He desires.  He doesn’t want us to be puppets who only can act when manipulated.  But He wants us to work side-by-side with Him: co-workers entrusted with the stewardship of the earth and its contents.

Overall we’ve done a pretty poor job with being good stewards but there are high points interspersed throughout history that give us hope.  A few of these include the discovery of the polio vaccine and penicillin that opened the door for other medications that changed our world, the fall of the Berlin Wall leading to the disintegration of the Iron Curtain , the end of Apartheid in South Africa through forgiveness and reconciliation , the abolition of slavery in the US and the subsequent Civil Rights Movement. All these accomplishments were gained through self-sacrifice and sometimes martyrdom for a greater good.

Each of us are given talents or gifts to use wisely as stewards of what God has entrusted to us.  In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a parable about a man going on a journey who left property in the care of three servants. He gave to one 5 talents (each talent was worth more than 15 years’ wages of a laborer), to another two, to another one, each according to his ability. When the man returned from his journey, the first two servants had doubled the money entrusted to them but the third servant buried his talent in the ground. The only servant who was chastised was the one who did nothing with what was given to him.

We all have different talents given to us according to our ability.  No one is exempt.  Medicine and writing are the two talents given to me that I am aware of.  Maybe there are more that I have buried deep inside myself that I have never used.  Both of my talents are God-enhanced especially my writing.  I don’t know what I will write for my next blog post until I write it. There is no plan, it just comes to me at the right moment.  This is not me but God. He puts the ideas in my heart and I put them on paper.  We are co-creators and through this process I feel closer to God than ever before.  But I haven’t relinquished all of myself to God yet.  Little by little, layer by layer, resistance falls away.  It’s like an onion being peeled.  When I let go of external pressures and open myself to God, I then understand the joy and peace Paul speaks of in the letter to the Philippians.  But when I grasp onto myself and my needs again, then worry overwhelms me.  I move back and forth between dependence on God and dependence on myself.  But I can see that bit by bit I am changing.  God is patient with me.  Like a good parent, He lets me fall to teach me lessons.  He doesn’t protect me from life but stands by me through it. I need more than a lifetime to let Him peel the layers of self-protection and self-centeredness away to reveal the person He sees that I can be.  I imagine that a good portion of this happens in heaven after I die.  It seems that we are all at different stages when we go from here.  But eventually He will perfect us.  It won’t be by our power but by His. However, we have to allow the transformation.  We can’t hold on to being our own god for this to happen.  Self-confidence must be converted to God-confidence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perfectly Known & Infinitely Significant

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During the height of the civil war in Liberia, my friend Shadrach and his sister, Mary fled over the border into the Ivory Coast to avoid the fighting. They were seeking refuge and a place to be able to finish their high school education.  The school they had attended at the Firestone Rubber Plantation was closed.  All the American businesses had left the country.  Their father’s source of income as a supervisor at Firestone was gone. Their only hope was an Operation Classroom school in Danane, Ivory Coast run by Methodist missionaries, Herbert and Mary Zigbuo.  They traveled there while in great danger as refugees. The Zigbuo’s took them in, treating them as their own children.  They were able to finish their high school education and met the Wagner’s from Indiana who were instrumental in both Shadrach and Mary eventually coming to the US for their college degrees.

It would have been easy for them to feel forgotten by God when running for their lives away from the gunfire and the bombings.  They were two of thousands of refugees leaving Liberia. At that time they did not know if the rest of their family were dead or alive.  Prayer was a part of their daily lives.  Their faith in a God who delivers was the only stability in a world that was crumbling around them. Little did Shadrach and Mary know then that God did see their plight and was setting circumstances up for their escape.  God knew them intimately as He knows each of us even before we were born.  A beautiful passage from Psalm 139 describes how we are known by God.

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.  You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me…”

It is wonderful to realize we are intimately known in this way but it’s also a little scary.  God knows everything about me-EVERYTHING.  He knows not just the good and bad things I’ve done but He knows all my thoughts.  There is nothing I can hide from Him. No where I can go to escape Him.  This would be very scary if not for Grace.  God knows me better than I know myself yet He still loves me enough to sacrifice Himself so I can live with Him forever!

When Jesus was here in earthly form, He demonstrated on many occasions that He had the ability to know the thoughts and character of the people around Him.  After His baptism by John the Baptist, He called several to follow Him.  One of these soon to be disciples was Nathanael.  When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, He said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”  Nathanael asked, “How do you know me?”  Jesus answered, “I saw you while you were under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael was astonished that Jesus saw him and knew him before they had even met while he sat unaware under a fig tree.

Jesus sees us and knows us too in life’s ordinary situations long before we have ever met Him. God’s Prevenient Grace finds us under our own fig tree.  He seeks us and invites us to follow Him as Jesus invited His disciples long ago. He finds us in the mundane things of life. We might be washing the dishes or driving our kids to a ball game.  He finds us and comforts us in desperate times as He did with Shadrach and Mary when they were running for their lives.  They may have been discouraged and afraid but they never lost faith in the One who saves. Most of us will never experience the terror of a civil war but Jesus knows us and seeks us right where we are. He sees who we are but He also knows who we could become.  Shadrach was just another refugee but Jesus knew he could become a doctor and be a leader and example of hope for his people. As we ponder the magnitude of the world we live in, we may feel that we are insignificant. But in Jesus’ eyes, be assured that we are perfectly known and infinitely significant.

Nothing is Wasted

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Life is full of ups and downs, victories and defeats.  We tend to thank God for the blessings of our mountain tops but see our valley experiences as meaningless. But nothing is ever wasted in God’s economy. My cousin, Mona posted a comment by Anne Kubinsky of lookforthegoodproject.org on Facebook recently that spoke to this truth.

“I know people who feel like they’ve wasted years of their lives because of poor choices.  They spent years in a relationship that was toxic, years with an addiction, years at a job where they weren’t fulfilled.  But you have to realize, nothing you have been through is ever wasted. Your past experiences, good and bad have deposited something on the inside of you.  Those challenges have sharpened you, to make you who you are today.”

As I look back over my life, I see all the pieces coming together to make me who I am.  If I am honest, the sad times have had a greater impact since they knocked me off my pedestal and gave me a better perspective of the world around me.  My life was very dark when I lost my youngest sister, Gaynelle when she was almost 5 years old.  Her death gave me first hand experience of the heaviness that sits on your heart during grief and how it can resurface out of the blue years later.  Something rekindles a memory and it all floods back for a moment.  It could be a familiar smell or a scene from the past. I’m suddenly immersed in the same feelings again.  But it only lasts a moment.  I’ve learned to live a new “normal” years ago.  However, having experienced this I know when I come across a person who has lost someone they love dearly, I have a sense of what they are going through.  When you love someone deeply, you always miss them no matter how many years have passed. It’s just the way it is. Recognizing this fact and just “being” with another grieving soul can help more than anything.  It doesn’t change the situation but there is nothing much worse than grieving alone.  Those of us who have experienced grief are best able to help those going through it now. Grief was a challenge that sharpened me, reshaping me into who I am today.

My life has had a few big challenges like the death of my sister and a myriad of little ones. A few years back I had the unfortunate inconvenience of breaking two bones in my left leg while dirt bike riding with my husband.  It’s a long story but suffice it to say I felt foolish not having on proper boots that probably would have prevented the fractures.  In the end I needed a titanium rod in my tibia and a plate and screws in my ankle.  This slowed me down a bit.  I discovered what it is like to have difficulty raising my leg over the edge of the tub to shower.  I found that PT can be extremely painful but absolutely necessary to regain function.  I noticed how few shopping places have benches to sit down when I was worn out using crutches.  I have a whole different perspective on physical disabilities that I would never had known if I hadn’t gone through this experience.  My leg is essentially back to normal.  I don’t have a permanent disability as many people do.  But I have a new appreciation for what they go through every day.  A place saying it is “handicap accessible” doesn’t guarantee accessibility.  Little things are difficult when a person is disabled that most of us take for granted. Through this experience I can better guide my patients when they are going through a similar injury.  I think it gives them hope that my ankle is doing great now.

I wouldn’t wish for any of these trials if I had the choice. I would do just about anything to have my sister back. But I can’t.  I hold on to the hope that I will see her again and I know that Jesus is taking good care of her now.  But I did have a choice as to whether I would let the trials make me bitter or whether I would let God use them for good.  Over and over again I have seen good come after great tragedies.  The tragedies are not minimized but the survivors didn’t let themselves be defeated by them.  They chose to make a difference for others often in honor of those who didn’t survive.  All the loving actions that have come after the Sandy Hook shooting are a good example of this.  Evil has been quenched by love because the families chose to use their grief for good, not bitterness.  Nothing is wasted when we allow God to use our tragedies to remold us into people of light.  The apostle John gives us hope in the midst of these trials. “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Speak Life

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In December, Tim and I had the opportunity to see Toby Mac in concert with two of our good friends, Kamia and Gary.  It was such a great evening listening to his band plus Mandisa, Brandon Heath and several other Christian music artists.  Toby Mac doesn’t perform your typical Christian music style since he tends to sing more hip hop and rap.  Nevertheless, his lyrics are deep and meaningful when you spend the time to listen to his message. One of his songs, “Speak Life”  particularly hits home with me. Hear his words…

“Lift your head a little higher, Spread the love like fire, Hope will fall like rain, When you speak life with the words you say.”

“Raise your thoughts a little higher, Use your words to inspire, Trouble falls like rain, When you speak life with the things you say.”

Words are powerful.  People are lifted up or torn down with words.  As kids we used to chant, “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”  We all knew in our hearts that this wasn’t true.  Did we say it with the thought that somehow we could push away the pain inflicted by words? Jesus’ brother James compares the tongue to a fire. “How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire!”  Angry, hurtful words can destroy lives quicker than a forest fire.  But the converse is also true. Words used to inspire can set a life on fire for good. Even a few encouraging words can change the trajectory of a life forever.

My desire is to speak life affirming words but it’s so easy for words to spill out of my mouth without thought.  When I write I can edit my words numerous times before I publish them.  But when I speak, my editor often doesn’t catch the words before they are out.  Trying to take words back after they are spoken is like trying to put feathers back in a pillow once they are scattered to the wind. It is impossible.

Unfortunately it is often the people I know best that I have the most trouble giving these words of life.  We have too much history together.  I am sure when Peter asked Jesus how often we are to forgive, he wasn’t talking about forgiving strangers. A stranger wouldn’t often have the opportunity to wrong us more than once or twice.  If at all possible, we would stay away from them before they could wrong us again.  However, a family member has the opportunity to wrong us seven times seventy.  We are asked to forgive them every time. When we have a shared history of one wrong after another, it’s difficult to give them words of encouragement.  But in reality, these are the people who need them the most.

Speaking the truth in love can be one of the most arduous tasks.  How do you diplomatically relay that you don’t appreciate a family member’s behavior but you still love them?  We’re pretty good at accomplishing this with our kids but what if we need to have this conversation with one of the adults in our wider family circle?  I’ll admit that most times I chicken out. I’ll try to ignore the behavior or act like it didn’t happen but fume inside.  If I fume too long, then I blow up.  On the other hand, when I have taken the initiative to talk calmly with that person or if I have sat down and wrote to them how I felt, there was initial anger and denial on their part but in the long run the behavior lessened.  Our relationship was improved. But I had to continue showing them in other ways that I loved them.  In that manner, they could see that I did truly care enough to be honest with them and to stay in relationship with them.

Real love speaks life by expressing truth yet all the while affirming the worth of the person. The opposite of love is not hate.  It is indifference. I pray for the wisdom to know when and how to speak the tough words in love so that I may remain engaged in the difficult relationships in my life and not indifferent.