A Thin Place

I hold her hand. It’s my turn. We do it in shifts. We know she is going soon.

“Walter came to me last night,” she said last week. My father, her first child and her only son, is already there, on the other side of the thinness, waiting. I have grown used to living without him. The grief has subsided into a gentle loneliness. But I still miss him, especially when the veil seems so paper-thin.

Subdued noises filter through the doorway from the living room. From the room where the living wait. My grandmother is not aware. Or is she? Do we know what people hear when they’re hovering between these two worlds? Perhaps she hears more than I do. Perhaps she hears things on both sides of the thinness.

I hear a sob. It’s my aunt Mary Ann. This is hardest on her, because she believes it is the end. I know it’s not. So does my grandmother. She settled her future years ago and now approaches it with anticipation. The real living will begin for her when she is gone from this place.

I look once more at her quiet face. I wonder if each breath will be her last.

One inhaled breath. Before it leaves her body, a vibrating hum sings from her hand into mine. I know, before it’s time, that the next breath will not come.

My father has taken her other hand. I feel his life flowing through her, touching me, loving me. Through the thinness I feel the touch of eternity.

Only One Life

“Only one life, ‘twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

I grew up hearing this truism. Eventually it became a trite statement. People rolled their eyes when it was quoted. Too bad how ideas that are good and true, and important to remember, become relegated to the Sally Ann box in our minds, just because we hear them often.

It’s probably because I’m getting older, but lately I find myself dragging things out of the Sally Ann box and putting them back into my life. As I look back at the old year, and ahead to the new one, I wonder how many things I have done, or will do, are things that will last.

Jesus tells us we should lay up treasures in heaven, where moths don’t eat and rust doesn’t corrode. I am shocked when I think how many things I concern myself with every day will be eaten or corroded by this time next year.

What can I do this year that will last?

The only eternally significant things we deal with in this life are not things. They are people. That means anything I do to contribute to the eternal well-being of others will last. Everything else will not.

Does this mean I have to do great and mighty things every day of my life? No. Human beings are not blessed by great and mighty things. They are blessed by small, loving words and actions that, little by little, stretch out their souls to make room for God.

They are blessed by little prayers, spoken as I wash dishes, or mark papers, or drive to the grocery store—prayers that, without my awareness, are storming the gates of hell, and opening the gates of heaven so that people can enter into God’s joy-filled presence. God’s presence is where things last.

The Apostle Paul says we are to set our minds on things above, not on things that are on the earth. He doesn’t mean we are to neglect the things of this life. We have to function here. We have to be responsible in how we use our bodies and the material world God has created for us to live in. But we are not to set our minds on these temporal things. We need to look beyond them to eternity.

I want to be mindful, as I go into this new year, of what I am creating that will last. I want to do every earthly activity with a heavenly purpose. I want everything I do to be for Christ.

Scriptures from Matthew 6 and Colossians 3.

The Joy Set Before Us

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2)

I remember when joy finally unpacked its bags and settled down to become a permanent resident in my heart. It was a major milestone along the road on my spiritual journey. (Hmm. Mixed metaphor. How to fix? Okay, pretend I live in an RV.)

Before then, joy came and went, staying overnight, or for a few weeks at a time. And even when it was here, the delight was always overshadowed by the spectre of death and pain that haunts our earthly existence—the threat of happenings in my life that could send it packing, or even destroy it altogether.

Then one day it came to stay, with little fanfare, bringing its friend peace with it. I don’t remember the date, or the circumstances, just the quiet coming into the depths of my being in a way I knew was forever.

Joy moved in when I finally got a good glimpse of the end of the journey. When eternity finally became more real me to me than this present mortal life. I caught sight of the joy set before me, and everything between here and there faded into relative insignificance.

There is no such thing as an unhappy ending for one who belongs to Jesus. For one who has put their trust in Him, pain will always be temporary. Joy will be eternal. That’s why the Christmas bells peal wide and deep. The width and depth of God’s grace and love have swallowed up death and pain forever.

We have to wait a while. But only a while. One day God will wipe away the tears. When that truth really dawns in our hearts, joy will find an eternal home there.

This post is in memory of my father, who went to heaven on December 22, 1953.

Christmas is About the Joy

My friend, Diane, shared with me a story I’d like to pass along here.

As she was driving one day, she heard this live report on the radio. A CBC reporter (Canadian Broadcasting Corp.) was traveling on a commuter train in Quebec and interviewing passengers at random. He came across a priest who was visiting people in the parishes along the way. The priest answered the reporter’s standard questions – “Why are you using the train? Where are you going?” etc. Then, in a very impromptu manner, the reporter said that he didn’t often get a chance to talk privately with a priest, and he had a question that he’d been curious about:

“Do you ever wonder if all this stuff about God is true? Do you have moments of doubt?”

The priest thought for a moment, then answered “Yes. In the middle of the night I wake up and wonder if it’s all a fantastic hoax. But I get up the next morning and I can’t explain the JOY any other way.”

That’s why Christmas is so wonderful. It’s the promise of joy. Eternal joy.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat, of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come, the belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head: "There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way, the world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime, of peace on earth, good will to men!
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), 1867)

May the Reason for the season fill your heart with quiet joy this Christmas and throughout the New Year.

How God Loves Us

Hesed.

The Hebrew word is used in the Old Testament to represent the kind of faithful, covenant love between God and His chosen people.

A Hasidic Jewish commentator defines hesed as:

“a consistent,ever-faithful,relentless,constantly-pursuing,lavish,extravagant,unrestrained,furious love.”

How awesome.

I want to embrace all this entails.

To Fix or Not to Fix: That is the Question

Our church is going through a difficult time. Actually, that’s an understatement. Everything that could go wrong in the process of transitioning from one pastor to another has happened to us. About the time we think we’ve weathered the worst of the storm, another huge wave breaks over our heads and more people are slammed down into the surf and come up spitting sand out of their teeth.

I am a deacon, and I assumed, when this all began, that my job was to fix things. That’s what deacons do, right? So I spent my time frantically running from one chaotic situation to another, trying to right all the wrongs.

But before I could accomplish much, I distinctly heard God say, “Ginny, I want you to quit trying to fix things. I’m not finished un-fixing things, and you’re just getting in my way.”

Well. That was a surprise. Wasn’t God supposed to fix thing? To right wrongs? I’d always supposed so. But I was sure God had spoken, so I stepped back to reconnoitre. I began observing God at work among us, and before long I came to the reluctant conclusion that it was actually He who was stirring the pot.

I’ve said this to some of my friends, and it’s resulted in a lively debate about whether or not God causes wrong things to happen. That’s an interesting subject. Maybe one we should talk about in another blog post. But for now, all I can say is I felt I saw God nodding, as if everything were working together for good, every time someone said something hurtful and someone else said a hurtful thing back. I cannot explain this, but I know God is here, and He has not been fixing things. Yet.

Last week our Care Group studied John 11. In this story, Jesus deliberately delayed “fixing” Lazarus. He heard his friend was sick, and so he stayed where he was for four days. Apparently, in the Jewish tradition, a person is not officially dead until he has not breathed for three days. Lazarus was officially dead when Jesus came to visit.

Jesus could have fixed this situation before it became so impossible. He could have saved people he loved a lot of grief. Yet He didn’t. Instead he let Lazarus die, and when He finally arrived on the scene, he cried with the mourners.

Why? It’s an easy question to ask when we’re in the midst of the pain. But God tells us why in this case, and it’s the same answer He gives us when we anguish over unanswered prayer.

He wants to teach us something about Himself that we can only learn when things are impossibly miserable.

He wants us to learn that nothing is too hard for Him.

He wants us to discover the depths of our need, and to realize that death is the ultimate end of all the world’s brokenness.

He wants to reveal that He has planned all along to bring life out of our death-ness, and nothing will stop Him from doing it. Not stones in front of tombs; not binding grave-clothes; not sceptical observers; not conniving religious leaders who will kill Him for what He has done.

So what have I learned? I’ve learned not to try to fix things. I’ve learned to observe God at work. I’ve learned to trust Him at work in my own pain and to rest in His hesed love.

The interesting thing is that nothing has changed about what I do. I still cry with people, comfort them, direct them toward different thinking, admonish and chide gently. But I do it differently now. I cry without desperation; my comfort is not sentimental; my admonitions have become simply loving suggestions and my chiding is less frantic and dictatorial.

Why? Because I know God is in charge. He is doing something. He knows what He’s doing, and it is good. I’ve learned to trust. To be restfully available and instantly obedient. It’s so much more satisfying than trying to fix everything, and it works better too.

A Follow Up to the Petals Post

Today I found an article in Christianity Today that contritutes more to my thinking on the Petals topic. Somehow it's related. Not sure how yet. Something about trusting instead of fixing. Believing instead of doing. Check it out if you like.

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2009/october/22.60.html

Dang. I keep forgetting how to put web addresses in so you can access them directly. Help?