Mrs. Job

    I have been reading Job lately for my daily devotions. Of course. Job is practically a textbook for anyone suffering loss. It is not a soft, cuddly comfort animal for those in pain, it is a prickly porcupine of worst case scenario. No matter how bad your circumstances may be, Job's are worse. You feel better by comparison. But that is not the point of Job or why God made it one of the first scriptures written. The pervasive principle in Job is that circumstances are not what they appear. Suffering is not always the result of personal sin. Job callous "comforters" were so certain in their assumption that Job's suffering was the result of his sinfulness that they, his friends, made up sins they knew he had not committed to justify their belief. They would hardly have been friends with someone of the low character they ascribed to him.

    God vindicates Job in the end, but Mrs. Job has been vilified in almost every Job message I have ever heard. This is based on four words in scripture recorded at the worst time of her life, "Curse God and die." Job, on the other hand, sang eleven chapters worth of  "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me." 11 chapters, 274 verses, versus 4 words spoken after losing 10 children and most of their livelihood. Having recently lost one of our three children, I think Mrs. J showed remarkable restraint. Besides that, the Jewish tradition of sitting shiva, seven days of quiet support for the grieving, was not just for men. Job's fickle friends probably brought their wives along and, if the men were being that judgmental, their wives were probably worse. And what if Job, instead of replying to his grieving wife's, Curse God and die statement by calling her a foolish woman, said "I know it's hard, honey, but we must trust God." Why doesn't the compassion to the suffering Job claims in later chapters to be part of his upright character, extend to his own wife?

    Job is considered one of the earliest Bible books written. It not only reveals the unseen back story between heavenly powers and human events, it records the battle between our assumptions and God's truth. Job's friends had so firmly fastened prosperity to blessing, suffering to sin, and God's judgment with earthly circumstances that they could not comprehend the truth until God thundered it from heaven and condemned them by name. Why did we need to know these things early in human history? Because we are just the same. It is nearly impossible not to see what we are expect to. If you have ever heard someone else embellish an event you were a part of, you know what I'm talking about.

    That brings us back to the much maligned Mrs. Job. Just because she was not afflicted with the physical pain and sores her husband was, does not mean she was not suffering. His losses were hers. His restored blessings of wealth and children were also hers. She must have been a smokin' hot mama because, after giving birth to, raising and losing ten children, she bore Job ten more, including three devastatingly beautiful daughters. (Who probably took after her.) It is ironic that judging the Mrs. based on four words of the thousands she must have spoken during her lifetime is the same small minded presumption that got Job's friends in so much trouble. Having lost all ten of her children in one day, it is amazing she could compose herself enough to articulate anything. Here are my four words from one mourning mother to another, "You're amazing, Mrs. Job."

Choice Words From Habakkuk

   The You Version Bible app I have on my phone sends me a verse of the day. In the days following Tracy's death some of these were very helpful, some did not seem to apply. But the only verse that I have kept on my phone all these months is the one dated March 26th, two days after we found out about Tracy.

Habakkuk 3:17, 18

    Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vine, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.

 

    It helps me because it came in that time of despair when I desperately needed to control something. I had no choice about the loss, but I can control my response to it. In some ways that is a no-brainer. There is no other God waiting around the corner that I can turn to. I have to trust the Lord I know, especially now that my son is with His. I would love to have Tracy here where I can enjoy and interact with him, but if I have to give someone I love into another's keeping, Jesus is my first choice. And if he has to relocate permanently somewhere other than here, heaven is definitely top of my list.

   In our Monday night prayer time for prodigals, Tracy was one of our success stories. I realize now he still is. I am happy that Tracy got sober, became responsible, regained his independence, self respect and the respect of others before he passed away, but what I wanted most for Tracy was to know he would be with the rest of our family for eternity in heaven and God answered that prayer. In fact, Tracy will be the one waiting for the rest of us to get there.

   Habakkuk had a hard choice to make. He prayed for judgment on his wicked people, knowing he would suffer with them, only to learn God would use an even more wicked nation to oppress them. I'm not sure I could be as resilient as Habakkuk about having no food, though Ukrainians are living both these realities right now. We do not get a pass or play option on the hard circumstances God brings into our lives, although we do get to phone a Friend. What we choose is how we respond. Though Tracy will not in this life follow his plans of being an aircraft mechanic or a pilot, though he will not live out the hopes I had for him of a home and family of his own, though I desperately miss his visits, calls and texts, yet I hope I can make Habakkuk's choice--to be joyful in God my Savior.

I Should Have Bought a T-Shirt

    If I had known my souvenir of our trip to Oregon was going to be sciatica, I would have bought a T-shirt instead. This trip was our first experience using VRBO (Vacation Rental By Owner). The unit and view were exactly as advertised. The balcony overlooked Siletz Bay and a parking lot, but the parking lot was for a nice little park. The rooms were clean and comfortable. Except for the bed. I  am not a fan of memory foam mattresses. I like being cuddled at bedtime, but not by my mattress. From the first night there, the bed and I did not get along. The squishy foam put pressure on my bad shoulder or back, depending on position. After the third night, my shoulder conceded the competition in favor of my back. Then my back decided to share the pain with my hip and thigh. My calf got off easy with only numbness. Sciatica, the gift that keeps on giving.

    My gift decided, uninvited, not only to come back to Montana with me, but to share the same seat in the car. I was very glad we divided the return trip into two days. By the time we got to Kennewick Saturday night, I thought I might have to ride on the luggage cart to get up to our room. The hotel mattress was better than the condo, but not enough to put out the fire in my hip. The next morning, Reed took me to a nearby e.r. so I could get pain meds to survive the trip home. The doctor did not answer my repeated question if the meds would last for the six hour drive to Kalispell, but I found out the answer for myself. They wore off when we reached St. Regis. Still, that was easier than the travel the day before.

    My family physician was not available to see me Monday, so I took pot luck with another doctor from the practice. His diagnostic questions were the same as the e.r., any loss of bladder control, numbness. Fortunately, my bladder did not get invited to the pain party. I eventually realized there was numbness in my calf, but I did not notice that until after the cortisone shot relieved some of the pain in my hip. Not to be outdone, the pain displaced by my happier hip moved back to where it came from, my lumbar spine. Kind of like evicting an unwanted guest from the house only to find he's moved into the garage. The doctor, having cured me to his satisfaction, and finding the massive spasm in my thigh of minimal interest, sent me on my way with a prescription for five muscle relaxants and physical therapy. I was not interested in another round of a therapist counting repetitions of exercises I can easily do at home, but found a clinic close to my house that uses dry needling to reduce inflammation. Today was my second session. We'll see.

    I spent more than I should have on our trip for toys and candy souvenirs for my granddaughters. And I'm in the process of spending way more money--between an e.r. visit, doctor appointment, drugs and physical therapy--on my VRBO souvenir. In my case VRBO meant Vertebrae Rearranging Bed Option. But, if I had known I would have no choice about bringing a souvenir home from Oregon, I would have bought a T-shirt.

     

To Have and to Hold

    Our daughter Britten made a keepsake quilt for us out of Tracy's old jeans. She had already made and given a small one to Tracy's girlfriend, Amanda. Britten gave us ours when we returned from Oregon, a belated birthday gift for Reed. She presented it rolled up and wrapped in a ribbon. I have planned for months to put it on Tracy's bed downstairs, but for now, I would rather hold it--and cry. It is the closest I can come now to hugging my son. A part of my Tracy to have and to hold. I have asked the Lord, since I can have no new memories with Tracy, to make my memories of his childhood more vivid. Holding the blanket triggers those memories of holding my baby, my little boy. 

    I know someday I will be ready to untie the ribbon and put the quilt to more practical use than a king sized handkerchief or a surrogate son. I am, by nature, a practical person. But for now it is a tangible connection to Tracy--to have and to hold.

The Voice of the Ocean

      It is possible to be an atheist in Montana but you have to work at it. It requires shutting your eyes to the beauty around you and that can be dangerous. You might bump into a tree, tumble down a mountain or fall into a river, maybe all three. At night, when those masterpieces are hidden, the stars come out to let you know that God is vast, brilliant and in control of his universe. When my heart is troubled, I drink in the calm quiet of the night sky with its massive stars in infinite numbers at unimaginable distances.  It comforts me to know every star is named by God and placed exactly where he wants it to be. But there is something different about the ocean. It speaks to me of God in another way.

     We recently made a trip to the Oregon coast. There is value in maintaining a normal routine after a loss, but there is also value in taking time to get away from that routine and rest. We needed that. Reed and I went to college in Salem, Oregon, which is only an hour away from the Pacific coast, so we had lots of opportunities to go. One of our favorite places to go was Lincoln City, so that is where we booked a condo. My favorite beach, Gleneden, is nearby, and was not even very crowded on the sunny afternoon we spent there. It had been a long time since I heard the voice of the ocean and, through it, the voice of God.

     The ocean is not calm, remote and quiet like the stars. The sea seethes and roars its way to shore. The same powerful waves chop the water and caress the sand. The God of the sea is vast, but He is also powerful and loud. He is not passively watching from the heavens to see what happens to the people and planet He created. He actively moves both nature and man in the tide of his timeless purposes. 

     I sat in the sand watching the tide go out and relaxing at the womb-like sounds of the sea. Sometimes I shut my eyes to the beauty around me so I could talk to God and listen to Him. It is possible to ignore the Voice of the ocean, but you have to shut your mind.