A Rock is Still a Rock, After All

    I found out yesterday that our son-in-law's three year old nephew, for whom we have been praying the past few months, is now on hospice. His neuroblastoma was stage four when he was diagnosed. The outlook was very poor. But I realized when I heard he is dying, that all those months I have been praying for Rustin, I never really hoped for anything better. I think one of the casualties of losing so many Lambs in the past few months is my feeling of hope. My faith in God is intact, my hope for a future in heaven is brighter than ever, but my hope that prayer changes things in this world is wounded. I realize one of the purposes of prayer is to line me up with God's will, and that will is too vast for me to comprehend, but right now a three year old is dying of cancer and it seems like the prayers were just to make me feel good about having done something. A show of support for the family. A participant ribbon for those of us who prayed.

     Normally God's sovereignty is a comfort to me in a world where our culture and government runs headlong toward sin, but when God's sovereign plan is death of people I care about, sovereignty is more painful than comforting. That is what this poem is trying to say. As an optimist I am by nature hopeful, and I know that this is a snapshot of my spiritual life, not the full length movie. Hope will return, but right now this is how I feel . . .

 

 

 A Rock is Still a Rock, After All

 

There are times the sovereignty of God

holds me safe and secure,

rocks me like a swaddled babe.

And there are times His sovereignty

confuses and confines me,

like I'm trapped in a grave.

Same God, same sovereignty, 

different circumstances. 

Sovereignty is the rock I cling to

lest life's waves tear me away.

But when God's path for me is tragedy

 He had power to prevent,

but allowed to come my way,

sovereignty is the rock I slam into.

 

And the pain of that shakes me.

A Rock is still a rock, after all.

1/27/23

How Can My Heart Not Know?

   Years ago there was a short lived variety show on TV, similar to the Carol Burnett Show, but starring Julie Andrews. The reason I remember it at all is because the prequel was about what a hard decision it was for her to agree to do it. Of course, I know a weekly TV show is a lot of work, but I would like to keep the illusion that my entertainment is somewhat fun for the entertainers. All that to say, I know it is a poor intro to a poem to say how hard it was to write, but this is one of those. The subject, of course, has been on my heart for a while, but the words themselves were uncooperative.

 

 

How Can My Heart Not Know? 

 

You think you will know somehow,

when your grown child dies. 

That when their heart stops beating

yours will too--at least for a moment.

Instead you get a call, God willing,

from a friend and not a stranger,

yet your broken heart keeps beating

whether you want it to or not.

 

How can my heart not know

that the baby whose life it sustained 

while his tiny heart was forming,

took a piece of my heart with him

decades ago, when he was born?

That it lived inside him through the years,

felt with him his joy and pain

and surely would die if he did.

My clueless heart may not know

that each beat now spills sorrow,

that only my Father's living water

maintains the balance of its flow.

This wound, I know, won't fully close

until healed by Him whose face

I've never seen, and yet believe

my heart can't help but know.

1/19/23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only God Knows

 

       I was hoping to be able to write a poem specifically for Russ. Nothing came in the rush of writing the obituary and the many family gatherings in Missoula. But now that I am home, I was able to write this poem which briefly sums up what I wrote in my post Russ Was There.

 

 

Only God Knows 

 

Russ, only God knows 

how many things you did 

and people you helped

quietly, where few would see.

You never expressed

feeling taken advantage of,

only regret that you were not

more gifted at fixing things.

 

 The gifts God gave you

were a heart able to see needs

and hands willing to help,

expecting nothing in return.

 

But Russ, we expected

many more years with you.

Now our hearts are breaking

and how to fix those--

 only God knows

 

1/9/23

 

 

 

Russ Was There

    We lost my brother-in-law today, Reed's youngest brother, Russ. He had been struggling with breathing problems for a couple weeks and was taking medication for pneumonia. The friend who came to check on him at his apartment today found he had passed away. Losing Lambs has become much too familiar a pattern. If his service includes a time to share thoughts about Russ, this is what I would want people to know.

   There are a lot of things I couldn't tell you about Russ. I don't know what kind of music he listened to, what he watched on TV, or even his favorite food. But I can tell you what made him great, I can tell you about his heart. Russ had a heart problem. He had a tender heart that cared about people but he didn't want anyone to find out about, what he considered, his weakness. But I know about Russ' heart because when my brother Roddy started high school and was getting picked on the way the special ed students always do, Russ, who was younger than Roddy but much bigger, spread the word that if anyone picked on Roddy, he would beat on them. For Roddy, for our family, Russ was there. One of the first things we did when we moved back to Montana, was take a trip to Glacier Park. We had to take Britten, she was our baby, but for some reason we decided to take Russ and Roddy with us. I knew Russ was dyslexic, but I didn't know it extended to doing the opposite of whatever he read on the sign. If it said, DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS, Russ did. If it said, DO NOT GO off the trail or beyond the guard rails, Russ was there.

     When we bought our first house in Kalispell, we had an elderly neighbor whose house was in desperate need of painting. We told her if she could buy the paint, we would put it on for her. Not wanting to hog the blessing of that good deed to ourselves, we invited our families in Missoula for the paint party. For us, for our neighbor, Russ was there. And when Russ found out I was battling depression, more than 30 years ago, he started calling me weekly to see how I was doing. For that dark time, for me, Russ was there. 

    After working 30 plus years cleaning at Community Hospital through various employers, Russ was both physically mentally burnt out. He could have gone on disability for the many lingering effects of the severe head injury he had 40 years ago, but disability didn't need him and the hospital still did so, he just stayed at the job. For the work that needed to be done, Russ was there. Nearly three years ago, during his Dad's final days home on hospice, for his Dad, for his family, Russ was there. And just a couple weeks ago when his Mom's water heater broke and soaked the basement, though he was having difficulty breathing even then, he helped Richie get the wet carpet out. For his Mom, for his brother, Russ was there.

    Russ was the third of four children and middle children sometimes have a hard time finding their way. Being neither the over achieving firstborn, nor the baby, middle children are more likely to be left behind when the rest of the family piles in the car. Not that I'm complaining about being a middle child myself, or confessing to anything that happened with our middle child. Sometimes middle children even prefer the anonymity of getting lost in the shuffle. Sometimes they are content with being just there. Though Russ preferred to stay quiet and in the background, and would be really embarrassed about all the nice things people are saying about him now, when it counted, when it mattered, Russ was there. And in our hearts, he always will be.

Be It Unto Me Lord

    If this title sounds a lot like a previous one, that is because it is only one word different from a blog I posted Dec. 13th. That post was about Mary's response in Luke 1:38 to the angel's announcement that she was chosen to be the mother of God's Son. This post is about a different verse, Luke 2:35. If the verse you most identify with at Christmas is Luke 2:35, you are having a rough year. It is a statement from Simeon's prophecy when Mary and Joseph brought baby Jesus to the temple. Not only was Simeon promised he would see the Messiah before he died, but Simeon uniquely seems to understand the suffering aspect of Christ's ministry when Jesus' own disciples did not get it, though He told them specifically and often. Simeon directed verses 34 and 35 to Mary, "Behold this Child is destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign which will be spoken against (yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed." Certainly, Tracy was no sinless Son of God and he did not suffer horribly before death like Jesus did, but mother to mother, I think Mary and I share an understanding of the sword of sorrow. 

    I do not usually make New Year's resolutions, but perhaps I should consider this poem a reminder that walking this painful path the Lord has put me on reveals my willingness to submit to God's plan. That is my ultimate resolution, my life goal, to follow God's plan for me, because I know the reward at the end of following God's path for my life is God Himself. Therefore . . .

 

 

Be It Unto Me Lord

 

Be it unto me Lord,

this pain, this sword,

this heavy cross of grief and loss

has always been love's cost.

 

Be it unto me Lord,

for the years we had

for the son I loved

for the man I raised.

Be it unto me Lord,

for the lives he touched

for the many he helped

for the hearts he changed.

Be it unto me Lord

for the years to come

with him, and all whose sins were paid

by the Son God loved and raised.

12/31/22

 

Seeing God's Hand

     A week ago I took Reed to the E.R. He had another episode of SVT, supra ventricular tachycardia, the first two words identify the location in the heart that is out of rhythm, the third means it is beating fast. Reed is not a musician, he is actually tone deaf, but heart rhythm is a required subject for everyone. The first incident happened in Sept. 2021. They rebooted his heart with a med the same way we would a computer, shut it off briefly, and turn it back on. The hand of God was in that whole event because the ensuing examination of his heart revealed that the main artery was 90% blocked, which could have led to a serious heart attack. To prevent that, they inserted a stent through his wrist and put him on a lot of medications, some of which he would have already been on if he had not gone five years without seeing a doctor. He was also instructed to exercise and to eat like the 65 year old he was, not the 25 year old he wished he was.

    So this episode of SVT he handled much differently. The 66 year old did not try to finish up at work before going to E.R. and he called me to pick him up instead of driving himself. God handled this episode with the same sovereign shaping of circumstances He has used for ages. Reed woke up that frigid December morning at 5 a.m. with the feeling that either a door was open or the heat was off in one of the hangars. Knowing he would not be able to get back to sleep until he checked, he drove out to work. The doors were fine, but the heater in the office was not working. Because of that when he came to work later that morning, he called Trevor, who handles the owner's facilities, to come look at it with him. So Trevor was with Reed when his heart went out of rhythm and stayed with him until I arrived to get him. God's hand provided someone to be at the hangar when Reed normally would have been alone. And this saved me from a frenzied drive to the airport, trying to monitor him by phone and wondering if he would be able to open the gate to let me in.

   This takes us back to the beginning of the story--waiting in the E.R. While I was sitting there, the Lord spoke into my mind, Do you see my hand in this? How could I not? A blind atheist could see God's hand in the circumstances. Besides the above, one of the E.R. nurses was a flight nurse for ALERT and knew Reed. Another of the nurses sometimes experiences SVT himself and suggested a couple natural means for getting a heart back in rhythm, which unfortunately did not work for Reed, but the med did. Although the staff was prompt and professional, both Reed and the atmosphere were calm. I did not for one moment fear that nine months from the day I lost my son, I would also lose my husband. But I could not stop myself from reminding the Lord that he could have saved Tracy. And He answered me, I did. I could not argue with that. He certainly did. 

     As much as I would have liked to have Tracy around for this blip on the monitor we mortals call a lifespan, what I wanted with every beat of my heart, was for Tracy to be in heaven with the rest of the family for all eternity. God's hand led Tracy faithfully, despite the years of wandering and wondering, to the place where both he and we knew for certain, that Christ had claimed him. That is the saved that matters. Just as the med stopped Reed's heart for a moment to restore it to proper rhythm, the Lord's answer I did, reset my mind to what saved really means. I see it now, Lord, thanks for the hand.

The Birds Do Not Doubt

  

     We are experiencing what the weather doomcasters like to call a "brutal" storm. Single digit temperatures, wind and snow. This used to be called winter weather. Alerts about winter driving dangers sound like previews for Fear Factor. I do not enjoy driving on snowy highways, that is why I have an SUV with studded snowtires and heated seats. But for the love of Frosty, we're driving station wagons, not Conestoga wagons! I am secretly, okay not really secretly, really hoping some of the transients that breezed into northern Montana with no plan of where to live, and definitely no plan of where to work, will let these frigid winds blow them to friendlier locales--like Frisco. 

     But when I finished figuring out what everybody is doing wrong, it was a pleasure to observe what God's creatures are doing right, especially the birds.

 

The Birds Do Not Doubt

 

The birds do not doubt You

as they fluff their feathers 

against the frigid wind and weather.

Though the deepening snow will hide

so much of their food supply,

The birds do not doubt You, why do I?

 

Sheltered from the cold and wind,

I watch the swirling snow that blows,

 warm and safe looking out my windows.

I know we will have enough to eat

though snow piles many inches high.

The birds do not doubt You, why do I?

The birds do not have decades of

memories of your faithful love.

They cannot read the scriptures

to find comfort in your words.

They trust their Creator's watchful eye.

The birds do not doubt You, why do I?

The birds know loss, that life is brief,

the cruelty of Creation's curse,

yet still they search for food,

build nests, seek mates,

raise young, and sing--and fly.

The birds do not doubt You, nor should I.