'Til Dawn Comes

The God of Small Beginnings

2012-01-26T18:48:00.000-08:00

For who has despised the day of small things?
Zechariah 4:10

You would think the King of the universe would love to do things in a big way, like humans are prone to do. Humans love doing things in big way, and for a big audience. We yearn for the bright lights and those fifteen minutes of fame. But God, who is fully capable of pulling off the grand show, appears instead to love small beginnings. They seem to be His favorite kind. Unlike His creation, He shuns the spotlight.

He populated an entire planet with two people fashioned from dirt and built a nation from a sheep-herder. He took a man from the dirty water of the Nile and made him a deliverer. He made soldiers from slaves and conquered whole kingdoms with simple acts of obedience. He flattened tower walls with a shout of praise and sent fire from heaven at the sound of a prayer.

He called a shepherd boy from the hills and set him over an entire nation. He used David's simple songs of anguish and praise to bring comfort to millions of hurting people for generations after him. He set a man upon the throne because he only asked for wisdom. God sent a Jewish captive to save her people from the plot of a powerful and deadly enemy.

And when the appointed time came for the King to set foot in His kingdom, it was not the grand halls of the earth that received His Majesty, but a cave. He arrived not to the roar of adoring crowds, but to the wondering whispers of shepherds. He didn't come in a blaze of glory, but under a shimmering star. The first Voice the earth heard from its King was not the triumphant shout of victory, but the wail of a baby. The first witnesses of His glory were his parents and some animals. He arrived surrounded by little warmth, light or comfort. Instead, He brought all three with Him.

Out of prison cells across the centuries since, and from the cracked lips of the suffering, God's glory has emerged. Beaten, persecuted, despised, and weak - God's people have always been the lowly canvas upon which He has painted His masterpiece of love. From the small strokes of color each life pours out upon His palette, He produces a work of breathtaking beauty and scope.

God rejoices in small beginnings because it gives Him a chance to work; a chance to be our strength, our comfort, our Deliverer. It offers Him the opportunity to fill the vacuum left by our nothingness. He can't fill us when we're already full of ourselves. Smallness keeps us empty, so we can be filled with His glory.

Thank God for small beginnings. May we always be small in our own eyes.

Whiter Than Snow

2012-01-18T13:35:00.000-08:00

Until this week, the Idaho Panhandle had been having an uncommonly mild winter. In fact, until this week, the cheatgrass around our house had sprung up to declare an early spring, and one little miniature rose bush in our garden had been stubbornly holding on to a last vibrant show of tiny orange-gold blooms.

But this week, winter caught up with us in a big way. We awakened this morning to find that a big, beautiful, fat, snowfall had blanketed the landscape. The snow covered the blemishes of the dead garden and hid the bare, frozen ground beneath.

It was a transforming snow, softening the weedy, rocky hills that form the canyon of the Clearwater River. Even the straggly pines along the banks of the river became lovely sculptures under its graceful hand. It also threatened power lines and turned the roads into ice skating rinks. I always marvel something so delicate and fragile can change a landscape and transform the course of human lives so dramatically.

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Psalm 51:7

No wonder God used snow to describe one of His most amazing attributes: the purifying power of His mercy. Snowflakes are intricate, fragile, and exquisitely lovely particles of frozen vapor possessing the collective power to alter everything upon which they rest. In like fashion, mercy falls delicately from heaven upon our frozen, barren lives. It covers our sins and imperfections and powerfully transforms even our bleakest landscapes into works of beauty.

Have mercy upon me, O God,
...According to the multitude of Your tender mercies,
Blot out my transgressions.
Psalm 51:1

Mercy, like a snowflake, is a mysterious force; individual in nature; completely unfathomable; so totally new and breathtaking every time it falls. Its mere presence inspires awe. It reflects the light by day and makes even the darkness bright. It arrives at the season of our lives in which everything has died and turned cold. It comes in abundance, obliterating past footsteps and covering our dirt. Blemishes become completely white. The parts of our landscape that cannot be changed are softened by its hand.

"Come now, and let us reason together,"
says the LORD,
"Though your sins are as scarlet,
They will be as white as snow...."
Isaiah 1:18

This afternoon, the snow has let up a bit. My husband has been out clearing the pathways. Man and animals have trampled the snow and marred the pristine landscape. But another snow is coming. We will probably awaken tomorrow morning to find that a brand- new snowfall has repaired the damage to its beauty. Once again, everything will be sparkling.

Clean.

Renewed.

Exactly like us when we look to the sky for God's mercy to fall. It never fails. Dirty, bedraggled, cold, and dead, we lift up our faces to the heavens, and before long the first delicate flakes caress our faces: pure, amazing, gentle, powerful mercy.

The LORD's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
For His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
Great is Thy faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:23

Christmas in a Changing World

2011-12-24T09:15:00.000-08:00

In a nod to our changing world, this 1900's era bunkhouse at Arrow now displays a sign
from the Arrow Museum dating back to the early 1970's and modern LED decorations.

This holy season closes a year of many challenges and victories for our family. As many of you know, in August I completed a punishing year of nursing school. I passed my board exam in September to become licensed as a nurse in the state of Idaho.

Long hours at school meant the rest of the family had to take up the slack at home. The family rose to the challenge, quietly adding my burdens to theirs without complaint. Graduation in August was a celebration for everyone!

Aaron's mother fell in March and broke her hip, necessitating a total hip replacement. During this time, my step-mom had a total knee replacement. Continuing health problems for both moms have kept the family busy and praying.

The rest of the family is well. Eldest daughter Jen and her husband Scott juggle two jobs, studies, homeschooling duties, and community work. Granddaughters Rebekah and Vanessa are becoming accomplished in piano and Taekwondo. Our eldest son Erik and his wife Rachel work two jobs while transforming the Arrow "homestead" and serving on the worship team at their church. Our sons Kevin and Dan continue to build an online presence for Dragonfly Core, working this year on a popular series for Discovery's Military Channel. Kevin's Christian music website, CMADDICT.com, featured exclusive interviews, news, and reviews from the Christian music world throughout the year. Dan plays drum for the worship team at church. Youngest daughter Grace helps with Sunday school and enjoys being a member of the young adults' group. She is preparing for a much-anticipated trip to Japan in 2012.

Aaron has become the anchor person at home, keeping things running smoothly at Arrow. He continues to be the night "watchman" and sits up every night to keep guard over a sleeping household, ensuring Kevin (and the rest of us) are safe.

I have recently resumed work on a personal project: compiling the history and stories of the people of our beloved Arrow community. This is a project I began before nursing school intervened, and I am eager to complete this work as a tribute to the people and area I love.

On the eve of Christmas, our world sits at an uncertain moment in time. Nations and governments hang at the brink of disaster. The changing face of our world is a constant reminder that security in this life is an illusion. As one tired old year is put to rest, no one knows what the new year will bring.

But we have learned uncertainty only brings into sharper focus the hope and promises of the One whose coming we celebrate at this season. The appearance of the Deliverer split history into Before and After and brought with Him the gift of Forever to all who yearn for deliverance.

It is my prayer that you experience God's peace and complete provision every day of your new year in 2012. May His power and strength keep you and protect you. We appreciate every one of you more than you can ever know.

For I, the LORD, do not change.
Malachi 3:6

2011-12-06T19:12:00.000-08:00

Our youngest daughter has an old cat named Raptor. She's had her since she was a kitten. The first time we saw Raptor at the pet store, I picked her up and she growled at me, thus earning her name. In the twelve years Grace has had her, Raptor has kept up her reputation for being cranky. But with each passing year, the old girl has grown slower, pudgier, less sure on her feet.

Sorta like me.

But there's something about the annual Christmas tree that inspires our old kitty. I don't know if it's the scent, the organic connection to the outdoors she no longer roams. Maybe it makes her feel secure. Maybe she just likes being the center of attention along with the tree. Whatever it is, every year she claims it as hers as soon as the last ornament is hung. Or sometimes before.

A lot like me.

Yesterday we cut our tree from our fledgling forest. As soon as we got the Christmas tree skirt around the base of the tree - even before the tree was fully decorated, Raptor was hanging around us in anticipation. As soon as we had it lit, Raptor took up residence. Transformed into the picture of youth again, she batted around the one and only present under the tree. Then she circled around and plopped down on top of it to take her long afternoon nap. She tucked herself as close as she could get to the beauty and comfort of the season and reveled in the rest it offered.

Just like me.

A Continual Feast

2011-11-24T20:52:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving. I love everything about it. I love the colors, the fragrant chill in the air, the idea of stopping for a moment to give thanks to the Giver of everything else.

It has been a glorious day, especially welcome after a couple of incredibly hard weeks. Today I immersed myself in the heavenly aromas of the season and let my soul take it in like a starving drifter who has finally been invited to the table.

It's amazing what can heal a person. After a bruising year in nursing school, I thought I would soon settle back into some semblance of normalcy but instead have been swept into a swirl of heartbreak. A host of hurting family and friends have kept me busy and spent me emotionally these last months.

In the process of fighting for my faith, my friends, and my family, I realized I have been skating near to the edge of burnout. Or maybe I should say, I've come too close to the edge of the wilderness. Like the children of Israel, I have been doing a lot of grumbling in a dry and thirsty land.

But not today. Today I remembered my many blessings as I stirred up all our favorite Thanksgiving goodies. Tonight I sat with the people I love and laughed and stuffed myself with the treasure of God's bounty.

The food was good, too.

It's amazing how different the world looks through the golden glow of gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. I thank my God every time I remember you!

A cheerful heart has a continual feast.
Proverbs 15:15

Never Say Never

2011-11-14T08:23:00.000-08:00

Congratulations to Daniel and Kevin of Dragonfly Core and to Jeff Boyer and JEDA Productions for their work on the next upcoming installment of Missions that Changed the War. It’s airing on the Military Channel November 18 at 8pm and 9pm EST. This next installment documents the sobering mission of the Enola Gay, the B-29 Superfortress bomber used to drop a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945.

Dragonfly Core’s contribution to such a prestigious project is a testament to the tireless work, sacrifices, and long hours Dan and Kev have put into learning the art of 3D graphics and animation and building a partnership. Their dedication despite many trials and setbacks has been inspiring.

They’ve come a long way from the first time Kevin managed to move one finger just enough to click the cursor on his laptop. It was the first time he had done something for himself since his spinal cord injury in 1997. Back then, he was declared a “complete” injury, and we were told he would never move anything below his chin or shoulders. We were also told he would never breathe again on his own. He definitely could never return to the United States (he was injured in another country). He would never again live at home. At the time, it would have been absolutely laughable to suggest he would eventually partner with his brother to produce graphics and animation for an Emmy-nominated television series.

Of course, he did all those things. Really, one should never say, “never,” especially when God is involved. He totally delights in crushing the “nevers” in our lives. He lives to deliver those of us who have been given no hope. He rejoices in being worthy of our trust. For He is, after all, so very trustworthy.

Thanks, God, for being so amazing.

Thanks, JEDA, for giving Dragonfly Core a chance.

Thanks, Dragonfly, for giving my faith new wings as I watch you take flight.

We've Updated Our Look!

2011-10-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

During this last year of nursing school, my youngest daughter Grace worked in the capacity of caregiver and substitute homemaker in my absence. Along with those duties, she graciously took on the task of re-designing the Song in the Night blog and website. She has spent many hours on this project, and has, truthfully, been much more faithful in it than have I. Yesterday we finally uploaded the results of her labor, and the result is fantastic.

The new website features a video by Frazzle Studios that describes my vision as an author, as well as the vision of the ministry of Song in the Night. Each component of this vision represents much prayer and thought that has been put into the direction I feel God is leading me as a caregiver, nurse, author, and speaker. Each of these relate to the charge I have been given by God: to exalt, cherish, and protect the gift of life.

Please take time to kick back, check out the website, watch the video, and come back often for updates on what's happening at Song in the Night and Til Dawn Comes. Updates to come will include a downloadable chapter of the book and a new video.

Special thanks to Grace for her unwavering support and encouragement. I can't thank her enough for all she has done. She's really amazing!

Thanks also to Kevin of Dragonfly Core for his technical support and advice. It's such a blessing to have a family that is talented, giving, AND patient!

Loyalty Lives

2011-10-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

Today

Is my youngest son's thirtieth birthday. We were actually able to surprise him with a small party over the weekend. I worked really hard to keep him from discovering our plans, but I don't think I needed to worry. Between his part-time job, his care-giving, and his work as co-partner and effects modeler at Dragonfly Core, he was too exhausted to notice. The party went off without a hitch, he was adequately and genuinely surprised, and we had a chance to let him know just important he is.

Really important.
And amazing.
Did I mention hilarious?

Daniel always brings the party. Daniel's the smile-and-light-up-the-whole-room kind of person, the one with a good story and an infectious laugh.

He's also one of the truest examples of loyalty I know. At the age of fifteen, his older brother was nearly fatally injured in a fall. In the fourteen years since, Dan has never left Kevin's side. Neither has he left our side, sacrificing his own dreams to help us accomplish ours. His strength, his sensitivity to the needs of others both humbles me and fills me with pride.

It reminds me of a passage in Isaiah, in which God proclaims His loyalty to His people. Isaiah 46 draws a stark contrast between the idols of the people and the true God. Idols, we are reminded, are created by us. They cannot even move unless we carry them. So we pack them around on our shoulders, set them up where we want them, fall down to worship the creation of our own hands... only to act surprised when they leave us unsatisfied and empty.

God is the complete contradiction to this. He creates us and carries us from the womb. He never leaves our side...even in times of great brokenness. Because He is loyal to us, He promises to carry us on His shoulders from conception through old age (Isaiah 46:3-4). His deliverance is complete; His salvation powerful and perfect.

We are made in God's image; His attributes are displayed through us, as they are through all creation (Genesis 1:27; Romans 1:20). Those who have been born into salvation through the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus become sons of Father God, partakers of His divine nature. As such we display those character traits that remind others of our Father.

In my son Daniel, I see the fierce and tender loyalty of God. I am encouraged to know that Daniel serves a faithful Father and Deliverer who promises to carry his burdens as he has faithfully carried the burdens of his family. I am comforted to know that Dan does not serve the things he has made, but the One who created him, bears him through every day, and who will never leave him forsaken.

Thank God that loyalty still lives. Thank God that He rewards those who live for Him.

Happy Birthday, Dan.

Graduation

2011-08-23T16:39:00.000-07:00

The family

And it only took me forty years to get there. I began taking the prerequisites for the nursing program in 1971 and didn't complete the program until 2011. At least you can say I finish what I start... eventually.

The day was made extra special by the presence of all our children, their spouses, the grandchildren, my niece and her husband, my mother-in-law, and my almost-sister Sherry. My son-in-law Scott couldn't help but add a little drama to the occasion by wiping out on the four-wheeler with our granddaughter hours before the pinning. What began as an innocent ride on our property ended with a tumble into the barbed wire.

Scott, himself bleeding from a nasty cut, carried our granddaughter up to the house, where I had chance to practice my newly learned skills. As we worked on Va, the other granddaughter watched anxiously over my shoulder. Suddenly she mumbled something about not wanting to see any more. She backed up to the kitchen counter and passed out cold in the most graceful display of slow-motion collapse that I have ever seen. She hit her head on the way down, and the rest of the family came running to care for her. I couldn't leave the one to care for the other.

She quickly came to, was escorted to the living room to recover, and we got Va patched up.
My son-in-law had to be taken to minor care for a tetanus shot and stitches. I had to go to school to get ready for graduation. My daughter went home, cleaned up after the carnage, and took clothes to Scott in minor care. He changed in the restroom there for the ceremony and everybody came limping in just in time. I have to say that it made for an absolutely unforgettable day!

Pinning

With all my heart I thank my amazing family for their support, sacrifices, and prayers during my year in school. I now have my certificate in practical nursing and can return to caring for Kevin (my most favorite job).

Me with my stepmom and dad
I'm especially excited to be back to writing. This last year has left me more convinced than ever that we serve a God who performs miracles. Pretty much raising-the-dead kind of miracles. Every day, out loud, parting-the-waters kinds of miracles. Help for the helpless.

Deliverance for the desperate.

Can't wait to share with you.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby - A Review

2010-12-05T19:27:00.000-08:00

In 1995, Jean-Dominique Bauby was the editor-in-chief of a well-known French magazine, the father of two, and a man very much in control of his life. One day - without warning - he suffered a massive stroke and was transformed from an active forty-three-year-old professional man to a prisoner within his own body. Nearly a month after the stroke, he awakened from a coma able only to blink one eye, the victim of a condition called "locked in syndrome." In this syndrome, a person is cognitively aware but is unable to move or talk.

Eventually he was able to communicate to others that he was mentally functioning. With the help of a therapist, he learned a system of blinking his one good eye to indicate the letters of the alphabet in order to form words and sentences. He used this system to write The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, the poignant story of his experience.

Bauby died of pneumonia two days after the French publication of his book in March of 1997.

***********************

Since our own fight to keep the doctor from pulling the plug on our son after his spinal cord injury in 1997, it has been my passion to learn as much as possible about people with devastating disabilities and to help others understand the struggles they endure.

In one of our nursing classes, the instructor showed us a clip of a 2008 movie about Jean-Dominique Bauby. I wanted to learn more about his story, but I decided to buy and read the book rather than watch the video.

After finishing the book, I did some additional Internet research on Bauby and locked-in-syndrome and discovered that the movie version is not accurate. The book flows unscripted from the mind of Bauby to the page. His talent for painting rich word pictures is all the more stunning when one remembers that he painstakingly dictated each word by blinking his one good eye. Ironically, his senses seem to have been honed sharper - rather than dulled - by his profound paralysis.

Bauby’s account of discovering some of his former associates were calling him a “vegetable” is heart-wrenching, as is his description of his brutal treatment at the hands of one doctor. Thankfully, not all medical professionals surrounding Bauby were so callous. Under other circumstances, Bauby might never have had an opportunity to speak from inside his prison. It makes me wonder how many times society dismisses those with disabilities as "vegetables." It makes me think we need to tread lightly when it comes to making decisions that may destroy someone who is desperately fighting for life.

As I read Bauby's story, I wept over his loss. I wept anew over our loss. I was drawn back to the reasons I chose nursing in the first place, before tests and competencies and endless stress buried me alive. I want to be a nurse who cares for those who can’t care for themselves and who speaks for those with no voice - an advocate for those fighting against all odds to live as fully as possible in bodies that are broken.

Surprisingly, the book is not depressing. It is the celebration of life from the perspective of one who experiences it from afar. It solidified my resolve to remember that the person always precedes the process when I care for others. When scheduling demands, changing societal norms, or my own ignorance of a particular medical condition threatens to pull me away from that resolve, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly sits nearby on my shelf as a solemn and powerful reminder.

This also makes me wonder how many times we dismiss those with disabilities as "vegetables." It makes me wonder how much we still need to learn about what is considered brain dead in an individual. It makes me think we need to tread lightly when it comes to making decisions that may cost the life of someone desperately trying to fight for life.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is not written from a Christian perspective, but Bauby's love for life and talent for "writing" make this an important read.

Annabelle's Story

2010-12-01T09:12:00.000-08:00

Today I ran across this story and was touched by this family's devotion to their new little special girl. Take some time, check out their story, and please remember to pray for Annabelle and her family. Our family can testify to the power of God to work through the prayers of His people.

And He will yet deliver us, you also joining in helping us through your prayers, that thanks may be given by many persons on our behalf for the favor bestowed upon us through the prayers of many.
2 Corinthians 1:10-11 NASB

http://reflectionsbykrista.blogspot.com/p/annabelles-story.html#links

In Celebration of the Nursing Profession

2010-11-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

Seven weeks of nursing school has shown me how really hard nurses work in our hospitals, long-term facilities, homes, and communities. Nursing carries heavy responsibilities. It requires long days, longer nights, and impossible schedules. In celebration of one of my favorite nurses, I've reprinted a portion of our story from my book Song in the Night. Her name has been changed, but everything else is as it happened in the summer of 1997.

I hope you enjoy the passage. If you do, be sure to thank a nurse you know for her (or his) dedication and sacrifice.

One nurse in particular that we loved was named Mandy. She was slender and petite, with lovely dark hair and makeup that was always perfect. She had an exotic air and a husband who was a businessman in Africa. She always seemed to know what to do and did it expertly. Kevin said that she did the best job of suctioning the secretions out of his lungs of anyone on the floor, so I watched her carefully and had her teach us her own technique.

One day in particular, things were very trying. Kevin was still stick, and I just had to go run a quick errand. There was no other family member to stay with Kevin while I was gone, and Kevin kept begging me not to leave him. Mandy saw my dilemma and offered to sit with Kevin until I came back.

Thankfully, I took her offer and rushed out. I knew she was busy, and Kevin wasn't the only patient that needed her. So I hurried as fast I could and breathlessly returned to find her sitting peacefully at his bedside, chatting amiably with Kevin as she gave him a manicure.

A warm rush of gratitude flowed over me. She could not have realized how little of our human dignity was left after these long weeks. The harsh environment of living in the world of the near-dead had ground us far into the dust. Although people around us had been so good to us, and most of the medical people tried, the very nature of the situation was immensely dehumanizing. We existed on little food, sleep, or comfort. Rehab schedules did not allow time for living. Whoever was staying with Kevin slept on a big chair that folded out into a small bed that was in his room. We often slept and lived in the same clothes. Our world revolved around learning a myriad of medical procedures, basic caregiving, and getting Kevin through another day.

There wasn't time to truly grieve, to hurt, to process what was happening, or even to feel. We were often treated like machines, pushed and prodded and educated in things we neither envisioned nor wanted to learn. There were days Aaron and I didn't know who was taking care of our youngest daughter or even where she was. That haunted me, and it caused recurring nightmares in which I had lost her. For a while, she bounced between friends and family. At fifteen, Daniel was learning physical therapy techniques and sitting long hours with his brother. Erik worked full-time down in Lewiston and drove the 100 miles up to Spokane, every weekend, to help.

I understand that by necessity, the medical world is run by schedules and operates under financial limitations. Faced with the politics of medicine, it's easy to reduce a patient to "the C2" in room 210 or "the gallbladder" on the fourth floor.

But Mandy had remembered otherwise. She remembered that we were people...hurting, frightened, and overwhelmed. And she cared enough to stop and help us that one afternoon in the way we really needed help.

- Pamela Thorson

Song in the Night
copyright 2008
Published by Luminary Media Group

What I Wish I'd Known, Part 2

2010-10-30T10:25:00.000-07:00

I homeschooled our five children for twenty-four years, from 1982-2006. During those two decades, much changed on the home education front. When I first began, homeschooling wasn't even legal in our state, and I had to do much soul-searching about trying it. Because I wanted to educate my children well and ensure that any schooling we did would pass public scrutiny, I worked extra hard to do the best job I could. Eventually, home education broke free of its fringe status and became both legal and socially acceptable. My eldest daughter, who is now a second-generation homeschooler, loves to remind me that we were pioneers on the homeschooling front.
Today it's a badge of honor; back then it was enough to make us suspect by respectable people.
Now homeschooling is acceptable, I think it's important to remember our homespun roots and how very hard it was to win the freedoms we have. It's still hard work. That being said, most homeschooling families will tell you that finding the balance between study and play is a challenge, to say the least. Below I've listed a few things that I wished I'd known when I began homeschooling. Hope it encourages you in your own adventure as a home educator.

I Wish I'd Known...

1. ...homeschooling would become legal. I worked hard to ensure that anyone coming into our school would not find us slacking. Documentation was brutal. In a way, it was good for us - a lot like surviving boot camp. But it was tough convincing the kids not to run when they saw a police car. They love telling that story.

1. ...children learn differently. I discovered this the hard way. Some of my children just had to be told something once and they got it. Others were visual learners and had to be shown a concept in a visual in order to grasp it. Still others were also tactile; they needed to have their hands in a project to really learn. I eventually found that a mix of audio, visual, and tactile cues worked best at instilling concepts.

2. ...handwriting isn't that important in the scheme of life. Sure, it's nice, but I spent a lot of hours making them practice it, and now I see that each person has just developed his/own style, anyway. My middle son Kevin, who was right-handed, is now left-handed since his spinal cord injury. Who knew. You have to teach it, but don't dwell on it.

3. ...to be easier on myself. Teaching your own is a heavy responsibility. But it's a great honor. Enjoy the opportunity. Enjoy your children. It feels like homeschooling lasts forever (it nearly did for me!), but it's over before you know it.

4. ...kids have very selective memories. Now when they get together as adults, they love to talk about the fun they had and the silly stuff we did. Those days I crashed and burned as a parent have been mercifully forgotten. I made a lot of mistakes, but they remember the love and hard work I poured into them. That's humbling.

5. ...how great they would turn out. It would have encouraged me so much on those days when we all wanted to run away. In separate directions.

6. ...how much I would treasure those days in later years. How thoroughly and beautifully God would answer my deepest prayers for each one of my children. How faithful God is to bless our meager efforts.

I can't give you a storybook ending to our story. Life has been hard for us and our adult children. But I'm thankful that the skills we learned together through homeschooling prepared us to survive, endure, and even conquer life's challenges. Be encouraged. You're doing great.

2010-10-17T19:50:00.000-07:00

I've just received a copy of the Sunday school handout Evangel, published by Light and Life Communications, and was delighted to discover that an article I had written for it entitled "When Life Has You Trapped" is the cover story for their handout. This handout will reach approximately 11,000 readers when it comes out.

I am very grateful for the opportunity to share a bit of what God has taught me through the tragedy of our son's accident and disability - though I must confess I shed some tears in writing it. It is my deep desire that the readers will be encouraged to trust the Lord for strength and grace to find victory in the midst of their own trials. Special thanks to Light and Life Communications!

What I Wish I'd Known

2010-08-19T09:20:00.001-07:00

With a new school year on the horizon, homeschool parents are gearing up for another busy year. Many of you are battle-hardened vets in the war for your children's hearts and minds. Some of you may be new and feeling a bit bewildered. Either way, we're all still learning. Here's a couple of links for vets and newbies alike to refresh and inspire you as you prepare for the next school year with your children. I didn't list too many, because I'm sure you don't have time to read much right now.

I especially recommend Linda Dobson's article. I loved her statement that homeschooling is more like parenting than teaching. In my twenty-four years of homeschooling, I discovered that this one concept is vital in being successful in using home education to raise healthy and well-adjusted young people. Recently, I took part of my newest manuscript on homeschooling to my writer's group. One fellow writer asked, "Is this a book on parenting or on homeschooling?"

My answer was, "Yes."

http://www.homeschooling-ideas.com/homeschooling-for-beginners.html
http://www.besthomeschooling.org/articles/linda_dobson_gems.html
www.chcweb.com/catalog/files/macarthur.pdf
smhn.parentsr.us/veteranadvice.php
http://fivejs.com/how-to-start-homeschooling/
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Busy-Homeschool-Mom/300588559642?filter=2
www.thehomeschoollounge.com/

Next Post: My own list of "What I Wish I'd Known."

Easter: A Time for Hope

2010-04-03T13:57:00.000-07:00

At the dawn of Easter morning each year, I love to open the Bible to the Gospels and re-visit the tomb of Jesus. Every year, I find find it still miraculously empty, and Christ's victory over death thrills me anew.

The celebration of the resurrection of Christ always comes with the first stirrings of nature out of the deadness of winter. This time of year, it is easier to believe that God can make the dead come alive, for the good news of the resurrection is preached with every living thing that bursts triumphantly from the dark winter earth.

I've never liked winter. Every year, it overtakes us, killing everything in its path and heartlessly freezing the life out of all it touches. In the dead of winter, we are surrounded by death. I walk through my garden in the winter, and it seems as though nothing will ever grow there again. But I'm not worried, because I know its emptiness is temporary. Spring will come. It always does. We all know that.

It's harder to have that same trust through the winter seasons of our lives. When we bury a parent, a child, a spouse, or a dream, we only see the finality of it all. As we face our own mortality, death seems like the ultimate reality.

But one moment in history changed all that forever. It all changed with one empty tomb.

Yes, we still live in the winter season of time. Death still reigns over the physical realm of this planet. But its days are now numbered. It's just a season.

And God is Lord of the seasons. He is Lord of the past, the present, and the future. Because He knows the future, He is not worried. He's been through this winter. The Master walks through His garden and knows that this is all temporary. He knows that because He's been there. He entered the grave and came back with the keys to death and life.

He's the One who emptied the tomb, and He's the One who commands the spring that always comes. In the darkness of our winter night, we can rejoice in this:

Spring always comes.

This is our hope. And hope is a powerful thing.

Indeed, we had the sentence of death within ourselves
in order that we should not trust in ourselves,
but in God who raises the dead....

2 Corinthians 1:9 NASB

Worth a King's Ransom

2010-03-30T15:12:00.000-07:00

Boy, has it been a roller-coaster year. I've been missing-in-action here while I finished up my pre-requisites for nursing school. Juggling school and care-giving has been, to say the least, a challenge. I have a new appreciation for students of any age. I had forgotten just how hard it is to adjust to spending hours each week in a room full of strangers. At least now I know what a scantron is! I'll be putting in my application for nursing school this week and then there will be the long wait to hear whether or not I'm accepted for the fall quarter.

In an earlier post, I talked about the challenges of being an older student in a classroom dominated by youth. I expressed the hope to have a chance to extend the grace I yearned for to others.

I got that chance. During the quarter, I happened to make friends with a young woman about the age of my eldest son. She and I were so different, it was almost laughable. But somehow, we clicked. I chose to ignore her wild ways and rough language. She didn't seem to mind that I cringed at her crude banter and politely refused her invitation to join her for "thunder down under" (and no, I didn't even know what it was). I stood in the wind with her at break time as she smoked a cigarette and told me about her latest boyfriend. I bit my tongue and beat back the motherly urge to give her advice.

Then I went home and cried.

I cried for all she could be. I wept for her lostness. She was so utterly, completely without God. So sweet. So streetwise. And yet, so very clueless. In her, God gave me a glimpse of His tears for humanity in all its fallen beauty. I saw her soul as God sees it: a priceless thing; worth a King's ransom and worthy of our tears.

Why is it so easy to forget that those without God are no less deserving of Him than we are? In value, they are us. In spiritual poverty, we were them. We are all in need of a Savior. We are all completely undeserving of and often blindly oblivious to His fierce and undying love for us. He cares so much. We comprehend so little.

Even now.

The last day of regular classes, I gave my friend a gift-wrapped copy of Song in the Night and asked her to open it later. I knew she didn't like people who were "goody two-shoes" and had no idea how she would react. But I liked her so much, I just had to share the real me with her... and tell her why.

On finals day, I was nearly as nervous about her reaction as I was about the test.

When she saw me, her first words were: "You made me cry." Then she solemnly gave me a hug and ask if we could get together for coffee.

I hope we do. But truthfully, I don't know if I'll ever actually get a chance to see her again. I'm grateful, though, that God answered my prayers and gave me someone new to love, unconditionally, in His precious name.

Reprieve for Baby Isaiah

2010-01-27T13:52:00.000-08:00

Today the little boy dubbed "Baby Isaiah" has received a reprieve when the judge ruled that Isaiah can stay on life support until February 19. During this time, experts will decide if he is making sufficient progress to allow him a chance to live.

I have just spent hours reading and taking notes on the Facebook site devoted to Isaiah's plight. As I sit here now, it is hard to hold back the tears. Unless a person has been through something like this, it is hard to realize the depth of a sense of victimization that a family feels. It is a feeling I can never forget.

In 1997, our son Kevin suffered a spinal cord injury while in Canada on a teen missions' trip with his youth group. He was instantly paralyzed from the neck down and stopped breathing. He was kept alive by CPR until emergency crews arrived and placed him on life support. He was taken first to the Lethbridge hospital and then transported by helicopter to Calgary to the NICU at Foothills Hospital.

Shortly after we arrived there ourselves, we were given a "talk" by a doctor about the hopelessness of Kevin's situation. Later, another doctor tried very forcefully to persuade us to pull the plug on Kevin. Let me emphasize that Kevin had no brain damage, had no plans to die, and was not even asked what he wanted.

We would not allow them to pull the plug, and God ( through some wonderful Canadians and Americans working together) arranged for Kevin to fly home to the States as soon as he stabilized. We had that option, but I have often wondered what would have happened if we had not been U.S. citizens.

Since that time, Kevin has improved beyond all predictions. But our experience has ignited a fire in me to fight for all those who cannot fight for themselves, to speak for those with no voice.

My passion is to tell everyone who will listen this one thing:

A person should not have to prove viability, or even usefulness to society, to deserve life.

This is a call to all who love life. We need to pray; we need to speak out; we need to support those fighting for the right to live.

Will you be that voice?

Pray for Baby Isaiah

2010-01-23T07:56:00.000-08:00

A case has recently come to my attention from Alberta, Canada. A young couple is fighting to keep AHS (Alberta Health Services) from disconnecting the life support on their little baby, Isaiah. Isaiah was born after a hard labor and had the cord wrapped around his neck. He suffered brain damage from the lack of oxygen and had to be placed on a ventilator.

He was not expected to live; not only has he lived, he is growing and is showing signs of responsiveness. But Canada's health services has decided that he is irreversibly brain damaged and recently sent the parents a letter stating that the baby would be disconnected from life support on Wednesday, January 20.

The family mounted a court battle; friends mounted a feverish pray campaign. The judge has given the family a seven-day reprieve while she considers the case further. She will come back with a decision on January 27.

This heart-rending story has struck deep at my core. It was in Canada that the doctor tried to have our son's ventilator disconnected. We, too, were told that there was no hope. We told the doctor in Calgary then (and we believe still) that although we respect the knowledge and skill of the doctors, we must trust the prognosis to a greater Power. Only God is the Lord of life and the Lord of death. It is not our place to decide who deserves life and who must die.

I have posted the links to Baby Isaiah's story in the sidebar. Please check it out, watch the family news on Facebook, and pray - not only for this family, but for a rebirth of compassion in our society.

Keeping It Real

2010-01-17T07:57:00.000-08:00

It's been too long since I've posted here, I know. The recent direction God has driven me (back to school to finish my pre-nursing courses) has kept me extremely busy. I have two five - credit classes, which is a lot for me to juggle along with my other responsibilities. The rest of the family have been very supportive, and I love them all the more for their sacrifice and encouragement.

It has been harder than I thought it would be to adjust to being in classes with people who are much younger than I. Many of them are younger than my eldest children. In fact, I guessing that the teacher is younger than my eldest children.

I didn't think it would make much difference, but I definitely feel the generation gap. I have been referred to as the "older woman" in class, with a breath of emphasis on the "old" in "older." My table has a large empty circle around it, as if my gray hair were a disease. One young girl had to sit by me the first day because the class was so full - but quickly remedied that at the next class.

I have dreaded walking into that room every time. Suddenly I'm in ninth grade again. Yes, me - the author and speaker. I'm surprised by the strength of the past to influence my present. Old insecurities ooze up from some long-gone, but obviously still-raw, sewage of high school memories and threaten to pull me into their smelly pit.

But it's different this time. Forty years ago, I didn't know the Lord Jesus. Four decades ago, I walked into each class alone. This time I have a powerful Advocate within me and at my side, encouraging me and strengthening me to offer to others the grace and acceptance I longed for and never received from my classmates.

Perhaps God has plans to expand my education in more ways than I anticipated. Perhaps He has used this time to expose old scars and insecurities to His healing touch.

Did I say "perhaps"? I'm thinking, probably.

2009-12-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

There's a Reason We're Called Followers

2009-11-18T09:07:00.000-08:00

Okay, I admit it. I've been feeling low and grumbly lately. Sure, I have all the usual stresses in my life that being a full-time caregiver bring. But I can't blame my mood on that. Actually, our lives have been fairly stable in recent months. Back in the days that Kevin was most ill or in the hospital for one reason or another, I'd have given my eye teeth for days like these. Those days, it would have been heaven just to spend an afternoon in my own kitchen cooking one of our favorite meals, to sit with the family playing the newest version of Family Feud together, or to sleep in my own bed instead of trying to fold myself up into a hospital chair for the night.

So I really can't complain. As a matter of fact, I should be rejoicing. God has been very good to us, despite our situation. I should be grateful.

And I am. Truly, I am.

The source of my bad attitude lately has been disappointment. Recent events in our situation have made it clear that I must go back to school for my nursing license.

That wasn't in my plans. I didn't even see it coming. I was sure I knew God's path for me and was enthusiastically pursuing what I thought was His plan. Then a big STOP sign appeared out of nowhere and loomed ahead in the road.

Oops. What is this ?

At first it shook me to think that I missed God by so much. Then, I remembered that I can't trust my own heart because it has been proven to be a selfish and deceitful creature. I realized that God is, ultimately, the only one who really knows what is ahead. He's the only one who knows how to bring us safely through the minefields of this world. I have to let Him lead the way, even when it means a detour - or a permanent change - from the previous path.

There's a reason we're called followers of Jesus, after all: He's the leader. When events change without warning in my life, it's time to step back, drop my preconceptions, and let Him show me the way. And it wouldn't hurt me to thank Him for being such a good and faithful Captain.

I know these things, deep within that blood-red altar where my spirit dwells in worship of the King. Even when I am totally befuddled with His ways, I know that He is trustworthy. Even when my mind rears up in self-righteous rebellion to His guidance - by force of the Spirit Who empowers my feeble faith - I will cause my knee to bow in declaration of what my soul knows to be the truth:

He is Lord.
He loves us fiercely.
He alone knows the way Home.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
And do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6

Book Giveaway

2009-11-12T18:39:00.000-08:00

We had fun today giving away three autographed copies of Song in the Night in a Twitter contest. The first three people who re-tweeted my offer received a hardcover copy of the book. We had three winners in less than a minute! Since two of the winners were from the same household, one of them graciously offered to let us give the book to another person. What a refreshing attitude to see in our often less-than-generous society!

It is my prayer that each person is blessed by reading the narrative of the amazing events surrounding Kevin's injury, our lives since, and God's refining work in our family through the heat of adversity. Like that old tree on the cover of the book, we've been scarred, scorched, and split to the core...but we're still standing. As we await the coming dawn, we cling to these words:

I will remember my song in the night.
Psalm 77:6

Who Will Be Their Voice?

2009-11-02T09:10:00.000-08:00

There's been a cold chill in the air lately, and it's not all coming from the stiff arctic winds that have been blowing south with the coming winter.

The chill is coming from Washington DC, wrapped - oddly enough- in the toasty warm blanket of healthcare for all. It sounds so all-inclusive, so caring, so sacrificial.

Beware. Please, please, beware.

I don't usually like to speak of things that might be interpreted as politics - striving, instead, to walk and talk the grace of our Lord. Besides, both sides of the political realm are rife (or is the term "ripe" more appropriate?) with corruption and scandal.

So I want you to know this isn't about politics. This is personal. The cold wind chilling my bones is blowing off the icy fingers of death...the death, that is, of compassion. We are seeing the frightening end stages of a national and worldwide trend to value human life according to its usefulness to society, and to refuse or remove care for those deemed worthless. As resources have become more scarce, we are already in the process of moving quietly toward allocating care to those most likely to benefit from it in restored contribution to society.

Don't get me wrong. The current atmosphere of death didn't begin with the current administration. The long slide down the slope of dehumanizing healthcare began decades ago, when we began throwing innocence in the trash along with unborn babies, nativity scenes, and school prayer.

I'm not a fire-breathing nut shouting "death panel." I know what I'm talking about. I've been there. I've seen it. Nearly twenty years ago, I was fighting to keep the doctor from making my disabled mother die because, in his words, "Her life is worthless." This was not a woman in a coma, but a woman simply crippled and silenced by strokes. When she first knew something was going wrong in her body, she had told me, "Pam, give me every chance to live." When the time came to give her that chance, the doctor didn't even ask what she would want. She was worthless, no longer counted.

Twelve years ago, I was fighting to keep the doctor from pulling the plug on our son after his spinal cord injury. Kevin also wasn't in the mood to die, but that doctor didn't ask his opinion, either. Evidently, he no longer counted in the economy of life.

One fight occurred in America; one in Canada; but both were part of the deliberate parade toward exterminating those who do not fit our definition of "useful." This march transcends nations, politics, and administrations. But it's not being orchestrated by doctors, nurses, or even politicians. It's the heavy bootstep of an unseen enemy with only one goal: to destroy all humanity and thus hurt and rob the Creator who made us.

He's found plenty enough help from us. Our society is sick; in fact, our world is sick. As we fall collectively farther and farther from God, the compassion and care for others that naturally flows from His heart falls with it. Life no longer has dignity by virtue of being. The body is no longer considered the temple of a living soul, but a glob of throbbing tissue and random brain waves. Life itself is open to interpretation.

It's all been complicated by the advance of medical technologies that have blurred the lines between living and dying. When to give up has become harder and harder to decide. I understand the pain endured by many families in making the tough medical decisions necessary for their sick and injured loved ones.

This isn't about those issues.

This is about speaking for those without either voice or choice. It's about remembering that we are made in the image of of the great I AM; valued because we are. It's about those with power using that power to protect the powerless. No one should have to prove that they can be useful on order to deserve life. And no one should be given that much authority over the medical care of another without proving that they have that patient's best interests at heart.

No one but God has the right to give and take life. Nor does anyone have the right to decide who is worthy of our care. The more I learn about what is being done today in the name of medicine, the more I mourn.

For those without a voice: I must speak.
For those whose limbs are silent, I will, by the grace of God, be their hands and feet.
To a hurting world, I long, with all my heart, to be the expression of His Comfort.

This is my passion. And this is God's to charge to us all:

Learn to do good;

Seek justice,
Reprove the ruthless;
Defend the orphan,
Plead for the widow.
Isaiah 1:17 NASB

Breaking Free

2009-10-30T16:37:00.000-07:00

He was a little boy when he had his first taste of raw cruelty. His dad had just come home, and he was excited. He went running to his father with his arms stretched out to him, calling "Daddy."
Just as the boy reached his father, the tall carpenter inexplicably turned on him. The man hit the boy with all his strength, so hard that the boy fell backward and involuntarily soiled his pants. The boy never knew what he had done to deserve a beating.

But that was only the beginning.

The boy grew to manhood under the constant shadow of a father given to alcohol, promiscuity, and violent, drunken rages. The entire family suffered, but the boy was the favorite target of his father's wrath. When the man wasn't beating them, he was often gone for long periods of time, during which the boy had to support the family with his meager earnings from odd jobs.

The family often had little to eat and threadbare clothing for the cold Wisconsin winters. The boy had to wear his mother's shoes to school, since he had none of his own. He grew up learning to fight the boys that made fun of him.

He had every reason to grow up just like his dad. He had learned all the wrong ways to live. He had every excuse to victimize others as he had been victimized. But he didn't. He grew up like his mother, gentle and kind. He finished his schooling in the Navy, married a lovely young woman, and started a family. He adored his children and worked hard to give them the stability he had never had.

He became a musician, a newsman, a broadcaster, a businessman, a county commissioner, and pastor. He redeemed the family name and made it a name that his children never had to be ashamed to wear.

This man is my father.

If anyone ever had an excuse to give up, it was him. He had absolutely nothing going for him, except a mother who loved him and the desire to be different than his father and his father's father before him.

Instead, he taught my brother and I that it doesn't matter from where you come; what matters is where you're headed.

Just Like His Dad

2009-10-17T09:22:00.000-07:00

Like most everyone else, I was enthralled by the vision of the saucer-like balloon that careened around Colorado this week. I prayed earnestly that the little boy thought to be inside would somehow, miraculously, be found safe. And I felt as cynical as many when we discovered that the boy had been hiding in his parents' garage attic the whole time.

We don't know yet if the parents' angst was real or an elaborate publicity stunt. But I was struck by the words of the woman who had spent time in the house as part of the reality show "Wife Swap." She said that the boy was energetic and impulsive. Home video showed the boy running on top of a car. The woman mentioned that the boy was "just like his dad."

Of course, how a person is "wired" comes partly from our DNA. Some people are born naturally calm; some are high-strung from the start. But it's also true that a child comes to this earth in a form much like PlayDough. He's going to become basically what he is formed to be. As we've said before, he's going to live what he learns.

Kids watch everything. They're smarter than we think. They're also very impressionable (think PlayDough). They think we are cool (remember that this passes quickly, so work fast!), and they desperately want to please us (believe it or not, this never passes).

Let's give them an example that they can be proud to follow. Let's give them Jesus.

Your Song

2009-10-01T06:14:00.000-07:00

Some mornings I awaken with a song going through my head, and it follows me the entire day. I've heard the expression "earworm" used for the experience. I agree that when "Proud Mary" invades my life, I wish I could find the off button. But I love the days that a lost fragment of a hymn, praise, or contempory Christian song surfaces and accompanies me throughout my day.

Recently, I heard the song "I'm Not Alright" by Sanctus Real again, and it promptly became part of my inner ear playlist for a few days. The interesting thing is that the entire weekend that the music was "playing," God placed me in situations in which the theme of brokenness and transparency before Him were addressed. It was as if the Spirit were giving me an internal prompt to share with others.

The prompt? Just that it's okay for a Christian to be broken. It's okay to admit vulnerability and pain. And God's people need to be quick to listen and slow to preach when others are hurting.

When God plays a tune in our heads, it's no worm. It's time to listen up.

And now I'm curious. Maybe you have songs that go through your head. Maybe not. But we're all supposed to be singing for Him. Some love to sing of His redemption. Others just love to praise Him. What is the theme of your life as you live it for Him? What comes out of your mouth each day?

What's your song?

Living in the Light

2009-09-11T08:06:00.000-07:00

I was once in a church service where the speaker urged the people to free themselves from "generational curses" by lifting up their arms and metaphorically "chopping" the accursed link as one cuts a root with an ax. The speaker then declared the people free.

She was about two thousand years too late.

The Lord Jesus accomplished this feat completely, thoroughly, once and for all, when He hung between heaven and earth on the cross and rose again in victory over death and hell. Thank God, there is no need for a supplemental curse-lifting by any one of us lesser beings. Jesus, the One who holds the keys to death and hell, has done it all. We're free.

We're free from the generations of drinking.
We're free from our mom's child abuse.
We're free from our dad's sexual abuse.
We're free from a bad name and bad blood.
Need I go on?

Of course, it can take years to heal from the sins that were perpetrated on us. It can take years to learn how to live in the Light. It takes a lifetime to learn how to live in eternity, after all.

But neither we nor our children are sentenced to carry the sins of our fathers into the next generation. We will live what our Father in heaven teaches us. Our children will live what we teach them.

Oh, the freedom.
Oh, the responsibility.

Next: My father, my example

Making the Connection

2009-08-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

The figures in the last post would point to our connection: Children learn what they live. Remember that old poem? I used to have it hanging on our hallway wall when our children were little, and it often inspired me to try harder be a good example for them. Although the author has since produced an updated version, this is the one I love.

Children Learn What They Live (1969)

BY DOROTHY LAW NOLTE

If a child lives with criticism,
He learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility,
He learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule,
He learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame,
He learns to feel guilty.
If a child lives with tolerance,
He learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
He learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
He learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
He learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
He learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
He learns to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.

From Father to Son

2009-08-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

This brings us to our next question. Why do some families seem prone to certain sins?

First, some sobering statistics from childhelp.org:

-Abused children are 25% more likely to experience teen pregnancy

-Children who experience child abuse & neglect are 59% more likely to be arrested as a juvenile, 28% more likely to be arrested as an adult, and 30% more likely to commit violent crime.

-Children who have been sexually abused are 2.5 times more likely develop alcohol abuse

-Children who have been sexually abused are 3.8 times more likely develop drug addiction

-Nearly 2/3’s of the people in treatment for drug abuse reported being abused as children

The Link Between Abuse As a Child & Future Criminal Behavior

-Fourteen percent of all men in prison in the USA were abused as children

-Thirty-six percent of all women in prison were abused as children

Next: Making the Connection

Free Indeed

2009-08-22T22:28:00.000-07:00

Ah, this is the part of this study that I love...

With the incarnation of Jesus, He brought with Him a new covenant, written in His own blood - the blood of the perfect Lamb of God who had been seen only as a shadow in the lambs of the old covenant. The Old Testament had decreed that everyone hanging on tree would be considered cursed (Deut. 21:23). And then there He was, that precious sacrifice, hanging on a tree, taking the curse, for us.

For as many as are of the works of the Law are under a curse....
Galatians 3:10

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law,
having become a curse for us -
for it is written,
"CURSED IS EVERYONE WHO HANGS ON A TREE...."
Galatians 3:13

We then, who believe in the Lord Jesus, have been released from the curse of the generations. The part of us that is eternal has been born into a new kingdom where we can never die. We are free, indeed.

But, you may ask, why then do we still see death? Unfortunately, like the rest of physical creation, our bodies are not yet redeemed, but are awaiting the coming of the Redeemer. Our souls, though, can never die. At the resurrection, our bodies will receive the new immortal physical creation to join our immortal souls.

Our bodies still live under the old rules. That is why the Bible urges us to keep our flesh under the submission of our spirits. That is why the old man and the new man still war in this age. Two natures rage within one body:

One will win. One must die. We are meant to be free.

Next Post: So Why Do Some Families Seem to Prone to Certain Sins?

The Blessing and the Curse

2009-08-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

Since the day we lost Eden, humanity has lived in the shadow of the curse upon the earth and the death sentence won for us by Adam. But the hope of the promised Redeemer grew throughout the ages as God's plan for redemption unfolded.

When He chose and covenanted with a race of people He called Israel, God set before them a blessing and a curse: a blessing if they followed Him - a curse if they turned from Him (Deut. 11:26-28). Within the framework of the Old Testament God gave the Israelites the principle from which the "generational curse" comes:

I...am a jealous God,
visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children,
on the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me...
Exodus 20:5

However, it is important to realize that this curse upon the generations was lifted later on (Ezekiel 18:1-20). And Jeremiah prophecied of a day when God would institute a new covenant with Israel, one in which the children would not be held accountable for the sins of their fathers (Jeremiah 31:29-33).

Next: Free Indeed

The Curse

2009-08-09T09:38:00.000-07:00

The first we read of a curse comes, unfortunately, in the very first book of the Bible.
In Genesis 3:17 we read that Adam and Eve's disobedience brought a curse upon the earth...

Cursed is the ground because of you...

In Genesis 3:14, we read that God also cursed Satan (the serpent) because of his deception.

Cursed are you...

God's warning to Adam and Eve was that in the day that they ate of the forbidden fruit, they would die. The death they invited into their lives was both spiritual and physical.

For you are dust,
And to dust you shall return.
Genesis 3:19

Therefore, just as through one man sin entered into the world,
and death through sin, and so death spread to all men,
because all sinned...
Romans 5:12

God sealed these words with a guard to block the way to the tree of life. And so man was sentenced to scratching out an existence from the dust from which he came.

But even in the beginning, a promise was given of release from the curse. To Satan He said:

And I will put enmity
Between you and the woman,
And between your seed and her seed;
He shall bruise you on the head,
And you shall bruise him on the heel.
Genesis 3:15

Next: The Blessing and the Curse

Are You Living Under A Generational Curse?

2009-07-17T20:36:00.000-07:00

Over the years, I've heard Christians talk quite a bit about breaking the "generational curses" in their lives. A large school of thought has been built around the concept, books have been written concerning it, and many people have sat in the "hot seat" of a prayer circle as earnest friends prayed fervently for release from sins inherited from their forefathers. The idea is so ingrained in the church that few people question it.

Wondering how the idea squared with Scripture, I eventually pursued several questions that I myself had about this subject:

What does the Bible say about the concept of generational sin?
How do the Old and New Testaments compare in their approach to this subject?
Is it possible for Christians to be yoked by the sin of their fathers?

In the next few posts, I'll share what I've learned about this principle, how it affects our lives and the lives of our children, and why it is important to understand the truth.

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-20T09:18:00.000-07:00

I love my dad. He's always been a larger-than-life hero in my eyes, and he still is. From the time he was a young and dashing radio disc jockey (causing my friends to swoon), through his maturing years as a businessman and county commissioner, up to his gentle aging years in the pastorate, my father has been as nearly the perfect example of the Father of spirits (Hebrews 12:9) as possible. I adore him.

In fact, he has been such a healthy example of fatherhood that it was easy for me to make the association to the fatherhood of God when I discovered Him. There was no baggage, no heavy-handed memories to darken my concept of a heavenly Father.

Dad, I love you. Thanks for all your love, prayers, and sacrifice for me and my family over the years. You're the best.

2009-05-25T07:49:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, you're not reading this today.

Hopefully, you're using your day off to actually play, relax, and enjoy your family - or maybe get the lawn mowed before the workweek starts.

At any rate, I'm hoping that you soak up all the joy of summer that you can...together with your wonderful family. I just spent the most amazing week with my gang, including our eldest daughter, son-in-law, and adorable granddaughters (who took time off from a busy life back east to surprise me for Mother's Day). We packed each day with as much fun and love as we possibly could, making heaps of memories and sopping up the glow of each others' company. We topped it off with a dinner that included grandparents, cousins, and great-nieces and nephews. We made smores over the firepit. We gathered around the fire in a joyous cacaphony of voices and laughter. We had fun.

The time was rich, precious, as rare a jewel as I have ever been privileged to hold in my hand.

If you are the harried, frazzled, and overworked parent of young children, I want to encourage you that your work has a purpose. It may feel some days like you are squandering your youth on changing diapers, correcting homeschool papers, and refereeing endless childish squabbles, while your childless friends revel in stain-free clothes, new promotions and free evenings. But I'm here to testify that an investment in a young soul brings back a hundred-fold harvest. And that is just in this age. Eternity is going to be amazing.

Dear parents, don't let anyone tell you that your efforts are useless. Don't even listen to your own heart. Believe me when I say that it's never for nothing.

My husband and I raised five children, homeschooling them for twenty-four years. The work was endless. The days were marathon. The responsibility was crushing. The discouragements were legion. And suddenly - all too quickly, it now seems - that critical time of training was over...a chapter closed forever.

They are all grown now, and I can assure you that it was more than worth the effort. The rewards are priceless. I now have a lifetime to enjoy these amazing young people that miraculously turned out to be all I ever dreamed.

So don't be discouraged. Enjoy them while you are training them. Be thankful to have the honor of shaping a soul for eternity.

For heaven's sake, turn off the computer and go play.

All We Have Is Us

2009-05-13T07:41:00.000-07:00

This has been the best Mother's Day ever for me.

My wonderful husband surprised me by providing a surprise week-long visit by our eldest daughter, Sis, and her family. They worked it out so beautifully that I, the especially suspicious one of the family, didn't have a clue. In fact, I was so taken aback that it took me a minute to process the familiar face that knocked on our front door - an entrance usually reserved for door-to-door salesmen and lost motorists.

The days since have been a glorious clamor of laughter, food, visiting our old haunts, and re-telling the same old family stories. My new daughter-in-law has patiently and sweetly endured hearing it all again, laughing in the appropriate places and riding along in the swirl of joy that has consumed this week.

I love them all so much. We are complete when we are together. Age, new family affiliations, distance, and changing circumstances seem simply to weld us closer.

So this is what heaven must be like. It's going to be rich.

My father has always had a special saying:

In the end,
all that really matters
is relationship.

Amen, Papa, amen.

God Grew Tired of Us

2009-05-04T09:05:00.000-07:00

My son Kevin recently watched an award-winning 2006 documentary called God Grew Tired of Us. At his recommendation, I watched it last night. Kevin told me to be prepared to cry.

I was prepared to cry. But I wasn't prepared to grieve.

The camera follows the story of three young Sudanese men who emigrate to America from the refugee camp in which they have lived since their flight from Sudan years before. The film backtracks to document the violent events which killed and scattered their families and left them to survive alone. As youngsters, John, Daniel, and Panther joined the thousands of "Lost Boys" who made the long trek across treacherous terrain without food or water in search of safety in another country.

They were among the fortunate ones who survived the journey. After years in a refuge camp, they were eventually chosen to emigrate to America. Through the lens, we watch them live the joy of hope, the bewilderment of being thrust into a new culture, and the determination to build new lives in this country. I laughed as they struggled to learn how to turn on a light and tasted their first potato chips. I flinched when they wondered what Santa and a tree of lights had to do with the birth of Jesus Christ.

I cried as they walked in amazement through grocery stores bulging with food, their new American clothes hanging from their gaunt frames as a pudgy American stared at them with frank distaste. I was amazed at their love for one another, their commitment to care for those they left behind, their simple appreciation for all that we take for granted.

It was painful to hear John, in his measured and thoughtful manner, express the belief that God had grown tired of his country and had allowed chaos and death to consume his beloved Sudan. His humility was touching. I grieve for the arrogance with which we have left behind such simplicity of heart.

And it made me wonder: Is God growing tired of us? Will He weary of bestowing abundance on an ungrateful, unbelieving nation? The group that made the trek across Sudan are called "The Lost Boys."

But I wonder who is really lost.

A Newsflash for Parents

2009-05-02T09:11:00.000-07:00

I have a newsflash for all you moms and dads out there. We never get to quit being parents.

I have to confess that this bit of news came as a surprise to me. I was under the impression that parenting was done in the early years, and then we old folks just sort of watched the kids live happily ever after - while we basted our tired bodies in the sun at some sparkling white beach on a lush, tropical isle.

Then, my mother became an invalid from a series of strokes. During the ensuing years, although she couldn't speak, she taught me endless lessons about life. In her disability, she taught me patience, tenderness, and love. And in her death, she taught me how to die.

I began to realize that every step of this life is a new experience, and we all need someone to show us the way. We need our parents all our lives. Our children need us all their lives.

This month, it will be fifteen years since I lost Mom. It still hurts. I still remember how much she sacrificed over the years for my brother and I, and for her grandchildren. And I remember how she, existing those last years in a broken body and having to communicate without words, taught us how to live out each day... in whatever circumstance into which we are thrust.

Mom lived with passion and died with grace. And she always seemed to understand that she needed to go ahead and show us the way.

Thanks, Mom. You were a great teacher and leader - to the end. I miss you.

Hero

2009-04-25T08:56:00.000-07:00

Everybody loves a hero. From white knights to Spiderman, Wonder Woman, and firemen - we all adore larger-than-life figures. Hero is a timeless concept, a word chiseled in stone and swathed in red, white, and blue. It evokes images of dashing figures and just-in-time deliverance.

A hero is someone we can believe in, lean on, and trust with our lives and sacred honor. A hero is always there.

My hero is the Lord Jesus. He's the only person who ever lived a life that was absolutely unsoiled, perfectly gentle, and truly wise. He has never left me forsaken on the railroad tracks of life as the inevitable wheels of death came charging down the rails- although I've squirmed a few times as I heard the rumble of disaster approaching. But He's always arrived...just in time... every time.

He's big. He's strong. He's amazing. He's the royalty that bends down to pick up the peasant. He's my King, but He never tires of riding out on the white horse to swoop me up out of my latest fall into some messy pit (usually of my own making.)

But life for us is not about being the eternal damsel in distress. God has saved us for a purpose:

He calls us to follow Him.
He commands us to take on the nature of His Kingdom.
He calls us to purity, wisdom, discernment, and courageous action.

He calls us to a life of heroic deeds.

Be someone's hero today. Rise to the challenge. Live like you belong in the Kingdom.

The Greatest Battles

2009-04-14T19:14:00.000-07:00

It had been a terrible week. Everything that could go wrong, had. I was teetering on the edge of the precipice separating grace and a bug-eyed fit. I was trying to walk in grace, but it would feel so good to take the plunge and have a bug-eyed fit. I could feel the irritation growing inside me, and I was seriously considering having a "talk" with the person who was the perpetrator of my frustration. I knew I needed to extend grace to this person, but I was itching to set this person straight.

Frankly, I wanted to be mad.

As I sourly drove down the city street simmering in the satisfying juices of my own righteous indignation, my eyes fell upon a small, crooked figure limping down the sidewalk. I honestly couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. A rumpled head of short, red hair crowned a figure clad in bermuda shorts and a deep purple t-shirt.

The person was obviously struggling with a handicap of some kind. I started to look away, still preoccupied. Then something else captured my attention as my car passed by. As I got closer, I could see the printing that emblazoned the front of the purple t-shirt in large white letters:

THE GREATEST BATTLES
ARE THOSE WHICH ARE
FOUGHT WITHIN

Ouch. I deserved that.

I felt an instant pang of regret over my bad attitude. How much like God to quietly place a broken person with a message to remind me of my brokenness. Every struggle is really a battle for our hearts. Man might be influenced by our outward appearance, but God never is. That day I, the one more outwardly "together," was the one who was truly flawed.

Which is more crippling, our inward or outward blemishes? Should not I, who need grace so much, be all the more eager to give it?
After all, is not grace a gift given to the undeserving? And would not the undeserving be...

...me?

God sees not as man sees,
For man looks at the outward appearance,
But the LORD looks at the heart.
1 Samuel 16:7

He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty,
And he who rules his spirit, than he who captures a city.
Proverbs 16:32

Awakening

2009-03-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

A man's pregnant wife falls into a coma after losing a baby to a blood infection. She is unresponsive and on a ventilator. After two weeks, the hospital tells the man that they will pull the plug. The man "snaps and tells his wife off." Two hours later, she begins breathing on her own. Eventually, she regains consciousness.

I read this story on the news a couple of days ago. This story and others like it have made me think. I wish I could ask some questions of the couple and the hospital:

Could the woman hear her husband "telling her off" while she was in a coma?

Did the doctor have any explanation for her awakening?

Has anyone explored the possibility that the brain shuts down during trauma in some way that we don't yet understand, giving the false impression in some cases that the person is in an irreversible coma?

Has the fact that some people have awakened after being declared dead made the hospital rethink its protocol for turning off the vent?

As healthcare costs continue to skyrocket and improved medical technology prolongs lives that would have been lost in earlier times, has the medical field lost its collective patience and begun to replace compassion with convenience?

I'm just asking.

The Beast is Gone

2009-03-29T09:45:00.000-07:00

Hey, I'm back.
Thanks to the incredible patience and expertise of our son Daniel, I have a fresh, new computer. The beast is gone, and I have been busy re-installing programs and catching up on old business.
Thanks for your patience. I'm eager to get back to work.

We have lots to talk about!

The Mark of the Malbeast

2009-03-14T09:41:00.000-07:00

Woe is me. I've been "out of the office" while I've been trying to figure out what is wrong with my laptop. We've finally found the problem: a particularly horrid virus called "iexplore." We spent untold hours last week on this many-tenacled malbeast, and we'll will be spending next week backing up my files and re-installing my OS. In the meantime, beware of add-ons, as this is evidently how this virus gets into your system.

Please be patient and check back soon...I'll be back.

I think.

2009-03-07T07:07:00.000-08:00

I was looking at some Scriptures this morning:

Great is the LORD, And greatly to be praised...
Psalm 48:1

PRAISE the LORD!
Psalm 106:1

PRAISE the LORD!
Psalm 111:1

PRAISE the LORD!
Psalm 112:1

PRAISE the LORD! Praise, O servants of the LORD. Praise the name of the LORD.
Psalm 113:1

PRAISE the LORD, all nations;
Psalm 117:1

PRAISE the LORD! Praise the name of the LORD; Praise Him, O servants of the LORD...
Psalm 135:1

PRAISE the LORD! Praise the LORD, O my soul!
I will praise the LORD while I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.
Psalm 146:1

PRAISE the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God...
Psalm 147:1

PRAISE the LORD!
Psalm 148:1

PRAISE the LORD! Sing to the LORD a new song,
And His praise in the congregation of the godly ones.
Psalm 149:1

PRAISE the LORD!
Psalm 150:1

I'm thinking that God is trying to tell me something this morning. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that He wants me to praise Him. So why is praise such an important issue with God? I believe that it's because He knows that a heart that is praising Him is in the right place. When I am in an attitude of worship and adoration of Him, there is no room in my heart and mind for mischief. Dwelling on God's splendor lifts me up and out of the dirt of this world and sets me safely away from the enemy. Praise is the one place that Satan cannot reach me. Praise opens the channel of communication with God. Praise is the breath of life in a dry land. It won't wait until Sunday morning. It won't wait until I feel like it. God commands me to praise Him... now, all day, constantly, and with every breath.

Let everything that has breath praise the LORD.
Psalm 150:6

More than Many Sparrows

2009-02-23T07:22:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading a book called The Life and Death Dilemma by quadriplegic and disability advocate Joni Eareckson Tada. Existing, as we do, in a day that increasingly devalues life and exalts death, I found it a refreshing read. I was most moved by her assertion that the life of every person is linked to the lives of many others, and that how we respond to our circumstances either diminishes or enriches society as a whole. When one person gives up, we are all lessened; when one person presses on despite adversity, we are all stronger.

Her recounting of Matthew 10:29-31 was especially poignant:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.
And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
So don't be afraid, you are worth more than many sparrows.
NIV

I've read that verse many times. But the immensity of God's power and love hadn't sunk in before. This is an all-knowing, all-powerful, loving-us-anyway intense kind of commitment that astounds me in its majesty and scope. He knows me. He sees my sins. He didn't fail to see the failures, but He loves my childish and clumsy efforts to worship Him as He deserves to be worshiped. Protector and Guardian, He understands me completely... and cares all the more for my neediness.

I can't wrap my brain around that kind of love. But I want to. I want to let it sink into my sore, dry soul and insulate myself with this assurance for the days I feel lost, unloved, and impotent against the rage of a deadly adversary. The struggle is never for nothing. We are part of a grand plan; each day is a gift in which to serve with joy; our future is bright and promising. I can live with that. I can live for that.

We are worth more than many sparrows. It's time to take on the day...together.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,

When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

I sing because I'm happy,
I sing because I'm free,
For His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.

- Words by Civilla D. Martin, 1905
- Music Charles H. Gabriel, 1905

Civilla Martin wrote:
"Early in the spring of 1905, my husband and I were sojourning in Elmira, New York. We contracted a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle, true saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nigh twenty years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheel chair. Despite their afflictions, they lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration and comfort to all who knew them. One day while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it. Mrs. Doolittle's reply was simple: "His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me." The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped the hearts and fired the imagination of Dr. Martin and me. The hymn "His Eye Is on the Sparrow" was the outcome of that experience."
The next day she mailed the poem to Charles Gabriel, who supplied the music.
Singer Ethel Waters so loved this song that she used its name as the title for her autobiography.

An Every Day Thanksgiving

2009-02-17T08:18:00.000-08:00

My husband and I were talking about the world situation the other day - stressing would be a better word. According to the news, everything appears to be going to "hell in a handbasket," as my blessed mother would have said. I'm not sure what the phrase means, but when she used it about any particular situation, we always knew that life wasn't going to be pretty until some serious adjustments were made.
As my husband and I talked, it occurred to us that, although things around us are bad, we really only know it's that bad because of the news. We actually wouldn't even know about it by looking at our lives. Sure, we have a tough situation caring for a quadriplegic son, but our lives are, in many ways (can I really be saying this?) - pleasant. We have much for which to be thankful.

This morning, I was thinking about some of our blessings in these troubled times:

I awakened in my own bed this morning. Believe me, this is a blessing. I, as well as the rest of the family, have spent many nights wadded up in a hospital chair next to Kevin's bed in ICU or rehab.
God has granted us another day together. My friend Cindy, who recently lost her battle with cancer, would have been ecstatic to have had a healthy, painfree day to enjoy with her family.
I am in reasonably good health.
I have a wonderful family who loves me and who is trying to serve God every day.
We still live in a free country.
I love my jobs: taking care of those I love and writing about the One I love.
I can eat whenever I want, shower in hot water, use all the electricity I need, sleep when I feel like it, and buy the necessary things and a few extra delights like candy, pretty clothes, and home furnishings.
My friends are awesome.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Yes, I could make a list of the things that make my life difficult, even pitiful by some people's standards.

But Thanksgiving is such a great place to live. It really beats the alternative. Since I've found myself here this morning, I think I'll just hang around awhile and enjoy the view. God seems to show up here a lot, and I've been looking for Him lately, anyway. I wonder if He was waiting for me.

Rose Without Thorns

2009-02-14T09:36:00.001-08:00

My mother used to say that the only thing holidays were good for was to set people up for hurt and disappointment. It seems like a cynical thing to say, but unfortunately, it's often true. The world's expectations for these contrived celebrations definitely set us up for let-down. Life just isn't as magical as we would like, although society would like us to think that if we spend enough time, effort, and money, we can achieve that perfection of experience.

The barrage of commercials set a bar that our lives just can't achieve. The message is that if we don't buy the perfect gift to create a magical moment, or if we aren't the perfect spouse, child, or parent, on those special days, we are losers. So we spend the money, buy the stuff, and swallow down the sour taste the emptiness leaves in our mouths. FailureRUs.

Okay. I will be the first to claim loserhood. After all, I am nothing without God. Thank God that He doesn't see us as losers. He sees us as sinners, beloved creation gone lost and astray, dear children needing a Father. In Him is the sweet taste of life. In Him, I can enjoy a supernatural existence that looks heavenward.

Jesus Christ came to give us the perfect gift: Himself. For a tired, hurting old world, He offers Love that is eternal and beyond the natural - supernatural - in its fulfillment. This world offers the rose but pierces the hand that reaches for it. God offers a love that is pure, beautiful, and tender. If we can but trust in Him, we will never be disappointed.

On this day that we honor the idea of love, I want the world to know that God shows me His exquisite love every hour of each day of the year. He shows me through His Word, through His people, through His creation, and through His Spirit. Eternity won't be long enough to tell Him thanks and give Him my heart.

He is the rose without thorns.

Never Give Up

2009-02-11T08:53:00.000-08:00

I awakened this morning to snow...again. This is one of the longest winters I can remember, and as I face the prospect of another gray day, spring seems to be a distant hope.
The morning drudgery is brightened by a steaming cup of coffee and my quiet time. I'm reading about Joseph in Egypt. As a youth, Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers and unjustly accused of a crime against his master. It appeared that he would be in prison indefinitely, the dreams of his youth dead.

But in a day, his life reversed as God put into motion the events that would free him and bring him into the place for which God had prepared him. Those years in prison taught him humility and the grace of his Lord. Without the gray days, he would have never been ready for the job God had for him.

As I sit by my computer this morning, two dozen robins have flown in from their winter retreat to set up housekeeping. They hop along the ground like popcorn, seemingly oblivious to the cold. It doesn't look like spring yet, but they know better. It is coming. It's the great law of nature: Spring always comes.

Recently, the local paper did an article on Song in the Night and the story of our family. When the reporter asked our quadriplegic son Kevin if he wanted to tell something to the readers, he told her, "Never give up." We can't give up, because God can reverse any situation whenever He chooses. We never know how close we are to deliverance and victory. Winter never lasts forever.

Spring always comes.

What Children Love

2009-02-06T09:05:00.000-08:00

*Transparency
*Undeserved favor
*Honesty
*Laughter
*Time to be children
*Your undivided attention
*Hearing "No" and knowing you mean it
*Hearing "I Love You" and knowing you mean it
*Hear "Yes" when there's no reason to say "No."
*Music that opens their souls to God
*Opening their souls to God
*Clean hearts and heroes
*Someone to be their hero

Learning to Smile

2009-02-03T06:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, my husband and I dropped in at the local DIY'er supply store to pick up some insulation for his shop. We had just attended the funeral of a family friend, and I was preoccupied, still mulling over the sights and sounds of the memorial service.

Although we had arrived earlier at the large Lutheran church long before the service began, the main sanctuary was already full, so we opted for the balcony instead of the extra seating provided in a side room. The balcony offered a panoramic view of the scene below. Above us, the cathedral ceiling soared to breathy heights. The organist and pianist played our friend's favorite hymns in magnificent and well-rehearsed tandem. The pastor was appropriately genial and compassionate. Flowers overflowed the altar next to the urn containing the remains of the beloved wife, mother, aunt, and friend. A smiling portrait sat beside the urn.

But the thing that impressed me the most was on the faces of those in attendance. At the invitation, friends and family members stood one by one and gave touching remembrances of the woman they loved. The thing that lit up her portrait was reflected again and again and again on each face - that beautiful sight:

Joy.

This amazing woman had faced death with the same smile with which she had faced life. A strong believer, she lived her last days simply and thoroughly soaked in the presence of her God. She enjoyed every day she was given to its fullest. And she trusted God for the rest.

As I half-heartedly wandered the store aisles, my husband pulled me out of my reverie and back to the task at hand. Oh, yes, insulation and blinds. Then we ran into another acquaintance of ours, a woman who had just lost her husband. Her pain was fresh, the emotions raw. The three of us talked for what seemed like forever in the cabinet aisle, insulation and blinds forgotten again for the moment. I have never lost a husband, but I knew the look of desperation that lined her face and quivered in her voice. I've been there. Aaron gave her a book from the box that is always in the trunk of our car for just-in-case. I promised to pray for her, amazed at how close the eternal always lurks just below the waterline of our lives.

I've lived the desperation. I understand the pain. But as I sit here this morning, as dawn threatens to chase away the dreary night once again, my mind wanders back to the flowered altar and the joyful portrait of a lovely woman who is now beholding the face of her Lord. I yearn to live, like her, smiling at the future.

May God continue to remind us that death has been cheated, that we do not mourn as those who have no hope, and that joy is, indeed, possible - even expected - for us:

Rejoice in the Lord always;
again I will say, rejoice!
Philippians 4:4

As the sun climbs in the sky, I think on this command. I guess it really is a choice, after all. We can choose to dwell on our pain, or we can look forward to the joy that is set before us. For this moment, for today, through the power of the Spirit of Life, I want to be different.

I want to smile.

A Quick Update

2009-01-28T08:49:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to share a quick update. The ladies' luncheon on January 19 went well. Thanks for the prayers. It was a smaller group than the one I addressed in December, but a very responsive one. We even had an altar call of sorts, and I was privileged to pray for others who are hurting. I also keep a prayer list of those who ask for prayer, so I can remember to pray for them each day.

I love my job! I meet such wonderful people, and I discover just how much pain there is in the world that needs the touch of our amazing God.

More later on what's in the works.

Child Whisperer

2009-01-20T16:48:00.000-08:00

Our youngest daughter recently became a first-time owner of her very own puppy. We'd had dogs before, but never one as young as Lucy. Lucy is a golden retriever/Aussie cross that many people mistake for a black lab, because her golden-haired mother somehow neglected to pass those genes on. Intelligent, inquisitive, and LARGE, Lucy quickly became a handful for us poor human novices.

Then, almost accidentally, we stumbled onto techniques that began working. About the same time, our daughter began watching a t.v. series featuring the Dog Whisperer. This experienced dog trainer has such an intuitive flair for understanding these animals that he can turn around even the most neurotic and strange dogs.

He does it by training their humans.

Grace started learning how to communicate properly with her dog, carefully incorporating his lessons into her work with Lucy, and we have been amazed at the wonderful dog Lucy is becoming. She really began to catch on...once we finally did.

You get my drift. Although children are infinitely more complex than pets, there are some similarities. I'm highly suspect that there are no children that cannot be trained upward toward their highest potential in God, if they are molded while young. I believe that every child has a key - a language, if you will - that opens his soul to the Spirit of the Lord. Every child is uniquely created, possessing individual strengths and weaknesses, and takes a language of his own. We parents are the poor, clueless humans in need of help in learning how to reach our offspring.

Of course, there's only one Child Whisperer: the Holy Spirit. He is the promised One who will teach us everything we need. He alone understands humanity thoroughly, and He alone knows the way.

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name,
He will teach you all things,
and bring to your remembrance
all that I said to you.
John 14:26

He is the only One we can trust when our lives and our children seem out of control, and we have no inkling of what to do next. If we can just quiet our souls, take the time to read His Word, listen to Him, and be obedient to His commands, the way will become more plain, and the fog of indecision will clear. Of this I am convinced: He alone knows the way.

And your ears will hear a word behind you,
"This is the way, walk in it,"
whenever you turn to the right or to the left.
Isaiah 30:21

A Case in Point

2009-01-15T08:09:00.000-08:00

In the last post, I promised to offer a case in point regarding one major reason why children rebel against their parents in spite of being disciplined. Rebellion can have several sources, but I'd like to address one major issue first.

First of all, I'd like to note that the word discipline in its proper sense has the connotation of "making a disciple." Since our goal is to make our children disciples of Christ, the focus then changes from simply punishing misbehavior to positive training in godliness. It has been my observation and experience that harshness kills a child's soul as thoroughly as a late frost kills a seedling. It discourages him, destroys his respect for his parents, breaks trust, and eventually sends him into rebellion. Let me make my case:

Years ago, we were at the home of a pastor, a wonderful man of God, for a Bible study. During the course of the meeting, he told us about his painful relationship with his father. I was moved by the wounded spirit he still exhibited at never being able to earn his father's approval. He said that his dad never showed him the unconditional love for which he longed, nor offered him any tenderness. This pastor, now a middle-aged man, obviously still bled internally from the harshness and lack of tenderness that he had experienced at the hand of his dad.

In the middle of his story, his teen-aged daughter entered the room to ask her father a small and rather reasonable favor. Granted, she should have waited until after the meeting to ask him, but I sat stunned as his countenance instantly darkened in distaste. His face hardened with a scow through the tears that still glistened in his eyes as he growled impatiently, "Well, we'll see. I don't know if you deserve it." An embarrassed silence hung in the air. The girl retreated hastily from the room.

In one moment, the wounded son had transformed into the wounding father.

Shortly afterward, this young woman completely and totally rebelled against her father, publicly and completely humiliating him and the rest of her family. I'm not justifying her actions, but I could guess its source - and I made sure to incorporate that poignant lesson into my own life.

Next post: Child Whisperer

More Specifics

2009-01-13T08:40:00.000-08:00

Along with setting and enforcing boundaries, the second most important thing you can do for your child is to gently mold his attitude from the beginning. At first, you just keep him fed and happy and establish an easy kind of communication with your baby. This will give you a foundation of trust and make him want to please you by behaving.
I tried to never punish accidental mischief (though I did sometimes, because I'm human, too.) I tried very hard to focus only on willful disobedience. Children learn early to lean on the fence surrounding the boundaries you have set up. They actually do (I promise) push on it to see how far they can go. If they learn early on that the posts are set in concrete, you have won half the battle.
It's important not to let them get away with small displays of "attitude." If I sent one of my children to his (or her) room, and he slammed the door when he got there, he had to come back to me and go quietly to his room - as many times as it took to do it with a gentle spirit...usually just once more. If you call them on every bad attitude they present, they eventually get the message.

I know this sounds like I was just being controlling. In a way, I was. I was teaching them to control their emotions and actions from the very beginning; molding them, if you will. But this will only work if you are doing it with a tender heart and by giving them lots of love and play and God at the same time.

So why do some children who are strongly disciplined rebel against God and authority as soon as they get the chance?

This was a question that plagued and terrified me as a young parent. I'll offer a case in point and some observations at the next post.

To Be Filled

2009-01-10T08:43:00.000-08:00

It makes sense, I guess, that in order to be filled, one must first feel hunger and thirst. Otherwise, we would never seek out refreshment. Hunger compels us to the table of the Bread; thirst drives us to the Well.

If I only ate as often and with as little enthusiasm as I sometimes seek God, I would look like a holocaust survivor from the late great war. It's a confession I make with much sadness. No wonder God must use the foul weather of life's storms to force me out the elements and into His refuge. I lurch along for much too long with that gnawing sense of emptiness churning inside me, but without recognizing the Voice that is calling. I'm distracted by the pain, the endless work, the futility happening in my world. Death, sin, heartache, sin, vanity, sin, evil, and ... sin commands the airwaves of my existence in this society. Wickedness flaunts her gaudy dress everywhere my eyes rest, until I look away in embarrassment and shame. Then it gets easier not to bother looking away. I am conquered by the shock and awe of the bombardment...felled not so much by the sins of commission as by the sin of omission. I haven't been to the Well.

That is, until the pain has grown enough to make me stop and take stock of my condition. I'm stunned at the sight. Any spiritual muscles I could claim have withered underneath hanging skin, and I can see my bones. Then I feel the weariness that the battle against my soul has produced. I recognize the raging hunger and thirst. I'm tired of compromise. I'm fed up with just surviving. I'm finally listening, and God is urgently calling.

This is a craving that is pure in the yearning; holy in the seeking; powerful in the fulfillment. God never berates me for waiting so long. He simply comes, rejoicing in my prayer, dancing over my tears of repentance, calling me to lift my empty hands to Him. He is always there, and He is always enough.

I wonder why I wait so long.

The Hunger

2009-01-05T13:24:00.000-08:00

Something has been going on inside me lately. I wondered if it was the general melancholy and time of introspection that comes after the holidays and with the dawn of a new year, but I don't think so. It's not sadness. It's...longing. Lately, something has been awakening in me - a yearning so intense that it hurts. It sends me into God's Word and drives my spirit to prayer. It consumes my days and sends me brooding into the night.

I need God.

No, I'm not a new Christian, and maybe that's the problem. I've walked with Him for many years, through regular seasons of soul-drought and faith-feast. At times, He's taken me to the soaring heights of His fellowship; and at times, He's stepped back to let me trudge through the valley of the shadow without so much as a glimpse of His beautiful face. Through the years, He's pushed me, prodded me, blessed me, sent me to my room, held my hand, left me to my own devices, driven me to the edge of trust, and gently drawn me ever upward toward His glorious light.

It's just when I think I know Him... when I think I have this relationship down... that He comes
roaring into my heart, a silent howl reminding me that the God-shaped hole inside me is not a box but an ever-expanding universe. His call is unrelenting and as sure as a homing beacon. He will never be content until everything I am is submitted to Him and my spirit has returned to His rest. He's not doing it because He is an ego-maniac, but because He is a loving Father. He wants me to live in victory, in peace, and in holiness. He's preparing me in one age for life in another.

And He's calling me out. Out of complacency. Out of the "little sins." Out of fear, mistrust, and bitterness. Out of the safety of anonymity.

He's calling me into the Light.

Who knows what the new year will bring. Our world is obviously in chaos; humanity totters collectively on the brink of disaster. All I know is that it's not going to be enough to be a casual Christian anymore. It's going to take complete commitment to live in victory in the days that are about to come upon us. God is stirring up His people - I feel it deep within my soul.

Can you feel the Hunger? God is on the move.

And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.
Jeremiah 29:13

My Walk's Improving

2009-01-03T23:13:00.000-08:00

Yes, my feet are better. Thanks for asking. I finally broke down and went to the doctor, who confirmed Nurse Google's diagnosis. So I'm trying to do all the right things (as much as possible) and allow my feet to heal. If you think of me, I could use prayer for a complete healing for them. Thanks!

Specifics

2009-01-02T06:40:00.000-08:00

As you know, children needs lots of love. In the beginning, your job with your babies is 100 percent loving and caring for them. That loving percent never changes, but slowly you must add the discipline factor into their lives. I'm not talking about "teaching" them not to cry as babies by making them cry all night, or any other such ideas. When they are newborns, for heaven's sake, just love the little things and try to survive the nights of mystery crying and endless comforting. By giving them lots of love, cuddling, and play now, you will build the trust and happy atmosphere you will need for the next step.

In the next months, your priorities should be twofold: Setting their boundaries and molding their attitudes. These priorities don't change throughout their childhood years, but the boundaries will expand in direct proportion to the growth in their attitudes.

Your first job is to set boundaries. Many parents (myself included) make the mistake of waiting until the child is starting to get out of hand before they begin attempting to pull him back. By all means don't wait until he's two years old to start. You don't want to be always spending your time battling to drag him back into line. You want to show him where the line is first, early on, and teach him not to go beyond that. Begin the first time he reaches for something he shouldn't. Gently but firmly tap the top of his little hand, look him in the eye, and say, "No." Repeat this action every single time he reaches for it again. If necessary, remove him from the temptation, but not before swatting his hand and telling him, "No." If you simply distract him without telling him why, he'll never get the idea.
Please believe me when I tell you that by doing this, you will not be hampering his little quest to explore and grow. In fact, it will increase it. The more he understands and respects his boundaries, the less time he will spend causing trouble and the more time he will spend happily enjoying his world.

Molding the Vessels

2008-12-26T14:44:00.000-08:00

Somewhere along the way in my early years of child-rearing, I had an epiphany of sorts. It actually came years after I gave my heart and our first daughter over to God's hands, sure that I had ruined the poor child with my feeble efforts to raise her. It came years after much struggle to learn and incorporate God's ways into our family life, watching and evaluating our own efforts with our children and how they responded to us. I started realizing that child-rearing in its most pure sense is a molding process. It changed my whole perspective when I began to see my goal as the positive shaping of young lives, rather than solely the negative action of discouraging the formation of bad habits and attitudes. Nothing gets the devil out of a child's heart as surely as getting God into it. And the sooner, the better.
A baby is, in so many ways, like a fresh lump of clay. Sure, each child comes pre-wired with certain personality traits and predispositions. That's why it is so important to have an idea of what your goals are in the beginning - and to start the process early - while your little lump is fresh and pliable. That's also why it's so vital to get the vision for the person that God wants your child to be - not necessarily what you want the child to be. God is producing a masterpiece, and He has chosen parents to be His tools in sculpting His work of creation.
Good sculpting requires both the careful, swift cutting away of useless clay and a lot of patient, hands - on, dirty work. Molding a child's soul takes a combination of surgical precision and gentle pressure, until the image begins to emerge from the lump. The process is slow, messy, and often painful. Sometimes, too much or not enough is taken away (after all, we're on the potter's wheel, too!) and we have to start over.
The good news is that perfection is not necessary. Children seem to thrive with our loving attempts at consistency and are much quicker to forgive us than we are to forgive ourselves when we fail.
Next, we'll tackle some specifics.

Masterpiece in Clay

2008-12-10T08:12:00.000-08:00

It took a long time for me to get the idea of how to train our children in way they should go. I could get a good visual of the Proverbs directive through my love of gardening: training them up suggested that a child is like a vine that properly and naturally needs to go up but has to have a firm support to do so. Otherwise it will just creep along the ground. This was a picture I could get my mind around.
But my experience has taught me that every child is a different plant. All plants grow up toward the light. But some seem to grow straight and strong with little support; others need firm bracing from the start. The trick is to learn your particular child's personality and how he or she responds to discipline. Our first child was strong-willed and defiant, and she took a strong hand from the start. Our second one did, too, but he was more of a lawyer than a rebel. The third was very compliant from a disciplinary standpoint, but he was a manipulator. The first three had taught me to use a strong, no nonsense approach to discipline.
Then came the fourth child, a third son. He was so tender-hearted and eager to please that I soon realized that the heavy-handed tactics I had developed with the others were too harsh with him. All it took was a look of displeasure to destroy him. So he was rarely reprimanded, because he rarely needed it. Our fifth child was a mixture of all of the above!
It takes time and effort to learn what kind of plants you have growing under your roof. They all will grow upward with the proper basic care:

the good soil of a happy, rich home life.
room to grow
the proper Light every day
frequent watering of the Spirit and cleansing in the Word
a support system appropriate for the type of plant

2008-12-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

If you have the luxury of understanding child-rearing principles before you start a family, congratulations! I didn't come to meet my Savior until after I had already had one daughter, and as much as I had wanted and planned for a child, I was totally in the dark as to how to raise one. Our adorable little girl had us completely under her thumb by the age of two. Every day I felt like I just flailed around helplessly while she coolly controlled every situation. I was trying to be the mom, but I didn't have a clue what to do.
One night after a particularly trying day, I collapsed exhausted into bed, let the tears flow in the safety of the darkness, and talked to God - a new thing for me. I said to Him, "Lord, if You're real, please take Jenny and change her. I only know that I have ruined her."
God graciously answered my prayer to change her... by changing me. Soon after that, my husband and I both found God and began to understand what real parenting was all about. We began to learn from God's Word what He wanted from us and what His goal is for His children. We learned the qualities that His people are supposed to exhibit, and we finally could see what God wanted from us. At last, I had a goal: to raise up children who loved Him and lived for Him; a generation who would take the torch of faith and carry it onward to the next.
I now had the what; I still needed to learn the how.

Training In the Sand... What in the World is That?

2008-12-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

First, I need to explain the title a bit. The phrase "training in the sand" comes from a story our neighbor told us years ago. Bill was a member of the Nez Perce tribe and a prolific storyteller, as a proper tribal elder should be.
My parents were training an Appaloosa filly, and Bill told them how the Nez Perce, famed for breeding these beautiful horses, used to train them for racing in the glistening white sand beaches that dotted the banks of the Clearwater River. Many of those beaches are now gone, due to changes in river flows caused by the coming of Dworshak Dam.
Bill told us that the Nez Perce would take their horses to the beach and train them in the sand. Walking and running them in the deep sand was difficult, but it served to overdevelop the horses' muscles. Then, when they were raced on solid ground, they were superior runners.
I don't know if the story is true, but I have no reason to doubt him. When I began to home educate our children, I took this principle as my guide: Train them in the sand. Not literally, of course, but spiritually and emotionally. I knew that God was calling me to commit myself totally to their development into the men and women of God He wanted them to be.
It wasn't fun, though we had lots of fun along the way. It wasn't a part time job. It took consistency, sacrifice, and more strength than I possessed. It consumed my days, my energy, my youth. It caused me to kneel often in despair at my lack, to seek God desperately, and to constantly reshuffle my life to get rid of those things that didn't take us to our goal.
I can tell you it was worth it. I signed up to train our children; I received a huge boot camp experience of my own. In the end, when our lives became harder than I ever could have imagined, we were ready.
Recently, I watched a show about Navy S.E.A.L.S. The series followed the intense training of this elite corps. The recruits were systematically, thoroughly, seemingly brutally trained day after day after day... in the sand. I sat enraptured as these men trained together in punishing conditions. At the end, the ones who toughed it out and didn't quit became something more than comrades. They became one person, in a way. They had been through trials that created a dynamic brotherhood that could conquer any foe.
I watched the last program alone in our living room one night. I was glad I was by myself, so I didn't have to explain the tears. Finally, I could really and truly understand the commission given to me twenty-five years before: Train them in the sand.

Training in the Sand - Serious Parenting for Victory

2008-11-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

Occasionally, someone asks me how we raised five children who love God and who have managed to stay so close in spite of a terrible family tragedy. (For those of you who don't know, our middle son broke his neck eleven years ago in a fall.) Often, I just blurt out something like, "It's God's work."
Which is true, of course. But in order to build a house, even the best architect needs people on the ground to follow his plan precisely and get the work done. We all know that God is the Perfect Architect and Builder of our spiritual house. He has chosen, for reasons of His own, to use humans to carry out His blueprint for building relationships and faith. His Word, the Bible, holds the exact specifications for crafting a home that will stand the test of time.
We, the parents, are the carpenters on the ground. God has ensured that we have every tool necessary for the job. Unfortunately, though, we have to get our skills for the job while on the job. But I'm convinced from years of experience that raising children is not supposed to be a frightening game of chance. It's not a gamble. It's a directive...with a promise:

Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it. (Prov. 22:6 NKJV).

In the next posts, I'm going to share the specific principles I learned from our years of child-rearing. It is my prayer that it is an encouragement to those of you who are newly embarked upon the terrifying sea of parenting. Trust me, God wants you to have victory. He has a good plan.
You can do this.

Welcome to My World

2008-11-09T16:43:00.000-08:00

It's not a very dignified way to start a blog. I sit plopped on the bed in the dayroom of the little log house overlooking the tranquil river that runs below us. My laptop is perched awkwardly on my lap - I have visions of the exploding laptops of a few years ago and adjust it nervously. My neck is sore from the effort of propping myself up to type while trying to keep the pressure off my poor, sore feet.
I'm lying down because my feet hurt. Not just a little hurt. It's a big hurt. My feet have hurt so miserably that I can barely walk some days. I'm guessing that I have a common, painful, and unpronounceable disorder of the bands of tissue spanning the bottom of the foot. But since I rarely darken a doctor's door, I cannot be sure and am depending on my good friends Dr. Web and Nurse Google for some advice (I can hear my friends groaning even now).
It's not that I dislike doctors. I just keep my distance for as long as possible. It's one of the consequences of eleven years hanging out in doctor's offices and hospitals with my quadriplegic son Kevin. I've seen too much. Some medical people are great - really great. Some are not. And since we can't tell which is which until the damage is done, I prefer to exhaust all my options before giving in to the inevitable.
So here I sit, enthroned in all my self-medicated glory: hair undone, clothes rumpled, feet aching.
Welcome to my world.