. . .with pollyanna. . .

Posted on September 6, 2017 by oct17

It was a brutal night in February, 2004.

Snow, fast and furious, struck with force the windows of the trolley car.  I had just left Tom for the night at a Vienna hospital.  My heart felt as cold as my surroundings. The wind and the cold made it difficult to walk the last two blocks home, but I somehow managed to stumble through the blinding snow.

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(This is our little garden–imagine that much snow on the sidewalks and on the tram!)

Quickly, I locked the frigid, wet weather behind me and went to close the blinds at the front window. The heavy snow had quietly painted a lovely scene in our small enclosed garden. I smiled. Immediately, I went to the computer and wrote the update to our prayer partners who, I knew, were praying for Tom this day.

. . .the good, the bad, the beautiful. . . . Words quickly came together as  I shared the experiences of the day– Tom had lost and was given five pints of Austrian blood,  (he now says that is why he loves Wiener Snitzel so much!) the prognosis, the fear, the cold ride home, the lovely wintry scene from the window. Evidently my words were clearly– or sadly– transparent as our team leader forwarded the letter to our European team counselor to make sure I was OK.

I assumed the Pollyanna in me died that night.  I have carried that label most of my life, a common one for an optimist.  Webster defines Pollyanna as a person characterized by irrepressible optimism and a tendency to find good in everything.  Is that a bad thing? Critics–there are always critics–say Pollyannism is a negative coping mechanism. They add that a Pollyanna ignores or avoids dealing with the bad, hurtful circumstances of life.  A more healthy response in dealing with negative issues is to acknowledge them as what they are–painful, sad, hurtful, devastating —but then focus on the positive aspects. I consider that a good Pollyanna approach and one for all of us.

It is seeing the good while coping with the bad.  Smiling through tears. Finding a tiny bit of joy in the pain—————.   We’ve all been there. . .

But I am here NOW.  Oh, I can smile; I can even laugh if I try. I am convinced my Pollyanna side is growing up, perhaps maturing a little. Or, is she getting old? My circle of life is heavily laced with pain currently, and I can’t pretend there is a ‘glad game’ anywhere.

“When I said, ‘My foot is slipping,’ your love, O Lord, supported me.  When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.” Psalm 94: 18, 19.

I could list my heartaches; you can list yours. A few nights after Harvey made history, I thoughtfully viewed over a hundred pictures of physically broken homes, flattened businesses, flooded cars.  Devastation everywhere. Can you imagine the mental, emotional anguish hundreds of thousands are enduring?   There is nothing you or I can say to help.  I doubt that the Pollyanna-s in Texas have an optimistic view at the moment.  And that scripture above probably gives little comfort to most of those suffering. Often, situations just hurt.

I read a statistic this week that challenged my Pollyanna mindset. A pastor wrote that 75% of his 800 member church probably suffer from emotional pain, “well hidden by religious cosmetics”, caused by various wounds of the past.  (Wounded, Terry Wardle, 1994, pg 23.)   Add to that the sufferings of physical pain, financial pain, grieving with loss pain— and there is a major storm brewing everywhere.

We can only walk through the pain, the suffering–one moment, one hour, one day at a time. Hopefully, we are walking through this with another–one step at a time. I encourage you to find someone walking alone in heartache and join them. Listen to their cries, guard their heart, hold them close. . .

“You hear, O Lord, the desire of  the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry. . .” Psalm 10: 17

When that word, that truth, is all  I have or all you  have, I know he hears . . .

. . . my cry . . . your cry.

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. . .lingering in the moments. . .

Posted on August 14, 2017 by oct17

. . . like Wednesday morning of this week. An almost perfect early hour at breakfast.  You know- one of those “rare days in June” (James Russell Lowell) except this is August.  Deep blue skies, gentle cool breezes causing the tree branches to lift and dance.  Blue birds bathing in the near water bath.  Austrian coffee in my Danish cup. Tom enjoying fresh biscuits–makes happy for him.  I was reminded of Psalm 96: 11: “Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it; let the fields be jubilant and everything in them.  Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy. . .”

A moment I want to linger long. . .here, this NOW.  I just want to stay right here forever–well, for a couple of hours. Please.

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(This is Tom before my lingering began. . . . 🙂 But we enjoy lingering together, too.) and served on a tablecloth  from Switzerland 🙂

But I can’t linger; I can’t live long in perfection.  The morning grew hot, the birds began fighting, the coffee was cold.  Someone called, and we cried. No, we sobbed together.

A rainy Monday morning- today. It is not only a relief shower on a hot August day; this is a soaking, needful, steady downpour. I wanted to run barefoot in the wet grass, but I chose rather to open my window, to sit and listen.  To linger. . .while listening, pondering. The earth is dry, begging for more.

I, too, sit and beg for more. The drops wash the dry earth and my physical body relaxes as I hear His presence strong in the rain.  Oh, please can it rain all day like this, and I will linger. . .in this NOW.  “Be still, and  know, Barb, that I am  here, that I am  who I say  I am. . . Psalm 46: 10 (my personal paraphrase.)

Just now, a small prop airplane, sounding like the old propeller D-3, passes overhead and I am forced to stop and remember. . .  I am 11 years old, lazily swinging on the porch at my grandparents’ on a hot July afternoon.  I lingered there . . . oh, I want to stay here. Sixty years later, I am swept away in those memories of security, of silly girlish stuff, of reading countless books in as many endless hours on that porch. I hear the silence, echoing the creak of the rusty hinges of the swing; I sense the stillness as the drone of the bees match the fading plane’s. I am reluctant to leave these moments. Let me stay awhile, please.

Lingering is necessary. . . lingering in the precious moments of the past enables me to smile, to remember, to be grateful. But more than that, lingering, pondering in the present, in the sounds of the rain today, keep me centered. Focusing on what is important . . .to find Him in this. . . NOW.

I remember when I could not linger anywhere on any level during those painful months of last year due to the diagnosis of Q-fever and Babesia. Every breath, every thought and activity were spent on surviving the moment–often hopeless.  I know the pain of emotional, physical and mental issues. I encourage you -if you cannot linger today–try to believe you can tomorrow.  And practice, staying in the good moments a bit longer–in silence, in the sun, in the rain, on a walk. . . to find a moment with Him.

Lingering—long.

“The Vision of Sir Launfal.”

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten …
―James Russell Lowell

If you don’t know this poem and its meaning, you might want to discover this nugget and linger a bit.

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seeing . . .lonely.

Posted on July 7, 2017 by oct17

When the first song began, I knew there would be tears. . .

Tom and I are finding that this step of the journey often leads through uncertain dark valleys with adult children and grandchildren. We are walking that path these days. We were in church of all places. One should find comfort and peace.

“Lord, I need you, oh, I need you. Every hour I need you. . .”

For a moment, I felt alone. All alone. Oh, there are people around me, and Tom is surely right beside me, squeezing my hand gently. . . winking as I work to prevent mascara’s painting with my tissue. He knows the heartache.  But I feel a bit alone.

“Lord, I come, I confess
Bowing here I find my rest
Without You I fall apart
You’re the One that guides my heart”  (Matt Maher)

We know no one of those sitting near us.  No one knows our name; they have no idea who we are–our hopes, our dreams, our losses, or our pain in this moment.  Neither do I know them or their pain.

 “If we are to love our neighbors,” says Frederick Buechner, “before doing anything else we must see our neighbors. With our imagination as well as with our eyes, that is to say like artists, we must see not just their faces, but the life behind and within their faces.” In other words, we must know them.

This week marks a year since our retirement.  I am missing the routine of Sundays, the company of Sundays, the sounds of Sunday. . .the activity of Sundays.

It has been difficult for us to find a place to become involved with people. Due in part to Tom’s health, but more because this is a new phase of our lives, and we don’t quite know how.  We’ve never been “here” before.

I have heard people say, “I am never alone, but I am lonely sometimes.” That thought is voiced by Christians, and they say that because, yes, Jesus has promised to be with us always and to never leave us. Truly we are not alone.  I understand that, but this is a new thought for me.   Maybe it’s semantics, and I am rarely lonely—but I, Tom and I– are alone in this stage of life. And I use the word alone to mean solitary or friendless.

Almost half of older adults who have retired and relocated to a new address in the past year are lonely. So we are not alone! Make new friends” should be high on a to-do list of retirees. Surprisingly, the largest group of lonely people is younger adults.  It is suggested that social media is isolating all of us.  Too much roaming on Facebook can make one miserable–if not, it can make one envious at the ‘perfect’ lives masqueraded daily by all our friends.

When I was faced with the sense of “aloneness” that Sunday, I could relate to those who experience loneliness on a daily basis.  I wonder that others reach out to them.  Is there a way to minister to those who suffer this common malady.

How often have I neglected “seeing” the hurts and pain of those sitting near me in church.  Am I attentive to their tears. Maybe I should be more talkative to those I pass in the grocery aisles.  (My grandchildren are embarrassed at times- “Gram, you talk to EVERYBODY!!”) Standing in a bank line. . . wherever lonely people are.  This time in our lives is teaching me how to see others.  We must be aware of the loneliness around us—even when we are secure in our dependence on our Father.

“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. . .” Psalm 62:1

“Lord, I need You, oh, I need You
Every hour I need You
My one defense, my righteousness
Oh God, how I need You”   (Matt Maher)

I encourage you to be aware of lonely, alone and loneliness this week in those you see. 

 

(For me, writing usually results from excessive reading.  The last few months I am doing excessive weeding. . .)

 

 

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. . .i see you. . .

Posted on June 6, 2017 by oct17

The eyes were blank, staring straight ahead at nothing.  No movement. Almost like a statute.  I tried talking. No response.  What is going on? Are they blind?

I became angry as I walked to the other four cages; the picture before me was the same. Five of God’s amazing creations designed for great things and some to soar amazing heights were ensnared in small prison cells.  Each sparse space had one small plastic tub of water and a tree limb.  Why are these birds so caged, I wanted to yell.  For our speculation? An educational opportunity? For observation?  Only one of the stark enclosures had an informative plaque displayed. Only one shared its cell with another; the others were alone.

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(The pictures are a bit large in order for you to “see” better; yet, you cannot see the eyes clearly. The great horned owl sits on top of the little house.)

No other inquisitive folks were around, so I returned to each cell and “listened” to the empty sad eyes.

I remembered Tom’s mother’s eyes.  Trapped in the confines of dementia, those familiar gentle blue eyes were no longer speaking.  Often, I looked longingly to see something of her looking back at me.  There were brief, fleeting moments when she returned for a second.

Maybe these birds are ill, I thought.  Maybe this is a safe place for them. Still I was intrigued by the lostness in the eyes.  There was some movement as I continued to speak softly.

Eyes . . . windows of the heart, of the soul.

Ken Gire’s book, Windows of the Soul, addresses new ways in experiencing God.  This is one of my favorite all time books–ever, as it speak to my soul! I am reading it now for the third time. Gire identifies numerous ways in which we experience God IF we see. “I want to live in a way so that I don’t lose sight of what’s important or lose a sense of the sacredness of others.  I want to live in a way so I can see windows of the soul.” p36. and in a prayer on page 37, he writes, “I know I won’t see everything, but help me see something.” –(my words now –today, everyday.  Help me see into others’ eyes to see their pain, their heart break—-)

I wonder that I so identified with the pain in these winged creatures’ eyes because my own eyes, as well, were full of pain. Did these sad creatures relate to my sadness this day. A huge ache filled my heart; perhaps they saw what was reflected there. We tend to be opened to others who are hurting when we hurt–or I think it should be so.

Was I, too, in a prison cell? Difficulties in life have a way of confining us to our own lonely quarters.  Times when it is impossible to “see” beyond the hurt. Unlike these caged birds, I have the promises of His word to “see” in my weeks of heartbreak and sadness. One morning I remember reading the story of the woman at the well.  Verse 25 of John 4 gives us the woman’s expectation of the Messiah’s coming one day, “he will explain everything to us when he comes.”  The words of Jesus in the next verse literally embraced me. “I who speak to you am he.” I knew in that instant that this same Jesus was as involved in the current painful situation in our family as he longed to be in this troubled woman’s life.

“In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free.”Psalm 118:5. Then I was able to rejoice in the promise of Psalm 119: 32.  “I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.”

There will be pain and heartbreaks, disappointments and sorrow–this is life.  And often times we feel  trapped in a cell, lonely and afraid.  But the Lord longs to set us free in order that we can soar as the red-tailed hawk.  While on our journey may we continually open our eyes to “see”. May we truly look deeply into eyes, hurting with pain and sadness.

Looking at you . . .seeing you . . .

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rejoicing . . . in HOPE

Posted on April 15, 2017 by oct17

I am going to sit right down and write myself a . . . blog.  (that was a 1935 song by Joe Young- only it was a letter he was going to write.) Most days I mentally write this blog as it is my only way of communicating with you.  Somehow, writing gives me the privilege of connecting with those  I loved deeply but who are no longer in my life–except a ‘like’ on Facebook.  I suppose this says more about me in my old age.  I am in a time warp from those days of ministry focused on people.  And though I am enjoying retirement somewhat, I so miss people, a place and a purpose.

But it is now . . .

Angry thunder wakened me early one morning last week.  Another day of rain, I moaned.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I love rain–have always danced through a rainy Monday morning.

But enough–already. We were drenched. (Today, as I finish this–we are too dry again.)

A few days after that rainy early morning we celebrated  a breath-takingingly summer-like spring day.   But these days have been sandwiched between strong seasonal storms often with  tornadic activity in southwest Tennessee.

I remember the dry prison we endured for months last summer and fall.  This area of Lawrence County begged for rain.  One of the dryest on record, they said.  Five months with only one 30 minute tease of gentle sweet drops.

Like life . . .

Life is most often lived out betwixt the excessives and the enoughs. Between the mundane and the majestic.  We ride a bi-poplar see-saw.

Spring allergies are playing havoc with my happiness. And blueberries don’t make me happy right now!  (see blog-choose happy, maybe, perhaps).
Continue reading →

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learning . . . loving. . .on the journey

Posted on March 13, 2017 by oct17

Surprise!  A second post in a week. I would love to blog weekly, but alas, retirement is such a busy job.  We have more projects going than hours in the day but as this is a special day and a cold, rainy one, I have the time to share with you.

You will smile at this story:

Tom and I were in a salon the first week of January in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee.  (For those who may not know, Tom retired the second time in August, 2016, and we moved to this small town south of Nashville.) We had gotten haircuts with different stylists, and as the shop was not busy, the four of us began a conversation.  Both young ladies enjoy rustic wood ideas and were interested in our shop projects; we showed them various gifts we had made at Christmas.

After laughter and shared ideas, one ventured a bit timidly, “May I ask you something?” They had already told us what they would like so I thought this would be for a bigger project.

“Are you two newly married?” We grinned at each other. O, I think we laughed at that one.  The hairdressers could not believe that we had been married almost 53 years.  (Tuesday, March 14,-today in Europe is the 53 year mark.)

“Why do you ask?” I wanted to know.

“You are just kind to each other,” was the reply.  “You are so cute together,” a true millennial comment.

I love this story, and I have thought much about the reason she gave.  I don’t do many things well, other than cook and clean house, well, maybe iron, now and then.  But I have learned ‘to do’ marriage well. Emphasis on the learned.  After graduating from college at 41, I realized I could be a professional student, I have jokingly said.  But in reality that is what I have been for 53 years.  A student of life and marriage.  A student of Tom Suiter.  “Study your man,” I have advised women for years.

Marriage manuals abound in today’s market and no topic, idea and opinion are left uncovered.  But in 1964, the choices were distressingly few and amazingly taboo –on some topics. Not until 1977, did James Dobson begin his family ministry. The controversial family voice, Dr. Benjamin Spock, was the only advice available for young couples and parents–that I remember.

How to do marriage. I needed to learn.  After all, my parents had divorced when I was 16; Tom’s parents were together when we married but divorced about 12 years later. We had no expert example to follow.  I read everything available on marriage—secular and within the church.  Some of you will remember The Ladies’ Home Journal and the article each month, ‘Can this Marriage be Saved’? The monthly Reader’s Digest usually had an article on some aspect of married life. Home Life, a Christian magazine, offered personal testimonies  and stories on communication, finances, in-laws, and eventually on sex. I silently, intentionally ‘listened’ to all and learned how to be the wife I needed to be.

There was one author and Christian voice during our early years that rang true and confident.  Charlie Shedd wrote numerous books on marriage and relationships.  Letters to Karen: A Father’s Advice on Keeping Love in Marriage, written to his daughter in 1965 has sold millions, as well as Letters to Philip, his son.  “He mentored a Christian generation in the art of keeping Christ and joy in the heart of relationships.” (Balcony Publishing Co.) I am thankful even today for this man’s influence in my life and in our marriage.

As new books came on the market, I kept reading. Willard Harley’s, His Needs, Her Needs  in  1986 added more information I processed.  Later in 1995, Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages presented me with valuable knowledge. We developed a small library on this subject.  I don’t read as many books on ‘how to’ do married today, but I continue to read fascinating articles on this favorite subject.

Often we are asked, “What is your secret?”  Did we just get it right before ‘I do’? Tom and I came into marriage innocent, pure, trusting and assuming all would work out. Or did we make the ‘I do’ promise—right?  We were 18 and 19; how could we possibly know how to succeed at such a massive undertaking? We learned together how to love, disagree, talk it out; we were committed to make our relationship succeed. We read books together, especially when driving on long trips, with one, two, three or four children in the backseat.

One of our favorite verses for marriage is Deuteronomy 24:5 under a section of miscellaneous laws: “If a man has recently married, he must not be sent to war or have any other duty laid on him.  For one year, he is to be free to stay at home and bring happiness to the wife he has married.”  The Amplified Bible says he is to bring cheer to his wife. Isn’t this a fun verse for a marriage seminar!

And a favorite verse I often remind Tom , “He who finds a wife, finds a good thing.” Proverbs 18:22. He comes back with, “It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop than to share a house with a disagreeing, quarrelsome and scolding woman. Proverbs 25: 24. Reading, learning and study have insured he doesn’t live on the rooftop.

I encourage young couples today to become a student of marriage –your marriage.  Study your man–guess that works for you, men, to study your girl!  Marriages of 10, 20, or 40 years can benefit from the plethora of information available.

Fifty three years. What an incredible journey of hard work, commitment, fun, fighting and friendship.  I guess we have succeeded if we, two 70+ year-olds, leave an impression that we are newly married.

“Be ye kind one to another”. (Ephesians 4:32) The Amplified Bible truly amplifies this verse for marriage: “Become useful and helpful and kind to one another, tenderhearted, compassionate, understanding, loving-hearted, forgiving one another-readily and freely, as God in Christ forgave you.

A few Sundays ago we took a selfie–our first in 53 years!!  But Tom’s brother, Dwight, said this is a we-fie.  I present our first we-fie!

Learning. . . loving. . .on the journey. Together.

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choose happy. . . (maybe, perhaps)

Posted on March 10, 2017 by oct17

Two weeks ago. . . I began my blog . . .

“Blueberries make me happy,”  I smiled as I popped several in my mouth while preparing breakfast.  They are full of antioxidants, vitamins, minerals—all things beneficial.  I am amazed that God in his goodness created these round blue gems.  At another time I run to the window when I hear a flock of Canadian geese squawking overhead. I am awed at their journey, taking them south for a winter vacation or north to their summer home.  Imagine.  They have been traveling this route for years, knowing perfect dates and timing for travel.  I love that I am in this moment at this time, and I smile.

For me, it is the simple things. I spot a bright cardinal out the window now, and I smile.  “Grateful people tend to appreciate simple pleasures, defined as those pleasures in life that are available to most people. And happiness is near impossible if you are selfish about sharing it.” (Journal of Social Behavior and  Personality)

I mentioned to Tom one morning that I was saddened that someone I know is not happy.  Happiness is a choice he said.  This sent me on a search to discover why some humans are happy—no matter what —and for others, happiness escapes them.  You just choose happy. Right!

The next days I focused on happy—choosing to rejoice.  And I smiled at all I met.  After all, “A happy heart makes the face cheerful.” (Proverbs 15:13) Gratitude, thankfulness and happy are all wrapped up, and I am like a kitten playing with a ball of colored yarn. After months of illness last year, I  readily embrace the beautiful blessings of today.

Then I had the blueberry morning!0310171112a_Burst01

I had written a few more positive comments on the choice of happy and left the blog to finish and finesse the next day.

Today, after many days, I write . . .

That evening a phone call changed my perspective on happy.  I had to decide if blueberries made me  happy any longer.  Could I smile at those I met in the marketplace?  me . . .  through tears of pain and sadness.  My search now led me another route.

Happiness is a Choice wrote Minirth and Meier in 1978 in dealing with issues of depression.  That phrase is easily tossed around by me, a wanna-be PollyAnna, when counseling someone struggling to survive life at the moment.  But can I choose happiness when disappointments and heartaches come?  Are the blueberries as good?   Do I believe Ecclesiastes 3: 12? “I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live.”

One theory in psychology research suggests that we all have a happiness “set-point” that largely determines our overall well-being. We oscillate around this set point, becoming happier when something positive happens or the opposite, afterwards returning to equilibrium.

But this set-point, to a certain extent, can be reset. Although our general mood levels and well-being are partially determined by factors like genetics and upbringing, roughly 40 percent of our happiness is within our control, according to some experts, and a large body of research in the field of positive psychology has shown that happiness is a choice that anyone can make. As psychologist William James put it, “The greatest discovery of any generation is that a human can alter his life by altering his attitude.” (The Huffington Post, December 2013)

After three storm alerts from the phone, serious lightning, hail and heavy rains sent me to my safe place last midnight. Tom stayed warm in the bed so he could watch the storm (maybe another lesson for me in that!)   Snuggled in my small space, I wondered at blueberries and tried to smile. As I processed the storm noises with the storm of pain within, I had one choice. I could trust in the One who knows and loves me that even if the house blew away, we would somehow be safe. That was my only option.

This morning opened with skies colored with glorious blue.  One would hardly know there had been a storm hours previous.  I was reminded of the verse in Nehemiah 8:10 as I walked later: “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”  Suddenly it dawned on me that I could also say, “the strength of the Lord is my joy”, and I choose joy this moment.

Joy verses abound in Scriptures. The words happy, joy, joyful, rejoice, blessed are you –translated ‘happy are you’ in some texts — are used multiple, multiple times.  Even though ‘happiness is a choice’ may sound too simple, too easy, too difficult—it is the only choice we have. My research ends in the same way. I can choose.

Philip Yancey tells of a letter he received from a friend whose daughter, Peggie, was terminally ill. The mother wrote:

The weekend before she went into the hospital for the last time, Peggie came home all excited about a quotation from William Barclay that her minister had used. She was so taken with it that she had copied it down on a 3 x 5 card for me: “Endurance is not just the ability to bear a hard thing, but to turn it into glory.” She said her minister must have had a hard week, because after he read it he banged the pulpit and then turned his back to them and cried. (Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God (Zondervan, 1997), p. 157)

Life hurts.  There are hard things.  Sometimes too hard; there are no blueberries, no geese flying–just storms.  But I can choose to turn the pain into glory.  I can choose happy; I can choose trust.

Choosing . . . to smile. . . through tears

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. . .on Valentine’s

Posted on February 12, 2017 by oct17

Have you seen the Love Bear commercials recently?  download(image from Google)—a must gift this Valentine’s.  Or the one for the hoodie-footie pajamas? Tom grins, “I think I will order you two of those 6 foot bears.  Or maybe I will get you those PJs.” He wouldn’t dare.

Valentine’s is a major high sales day.  Over 19 billion dollars will be spent this week.  That will include millions of dollars for jewelry, flowers, candy, dining out, cards and gifts.  On this day, an excess of 150 million cards will be bought, second only to Christmas.

This celebration of love began in the 5th century, and lovers worldwide  celebrate this day.  The giving of roses began with the Victorians as it was the favorite flower of Venus, the Roman goddess of love.  This week more than 50 million roses will fill vases and bottles.

I enjoy gifts, and I love roses, but receiving gifts is not my love language.  Tom knows and speaks  my language; I have learned his.  (I would encourage all married couples to read Gary Chapman’s, The 5 Love Languages.) There were times during the darkest spring weeks of 2016 that I survived my illness simply because Tom spoke my language.  During the bleak and  fearful experiences, Tom held me fast and assured me all would be well. When I thought I was not going to make it, I was able to hold on to a thin thread of hope because of his encouragement and hugs. I know now that he was not always as confident, but I never knew.

According to US. News and World Reports (February 2016), a 20 second hug  benefits both the body and mind. . . . a long hug! That kind of hug helps control blood pressure and stabilize the heart rate.  Hormones are released to cause relaxation. Research shows that hugging is extremely effective at healing sickness, disease, loneliness, depression, anxiety and stress.The research shows that a “proper deep hug, where the hearts are pressing together can benefit you in many ways.” It lifts serotonin levels, strengthens the immune system, relaxes muscles, balances the nervous system . Amazing, what a hug can do.  We  need lots of hugs a day.

I think God created us with a need for this kind of hug.  Many verses in Scripture mention his arms.  “He tends his flock like a shepherd; he gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart. . .” Isaiah 40: 11.  “He took the children in his arms . . .”Mark 10:16

Words of affirmation, quality time, touch, acts of service and receiving gifts are all love languages.  I am not so sure but that couples growing in their marriage commitment speak all five at various times.  “I love you” is never whispered as loudly to me as when Tom asks, “Do you want to watch Pride and Prejudice tonight or what about  You’ve Got Mail. Let’s go on a walk or how about a picnic?”

Time and touch.

God knows and speaks my language; he knows and speaks yours.  He speaks all of them.  Often, he shouts, and we cannot miss his declaration of love.  His words affirm us, he walks with us-spending all the time with us that we need, he holds us in his everlasting arms.  And oh, his  gifts are just too numerous to count. In the ultimate act of service and love, he gave his life for each one of us.

This Valentine Day give a hug–a 20 second hug to your children, to your husband or wife.  See how you feel!!  But relish in God’s everlasting arms, sensing His presence, feeling him -heart to heart, speaking your language.

He will cover you with his feathers and under his wings you will find refuge.  Psalm 91:4

hugged and hidden . . .

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remembering. . .forgetting. . .pressing on. . .the journey

Posted on January 25, 2017 by oct17

it has been a year. . .

My last blog entry was February 10, 2016 on Valentine’s.  I have since failed to string words together to make sense of this journey called life.  I did not nor could not use words to encourage or give hope.
For you, my friends, who wondered at my silence, who prayed for Tom and me when you had no idea of the sinister curtain that was  slowly draping around us, I thank you.  Nora in Copenhagen prayed-and prayed.  Ingrid in Vienna wrote a message every Sunday for the entire year. Two or three of my girl friends stayed with me on those days I was too afraid to be alone. I am indebted to you.  My daughters, bless their hearts, wondered if they would ever again know the mother they had always known. But they stayed as constant in their concern and care  as I was confused and bewildered.

I have survived!

A few days after the blog of February 10, I determined that I would never write again.  The following days, weeks, and months is a period of life I would like to erase.  To hit the delete button and forever forget. (thankfully, much of the pain and darkness of that time is a blur, now.)

Paul says in Philippians 3: 13, 14 that he desires to forget and press onward. I know the context of those verses is on a much higher note than I can sing now.  He desires to know God . Yet, there is a lesson for us. I confess that there are things we must NOT forget unless we “remember”–then we press forward.  It is such a paradox–this remembering and forgetting.  I must remember enough to use what I forget in a positive way.  I must remember enough to be thankful, while forgetting those things that impede the progress to press forward.

So what do I remember. . .while trying to forget the pain, the struggle to live, the tears of hopelessness?

It took months for a physical diagnosis that had created such unexplained anxiety  in me–a somewhat normal, almost put-together woman of joy, love and laughter.How could this happen?   Chronic EBV had taken  a toll.  Extensive labs unearthed two bacterial infections my body had been trying to fight for years-one a very rare one and the other, a malaria type co-infection from the Lyme I had years before.  One day, it just couldn’t fight another battle.  All this coupled with thyroid issues, stress and  hormones resulting from the infections, as well.  The dam could only break.

And it did.

Reading, studying for my ladies’ Sunday School class became increasingly difficult. It saddened me much to give it up; I had cried so often in class, and they never gave up on me.  It was freeing to be honest with them, and may be one of the reasons I was able to begin the healing process. To this day, I struggle to  read with strong purpose and study deeply.  This is an area in which I am pressing on.

I remember one day in the grocery store (after all reports were in, and I had learned that yes, there is a reason for all this, and no, I am not losing my mind. Boy, what a relief that was!)  A young mother and I were sharing–I was not ashamed to share what I  was going through. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, “Oh, Mrs. Barb, I have suffered with anxiety and depression for years.  I can’t tell anyone as I’ve been told Christians can’t have those issues.  I carry this alone.”

Immediately, I knew.  I would write again.  I would struggle to give a voice of hope to someone of those 40 million of the population suffering panic attacks, various types of anxiety and  depression.

But I have to remember–enough.  I have to remember enough in order to compassionately see in sad brown and blue eyes. Eyes that negate their declarations of “I’m fine.” I have to remember enough to speak with concern and hope. One young man at the emergency room check-in at 3 in the morning looked at us and said, “oh, I suffer from anxiety.”

And I have to remember enough to live in gratitude today.

How else can I rejoice this morning in the full, peaceful nights’ sleep of last night if I completely forget those hundreds of dark nights, many spent walking in the driveway at 3 a.m. begging for sleep. At one point late spring 2016, I went over 36 hours without sleep.

Now I am giddy with delight after preparing a delicious, creative meal as I remember the multitude of meals–unprepared, unplanned, uneaten because I could not cope with cooking. I, who always loved cooking for guests, went 10 months without preparing a single meal for anyone, other than simple ones for us.

Once a plan of treatment began and there was hope, I developed a more attentive ear. I learned to listen.  Indeed, to hear the whispers.  And they came.  Not many, not often.  But they came, and really some had come in the blackest of moonless nights.  In those times when there were no other answers, but His whisper of hope, I learned to trust Him again.   Little by little, bit by bit. . .One verse that blessed me so as I made it personal to me as it had been for Mary in Luke 1:45:  “Blessed are you, Barbara, when you believe that those words I whispered to you in the night are truly possible.”

We all have something in our lives to forget–events, disappointments, some form of pain–those happenings that keep us afraid of opening new doors. Some are worth remembering.  Those lessons learned in the mistakes we long to forget enable us to move forward.

Paul wrote the words in Philippians while in prison.  He had already been on three missionary journeys, established many church plants, wrote numerous letters, but he desired MORE. “I have more running to do”, he says. “I press on . . .”  I am going somewhere  soon . . .I think he prepared every day to run. . .

“There is more race to run whether we are 17 or 97.  Don’t look back.  Forget past accidents and past failures,” writes Richard DeMass.  Well, I am 17–backwards!  Where do I run now?

I have always said I don’t know what to be when I grow up.  Tom says it is because I will never grow up.  But I think it is time . .  Now that retirement years are here, surely I will know.  Until then, until I know, I am pressing on . . .

My experience had made me wonder about you.  Are you doing well? Do you need someone to give you a word of hope, a hug.  I encourage you to remember enough—to forget anything that is an obstacle to your progress–to listen—and then run the race.

Pressing on, running wildly . . .into a blessed hope.

 

And this was a new spark of joy this spring when I so needed a fresh hope. Our second great granddaughter,  Evelyn Jane and I share middle names.  She arrived May 18, 2016.

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wear your love . . .

Posted on February 10, 2016 by oct17

Where have I been? –my last blog was three months ago. I missed being in touch with you at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s.

Celebrating? 70 years in October must have caused such consternation, contemplation, rumination, introspection, retrospection–all those -ation and -tion words, that I have suffered a “life slump”.  (You know like a pitcher’s or batter’s slump in baseball.) I have been frozen in time:-(

But this is Valentine’s week–must write something on love, right?

I noticed these words on a calendar this morning: “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” I pondered that word on two levels– in my physical world as well as in the Christian life.

That quote comes from a Chinese philosopher and contemporary of Confucius from the 6th century.  Loazi, founder of the “School of the Tao’, in no way, equated this principle of love with the unfailing love of God.  But I can.

I always wear a heart during Valentine week. 0210161043

My dear mentor in the pastor’s wife role was wearing her declaration one February in 1983 –I love George-.  I squealed.  She had found these pins in a small shop in Yulee, Florida, over 33 years ago. I was so impressed that this older, mature, gentle, yet fun, pastor’s wife of a large church would wear such a thing. Wearing her love. A few weeks later she gave me this heart, and I have worn it every Valentine’s week since.

“I have lost my heart,” I cried earlier this week when I could not find it immediately.  “It’s the only week of the year that I can wear it. I must find it.” Tom smiled, “You have a heart:-) and you can wear it whenever you want to.”  (Now wasn’t that romantic!)

Strength. Courage.

Can one survive daily living without either? when storms toss me, when winds blow strong around me, when words hurt.  And from where do these positive traits come?

“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.” Psalm 16: 5-6

“O Lord, be gracious to us, we long for you.  Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress.” Isaiah 33:2

“I love you, O Lord, my strength.”   Psalm 18: 1

“The Lord is my strength and shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. The Lord  is  the  strength  of  his  people. . .” Psalm 29: 7,8

Courage comes from having a perfect source of strength. We as believers are enabled to live life out of the richness of being loved unconditionally by God and, in turn, we are given courage to  stand firm in life.  A synonym for strength is power, and a similar meaning for courage is boldness.  We have the power to live in His strength and the boldness to share His love to those around us.

I have no trouble at all “wearing” my affection for Tom. I am not ashamed, nor embarrassed.  I may not wear my “heart” all year, but I will this week. And I pray I wear it well. Hopefully, my love and commitment to him– for him– is on display at all times.

More importantly is that I “wear” my heart for the Lord 24/7, all year, every year.  Unashamed. How I wear that love is seen at all times.

Wear your love— your commitment to the One who loved you enough to give you life. Wear it. Not just this week but every day.

Wear it well.

 

 

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