How can one be so exhausted that their eyes burn, even when closed?
Yet … sleep evades.
The mind races in directions and to places that … how and why does it go there?
And you toss, and you turn and you wonder why? why can sleep not take you away to that place of rest and refreshment?
And your body is tense, it aches with exhaustion, only encouraging more and more tossing and turning with nary a place that provides a position to loosen, relax.
And the man next door (the next pillow over) is tossing and turning too, or snoring … either way, the noises and movements jar you from the entry of sleep’s door.
And so you pray (because, why not). Yet your prayers lead your mind to even more places and you begin to feel as though your mind might explode for all the places it is wandering in these wee morning hours.
And you rise from your place of no sleep … wandering, trying a cozy chair (devoid of present coziness), the sofa (with the attractive, but not so pillowy, pillows). In frustration you recline, close your eyes …
wet … my fingers are wet …
My eyes open into the stare of my furry buddy, to the lightening of the room. I smile, not because I am rested, but because I am glad it is over that light has come, that there is one nearby to lick my weariness …
Old Man in Sorrow (On the Threshold of Eternity), by Vincent van Gogh
I remember years ago hearing of the delays of children who had been in orphanages in Romania (known as dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu’s children). They spent their days in cribs, where they were kept alive with bottles and diaper changes. What they were deficient in was physical contact, stimulation, love.
The impacts of their growing up in that environment went beyond the fact that these rooms full of babies and toddlers were without cooing or crying. These little souls were impacted in their physical, mental, emotional, social and probably every other area of their health and development … all because they were deficient in that which all humans need … human contact, interaction and love.
Now, thirty some years later, another group of humans is experiencing a type of failure to thrive, brought on, not by a nation’s dictator, but by the Coronavirus pandemic.
The news this week had been of a report finding that loneliness is impacting the mental health of Canadians (no doubt others as well). But if we, who are able to go to work, who have the ability to get out of our homes, who have human interaction every day are struggling with our mental health due to loneliness …
what about our seniors?
what about those who are living in isolation?
I have been reading lately that loneliness is a greater fear to those who are alone than Coronavirus. Read that again …
And, some studies hint that during our current pandemic more people may die of the effects of loneliness than of the virus itself.
For those who are isolated from human interaction, stress of this pandemic as well as the the loneliness that accompanies it can mean that they may be at greater risk of heart attack, stroke, depression and even premature death.
“I very much feel my solitude.”
Renata Cafferata (87, Italy)
What that says to me is that this is a need human need that we need to address … and I don’t mean that we need to write to our government officials.
What we need to do it to check in on our neighbors, friends and family who may live alone. Offer to pick up their groceries. Stop by for a visit on their porch or deck, or in their garage (make sure they are bundled up warmly). Take them a meal, drop off flowers, make a call to them, write a note, a letter … make contact with them!
These connections could save a life! This is important … it could be life or death for them!
In an article in The Atlantic, Charles H. Zeanah, a child-psychiatry professor (who was part of a study of orphaned children in Bucharest in 2000), said,
“Imagine how that must feel—to be miserable and not even know that another human being could help.”
He was speaking of babies, or children, who knew no better. They had been born into a world without their need of human interaction and attachment being met.
During this duel pandemic of Covid19 and loneliness, those who are miserable DO know that another human could help … but they are alone.
It is up to the rest of us to ensure that they do not feel the weight of that loneliness … that it does not reach down to the depths of human despair.
This, my fellow humans, especially to those of us who claim the name of Christ, is our opportunity to be the hands and feet of God.
It’s when I see a leaf fall, flowers fade, the sunset after dinner, feel the chill in the morning air. Autumn is here in more ways than just the change of calendar … and I feel sad.
Autumn was once my favorite season, with it’s red leaves, sweater weather and talk of Thanksgiving. It is the season hubby and I met and were married, the season when two of our three were born. It was my favorite season …
Then, for some reason, unknown to me, I began to see it, not as the start of something new, but the end of something loved.
Don’t get me wrong, I do still take delight in the cool breeze and changes in the color of the leaves, but … the seasonal change … it also seems to herald endings.
The older I get the more I embrace the heat of summer, daylight stretching into the night, bare feet, leisure time.
I recently read a verse that made me ponder these feelings about the autumn.
“And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither and whatever he does will prosper.” Psalm 1:3
Maybe that is it … maybe it’s the withering that is partially to blame for my apathy towards this once favorite seasonal change. Maybe I am starting to see myself as withering and fruitless.
It is so easy to feel less fruitful once the house is quiet of the daily noise of kids in the house. It can feel a bit like you’re a leaf that was blown off the tree.
Yet, if my hope is in God, if I stay planted near him (in prayer and in reading of his word), this Psalm assures me that I will still produce fruit in my life, still be used by him to do his will.
A number of days ago, hubby was beckoned to an elderly lady. Originating from Southeast Asia, Canada has been her home for many years. Now into her nineties, she spends her days praying.
all. day. every. day.
This is what she says is her calling, her purpose … and she fulfills it beautifully.
When hubby walked to her, she said, “I am going to pray for your family” and immediately proceeded to do just that.
“It was just beautiful. Something so special,” he said, when he told me at home later.
This woman, though very much withered physically, has stayed near the living water and she has not withered in spirit or purpose one bit. She is still, very much, producing fruit.
Dumpster fire … that is what I have heard most to describe 2020, our world.
It seems like either the world is coming to an end or the journalists and reporters are so hyped up on bad news that they can deliver nothing else to us.
What is the antidote, the cure for everything that is so … 2020?
gratitude is the antidote
It may seem so simplistic, but giving thanks, being appreciative, not only are nice things to do, but they are also actions that change our brains. Odd as it may sound the more gratitude we practice in our lives, the more positive our thoughts become.
This would be the real life, there are studies with evidence behind them, working out of a biblical proverb:
“as a woman/man thinks, so is she/he”
Proverbs 23:7
In Canada this weekend we celebrate Thanksgiving. We decorate with pumpkins and colored leaves, gather with family and friends (or not … thanks Coronavirus), we roast a turkey, we wear our stretchy pants. But it is more than just a long weekend, for it is also an opportunity to be thankful in our thoughts, our actions and our words.
It’s the perfect opportunity to make eye contact with someone and say the words, “I am thankful for you,” or give someone a gift and just say, I was thinking fondly of you and wanted to show you I care, or write a letter, an email a note and just say I am thankful for you.
Just last week I had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of a gift from a stranger. When I approached the drive through window to pay for my steeped tea, the person working there said that the previous person had paid the $1.62 for my tea. I was shocked, speechless. Honestly, the way I felt was as if the cost paid was much, much more. I think it was because it was unexpected, undeserved. All I could do was feel the gratitude.
I just wish I had thought to pay it forward, covering the cost of the next person’s order, to keep the gratitude flowing. But … hindsight is 20/20.
As gratitude realigns our mind to focus on the positive, I hope that we might be able to respond to the negatives of 2020 with gratitude, offering thanks for who and what we have in our lives, rather than adding more fuel to the dumpster fire that is currently burning up the good in our minds, our world.
Happy thanksgiving to you, reader. I want you to know that, though I may not know you, I am thankful that you have taken the time to read my ramblings as I wander and wonder.
Twenty one years ago I was only nine years older than you are now, when I pushed, you emerged, took your first breath and wailed.
Where did those twenty-one years go?
All parents ask the question, but the reality is, we know where they went.
They went through all hours of the night for the first weeks. The most precious middle of the night wake ups are when a woman knows it’s the last.
The years were used up living in the imaginary world of Thomas the Tank Engine as well as collecting, building, tearing apart and building with Lego.
They were spent in the pool wearing your ‘pissers’, kicking the can with the neighbor kids, trying to catch the dog as she raced through the field behind our house.
They were passed quickly on the football field, the stage and playing video games late into the night with your fellow gamers, at youth group events and at friend’s houses.
Days, no weeks were spent travelling all the way to Florida … and back, ingesting a daily diet of hot dogs.
Sweet times of ‘snugs ‘n nugs’ with the girls. Giants games or Subway (“eat flesh”) with your dad. Sushi dates with me.
So many shared movies from Marvel to DC to Harry Potter, Star Wars and The Rings.
Drives to camp and back … so many drives down that highway.
Travels to Cannon Beach, Mexico, ALL of the south states, the East Coast, Ontario, New Zealand, Thailand.
Where did those twenty-one years go?
Time flies, my son. In a blink you grew from a newborn to starting kindergarten, to high school graduation, to flying off down under, to right now … where you stand at the cusp of another stage.
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us”
Gandalf
This precious gift of life is filled with an unknown amount of time that we can never recapture. Once it is lived it is in the past … gone.
Colossians 4:5b tells us to “redeem the time” or make the most of your time. See the value of not just your years, but the days, even the minutes. Consider how you will spend your time … for it flies ever so quickly.
Happy 21 … may the next twenty-one be as memory-filled.
It seems every time I turn on the radio I encounter talk of leadership, or, more specifically, political leaders and wannabees.
There is an election that has been called in our province for later this month, but the news is at least as much about the election south of us, in November (somehow, our media outlets and population have become convinced that US politics need more airtime than our own).
Last week I had simply had enough and stopped listening and reading.
I wish politicians would just speak their plans along with explanations of how they plan to carry them out. Tell us what they did and did not accomplish since the last election. I wish they would apologize for their errors, owning not just the victories, but their failures as well. I wish they would stop pointing fingers and hurling insults and just keep the main things the main things.
The Bible is a good place to go when I need to be reminded of the main things, but even we, who are followers of Christ, can miss the main things.
The best example of this is Israel’s waiting and hope for the Messiah.
When Jesus came, as God’s chosen Messiah, his message did not sound like what they had expected.
They wanted affirmation of the law. Thought that their safety and security was found there.
When he broke the law by healing on the Sabbath, he responded with “the Sabbath was made for humans, not humans for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27)
The law is like a whip, beckoning strict obedience. Jesus, as the Messiah, was and is asking something more, something better. His final message to his beloved disciples has nothing to do with law, everything to do with love.
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
John 13:34-35
It is with love for our God, love for each other that redemption comes to a people, a world in need of saving. It is through love for others that communities strengthen. It is only love, only the leadership of Jesus that will bring (eternal) health and growth to a nation.
He never had to point fingers at the opponent, for what he has to offer is so good that no other is even worthy of mention.
What he has to offer is love … and it’s a promise that will has been, is and will be kept.
There we were, sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake, “this lake is about 60km long and over 900 feet deep (gotta love the normalcy of Canadian mixing and matching of metric and imperial systems in one sentence).”
That’s a big lake.
And. I. felt. so. small.
and it felt so good.
It was like a correction, a righting of a wrong. For, in the vastness of our physical world, I am indeed small … insignificant.
When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—
the moon and the stars you set in place—
what are mere mortals that you should think about them,
human beings that you should care for them?
Psalm 8:3-4
I do not just not size up in my physical world, but also in the spiritual world as well. My God is so big (and all of us who grew up going to Sunday School are singing the words, “so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God can not do”). I am so small.
It is good to be reminded of the space I occupy versus the space available. The relative insignificance of me … the great significance of the creator of this world, of me.
Then to remember that he, who is great, sacrificed his best for me. So that I would be his, eternally his. Not because of something I … who am so small … accomplished, but because of what Christ accomplished on my behalf.
O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder Consider all The works Thy Hand hath made …
Then sings my soul, My Savior God, to Thee, How great Thou art!
“Just gonna tell y’all something. By the time you’ve been married over 40 years, you’ve been married to about four different people. So have they. It’s a miracle of God any of us ever make it.”
Beth Moore
I guess that means that today, at thirty one years married, we are each just getting to know person number four.
Her words resonated with me, for so many experiences of living happen over the years and those happenings do, indeed, change a person … how we see things, react, our values can even change.
I look at the first wife my husband was married to … I’ll call her Rocky Ideal. She looked better than any version to come. It took little effort to get herself ready for anything. She had black and white ideals and even tried to follow through with those beliefs. And she looked to her mister to be her every need-meeter. Yet … she was SO eager to win ALL the arguments, believing that the end result was about winning.
The next wife hubby had I will call BitterBaby Momma … the idealism of Rocky Ideal faded with multiple miscarriages and the all-consuming needs of littles. My parenting ideals were disappearing, but rather than ask for help I expected that hubby would just read my mind and figure out what I needed. He didn’t (couldn’t) and bitterness crept in.
Then came a wife I will call, Dr Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. She was the personification of the good, the bad and the ugly. These most demanding years of marriage took us through mountains and valleys. These years also had me running to God’s word and the security that he offered. Some days I was a committed and faithful wife, other days I was plotting my exit (or his).
And here we are now … my idealism and easy-care appearance have both faded. Black and white thinking has evolved to shades of grey (as has my hair). The years when my mettle was tested have softened my heart. I now look first and foremost to God to meet my needs, relieving hubby of my grand expectations. I know I don’t have all the answers … actually, I have more questions now than ever before. I don’t even acknowledge that there is a winning or losing … for life is just too short for such things. I don’t yet know what I will call this current version of me. I do know this wife looks more at her mister as a child of God, with his value based in whose he is … rather than what has he done for me lately.
After thirty-one years hubby could truly say I am not the woman he first married, for he has had three other versions through these years. And so have I …
and, by the miraculous grace of God here our souls still are, together.
Happy anniversary mister, you’re just getting to know wife number four!
For those of us who tend toward processing our thoughts on the inside, quiet is always a healing, refreshing, nourishing place to be. It feeds us, re-energizing us for the ‘peopling’ that is, inevitably, to come.
That can be a tough reality for those close to us who tend toward a more extroverted manner of thinking and living. It just doesn’t make sense that one would want to be alone and silent when one could speak thoughts before they even develop in the brain (I might be seeing this from an introvert perspective).
Of course few of us are completely one or the other. Most of us have times and seasons, situations and places where we cross the invisible line into the realm of the ‘other’ person.
For instance I am very comfortable speaking in front of a large group of people, yet, in most circles of three or four, I usually take the place of listener. Yet, put me into my ‘Fanboys’ (a pet name for ourselves) foursome and I can talk as much or as little as the rest. Time, place and the individuals involved make a big difference in my ability to be silent or gab.
There are many times when those of us who tend towards introvert can feel that we need to speak up to seen, heard. For some our silence can leave others to feel that we are disinterested. Others can feel as though they will be overlooked for professional promotions if they do not ‘become’ a loud and proud leader among their peers.
Yet, I feel affirmed in my seeking of silence when I look at the Bible. When I read of Moses not wanting to be God’s mouthpiece, so God provided Aaron. Or how the apostle that Jesus loved, John, was most definitely an introvert. Then there is Jesus … whether he tends toward that of introvert or extrovert, I am empowered and encouraged when I read of how he would go off, alone when the crowds got to be just too much.
“When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to appear.” Lamentations 3:28-29
“Only in fellowship do we learn to be rightly alone and only alone do we learn to be rightly in fellowship” Dietrich Bonhoeffer
We’ve all heard them, maybe even spoken of ourselves (as the child or the parent). Idioms that communicate that a child is so very similar in looks, behavior or attitude.
“Well doesn’t she just take right after you”
“That apple didn’t fall far from the tree”
“He’s a chip off the old block”
Genetics are an amazing thing. Yet, there is also the question of nature or nurture?
As a Christian, we might even look to the negative attitudes, habits and behaviors as generational curses … leaving us a little less personally ‘guilty’ for the nasties that we bring to life.
Yet, in Ezekiel 18 we are reminded”
“The child will not be punished for the parent’s sins, and the parent will not be punished for the child’s sins. Righteous people will be rewarded for their own righteous behavior, and wicked people will be punished for their own wickedness.” (v. 20).
In this account we are reminded that God does not see us through our families, he sees us, our choices, our actions and attitudes as individuals who are free and responsible to make our own choices … even when we have been nurtured a certain way.
If we grow up in a home where physical abuse happened, it is our responsibility to not continue inflicting pain on others (seek counselling).
If we grow up in a home where we saw substance abuse, we must do whatever we can to avoid that substance (join a 12-step program for loved ones of substance abuse users/addicts).
If we grow up in a home where passive aggressive behavior was the norm, choose to live differently (learn to be assertive (not aggressive), to speak what is on your mind, stop reading into the motivations of others).
As I read back, those suggestions might sound far easier, far more simplistic than the reality is for those living in tough situations, with not the best role models.
Then there is the parent or grandparent who inflicted the pain … is there any hope for them?
Ann Voskamp tells a story that kind of stopped me in my tracks:
“I knew a guy who said: “Dad – I need you to say that I’m enough …”
Sometimes what you want most is your father/mother) to give you the greatest gift: For them to believe in you.
But his father turned to him and said – I can’t. Because my own father never said it to me.”
What your father (mother) never gave you, may be because it was something he/she never had.
This can be an unspoken bond with the one who has wounded you? You both carry the same wounds.
You can’t deeply love your parents – until you grieve the deep wounds of their life.
Even now, we could be the ones to say what every parents long to hear: “I love you and nothing you’ve ever done or ever failed to do will change how I forever love you.
I’m not ashamed of you but I acclaim you, for the battles that count as wins because you kept getting up again.”
In this world where we encourage the elimination of toxic people from our lives, we forget that our scars can be the ointment that heals others … and that can be the miracle cure for our own. For our scars may, indeed, be very similar … originating from a common source.
We need to remember that God does not look at us through the sins of generations before us, he sees us for who we are as his child. It is how we choose to live that we are responsible for. And it is his favor, his grace that moves us beyond our nature and our nurture.
Fight the tendency to follow in your father’s or mother’s dirty footprints. Live differently! But also keep the door open to finding a new family path, by being the one who nurtures healing.
itsawonderfilledlife 