Not like … a real digger of gold, with a lamp on my head and a pick in my hand … though, maybe …
In my relationships, I want to seek the gold, the good in people. I want to dig further into them, to see the nuggets of the purest gold … that which has been refined through a life of both faithfulness and struggle.
This does not come natural, though. It requires intentional effort, for I am a selfish person, who is titillated by gossip and conspiracy-theories.
Thus, Proverbs 11:27,
anyone can find the dirt in someone, be the one who finds GOLD
Simple to say … not so simple to do.
But, I think that, if we make it a focus, if we are intentional about where we allow our minds, our thoughts about others to go … in other words, if we become gold diggers … we will reap priceless riches.
This week’s random thoughts was at the top of a friends post on Facebook.
As I read the list of ten … let’s call them the week’s learnings during this time of self isolation in the shadows of Covid19, I heard a song from childhood …
count your blessings
Now, at the end of that week, feeling rather depleted from a week that had a fair number of downs that seem to overshadow the the ups, I am revisiting my friend’s post.
As I look back over the week, this post and two other memories pop out for me.
There is a family that I follow on Instagram. Their beautiful daughter (and their whole family) have been fighting cancer for almost fifteen years (she is about twenty now) … through one diagnosis and three relapses. After over a month of self isolation, they are naming something each day that they are each thankful for.
A sweet teen, who carpooled with me to school (and whose heart and soul I adore), dropped off a belated birthday gift. Part of it was “The One-Minute Gratitude Journal” with spaces to write what I am grateful for each day.
Hum … Coincidence? I think NOT!
Saint Augustine (of the late 300s-early 400s) said,
“we are an Easter people and alleluia is our song.”
What he was saying is that as people (all people) who have been given the gift of Easter, the gift of the sacrifice of Christ, our song, or message (maybe even to ourselves) need always be praise to the Lord.
To offer thanks is to recognize from where our blessings come. To offer gratitude is to see what we have … even when we are in a place of many have-nots, of depletion, of lack.
And so, I wrote my list, of this week’s random thoughts … thanks. And, you know what, I have much to be thankful for … much for which to sing praises to my Lord … alleluia!
I encourage you to try this too … I’d love to hear from you … what are your random thoughts and thanks this week?
Zoom visit with a dear friend
Daily after work walks with our son
A delivery of a belated birthday gift from the sweetest teenager I know
Able to help my mom accomplish a level of technology
A charcuterie board that looked and tasted wonderfully
Discovering a great new TV series to enjoy with hubby
Conferences with students who have the most amazing work ethics
Sunny days
A bunny hopping leisurely ahead of me while walking on a trail
A church small group who is like oxygen
Count Your Blessings When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost, Count your many blessings, name them one by one, And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.
Who couldn’t use a little Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney singing Irving Belin’s Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep?
Though the Easter weekend has past, somehow it could almost feel like it never happened.
I have to admit that I didn’t do too well with my lenten sacrifice. I had intended that each day I would read a number of chapters in John, starting with the death of Lazarus and going to Jesus’ arrest in the garden. Despite having the time, with self isolation and social distancing becoming a reality, contemplative reading was not something I have done much of these weeks.
The one lenten practise I did maintain was a frequent, silent praying of what is known as the Jesus Prayer,
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
I put an image of it on my phone’s home screen, so I saw it every time I went to turn my phone on (and man, have I turned it on often during these days of Covid 19 updates and breaking news).
I have been constantly reminded, in the lead up to Easter, who I am in relation to Jesus. What he has done for me.
Then Easter, during this season of Covid 19, came … and went. No crescendo of voices on Easter morning, no large family gatherings, no face to face Easter embraces and greetings of “He is risen” to respond, “He is risen indeed.”
Yet …
The words of song, the words of an ancient creed, have been mulling in my mind for weeks …
The first writing of the Apostle’s Creed was in 390AD …
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of the saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.
In this time of Covid 19, in the light shadows of the Easter weekend, we are called to the question,
what do I believe?
And the words of this Creed echo in my mind, in my heart. For this is what I believe is the essential belief of we, the Easter people. The people who follow, not blindly, but in faith of the one who died for our good … both here on Earth, but even more so, for the eternity that awaits us all.
So, my soul sings what I believe, reaching a solo crescendo … one reached by millions of followers throughout the ages.
We all have to answer the question of Pilate,
“What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?”
And I believe what I believe is what makes me what I am I did not make it no, it is making me it is the very truth of God and not the invention of any man I believe it
I cannot imagine not being able to recognize someone who I love.
Yet, as we read the accounts of people who encountered the risen Jesus, it seems as though they were completely unaware as to who was standing before them.
Open the eyes of my heart, Lord Open the eyes of my heart I want to see You
Of course, each of these people, seemingly blinded to the obvious, were also in the depths of despair, sadness, confusion and grief … for the one they so loved had died in such an unfair and violent manner and with him, died their hopes of a Saviour for their people, for themselves, for redemption.
They were mourning and hopeless.
In a sense, their eyes were not yet opened to the fact that, because of the death and resurrection of Jesus :
“you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13)
Because they had not yet seen the resurrected Christ … it was in the seeing … with their eyes and their hearts, that their hope was made real.
I love the story of the two walking along the road to Emmaus with Jesus. It says that the trip from Jerusalem to Emmaus is about seven miles. At some point along the way Jesus himself joins them in their walk. Jesus listens as they tell of the events of the past three days, with great sorrow and hopelessness. Jesus then challenges them, calling them foolish, saying,
“Did not theMessiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” (Luke 24:26).
Then, when they reached the village of Emmaus, they invited Jesus to spend the evening with them.
At the evening meal (how Jesus loved when people gathered around the bread and wine), a miracle occurred :
“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight.” (Luke 24:30-31).
These were not his disciples who had experienced the first communion with Jesus at the last supper. Yet, through the breaking of the bread (his body), their eyes were opened to the truth of who they were dining with … their Savior, the very bread of heaven.
Saint Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century wrote the words to the beautiful hymn, Panis Angelicus … the words, in Latin and English below:
Panis angelicus
Fit panis hominum
Dat panis coelicus
Figuris terminum
O res mirabilis
Manducat dominum
Pauper, pauper
Servus et humilis
May the Bread of Angels
Become bread for mankind;
The Bread of Heaven puts
All foreshadowings to an end;
Oh, thing miraculous!
The body of the Lord will nourish
the poor, the poor,
the servile, and the humble.
It is in the physical element of the bread, the symbol of the body of our Hope, our Redemption, that our eyes can be opened, so that we see with our hearts the truth of who he is … but we have to be willing to take that bread into us, our lives.
Thus begins this Easter, this Resurrection Sunday.
Believers in Christ greet one another this way, as a message of hope, joy and shared belief …
for it is the resurrection of Christ that unites us, as believers in him
It is a wild and out-there thing to believe that Jesus, the man, rose from the dead. Yet this is our hope of salvation … this empty tomb, this rising from the dead.
His horrific crucifixion death was the covering or substitute for us and the sin that we had no ability, no resources to pay for. He stepped in, as the sacrificial lamb, to pay our debt, to cover our sins, so that we can face our God.
It was, on that first Easter Sunday that we are introduced to the origins of this Easter greeting.
The women came to the tomb, to discover that it was empty. They were, no doubt, filled with horror and grief that the body of their Jesus had been stolen. Then angelic messengers greeted them, saying :
“Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee,that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise” (Luke 24:5-7).
Then, later, while a couple were having a meal with a stranger, their eyes are opened to the identity of the stranger, when Jesus breaks bread for them, then he disappears. They immediately go back to Jerusalem and tell the disciples, “The Lord has risen indeed” (v. 34).
God, in his ultimate wisdom, knew that we humans would need more than one confirmation of his rising from the dead!
So, as a community of believers in this sacrifice we excitedly awaken this morning and greet one another with the most unifying greeting possible,
He is risen, He is risen indeed.
“He is not here; he has risen, just as he said.” Matthew 28:6
Today, as we prepare to remember the events leading to the crucifixion of Jesus and subsequent resurrection of our Savior, it is good to spend some time in the garden with him.
When Jesus entered the garden of Gethsemane, he said to his disciples,
“Sit here while I go over there and pray” (Matthew 26:36)
We are still called to sit … to contemplate … to pray.
Somehow, it is easier to do those things out in nature … and in the beauty of a spring garden, it is as though our souls are drawn not only to the creation, but also the Creator.
Today is the time for reflection, for prayer.
Spend some time today in the garden.
I stay in the garden with Him, Though the night around me is falling. But He bids me go; through the voice of woe His voice to me is calling. And He walk with me and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.
Well, baby girl, this is going to be a different birthday for you … one you will remember and tell your kids and grandkids.
I will deliver your gifts (at an appropriate distance) and probably a McCain Deep’n Delicious cake (because that’s your favorite). You will receive your annual birthday call of Grammie singing Happy Birthday, a birthday gift from Gramma and Grampa added to your bank account (hello Amazon), numerous calls, texts, messages and chats.
But I won’t be able to hold you in my arms, inhale the scent that is you and whisper ‘I love you’ so that just you and your heart hear mine.
As I thought about your twenty-third birthday, I kept coming back to thoughts of the months of expectation, the first days and years after your birth. So many minute and personal details that, perhaps, you don’t know.
It was 1996 when we discovered that we were expecting … again.
Though you are our second child, you were our seventh pregnancy. The losses between the birth of your sister and yourself each broke our hearts, adding layers of calluses that your arrival helped to fade.
We had just moved from Ottawa, Ontario to North Vancouver, BC.
We had gone from home ownership to renting, from established community to everything different, from big sky to tall mountains, from four season to two … summer sun and months of dark monsoons, from quiet suburbia to the nightly echoes of sirens off the nearby mountains, from only a days drive to visit family to a day of flights (and prohibitive costs), from established friendships to knowing only one family (and really it was only your dad who knew them). Everything about life was different!
It wasn’t long, after confirming your existence, that, once again, there were signs that we might never hold you in our arms. Every twinge in my abdomen, every trip to the bathroom could be a catastrophic sign of your demise. Each day was a threshold of celebration and fear.
All was not dark and fearful in those nine months of waiting for your arrival. On New Year’s Eve your dad and I got to hear the Three Tenors (Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, and Luciano Pavarotti). We explored the beauty of the North Shore Mountains, walked with new friends in the sun or the rain, tasted scones and Scottish shortbread that could bring tears to your eyes, learned bits of Afrikaans language, food and hospitality, learned to love living in a diverse and multicultural community and made friends.
You were born the year that Mother Teresa, Princess Diana and James Stewart all died … the year Kylie Jenner and Malala Yousafzai were born. 1997 was the year of the Titanic, George of the Jungle and Air Bud. The year when Caillou and Teletubbies premiered.
You were born blue and silent … silent for what seemed forever, before you discovered the breath of life, the power in your lungs.
It was the Saturday after Easter, on a sunny, warm day, with Magnolia trees fully in their glorious bloom.
We cried, we laughed. Held you close, ran our fingers across the fine copper hairs on your head, face and back. You were quiet and delicate, frail. You would stretch and wriggle as if needing to work the kinks out. We were in deep love and appreciation.
Your sister arrived soon after, with eyes of love and adoration (and intent on leading you all the days of your life).
You loved people from the very beginning. Young and old … all people. You wooed the elderly with your acceptance of them.
And then were the creatures … any creature would do and you wanted to touch them all.
And the painting and crafting and creating … always an endless supply of refrigerator door art at my disposal, from you!
You were born, in a hospital encircled by magnolias. Like them, you were delicate, soft, gentle to the eye … but what they and you are made of, on the inside, is strong structure that scaffolds your life. It is the fragility of who you were made to be that makes you strong, capable, fearless …
lose that scaffolding and you will lose your life’s greatest strength.
“Oh, we are not as strong As we think we are We are frail We are fearfully And wonderfully made” Rich Mullins (We are not as Strong as We Think we Are)
We can be haunted by things that go bump in the night … not just the noises, but the dreams that awaken us with tears, shivers, cold sweats.
It had been a long time since I was awakened by such things that go bump in the night but it’s impact is still felt days later, as a shiver goes up my spine, and my mood is still there … in a funk.
When I am in such a funk I feel more. I feel the hurts and sorrows of others … I understand what it really feels like to carry the burden of others.
As I was trying to shake this funk, the memories of the dream, the bad news of this week (globally, locally, within the lives of people I love) … I remembered that there must be something in my memory of scriptures that had been buried in my heart (from the post, Whatever). But nothing came to mind.
Then the lyrics of a song I had heard earlier in the day began to sing in my head.
“This is what it is to be loved And to know that the promise was That when everything fell, we’d be held”
A rather melancholy song, but not one without hope. I had forgotten about a particular line in the song :
“Why should we be saved from nightmares?”
Nightmares, whether in the form of disastrous life experiences, or things that go bump in the night, happen to us all. They are common human experiences … ones that allow us to share in and understand the sorrow of God. They lead us to him and divine human transaction that is his son … who provides the hope of being held.
“You have to begin to trust that your experience of emptiness is not the final experience, that beyond it is a place where you are being held in love.” – Henri J.M. Nouwen (The Inner Voice of Love)
Ever since self isolation and Toilet Paper Gate, I have been looking for a way to love others through this time of Coronavirus. I thought it might be doing errands for seniors but … it just didn’t read into my heart the way I wanted it to.
Life is so different, for so many right now!
No sports to watch at the arena or bar, no concerts, no movies at the theatres and cinemas, no romantic dinners at restaurants, no vacations, no church services, no coffee dates and, for so, so many, no jobs to go to.
Living in this time of Coronavirus means we have what many of us have wished and dreamed of for so long … free time. What we didn’t hope for was that we would have free time, largely, self isolated in our homes.
If you are like me (an introvert who can fake it if I have to), it was, initially, delightful. I have painted rooms, done a bit of writing, tried new recipes, did a jigsaw puzzle, watched a bit of TV, gone for walks in the sun with the Wonderdog and enjoyed the sound of … silence.
The thing is that even for we who are introverts need to feel we are contributing to someone, something bigger than ourselves and our own desires to feel … healthy, purposeful, alive.
Yesterday, that something (someone) arrived at my heart-level, as I scrolled through social media, in the form of this:
A friend, with whom I attended church a number of years ago had posted the above. Her adult daughter lives with special needs and she (no doubt the whole family) are finding these days long … really long. In this time of Coronavirus, programs are largely cancelled. The events, and day trips, and jobs, socializing and learning (and respite) that help those with special needs to feel that they are healthy, purposeful, alive have been eliminated from their days … which can leave a big hole.
This mom’s plea touched my heart.
Having spent almost seventeen years as an Educational Assistant and two working in group homes for those with special needs, there is a very special place in my heart for those who live with struggles that go well beyond my own … that includes those with special needs and their families who parent on a level beyond the typical.
So, I have now accumulated three young women’s addresses. All three are ladies who live with unique special needs. All three have purpose, gifts and a need to be part of community. These (and, I hope more) will be my new pen pals, and I have no doubt that I will be at least as encouraged and ‘fed’ by these new or renewed relationships, as they will be.
And DO NOT praise me for this … we are all called to love one another … it just happened that God pointed out to me who, and how to love them.
Now, who is he pointing out to you to love during this season of Coronavirus?
“Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” Philippians 2:4
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