For the Pure Joy

               

Dear Old Friend,

This past weekend my son took my five year old grandson to a skating rink for the very first time, and let me tag along. 

There was great excitement during the lacing of the skates; then, my son took a turn around the rink by himself, to make sure his body actually remembered what to do before he attempted to take his son with him. My grandson could barely contain himself while waiting for his time to go out on the floor.  

Of course, at age five, he imagined that he would somehow just know what to do, and when he did finally get on the floor it was a shock to discover that, not only did he have no idea how to keep his balance on wheeled feet, it was also hard, death-defying work, even with his father holding onto him; and, within a few minutes he was overwhelmed and ready to give up. 

However, after a brief period of recuperation in the chair next to me he was lured back up on his feet by the promise of a skate-walking trip with his dad, on the indoor/outdoor carpet, to the glass display case which held candy and trinkets. Because he was thinking about where he was going and not what he was doing, he actually did pretty well; and, with his confidence level up, he was willing to give the rink another shot.  He wasn’t out there very long, though, before the announcement was made that it was time to clear the floor for the races.

When the first group of children about my grandson's age lined up to race, my son explained to him what was going on, and suddenly my grandson became terrified.  He stretched out his arm, with his hand waving in protest, and declared with tearful vehemence that he was not going. Both my son and I immediately reassured him that, of course, we didn’t expect him to go out on the floor and race; but he remained convinced that someone was going to try to make him do this, and he watched with great concern as the children zoomed around the rink.  

When the next age group was announced and more children took their places, my grandson again stuck out his hand to ward off anyone who might attempt to force him to do what he knew he could not do.  His fear overwhelmed him and he hid his face in his father’s side.  It took a lot of comforting and explaining before he finally believed that he was safe, and he was able to relax.

That scene kept replaying in my mind this week because I realized that I experience the exact same crippling fear my precious grandson felt, every time I hear a sermon, or read a book, or even when I read a passage of scripture through the lens of Law rather than Gospel, which makes me feel like God is expecting and even requiring me to do something which I know I can’t do. I feel small, vulnerable and like my very life hangs in the balances.  I cry and wave my hand, in what I fear is vain protest, as my heart sinks and I begin to quake.

But, blessedly, God always wraps his arms around me and whispers words of comfort and assurance to me.  Over and over he tells me the story of his son, and how he came to perfectly do for me what I could never do for myself; and how he took the record of all the scrapes and falls from my failed attempts and made them his own. He tells me that, because of Jesus, I never have to be afraid of whether or not I am going to win or lose a race, because I do not have to race.  The race has been won for me.  The pressure is off.  He teIls me until I believe I am safe and I can relax.

Then he tells me that, because of Jesus, I am now free to learn how to run, dance, and even skate, gleefully, without fear of failure or condemnation.  I can do those things for the pure joy of them, as acts of exuberant worship and gratitude for the freedom and love given to me; and I can invite others to join me in the celebration.

Let’s go skating!

Love Always,

Bonnie

Triggers of Terror

 

Dear Old Friend,

This week has been excruciating.  There are certain circumstances which are guaranteed to send me into a full blown death spiral. I’ve come to think of them as my Triggers of Terror.  Those triggers are specifically related to my children, who are now adults, and extend to my grandchildren.  If I perceive my loved ones are in danger, that their health, safety or well-being is under serious attack, I go into panic mode. For years I have considered starting a Mothers of Adult Children support group, because I really need one!  The funny thing is, every time I mention that idea in passing, every mother of adult children within hearing distance nods enthusiastically and tells me they would come, so I know I’m not the only one.

What I mean by “death spiral” is that this panic causes me to frantically plead with God to “fix” whatever is causing the threat, and quickly deteriorates into demanding that he act immediately to make it go away, then slides down the slippery slope to anger and finally into doubting his goodness. I say “finally”, but, sadly, that process isn’t a long one; I arrive at “finally” in short order! I spent a good part of this week at “finally”.

Thankfully, all the while that my “flesh”, as Paul says in scripture, was spiraling, my spirit had its own agenda.  I am blessed to have a couple of friends, like you, who I called and asked to pray; friends I knew would tell me of God’s goodness, sovereignty and grace; friends who “talked me down off the ledge” by reminding me that God, because of Jesus, was not holding my fear against me; friends who promised to have faith for me because I couldn’t.

And I couldn’t. My spirit was willing, but my flesh was ridiculous! No matter how much I told myself that God was in control and loved my family more than I did, and that he knew what was best, I couldn’t tone down the panic.  I kept trying to figure out the right way to combat the circumstances so that I could “help”, but my fear led me first one way and then another in confusion. I wanted to peacefully trust, but the terror had taken on a life of its own.

Over the years, there have been times when my prayers have taken the form of an internal dialogue with God.  I don’t hear an audible voice or anything like that, but there is a knowing that God is speaking truth to me, because suddenly my perspective is changed.  While I was driving to work one morning this week, and I was silently railing to God about how people who wielded power over this troubling situation were trying to impose their will, thinking that they knew what was best when they didn’t, I felt God asking me if I thought that I truly knew what was best in this situation. I humbly acknowledged that I did not.  Then he asked me if I thought that he did, and I said yes.  Then, he told me that I needed to stop trying to impose my own fear and confusion onto the situation, and just step aside and let him handle things, because he was bigger and more powerful than the power wielding people and the circumstances.

I was reminded that, as a young adult, I had never expected or wanted my mother to take the lead in figuring out what I needed to do; that I had shared my concerns with her, but that, ultimately, it had never entered my mind that she was responsible for “fixing” things.  It was during my struggles that I developed my own relationship with God, and learned that he alone was my source of help.  I saw that I needed to allow that process to happen for my children.  I needed to get out of the way, and when I was tempted to try to direct the show, I needed to point to God.

I told God, then, that I could see I had made my children into idols, in the sense that, when troubles arose for them, I put my desire for their peace, comfort and happiness in front of what God intended for them.  God then told me that, while that sounded almost noble, the real truth was that it wasn’t my children that I had made into idols, it was my own need to be perceived as a good mother that I had made into an idol, and that I had to let go of the desire to be the heroic mom who rides in and saves the day.  Those days, if they ever really existed when my children were little (and they never really did), were gone.

Ouch; but, Whew! As I was put in my place, it suddenly became a relief to acknowledge that God was in charge and that, not only did I not have to be, I was not supposed to be, and didn’t need to be. I exhaled.  The existing situation did not change, but my perspective did.

Will I be forever changed and never fall prey to my triggers again? Oh, how I hope and pray that is the case! But, whether or not it is, I know that my fear does not change the fact that God is lovingly and sovereignly in control of my life and the lives of those I love; and, that even if he has to remind me of that truth every single day for the rest of my life, he does not hold my weaknesses against me.

Please keep praying.

Love Always,

Bonnie

What Do I Do? What Do I Do?

Dear Old Friend,

Do you think there are situations where it would actually be wrong to “lead” with grace?  I’ve been pondering lots of questions this week.  If someone has gone off the deep end and done something which people would typically consider to be very bad; something which brought pain to you or harmed those you love; could it be detrimental to jump right in and tell them you forgive them, and talk to them about God’s love, mercy and grace, without first attempting to determine whether they were crushed by what they had done, or merely sorry that they were caught?

Is it possible that, by offering grace to someone who isn’t truly sorry, we might short circuit a necessary process and therefore keep that person from experiencing a need for forgiveness? Should sorrow for one’s actions always be a prerequisite to offering forgiveness?

Was Jesus’ dying request for his Father to forgive his murderers, who were definitely not sorry for what they were yet in the process of doing, meant to be peculiar only to a Savior? Was his admonition, to turn the other cheek when one was struck and to give more to the thief than what was intentionally stolen, just a metaphor to demonstrate the impossibility of reaching that standard? Or was it also a call to love as radically as we have been loved?  

What about loving our enemies in light of the fact that Christ died for us while we were still his unrepentant enemies? Again, is that only Jesus fulfilling on my behalf what I can never do, or is it something his Spirit urges me to imitate, albeit poorly?

Could concern for a perpetrator be construed as demonstrating a lack of concern for the ones who were hurt by his/her actions? Should that be taken into consideration before reaching out? Are there times when we should take sides, and not reach out to “the other side”?

What if I am the one who has been hurt: how far should I be willing to go in loving and forgiving my enemies, or those who have treated me badly?  Do I repeatedly put myself back in harm’s way? Is there a line that can/should be drawn? Do I need to be concerned about the opinion of others as to how I answer that question for myself?

All of these questions have been rolling around in my brain.  They don’t have easy answers.  I am certain that across my life I have erred on all sides of these issues.  What I feel God has said to me, as I wrestled with my thoughts this week, is that I am free to err as I muddle through each and every situation I find myself facing.  I am free to do what I think is best, and free to change my mind about what is best, and free to be confused.  I am assured through it all that I am, thankfully, not the one who is in control of anything, and that the God who is in control, and who loves everyone involved and works for their best through any and all circumstances, is big enough and powerful enough to work all things to his glory, whether it’s through me or in spite of me.  There is, in other words, no way that I can trip God up by doing the wrong thing. He’s got it. He’s got it. He’s got it.

I Thank God that He’s got it!

Love always,

Bonnie

Obedience: His Not Mine

Dear Old Friend,

In your ardent desire to understand the truth in regards to Grace and what God requires of us, you have often brought up the question of obedience: Doesn't God still expect us to obey?

You and I were both raised in a church which stressed the importance of obedience to God’s commands.  We were taught that obedience was a requirement for salvation. We were told that we might not be perfect, but that God expected us to try relentlessly to reach that standard; and, on judgment day, he would determine our fitness for heaven based on our record of obedience. Jesus covered any sins we had committed before we became Christians, but from that point on, we knew God was watching us to see how we measured up. 

In Church and in the Bible classes in our church school, we learned what happened when people didn't obey. When Adam and Eve ate one little piece of fruit they were kicked out of the Garden of Eden and could no longer associate personally with God.  We saw that, because people became so disobedient, God decided to destroy everyone but Noah and his family, and start over.  Lot's wife glanced back at her burning home and was turned into a pillar of salt!  

We studied the Children of Israel and saw that, frequently, when they voiced a complaint about their circumstances, God struck them with poisonous snakes or some other dire punishment.  Even Moses, who put up with so much for so long from the Israelites, in the end wasn’t allowed to enter the Promised Land simply because, instead of speaking to the rock as God directed him, he disobeyed and struck the rock twice, in anger at the rebellious people.  One infraction and God wouldn’t let him go in.

We were raised on Bible stories of disobedient people getting leprosy or being burned up, or where the ground opened up and swallowed them along with their entire families.  Poor Uzzah, who was accompanying the Ark of the Covenant back to its rightful place after it was retrieved from those who had stolen it, reached out to steady the Ark as it teetered precariously on the cart where it was riding, and God struck him dead because he disobeyed the command not to touch the Ark.

The fact that God takes obedience seriously was deeply ingrained in us; and, the moral of the story, implied in all of those lessons, was that if we disobeyed we shouldn’t expect God to cut us any more slack than he did for the people in the stories.

Oh, we were told “the good news” about the verses where God describes himself as being loving, merciful, patient, kind, forgiving, compassionate and long-suffering, but we knew he only felt that way about the “good” people; those who obeyed more than they disobeyed.  But inside we wondered just how much more you had to obey than disobey before you qualified as “good”.

Now, after all these years, I realize that, as bleakly as the picture of God's expectations was painted for us, in reality, it wasn’t painted bleakly enough; and because of that, the good news we got wasn’t really good news, either!

The hard truth is, the reason for all of those stories, beginning with one little piece of fruit, was to demonstrate, through many different circumstances in many different ways, that God’s commands are absolute and immutable.  There is not one smidgeon of mercy incorporated into his demands.  There is no wiggle room.  There are no acceptable excuses.  There are no satisfactory extenuating circumstances which will allow for His looking the other way over even the tiniest act of disobedience.  The Law is the Law and the Law must be obeyed. Period.  For the smallest of infractions, God has the sovereign right to bring down the full wrath of the Law upon the transgressor. 

Scripture clearly says that God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow; therefore, what was true of the God of the Old Testament is still true of Him today. He always has and always will require absolute obedience at all times in every way.

In other words, when it comes to the Law, to borrow a line from Yoda in Star Wars, “There is no try.”  You and I, however, were told that we were required to try and that God would look for the sincerity and desire displayed in our efforts, and because of his mercy, etc, he would judge us by those things. That was a terrible lie! 

God could not and would not lower his standard to make up for our deficiencies.  If he could have done that, he would have done it immediately after Adam chewed and swallowed! His laws are unconditional and unchangeable, and every jot and tittle had to remain in force until they were completely fulfilled, by being perfectly obeyed.

The problem was, that not one single human from the line of Adam was ever going to be able to obey God to the required degree.  Because of that fact, only a member of the God-head himself could become a human and meet the requirements; so Christ came and perfectly fulfilled every bit of the Law on our behalf, and took the full wrath of the Law which we deserved.  When we have accepted him as our Savior, all obedience has been accomplished for us.  The life we now live we live by faith in his finished work. 

So, what about us; what about our “obedience”? Our acts of love and worship which we offer in response to the incredible gift which has been freely given to us could never qualify as the obedience which God requires.  We would be lying to ourselves and others if we thought and said that we are “obedient” in any other way than the way in which the New Testament primarily speaks of obedience: as “obeying the truth”, which means to believe in the finished work of Jesus; and then, even the ability to believe is not our own, but is a gift from God!

Of course, the Holy Spirit will draw us to love God and others and call us to demonstrate that love through our actions; and, in our humanity, we will try and fail and try again to do what he prompts us to do; but, our salvation is not dependent, in any sense whatsoever, on whether or how well we do what we are prompted to do.

Our salvation is only and always dependent on the doing and dying of Jesus Christ; his obedience alone, never ours!

WooHoo! I have to go and do a little glory dance after that! God is Good! Amen and Hallelujah, my friend!

Love Always,

Bonnie

Worry and Grace

 

Dear Old Friend,

I have been anxious about many things this week, in direct opposition to what scripture says I should do.  Worry and I go way back.  

I have probably always equated worry with caring.  If I care about someone and I become aware of an issue which has the potential to threaten their safety or happiness, it would seem uncaring of me not to worry, so I label it “concern”; but because it definitely involves elements of fear and dread, it’s really just worry.  And then, of course, I worry about my own safety and happiness, and there's no euphemism for that. I'm a worrier.

The good thing about it, I reason, is that my worry leads me to pray.  I acknowledge before God my helplessness to control or alter the threatening circumstances, and I ask for God’s intervention on behalf of myself and/or those I love.  But, always, in the back of my mind, I hear this nagging  voice telling me that worry is a sin and that if I truly believed and had faith in God and his sovereignty I wouldn’t have that gut-wrenching, heart palpitating fear I’m experiencing. In other words, I’m caught between thinking that worry is the evidence of my caring, as well as the evidence of my lack of faith.  This dilemma generates more worry and more guilt; and on and on it goes.

This week, however, I had a new insight. I went back and reread the passages in scripture which speak so clearly about worry, Matthew 6:25-34 and Philippians 4:6-7.  Both of those scriptures use the words “Do not”: “Do not be anxious”, “Do not worry”.  My law oriented mind has always heard those words as a command, and therefore I could not help but see my worry as a disobedience of the command, which then resulted in feelings of guilt. 

But this time, I read those words, not as law, but as grace; as words of reassurance just like those I have spoken to my own children when I told them not to worry because they were afraid of the dark, or of a new school, or were worried that no one would ever love them, or that they couldn’t handle their lives.  This time I read those words not as a rule to be followed, but as God's comfort and encouragement given so that we could face the struggles which life will inevitably bring.  Were there times when I got exasperated with my children because of their continued anxiety in the face of my reassurances?  Sure; but, thankfully, God is not like me! 

God knows that life on this planet will throw seemingly endless troubling circumstances our way; things which will cause us, in our humanity, to be anxious and fearful; and he isn’t standing with his arms crossed and his foot tapping in agitation over the fact that we have once more disappointed him by our lack of faith.  Because of Jesus’ perfect righteousness credited to us, we do not stand before him condemned by the Law of Do Not Worry.  Instead, he speaks softly to us with soothing words of hope and assurance; words of grace: Don’t be afraid, I am with you, I will take care of you even through the terrible times, I love you, and I always will.

What a relief to cross worry off the list of things I have to worry about!

Love Always,

Bonnie

My True Voice

 Dear Old Friend,

I have a confession to make.  In many situations, I am one of those people who would prefer to pretend a problem does not exist rather than to deal with it.  When you combine that tendency with a distrust of and a desire to avoid doctors, troubles can arise.

As you know, I was recently rear-ended while sitting at a stop light, by a car going somewhere between 40-50 mph.  When the E.M.T.’s at the scene told me I probably had broken ribs, and that doctors don’t really do anything for broken ribs, I reasoned that there was no point in going to see a doctor.  I was later convinced that I needed to document my injuries, so I did get x-rays which confirmed what I already knew, that my ribs were indeed broken, and that doctors don’t do anything for them. 

Flash forward approximately four weeks.  My ribs were slowly healing and I had found my replacement car. The CD of Handel’s Messiah, which I had to reorder because the one I had listened to and sung along with in my car throughout the Christmas season could not be removed from the CD player after the accident, had finally arrived.  All was well.  Or was it?

As you’re well aware, I love to sing.  I sang my first solo in church when I was four. You and I were in a trio together in our Middle School years. I’ve sung in choirs, traveled with groups, and, just like you, I have been the soloist for many weddings and funerals. I haven’t performed in public for awhile, but I still sing all the time and I was always grateful to be able to raise my voice in praise to God whether I was in church or in my car singing along with the radio or a CD.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I realized, while trying to sing in my car one day, that I had seemingly lost the entire upper range of my voice! 

I have always been an alto, but I’ve had the ability to sing higher notes as well.  I remember thinking over the holidays that it almost seemed my higher range was better now than my low range.  I use that upper range in other ways than just singing.  I always instinctively speak to babies and children, like my precious grandsons, with that higher range.   That range also provides the “lilt” in my voice which I have learned to use effectively in everyday speech, to heighten or soften the impact of what I am saying.  My voice is my tool, my identity; and suddenly it had changed.

At first, I thought maybe I was getting sick and was just a bit hoarse, but there were no other symptoms.  I then wondered if I was imagining it, so I became obsessed with trying to sing along with the radio, and I couldn’t.  I felt like my throat was constricted and when I would try to force a higher note, I would squawk off-key.  I knew the final test would be to try to sing the choruses on my Messiah CD, which I had easily sung just before the accident. Reluctantly I put in the CD and my fears were confirmed.  The lilt in my voice is gone.

Because this change was so sudden, my assumption is that it is somehow related to the accident.  Naturally, I researched on line and found several possibilities.  The bottom line of my research seemed to be that, if there is any way to get back “my” voice, it would probably involve some kind of voice therapy, which might or might not work.  Because of my inclinations mentioned at the start of this letter, I was tempted to just let it go and not try to get to the bottom of it, but the fact is that this loss has deeply affected me; so, yesterday I went to see my doctor who referred me to a specialist.  I’ll keep you posted.

Last night I was struck once more by the realization that the things of this world, in which we place our security or find our identity, are only temporary; even the gifts which God has given us to use in service for him.  Our only true security and identity is to be found in Christ.  Of course, I hope that the full range of my voice will be restored here on earth; but, whether it is or is not, I understand that my true voice has always been whatever means God has provided for me to share the good news of what he has done for us through Christ Jesus; the good news that God sent his son to live a perfect life which he credits to poor sinners like me, and to die the death which we all deserve so that all of our sins, no matter how many or how great, are forgiven. 

Because of that gift and that gift alone, I will one day be able to spend eternity singing praises with my true voice.  I will have a range and lilt that I can’t even begin to imagine now, and it will never be taken away!

I know you understand. I can’t wait to sing with you in heaven!

Love Always,

Bonnie

Out of Bounds

 

Dear Old Friend,

As you know, I just came back from visiting my daughter and my four year old grandson.  I remember, when my own son was four, being concerned that there was something wrong with him because he seemed to be out of control; and, I remember being greatly relieved when I read an article which told me that four is the “out of bounds” age.  Everything is too loud, every emotion is too strong, and every attempted activity is too dangerous.  Four is when children intentionally push, and leap over, every boundary.  It is the year of extremes.  It is the year of believing you are in control, and actually being out of control; especially with boys!

On my very first day there, my grandson experimented with calling me Bonnie, because that is what his dad calls me.  I explained all about first names versus relationships, like mommy and daddy, and that even though Bonnie was my first name, I was his Grammie and that’s what he should call me.  That worked for a few minutes, but then I suddenly became Grams, and that stuck.  It was his four year old way of being in control.  His favorite phrase was, “Follow me, Grams”, and off we would go on one exciting adventure after another.

As long as I was with him, I was primarily able to keep him from suffering serious bodily harm and from inflicting bodily harm on others, but whenever I took time to visit with my daughter, and he was left to his own devices, he would do things like scaring the two very pregnant goats off the porch or running headlong into the flock of chickens, chasing them into the neighbor’s yard (See my daughter's hilarious blog for further info about the goats and chickens, etc.)  It didn’t matter how many serious conversations he’d already had with his mother about the very good reasons why he was not supposed to do those things.  It did not matter what consequences he would suffer if he did those things anyway; the temptation was just too great.

Once, when I was leisurely sipping coffee and chatting with my daughter who was working in the kitchen, he grabbed a backless barstool and dragged it into the hallway, where we couldn’t see him.  When I grew suspicious and got up to investigate, I found him standing on the stool, teetering on his tiptoes.  When I swept him off the stool into my arms, he loudly protested that he wanted to touch the ceiling light fixture.  “Help me, Grams!” he ordered. When I tried to explain why this was not the great idea he thought it was, he protested loudly and I had to enlist the authority of Mommy to dissuade him.

I wondered on numerous occasions how my daughter managed when I wasn’t there. My son-in-law, due to the nature of his job, is often gone for weeks at a time; and, as much as my grandson would love it, my daughter isn’t able to spend every waking moment following him around, giving him her full attention.  He is up at the crack of dawn and no longer takes naps, so there isn’t even a break time for her to do things while he is safely asleep.  It is inevitable that he will sometimes be out of her sight during the day.  She does an admirable job of ensuring his safety, but as I mentioned, he’s four….

It occurred to me that, to God, we are all like four year old boys.  We all believe we are in control, when we are out of control.  We all have hairbrained schemes which put us in danger.  We all do things which we know are wrong, undeterred by the looming consequences, because the temptation is just too great.

Thankfully, we are never out of God’s sight, even for a moment! He understands and is infinitely patient with our tendency to be out of bounds.  He tenderly watches over us, giving comfort when we are hurt by our own poor choices; and he has provided forgiveness for all of our indiscretions through the life, death and resurrection of his own son.

How precious it is to have that assurance, for myself, for my children and for my grandchildren!

Love Always,

Bonnie