Invitation

Immanuel. God with us. In our morning reading of "When Holidays Hurt", this was the word. To me, "God with us" is literally that. He is with us. All the time. He says He is, He says so many times He'll never leave us, He's with us, He'll never forsake us, He's with us to the end of the world.

While pondering His "with us" character, this Immanuel, I kept being brought back to the times when it seemed He wasn't with me. The times when He seems shrouded by the darkness of my unanswered “why?”. Hiding in the shadows of the “how come?”, avoiding my “why now?”.  

The first 7 months after my dad died, Sorrow was a constant companion. Grief waited in the background. Like a faulty, heavy black theater curtain, it would unexpectedly come plunging down on me, quick to wrap me in its thick, velvet folds and smothered darkness, leaving me crying, disoriented, unable to join 2 complete thoughts together. And while I knew God didn’t leave me, I did wonder why I didn’t feel Him all the time.

At the beginning of July, unexpectedly, the curtain of Grief retreated. Sorrow remained, but Joy was more bold about slipping her hand into the hand of Sorrow making the path brighter and leaving me able to take deep gulps of life. (Important side note: Preceding this reprieve, God pulled up a chair and spoke to me of some misplaced faith and trust. He reminded me that He’s never, ever left me. That’s a whole blog entry on its own).

Now, as unexpectedly as it gave reprieve, once again Grief has boldly rushed to the forefront of my life again, I've determined to look at the darkness, this curtain of grief, from a different angle. Not from an angle of  entitlement, self justification, defense, or fear, but from the angle of complete faith. Of absolute belief that He doesn’t lie, if He says He never leaves me, I’m going to believe it. This time wholeheartedly.  

I’ve been thinking about this question: What if when it’s dark, He’s not gone, He’s issuing an invitation?

What if He’s inviting me to come deeper WITH Him. He beckons from the shadows. In Him there is no darkness. When I, by faith, step into the darkness I find Him to be all the light I need. He may only light up the step in front of me, but that’s enough. Romans 11:33 says “Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable His judgments, and His paths beyond tracing out!”  Isaiah 55 says His ways are above ours, His thoughts aren’t ours. (I’m always up for trading my thoughts for His). Psalms tells us that “Thick darkness and clouds surround Him”. He is a God of mystery. He is a God of the dark. Beautiful thing about it; that darkness, that mystery, that “unsearchable”ness is part of why I love Him so much. He’s consistent but yet He has so many facets to His character and He’s so full of both understanding and mystery. He doesn’t present these “darker” sides of Himself to us as a deterrent, but as an invitation.  He says “believe what I say, and follow Me. Follow Me, Lonna. Let your soul cling to Me and know that my right Hand upholds you.” (He never mis-pronounces my name either).

Tomorrow I’m going to unclip some pages of my journal that have been too painfully dark to read. The pages I wrote the day my dad died.  I clipped them together with a paperclip so I wouldn’t see them. Will grief smother me again? Will the curtain fall, the blackness take my breath away? I don’t know. But I’m not afraid of it anymore. I’m going to breathe in it. I’m going to look around this time. I’m going to worship Him from my unanswered questions. I’m going to thank Him in the darkness of not understanding. I’m going to let the pain draw me closer to Him. How? By sheer faith. By deliberately leaning in and believing Him. By His word, not my fears.  By Isaiah 42:16: “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.”

Yep, that’s what this girl is going to do.

Ain't No Sunshine

Myself and my band, Zaffiro! performing at Sweet Red in Albany on October 4th, 2014.

Lush Life

Myself and my band, Zaffiro! performing Lush Life. October 4th, 2014 at Sweet Red in Albany.

Dream

The following is a poem written by my son, Tristan.

I,
who have dared to dream,
have seen the truth in lies
and hope in schemes,
have realized the visions of true serenity;
of peace in war,
rest in calamity.
I have been there,
done that,
loved it,
lost it,
gained it...
only to give back
thru pieces of tranquil lost,
will unseparated,
hate for my fate,
in whole for the sacrifices
that took place.
The hole in my soul burrows deep.

For only I know
the gifts that are given
sent from above
don't always resemble
the peace,
the fig tree
the olive branch,
the dove.
The promises of peace
that seem to cease
as the sun beacons the rise,
illuminating the darkness
catching the moon by surprise
giving it no choice
but retire and sigh.

I,
I who want more,
I who want so much more,
giving flight to my excite
incorporating greed in my breath
which pumps the veins
which pursues the lies
that American Pie has dished up as truths
which highers the heights
but I'm lower than lows.
I'm rags to riches
than riches to rags
how low does this go
before the have nots
are the not so's.
The kick downs,
the beat downs
the let go's.
But I who dare to dream
But I who dare to dream.
I want more
I want so much more
~Tristan DeMers

Shake Down

It was recently brought to my attention that I might possibly be going through a "mid life crisis" a "menopause crisis"; certainly a crisis of some sort.  Apparently one of the signs of said crisis is quoting of the scriptures, a lot. And crying. 

I had a rough day yesterday so this seemed to ring true for me actually and I wondered if indeed I am going crazy, losing my mind, mid life bonkers, menopause madness,  just plain nuts! 

After an afternoon of tears and conversations with my husband intermixed with fiercely whispered prayers to God that alternated between demands to Him to keep His word and questions of what exactly is going on here, I collapsed exhausted into bed with little peace, but some contentment. 

Awake at 3:33 this morning I allowed my thoughts to wander and float where they wanted but eventually began to anchor them to docks of scriptures.

Signs of a crisis in my life.

The death of my father last December shook my world like nothing else had. It was indeed the largest life quake I've ever experienced, I think if it could have been measured it would have been off the Richter scale. I'm still experiencing the aftershocks, some 6 months later. 

God has "put a million, million doors in this world for His love to walk through" and one of the biggest doors was my dad. That door was slammed shut with such finality, the sound of it still reverberates, echoing down the lonely chambers of this broken heart. 

And now I've been brought face to face with some questions I have no way of getting around, out of or ignoring; Who do you love? What have you placed your trust in? Who is the source of your joy? Where does your peace come from?

I thought, but I didn't stop to think. I know, but I didn't stop to find out what I know. I trusted, but I didn't stop to see who I was trusting. Like David, "when I felt secure, I said I will never be shaken".

Hebrews says " At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.”  This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain". 

My life has been shaken.  What I thought was, wasn't. 

Ever tried to stand on ground that isn't solid? Experienced an earthquake? My reaction alternates between being in and out of control of the situation. I spend most of my time trying to balance, find my footing, keep upright. What causes me to do that? Fear of falling. Fear of being crushed by something falling.  Because falling hurts. (Being crushed can be deadly!)  It's embarrassing and it leaves me exposed and feeling helpless. The main thing I do when I'm on unsolid ground is look for something to hang on to. I look for what is solid, not shaking, secure. 

The only thing solid and secure in my life, in the middle of this lifequake, is the eternal, unchanging, solid  Word of God. That's it. It is the only thing in my life that cannot be shaken and remains when all else has been shaken and removed. The shakeable is revealed by the shaking. A shake down.

I can give frilly, surface answers all day. But the longer I live, the more I realize how quickly time passes. What looked like years,  looking back, now I see were mere minutes.  I honestly don't have much time for what is surface and frilly, what can be shaken, what is temporary, what can be shaken, what is fleeting, what can be shaken. The more my world and all that is temporary is shaken, I have 2 choices; allow myself to just let go and be crushed by it all, or hang onto the only solid thing I have and let myself be changed. I choose of course, to shout into the wind, the storm, the rain. Not that I haven't let go a time or 2 and slid around, but with every ounce of faith I've been given, I will get back up and hang on. To His word. Because It. Is. All. I. Have!

If I look and sound fanatical, so be it. If standing on the solid Word of God in the midst of all the insanity and heart ache looks crazy? It's alright by me. I'm in the best company when I'm ok with being  "a spectacle to the world, a fool for Christ. ''

My world was rocked, the door was slammed, the sound still echoes, the loneliness is deep, the tears seem endless. But His word remains forever and will forever be my portion, my sanity, my salvation, my strength, my refuge, my restorer. 

In Christ and Christ alone, I stand. It may not look like it on the outside, but I'm standing on the solid rock of God's word. 

I have not been given a spirit of fear; but I have been given Love, Power and a Sound Mind. 

Signs of a crisis? Menopause Madness? Perhaps. 

If spouting scripture is a sign of madness and crisis.... I think I'll be here for a long time.

Growing

I am going through a book by Susie Larson titled, "Your Beautiful Purpose". I plan to blog my entire journey through this book, but feel led to go ahead and share the first question in Chapter 3. This chapter is titled "Wait On God".
Before asking the first question, the instructions were to read Hebrews 12: 5-11. I have mixed the Message and the ESV versions:
"And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons?

My dear child, don’t shrug off God’s discipline,
    but don’t be crushed by it either.
It’s the child He loves that He disciplines;
    the child He embraces, He also corrects.

God is educating you; that’s why you must never drop out. He’s treating you as dear children. This trouble you’re in isn’t punishment; it’s training, the normal experience of children. Only irresponsible parents leave children to fend for themselves. Would you prefer an irresponsible God? We respect our own parents for training and not spoiling us, so why not embrace God’s training so we can truly live? While we were children, our parents did what seemed best to them. But God is doing what is best for us, training us to live God’s holy best.  For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."

Question: When God points out growth areas in your life, are you more apt to shrug off His words, crumble in a heap underneath them or take them to heart with humility and confidence? Why?

Answer:  Although I do not remember a time when I didn't know Jesus, looking back over my life, there are clearly marked moments of growth.  Knowing and learning to recognize the discipline of God is a process in itself.  As a younger person, I attributed a lot of hardships as the devil seeking to destroy me. I rebuked many attempts by God to grow me and ordered many messengers from Him to get behind my back.   I also was so judgmental in attitudes I had toward others; I could not and would not hear them because they did not "look" or "sound" like God to me.  The question Susie poses  above follows the same pattern as the parable of the farmer sowing seeds in the field (Matthew 13: 3-9). Many times when God tried to discipline me, I shrugged it off. The seed blew away because it fell on shallow ears and a dry heart. There was nothing available to receive and nourish that seed of discipline.  Other times I heard and even acknowledged that seed of discipline only to crumble and not know what to do.  Instead of asking God for wisdom and trusting in His love for me, I let weeds of doubt and low self worth choke out the bigger picture; choke out the fact that a loving Father was trying to grow me.  Currently in my life, I'm more likely to take the seed of discipline to heart. Not that it doesn't hurt, because I'd be lying if I said it didn't.  But I'm no longer crushed by it, nor do I ignore it.  The soil of my heart is more compliant to the discipline of God and when someone tells me something that hurts or offends, instead of being defensive, getting angry or chalking it up to the enemy, I lean  in - I ask God if there is truth to what was said.  If there is (and usually there is some truth) I bring it to the forefront of my prayers. I ask God to make me humble of heart, and to make me aware of the behavior, action or habit He is ready to change in my life. I also ask Him to make me sensitive to His promptings so I don't live my life in blind ignorance, but live in awareness of my actions and words.  To be perfectly honest, if there is truth to the accusation it actually saddens me.  I'm kind of appalled and even embarrassed by what's been pointed out - I feel exposed. But I remember who God is and I choose to ignore how I feel and lean in and onto  a loving God trusting that  God wants to work on something and He's perfectly capable of letting me know what He wants to do.  I find that even if I'm not guilty of an accusation, I still learn something. Sometimes it's just to see that I've grown enough not to be crushed by an untruth! God wastes nothing.

God uses anything and anyone to accomplish His will in my life and in the lives of all believers. I've learned that He truly means what He says when He tells us in Isaiah that "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways.  As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts."

The seed of discipline planted in a heart of good soil does indeed yield a bountiful harvest. A harvest of peace and righteousness and a life of marked by maturity in God.  I want to be a woman loved and disciplined and for my life to reflect the discipline of God. A marked woman, if you will. A disciplined woman is indeed a loved and cherished woman. I place all confidence in the loving, consistent character of God.

The discipline of God  is always marked by His love and mercy and there is no shame in His discipline.

Memories

This is where I'm posting memories of my dad. These are posts I posted on his Facebook wall.


AUGUST 13, 2013
I love to listen to my dad's deep rumbly voice as he shares memories and stories with me, and anyone who will listen, actually.

We had an interesting conversation over lunch:
Dad: "You're different".
Me: "Whoa, really? How, like I'm "weird" different"?
Dad: "No... you're a different flavor".
Me: (intrigued now) "So, like a bacon and bourbon flavor"?
Dad: "You are Africa. You were influenced by Africa growing up. You're a curry flavor".
Me: "Hey, I like that"!!

Man, I love my dad. Love him. He's a treasure I keep discovering the more I spend time with him.



JUNE 16, 2013
I nearly cried today as my dad bumpily made his way up the ramp and through the door today. Just to still have him in my life brings me so much joy. I love saying "dad" to him because that means he's still here to say "dad" to. No, he is not biologically my father, but he is my real dad because he loves and cares and cherishes me like a father should. And to me, he is and will forever be, my dad. Happy Father's Day, Patrick! I LOVE YOU!!!


OCTOBER 19, 2012

I set dad up with all his paints, thinners, brushes, apron, everything! I left the room and assumed he was beginning his painting of Fred. Instead I heard him talking and came back in to find him fully relaxed spouting philosophy. He said "there is a lot of fear in taking that first stab at the canvas. Because once you do that first possibility of failure is overwhelming. As long as you leave it blank you're safe"! I love my dad.

NOVEMBER 11, 2012

This is the story of how my dad received the injury that left him a quadriplegic.

The story of my favorite Veteran.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon in late October. The year was 1957 and a young Marine had the rare gift of being alone in the barracks. He had just settled in for a good reading of a mystery novel he had been trying to finish when a buddy walked in and invited him to go out to eat. He didn't want to go, he was comfortable and was enjoying this solitude, but the friend persisted and the Marine eventually gave in. They picked up another friend, a girl, and the 3 of them went out to enjoy an Italian dinner. The food was good and their spirits were high as they headed back to the base. The young lady talked them into letting her drive, she was excited because it was a new truck and went pretty fast! They laughed and teased her about not being a good driver, but in the end, they let her drive. They drove back through some hills, driving faster than was necessary. They came upon some railroad tracks and the high speed at which they were moving caused the truck to become airborne. It never landed fully, but bounced, rolling over and over before finally coming to a rest. When the dust cleared, the girl, thrown some distance, lay dead. The friend of the Marine was in pain, but could walk. The young Marine lay with his face in the dirt, unable to move and only conscious for a few moments before mercifully falling into a coma. 3 weeks later the young Marine, just 20 years old, learned that he was paralyzed, would never walk again and was given no more than 10 years to live. He went on to fight through thoughts of suicide, adjusted to life in a wheelchair and went to OSU where he earned multiple degrees, eventually earning his Masters degree in Psychology. He became a counselor and has helped hundreds of people with family, life and of course disability issues. He is a published poet, cartoonist, artist and writer. He's been overlooked, ignored, called names and treated as inferior. But, in my heart, he is and forever will be, a hero. He's an amazing human being who I am proud to call my Dad. He's my favorite Veteran. Oh, and those 10 years... have stretched into 55 years. Appropriate that he is a Marine, for Semper Fidelis describes him perfectly. I love you, Dad. Your daughter, Lonna