Fred

This is the story of a fellow I loved a long time ago named Fred. He's not your ordinary fella and the original Fred is no longer on earth and the love is a beautiful memory.

The story of Fred begins 44 years ago at a boarding school in Africa. Kenya, to be exact.  I was 7 years old. We had just moved to Africa from Oregon. My mother was a missionary and well, I was a missionary kid. Less than a month after our arrival in Kenya, my mom dropped me off at the boarding school. After settling me into my room and helping unpack my clothes and other personal belongings I would need for the next 3 months, she drove away leaving me screaming and crying in the dust stirred up by her retreating car. I don't remember much after that except seeing the dorm parent's son lying on the porch watching me as I'm sure he watched countless other little girls crying in sorrow as their parents drove away.

My early memories of boarding school are blurred. I remember some fun but also remember a lot of sadness, homesickness and a profound sense of being lost. Like I was misplaced. And forgotten.

To add to my feeling of  misplacement, my mom was single having adopted me, a brown skin child. A brown skin little girl holding the hand of a very white woman and calling her mother drew its own set of curious eyes. An odd couple we must have appeared at times.

But this is Fred's story.

At the school we had a "bank". My mom would deposit a certain amount of spending money in my account and each Friday I would line up with the other children to withdraw a sum of money large enough to buy candy and assorted treats from our school store. It was at the school store where I met Fred. I later found out that Fred had been named for Fred the Basset Hound comic strip.

I have always loved animals. Being raised an only child, I had many furry brothers and sisters. So, when I spotted Fred lying on the floor, I was instantly smitten. He had no opinions about my looks, or my abilities, didn't care if I was popular or talented, didn't bother him that I had no dad, he just wanted to be talked to and have his belly scratched. His comical appearance and simple needs brought so much comfort to the sad heart of a homesick, misplaced, lost little girl. I was ministered to, and comforted by, a dog. A funny looking Basset Hound named Fred. Seeing Fred was the highlight of my first weeks at school. I told myself then that when I grew up, I was going to have a Basset Hound and name him Fred. Time went on, I eventually  no longer saw Fred and after awhile he and the promise I made to myself, faded into the background of growing older and moving back and forth between countries and eventually marriage and children.

I never completely forgot about Fred, or my dream of having my own Fred. Occasionally through the years I would tell my children about that long-ago Fred and tell them someday I'm going to have a Basset Hound and name him Fred. Bassets aren't that common and in the rare instance I would see one, my mind was instantly taken back to that lonely time when that funny little dog brought me so much peace. I collected the occasional Basset magnet. Every once in awhile while riding in the car I would tell my husband  "there's a little Basset Hound out there.... waiting to be mine. His name is Fred". 

God never forgot either.

In June of 2010, my husband Rollie took me to our favorite Mexican restaurant. I remember sitting on the stool beside him laughing when he suddenly took his phone out and said "I have something to tell you". He then went on to tell me that someone at work sent out an email saying they had Basset Hound puppies for sale. He showed me a picture of a basket of Basset Hound puppies.  I started crying. I knew that if he was telling me this, he had already decided to buy me a puppy. And I knew my little Fred was in that basket.  I could hardly breathe I was so overwhelmed. And then, being the worrier I am, I panicked that they were already all gone and wanted Rollie to call the guy right now! He reassured me that he didn't think they were gone yet as the email had just gone out that day.

Basket of Puppies--we think Fred is the one looking away.

We pick this one! Fred.

Later that month, we went and picked up the little boy puppy we had picked out. We took the kitty kennel along for him to ride in. He cried all the way home. But he came home. After 39 years, Fred came home. He made his home in our home after making his home in my heart so long ago.

Fred at 7 weeks old.

The healing God has done through Fred is beautiful, and perfect. Through this dog He reminded me He was there for me and with me all those years ago. He reminded me I wasn't forgotten nor was I ever misplaced. He knew where I was, what my name was and most importantly, He knew and remembered my dreams. He reconciled the little girl with the adult woman. A circle was completed by Him giving Fred to me.

Today, that goofy, slobbery, stubborn stinky little Basset Hound named Fred, is 5 years old.
Happy Birthday, Fred.Thank You, God. For never forgetting.

Saturday

Saturday. The day after.

This was their first day to live by faith.

I imagine it was a long day following a short night of restless sleep. The horror of what had happened jolting them awake, flooding their minds with tumbling questions, tears and guilt.

This is what all the moments, the miracles, the talks, the prayers, the questions, the answers; this is what it all came down to.

Was He really who He said He was?

They have a  hard time remembering all He said. They are exhausted. Still in shock. Unbelief. Grief hasn’t even set in. They can’t think straight. The violent memories don’t leave with the dawn. The praying, the angry crowd, the shouting, the jostling, the sound of the whip whistling through the air, the blood pouring down their Friend’s face. The sight of Him on the cross.

Ever been in the middle of a riot? That’s tangible anger, it puts one in a fight or flight mode, and keeps one there for a long time. That’s what they had faced for hours.

Torn between wanting to stand up for their Master, yet scared to death because their Master was being taken from them. The Promise was being beaten, the Fulfillment was being spit on, the death of the Messiah was being screamed for, the King of Kings had to carry His own death on His back before carrying out their death, our death,  in His body. 

The guilt. They all feel it.  They had been torn between wanting to defend Him, but scared to. Peter’s attempt at defending and then angrily denying Christ is mentioned, but they were all there somewhere.

They couldn’t even stay awake long enough to pray with Him. He asked them to, they could tell He was distressed, but their human understanding hadn’t yet grasped that this was it. This was the time He had told them about.  That long talk, at the Passover supper. He prayed for them. He told them the time had come.  He said they would weep and lament. They listened, not fully understanding, their feet still damp from the washing He had given them. He knew they didn’t fully understand what would happen. But He knew His words would be fulfilled. And He knew how they would feel.

How does one help the Helper? How does one comfort the Comforter? How does one rescue the Rescuer?

Everything He said He was, every prophecy He fulfilled was on the line. It was the Sabbath. A lot of time for silence and reflection.  Probably one of the longest days of their lives, because if He really was who He said He was, tomorrow would be proof.

But today, today they had nothing but faith. No Spirit to give comfort. No Galatians, Ephesians, Colossians to read and be encouraged by. 

Nothing but His word.

They prayed and they hoped He really was who He said He was.

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.