Hold On!

TAA's lonely, empty campus today--missing its humans.

          April 6.  That’s today.  Six weeks from today, TAA’s seniors will be done with academy.  Seven weeks from today the rest of TAA’s students will finish classes and then take their finals the rest of the week.  None of us knows how we are going to finish this school year—whether it will be online or in person.  I, for one, hope we can have a few days together to finish up this strangest of school years.  Now, however, we are still in the middle of the 4^th quarter.  Because of the Corona complications, things are beginning to pile up.  All we knew about before, but put off and put off until the last minute—well, for some of us, that last minute has come and gone and we are just now waking up to find ourselves in deep sneakers, as a friend of mine is fond of saying.

            For me, fourth quarter is almost always like this.  I feel pushed to the limit with deadlines.  I often look at myself and marvel how I ever managed to get into such a mess (yes, again) and why I thought this time would be different.  I keep hoping that maybe, just once, I’d find myself perfectly organized and in full control of my comings and goings.  But, I looked my life over last night, and sadly, I came up floundering once again.

            Maybe it’s not this way for everyone.  Maybe it’s just me.  Somehow, though, I don’t think so.  Every day Mr. Reynolds and I get frantic emails or text from our students and colleagues asking for help with technology or clarification on an assignment as we try, and too often fail, to accomplish all we need and want to do.  There is almost no time to think.  And yet when I do think about it, I ache inside.  There seems to be no hope in sight.  And, knowing that I am not alone, doesn’t help. 

            And knowing that there is good reason for this despair doesn’t help either.  I mean, look at your life:  How many times a day lately, never mind a week, do you get discouraged about things that are going on in your life?  How many times do you wake up in the morning and want to go right back to sleep because life just doesn’t seem worth getting out of bed for?  Maybe you can’t find anything to wear that looks good on Zoom.  Or your hair is out of control.  Or you didn’t get your homework done last night and now you don’t want to think about facing class and having to find an excuse (which you really don’t have).  Or you had a fight with your parents about spending too much time on one of your devices.  Or you had a fight with your best friend.  Or . . .

            Maybe today you feel reconciled to life.  But I know for a fact that at almost any given time, at least one person among us is unhappy with their life-situation.  Sometimes, I think we even revel in our despair.  If we act growlly enough, we might get someone—anyone’s--attention—which is really all we wanted in the first place, right?

            I read a survey the other day taken among 3,000 7th-12th grade students from six Protestant denominations.  Of those students surveyed, about 50% of the boys and more than 60% of the girls “frequently felt very sad or depressed last year.”  The study explored how students dealt with these feelings, and the findings were a little disturbing to me.  As many as 54% of them had considered suicide as a way out.  Up to 37% tried to find acceptance through sec, 70% drank alcohol alone or with friends, and more than 70% cheated on a school test at least once last year.

            What was disturbing to me, among many things, was that this was a study conducted among young people with strong religious ties—maybe even with serious religious education going on in school as well as the home and church.  Young people like you and me.  Young people who supposedly know all the commandments, all the lessons, all the promises in the Bible.  Young people who should therefore know better, if we’ve heard it so often, right?

            Well, you know as well as I do that we’re not really all that different from anyone else in the world.  Most of us succumb as easily as the next person to all the trials and tribulations of growing up and maturing.  Our songwriters write about it.   We join with our favorite groups to sing about it.  And they turn around and give us good advice—the same good advice we turn deaf ears to in our religion classes or at church or at home interestingly enough.  They tell us that if we’d only step back and get a little perspective, if we’d just hold on, things will work out.

            The sad thing to me about all this is that more often than not, we choose to be miserable when we could just as easily choose to be happy and content.  WE HAVE THAT CHOICE!   It is within our scope, within our context and reach, to be happy and successful young people, with limitless opportunities and potential—if we’d only CHOOSE the course of action which will give us that happiness and success—the course we all keep hearing about.

            The group Wilson Phillips sang a song a several years back that is particularly blunt about these choices we are making.  This is their observation:

I know this pain.

Why do you lock yourself up in these chains?

No one can change your life except for you.

Don’t ever let anyone step all over you.

Just open your heart and your mind.

Is it really fair to feel this way inside?

You could sustain

Or are you comfortable with the pain?

You’ve got no one to blame for your unhappiness.

You got yourself into your own mess

Lettin’ your worries pass you by.

Don’t you think it’s worth your time

to change your mind?

Don’t you know?

Don’t you know things can change?

Things’ll go your way

If you hold on for one more day.

Can you hold on for one more day?

            Of course, it’s not quite as easy as all that.  It never is.  But it is, quite honestly, not as hard as we make it out to be either.  Thinking positively.  Choosing to do our best.  Making the best and the most of everything we’re given that day.  Looking for ways to help others, focusing on their pain instead of our own.  Being honest with ourselves about what is important and what is not.  Establishing priorities.  Working together with the people we live and breathe with.  Accepting responsibility for who and what we are.  Constantly striving to improve our life rather than complacently accepting wherever we are at the moment. 

            Starting each day with God.  Placing our destiny in His hand at the beginning of each day is easily the most responsible and necessary thing we can do for ourselves to guard against the malaise and despair that tempt us.

            A lot of things hit their low points in fourth quarter—things like scholastic courage and many people’s spiritual experiences.  It’s a month for asking “Why,” for re-evaluating all those things we’ve taken for granted since last year—things like mild weather, decent grades, and our relationship with Jesus Christ.  Maybe it’s the crunch of classes or this year the unrelenting solitude of the Corona quarantine, but somehow this 4^th quarter forces us to be more candid—with ourselves, with our friends, with our God.  And that, for me, makes this quarter the most hopeful time of the whole year instead of the most depressing, for when we resolve to take each day moment by moment, hour by hour, we find that it is possible to be happy, that it is possible to succeed.  That things do change.  That things do start going our way.

            As I look at this upcoming week and I see what ought to be an impossible load of responsibility ahead of me, I am reminded that even though I have a lot to deal with, it is not an impossible lot.  I am reminded that if I realign my thinking to possibility instead of impossibility, I will know success instead of failure.  I will know satisfaction instead of despair.  And, if I put my day in God’s hands from the beginning, I will know peace instead of chaos. 

            This morning, I choose to hold my head up high, I choose to hold on and walk on with hope in my heart, knowing beyond all doubt and uncertainty that I will not be alone in this journey.  My hand will be in the hand of the One who can take me safely through any dark and stormy night or day.   I will not only be able to hold on, I will be held.  And I will make it through this day.  And the next.  I invite you to make that same choice with me today—and every day.  You will not regret it.  And you, too, if you just hold on, will walk on.

A Matter of Perspective

Two of my friends are retired teachers who spend several months each year in their home country of India volunteering at an Adventist boarding school there.  They went this winter as usual, but unlike other years, their homecoming took an unusual turn.  Here’s what one of them wrote in a Facebook post yesterday: 

“Preparing for the Lord’s return has a very real new meaning for us now. We have been waiting to return to the US. We were supposed leave before the lock down came but my sister was seriously ill and the doctors did not think that she would make it, so we postponed our trip back. I’m glad we stayed to be with her as she is doing better. But when we finally heard from the US Embassy to be prepared- they said they were not sure exactly when, pack only limited baggage, they were not sure exactly where we would land in US, but be prepared. All of a sudden - taking all our baggage was not important, preparing the condo against dust for a year was not that important, where we land was not important, - as long as we get home. Things that were so important don’t matter anymore.”

They go on to say that “When we truly prepare to go to our eternal home, all these earthly things won’t matter but the promises of His return and the joy of arriving there have a deeper meaning that only comes from above and during these difficult times. It is a matter of perspective!”

The Bible has something to say about this in Isaiah 65:17-25 (The Message)

^17-25 “Pay close attention now:
    I’m creating new heavens and a new earth.
All the earlier troubles, chaos, and pain
    are things of the past, to be forgotten.
Look ahead with joy.
    Anticipate what I’m creating:
I’ll create Jerusalem as sheer joy,
    create my people as pure delight.
I’ll take joy in Jerusalem,
    take delight in my people:
No more sounds of weeping in the city,
    no cries of anguish;
No more babies dying in the cradle,
    or old people who don’t enjoy a full lifetime;
One-hundredth birthdays will be considered normal—
    anything less will seem like a cheat.
They’ll build houses
    and move in.
They’ll plant fields
    and eat what they grow.
No more building a house
    that some outsider takes over,
No more planting fields
    that some enemy confiscates,
For my people will be as long-lived as trees,
    my chosen ones will have satisfaction in their work.
They won’t work and have nothing come of it,
    they won’t have children snatched out from under them.
For they themselves are plantings blessed by God,
    with their children and grandchildren likewise God-blessed.
Before they call out, I’ll answer.

Before they’ve finished speaking, I’ll have heard.

Times like these put things, literally, in proper focus.  What once was important fades away when more urgent things consume our thinking.  With everything so uncertain today—including our health and safety—it is incumbent on us to keep in mind that earthly things are only temporary, but God’s earth-made-new is eternal.  As my friend said, it’s a matter of perspective. 

                                   

Don't Quit!

Some of you may know that April is National Poetry Month.  At Thunderbird, that usually means a month of celebrating poetry and our Annual Poetry Writing Competition.  Each week the English department teachers (Ms. Turk and myself) challenge our students to submit poems and then we choose winners, one from each class, who get beautiful journals for their future creative writing endeavors.  Then, at the end of the month, we choose a grand prize winner along with 1^st and 2^nd place writers who receive gift cards to Barnes & Noble.  Not a bad way to celebrate one of the loveliest but often most challenging of writing forms!

In keeping with our Thunderbird focus on poetry, I thought I’d share an encouraging poem with you along with a few verses from the notable Biblical poet, the psalmist David.  The poem comes to us from a 19^th century national favorite who was so famous and beloved during his lifetime that his picture hung in every schoolroom and families read his poems around the fireside.  A Quaker and an abolitionist, John Greenleaf Whittier grew up on a humble farm north of Boston and learned to love poetry in a small schoolroom where, years, later, his portrait would hang.  Today, we might say his poetry is a little simple, a little uncomplicated, but it is exactly because of his simplicity and straightforwardness that this poem works for us in a time that is anything but simple and straightforward.  It brings with it encouragement that is exactly what we need right now:

Don’t Quit

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is strange with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a failure comes about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow—
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out—
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell just how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

Hundreds of years earlier, the Biblical poet David put his hopes and fears, his joys and tears into a verse form we now call the Psalms.  During his life, his emotions ran the gamut of all that and more.  A common shepherd-turned-king, he knew just about every situation and challenge that life could throw at you but always—sometimes later than sooner—found his solace and his energy in the Lord.  Just when he was about to quit, he would turn his thoughts towards God and find the comfort and strength he needed to get through whatever challenge he was facing.  The result would unfailingly be success and he would find himself needing to praise God with a song.  He describes it this way in Psalm 28:7 (The Message):

Blessed be God—
    he heard me praying.
He proved he’s on my side;
    I’ve thrown my lot in with him.

Now I’m jumping for joy,
    and shouting and singing my thanks to him.

The psalmist David and the poet Whittier, through their lyrical words, have important advice for us today as we face situations that are frightening and discouraging:  pray to God and don’t quit.  Those, in fact, are words to live by.

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

            For the past few weeks, a hymn has been running through my head…so much so that when I sat down to write today’s devotional thought, that’s all I could think of.  The words, all by themselves, have been a constant comfort to me, but knowing how powerful thoughts don’t usually come out of nowhere, I decided to find out the story behind the song.  Here’s what I found out:

While many hymns are born out of a particular dramatic experience, this hymn was simply the result of the author’s morning by morning realization of God’s personal faithfulness.  Thomas Obadiah Chisholm was born in a log cabin in Kentucky. Without the benefit of high school or advanced training, he began his career as a school teacher at the age of sixteen, in the same country schoolhouse where he had received his elementary schooling.

       When he was twenty-one, he became the associate editor of his home town weekly newspaper, The Franklin Favorite. Six years later he accepted Christ as his personal Savior during a revival meeting through the ministry of Henry Clay Morrison, the founder of Asbury College and Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky.  Morrison persuaded Chisholm to move to Louisville where he became editor of the Pentecostal Herald.

            Later Chisholm was ordained to the Methodist ministry but was forced to resign after a single, brief appointment at Scottsville, Kentucky, because of poor health.   He relocated his family to Winona Lake, Indiana to recover, and then to Vineland, New Jersey in 1916 where he sold insurance.

Chisholm retired in 1953 and spent his remaining years at the Methodist Home for the Aged, in Ocean Grove, New Jersey.  By the time of his retirement, he had written over 1200 poems, 800 of which were published. Many of these were set to music.  One of them was the hymn that I can’t get out of my head: “Great is Thy Faithfulness.”  In 1923, he sent several poems, including this one, to composer William Runyan who later wrote, "This particular poem held such an appeal that I prayed most earnestly that my tune might carry over its message in a worthy way, and the subsequent history of its use indicates that God answered prayer."  Runyan, also a Methodist minister, had grown up in Kansas. After pastoring churches for a dozen years, he was appointed evangelist for the Central Kansas Methodist Conference. A creative musician, he wrote many hymn tunes and was a hymnal compiler and an editor.  He was associated with John Brown University in Arkansas and later Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. For a number of years he was associated with Hope Publishing Company.

The hymn was first introduced in Great Britain in 1954 by the Billy Graham Crusades. A phrase in Lamentations 3:22-23 provides a basis for its refrain: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

In a letter dated 1941, Mr. Chisholm wrote; “My income has not been large at any time due to impaired health in the earlier years which has followed me until now, although I must not fail to record the unfailing faithfulness of a covenant-keeping God, for which I am filled with astonishing gratefulness.”

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

  (1) Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father!

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not:

As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

      

(2) Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness,

Morning by morning new mercies I see;

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided-

Great is Thy faithfulness, lord, unto me!

      

(3) Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,

Sun, moon, and stars in their courses above,

Join with all nature in manifold witness

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

      

(4) Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow-

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

I don’t know about you, but my life is full of examples of God’s faithfulness.  I’ve been reminded of that many times during this month of enormous stress and uncertainty.  Every morning, when I wake up—early, because I can’t sleep any more for the racing of my mind—I pray that the more things change, this one thing will stay the same:  that “He changes not, His compassions, they fail not.  As He has been He forever will be.”  May that be each of our experience in the days and weeks to come.

Connected

          Seventeenth century English poet and pastor John Donne wrote a meditation that includes these famous lines:  “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.  And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” In Donne’s day, whenever someone in the community passed away, the church bells would ring out to let everyone know that someone they knew had gone to their rest. He makes the point, though, that it wasn’t just that part of the community was no longer with them.  He says that a part of themselves has also been lost.  The connection, the thing that made all feel the loss of one, was their common ground, their humanity. 

            Beyond that mutual connection of humanity, though, is another even greater connection, however slim we might think it is.  Twentieth century American poet Anne Sexton describes it in her poem, "Small Wire":

                        My faith

                        is a great weight

                        hung on a small wire,

                        as doth the spider

                        hang her baby on a thin web,

                        as doth the vine,

                        twiggy and wooden,

                        hold up grapes

                        like eyeballs,

                        as many angels

                        dance on the head of a pin.

                        God does not need too much wire to keep Him there,

                        just a thin vein,

                        with blood pushing back and forth in it,

                        and some love.

                        As it has been said:

                        Love and a cough cannot be concealed.

                        Even a small cough.

                        Even a small love.

                        So if you have only a thin wire,

                        god does not mind.

                        He will enter your hands

                        as easily as ten cents used to bring forth a Coke.

            Throughout our lifetime, we have opportunities to explore that connection, that small wire.  Sometimes the choice is ours.  We may read and study, go to church, pray.  But it is also those around us who bring God to our mind through their words and actions.  The more often we are reminded about the God in our lives, the more likely it is that He will become the God of our lives.

            In a time when we are required to keep our distance from each other in order to protect ourselves and each other, we might be challenged to feel connected to each other.  Over the past few weeks, I’ve read many articles about how to survive this time of social distancing and one of the things that always comes up is the importance of maintaining our connections.  We are encouraged to make use of all the technology at hand to stay in electronic touch, but to keep connected.  The more we virtually connect with each other, the healthier we will be in body, mind, and heart.

            The same holds true with our connection with God. If we do not maintain our connection with Him, something profound in us will be lost.  John uses the analogy of the vine and branches to help us understand the importance of being connected: “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon.”  (John 5:5-8, MSG)  None of us is an island entire of itself, no matter how much it may seem that way at the moment.  Now more than ever, we cannot leave our connectivity to chance. Let’s consciously reach out through whatever means we can to stay connected—to each other, and to God.

Burdens and Shoulders

             There's an old Jewish proverb that says "God gives burdens; also shoulders."  Five words offering paradoxical truths about God; five words offering an emphatic definition of God.

            "God gives burdens."  Taken alone, these three words could very well make a person want to run away from God rather than stay with Him.  And many, looking at their own lives—or the world around them right now—might even blame God for allowing tribulation to fall upon them.  They look so long at their troubles, or the troubles of the world, that before they realize it, they can see nothing else but an unjust, merciless God and a world no longer fit to exist in.

It's a good thing the proverb doesn't stop there.  Instead, it goes on.  "God gives burdens; also shoulders."  The shoulders He has given us are the shoulders of our family members and friends, our colleagues and mentors, our teachers and pastors, our church family—and of God Himself.  They are the shoulders we see ahead of us as we listen and learn with—and from—each other.  They are the shoulders we sense behind us as we listen and learn with our families and friends.  They are the shoulders we feel next to us as we listen and learn with our colleagues and fellow church members.  And they are the shoulders we feel under us, lifting us up as we listen and learn from the still small voice which comforts us:

            “Are you tired?  Worn out?  Burned out on religion [or social distancing]?  Come to me.  Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.  I’ll show you how I do it.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.  I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.  Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”  Or as the KJV more familiarly puts it, “For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28

            Isn't that a beautiful promise?  I am grateful every day that God has provided so wondrously for all of our needs.  For the past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about the tremendous burdens so many are carrying right now during this pandemic.  There are the national, state, and local leaders.  There are the scores of health care workers on every level trying to heal and comfort those who are sick or who have lost loved ones.  There are all the service providers who are keeping the country going as much as possible.  There are the teachers and pastors, trying to educate and minister from a distance.  There are the parents and other family members trying to keep things sane and together at home.  And there are some (many, globally) who are mourning the loss of loved ones and friends.

            On the surface, it may seem that we are not managing very well.  Every day the deadly numbers rise.  It is overwhelming.  It is easy to feel alone when we are at such a distance from most, if not all, of the people we usually spend time with.  And yet, we are not alone.   Even at a physical distance, there are those shoulders that are there for us, lifting us up, praying for us, helping us manage and carry our burdens.  That knowledge should make it easier to sleep at night, make the thought of this and every other day bearable, even though they are still difficult.   

            Paul tells us in Galatians 6:2 that we are to bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ—the law of love—of caring for your brother, your sister.  But while you are being there—being a shoulder—for someone else, let God be there—be a shoulder—for you, and let Him work with you.  The Psalmist tells us to give Him all our cares (Ps. 55:22).  And Peter says to "Cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

            So.  God gives burdens.  But also shoulders.  You see, without the last half of the proverb—without the power of God working in our lives—we can do nothing.  Our burdens would so weigh us down that we would not be able to move.  But with those shoulders, both human and divine, there is power.  Power to be and to do.  Power to change and be changed. 

Yes, God gives us burdens.  But also shoulders.

Be Still and Know

 I think one of my greatest pleasures in life is talking.  No doubt there are many in this sanctuary who share that joy with me…  I don’t know about you, but it has also been one of the greatest sources of trouble throughout my life’s experience.  I remember as far back as fifth grade my teacher giving me a sound thrashing with a metal-tipped bamboo stick for disturbing the peace (this was still in the days when this was legal)…and I have a scar to this day to prove it.

            I remember the extreme humiliation in 9^th grade of telling a friend who told a friend who told a friend something that I was supposed “not to tell anyone”…and being confronted with the evidence of my breach of silence.  In Sabbath School, I was an incessant talker.  My teacher was always asking my friends and me to “please, be quiet.”  Even in graduate school—once…only once—I was reprimanded for discoursing with my neighbor.  Oh, it was important (isn’t it always?!)  I needed to make sense of the lecture.  But my noise distracted the teacher, and he made no effort to hide his annoyance from me.  Or the rest of the class.  Embarrassing?  Totally! 

            My father used to tell me that I never listened.  No.  He used to say it rather loudly.  Sometimes I didn’t hear him the first time:  I was too busy talking.  You might say I’ve learned the hard way about the importance of listening.  Of being still.  Of giving others the opportunity to pass on information that could be vital to my survival and success…in school, in life.

Probably the most important thing you can do for yourself is to learn to listen.  Listen to everyone and everything.  Listen hard.  Listen with intensity.   And with intent to grow.  Listening can improve your life in three major aspects.  The first might be obvious to us because of our current situation:  Listening can help save our lives.  If we do nothing else but listen carefully to the health experts and our local, state, and national leaders, and follow through on as much as is humanly possible, we may very well save our lives and those of our loved ones, friends, neighbors, and community members.  Now is not the time to close our ears to their advice, thinking we can take care of ourselves.  That may be, but we need to consider others too.  Listening can save lives.

Which brings me to point number two about listening:  Listening can help improve our relationship with others.  My first year or so as a teacher was hard in a number of ways—mostly because I was learning so many things at the same time I was trying to teach them.  One thing I found out was that if I expected others to listen to me, I had to listen to them.   Being a talker by nature and habit, this wasn’t easy.  But I soon found listening to be a direct line to solid gold in my students.  It was learning to listen that helped me understand people more.  And I’ve found that every time I haven’t taken—or made—the time to listen, and I mean really listen, I’ve missed out on something important—for me and for the other person.

The third aspect which improves with listening is our spiritual life.  Listening to that “Still Small Voice” brings spiritual strength.  Some call it conscience, some call it the Holy Spirit, some call it the Voice of God.  That Voice of conscience and courage can’t be heard if we’re not listening for it, or to it.  But if we are, we can tune in to God in a way we might never have expected.  And our lives are better, happier, and more secure because we have “been still and [known] . . . God.”

The first two aspects of listening are probably not too hard to understand or appreciate.  It’s the third I want to talk about a little more specifically.  I think it’s the hardest kind of listening to do because we are dealing with something far less tangible than a teacher, a friend, a parent, a co-worker, a spouse, or the president.  Listening for, and to, God can be a very difficult thing to do unless we know what to listen for, and how.  There is no grade hanging over our head, there is no threat of grounding or losing privileges, there is no potential for physical sickness or loss of life if we don’t listen to God.  Only the promise of eternal darkness if we don’t, and eternal Light…and life…if we do.  Which, when we understand this, makes listening to God one of the greatest joys and privileges know to humanity.

How do we do this, though?  By being still.  By giving ourselves the quiet opportunity to hear God’s beautiful voice.  By looking around us, seeing all he’s done for us…knowing that He is our God, our Father, our Creator, our Protector.  Listen to what the Psalmist says in Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should collapse and the mountains slide into the sea, though the oceans roar and tidal waves wash away the land, though the mountains move and the foundations of the earth shake.

We have tasted the quiet stream that flows through the city of God, that comes from the heavenly Sanctuary, the place where God Himself is.

The Lord lives in that heavenly city, and it will never be destroyed.  He will protect us, and even if we die now, we will see each other on that resurrection morning.

When God speaks, nations crumble and the earth itself melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Look at what the Lord has done!  It’s amazing what our God can do.

He can stop all wars anywhere in the world.  He can stop the flying arrow, break the biggest spear and smash the strongest defenses.

But He wants men everywhere to stop fighting.  So He says, “Be still and know that I am God.  My name will be exalted among all nations, and once again

 I will assume my rightful place as King.”

The Lord our King is with us.  The God of Israel is our refuge.

Did you notice what David says?  That if we are still, we will know God, in all His glory, in all His power.  He will be a safe place for us to go.  He will protect us from everlasting evil.

I heard Barbara Walters interview a popular rock star a number of years ago.  At the time, he was internationally famous, making millions of dollars.  He didn’t seem to have a moment to himself, what with touring and fans, etc.  I was amazed, then, when he started telling Ms. Walters that the thing that kept him centered, that kept him from losing his focus was silence, listening for and to God.  “If you have a lot of noise in your life,” he said, “How can you listen to God?”

If you have a lot of noise in your life, how can you listen to God?  Oh, how true!  For me, one of the ways I find God is through music.  Shakespeare once said that music can calm the savage beast…and I have found that to be true in my life.  Some of the  pieces that I turn to—to calm my nerves, to bring my blood pressure down, to clear my mind, to turn down the noise of the world so I can be still and hear what God has to say to me—include Ralph Vaughn Williams’ The Lark Ascending or Maurice Durufle’s Sanctus movement from his Requiem, or any number of other classical pieces.  Sometimes, I’ll listen to them over and over, just trying to push everything else out of my mind, and open it up to the peace that comes with listening like that.  If you get a chance, search them out and take a listen.  See if they don’t bring you some peace of mind and heart.  But I thought I’d share a song here that addresses specifically what we’ve been talking about today, and quotes the Psalm I did earlier…Psalm 46.  As you listen, open your ears, your eyes, your mind, your heart to the soothing healing power of God’s active presence in your life.  Be still and know that He is God.

Reachable, yet Untouchable: a God of Paradox and Synonym

From birth,  I was  taught that I could approach God anytime,  anywhere.  This was a comfort to me although it wasn’t until I began traveling that I truly discovered the realness of this God as described in Psalm 139:  "You hem me in, behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. . . . Where can I go from your Spirit? . . . Your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast" (Psalm 139:   5, 7, 9, 10; NIV). 

The promise of that protection kept my heart from thumping audibly during a border interrogation in East Berlin.   It kept the scream in my throat instead of letting it escape when a  sword swallower  came after me in Beijing.  It kept me firm in Cairo when a swarm of panhandlers accosted me.  It kept me calm on a moonlit night by the Sea of Galilee.  It kept me safe during a careening ride through Paris.   And it brought me peace riding through Johannesburg amidst pre-election rioting.

The promise of that protection keeps me going still, although my everyday life as a school teacher seems boring and safe compared to the exotic excitement of my sometime summertime escapes—until a few weeks ago, until Covid-19 put a global life-or-death price on every move we make, relegating us to a virtual world-wide lockdown.  Still, I revel in the knowledge that even at home, the God of Psalm 139 is always with me.    This God is easy to believe in, easy to trust in, easy to be comfortable with. And yet Old Testament readers know there is a side of God which is not so reachable or comfortable.   This side of God requires that we “fear Him” and keep at a distance.  If seemingly diametrically opposed to the more common view of God, it must be reckoned with nonetheless, and if possible, reconciled.

The "reachableness" of the God I find in Psalm 139 is necessary for comfort, courage,  and community.  I need to feel the strength and power of  God in my  life.  I need to feel His warmth, examine His light, and  experience His protection to survive the emotional elements of human nature.    All this, I find in the nearness of God.  But the "untouchableness" of God is also necessary for revelation, respect and reflection.  I  need to know the strength and power of God in my  life, but I need distance to give me perspective,  space to give me cognizance, and  room to give me thought.  All this, I find in the "farness" of God.  The paradox is that  God must be both near and far if I am to feel Him and know Him in all his “awful” comfort and glory.  The miracle is that He can be, and is.   Paradox and synonym, different but the same.

x

Except We Forget

"So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have.  I think it is right to refresh your memory" 2 Peter 1: 12-14 (NIV)

            One of the wonderful things about God is that He knows us so well—knows our strengths and weaknesses, knows just what we need to carry on.  Unfortunately, we sometimes have a very human tendency to forget about His love for us no matter what—especially in times of trial and change.  At least this is true for me.  Consequently, I need to be reminded, but I think we all do.

            In the wake of the state’s decision that all schools need to close their doors for the next few weeks, my husband and I spent most of last week (our Spring Break) working out how we were going to transition our classes from face-to-face to distance learning, figuring out what was most important to cover and how best to do that in the most engaging way.  Not an easy task but fortunately there are a lot of resources out there of both the digital and human form. 

            In between all the researching and planning, we’ve done a lot of praying—praying for family, for friends; for our school, our community, our church; for our nation and, yes, the whole world.  This Covid-19 experience is something none of us has experienced before.  We may have gone through challenges in our past—some of them on a grand scale—from world wars to hurricanes, from various versions of the flu to 9/11—but nothing that has virtually shut things down globally like this. 

            Covid-19 has spread to the very edges of the earth and all but paralyzed some of the world’s great civilizations.  Listening to the news could cause us to despair of ever recovering.  And yet that’s the exact moment when we need to refresh our memory, to recall what we’ve known all along:  that God is still with us.  He will not forsake us.  One of my favorite texts remind us of this fact:  "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)  And then there’s this from the pen of Christian writer Ellen G. White:  We have nothing to fear for our future except that we forget how God has led us in the past.  (Life Sketches p. 196)  

            Yes, we are living in uncertain, confusing, and even scary times.  But if we recall nothing else from the past—whether gleaned from books or from our own experience—we should clearly see that God has been there, through it all.  That knowledge can inform how we respond to this new challenge.  We may have to live our lives differently going forward, but the main things will remain the main things:  our relationship with God, with our families, and with each other.  Make those count so the next challenge that comes our way will not shake us, regardless of its magnitude.  Except we forget, we will have nothing to fear.

In Spite of Everything

Another poem written at the Heinemann Boothbay Literacy Retreat, June 25, 2013.  It's a "found" poem based on a line from an Edward Hirsch poem: "In Spite of Everything, the Stars."

In spite of everything, God
is still in charge.
I mean--He's there.
He sees all, knows all.
He's engaged in a great war
testing whether mercy
trumps justice.

In spite of everything, I
don't blame Him.
Not for wars, pestilence,
Hate, loss.
All the things that bring down
happiness.
And life.

In spite of everything, He
loves us.
this I know.
I've seen it.
Heard it.
Felt it.
Deep in the marrow
of my bones.

In spite of everything, Love
will triumph over evil.
The lame will walk,
the blind will see.
And we.
Shall.
All.
Be.
Changed.
In spite of everything.

Joy Comes in the Morning

"Weeping endures for the night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5 (last part).  So many of my family members and friends have endured deep, shattering loss lately.  My heart hurts for them as they navigate the aftermath that can threaten to overwhelm at any given moment.  This text can be taken literally and figuratively.  The night and the morning can mean the here and now, or it can mean the here and the hereafter.

When my father passed away, the only consolation was the morning--not the next morning, the morning after, but the Resurrection morning, the Reunion morning.  Several of the losses have been parents or siblings.  This morning's was a long ago friend who bravely fought cancer for a few decades but has finally taken a rest from her labors and is awaiting that great getting up morning.

Loss can overwhelm us if we have nothing more to look forward to.  Loss can all but take us down without the great power of Salvation.  Maya Angelou reminds us that "we need joy as we need air.  We need love as we need water."  Thank God that His Love can overcome all and bring Joy in the morning--if not tomorrow, then certainly on the Resurrection Morning.

My Father

My father
Used to walk
so fast
I had to run to catch
his shadow.
Always one step ahead--
maybe more--
Literally.  Philosophically.
Theologically.

A leader.
A path finder.
A way maker.

All that was years ago.
But then
pain.
Crippling pain.
Pain that slows feet and fight.
Pain that stands him still.
Angry.
Compromised.
Except for his mind.

Now, while I slow my steps for his
syncopated stutter-stepped shuffle
he still outruns my mind--
day and night.

I want to cry out
against this injustice
because it is categorically
not fair--
not part of the plan decades
ago--

But I know that
Life is not fair
nor just.
It marches on
regardless.  Trampling
on plans made in our prime.
So I don't.  Instead
I find solace in
what there is in moments
not days or even hours.
Moments.
I find comfort in the hope he holds on to that
In a moment
In a twinkling of an eye . . .
We will all be changed.

This is another poem that I wrote during the Boothbay Harbor Literacy Retreat I attended in July 2013.  Two years later (4 years ago), my dad passed away after a long struggle with debilitating pain that was difficult to witness.  This poem touches on the only thing that comforts me in this giant loss:  the Hope of seeing him again one day, without the pain that stole him from us.  

Small Wire

I shared one of my favorite poems with my American Literature class today:  Anne Sexton's "Small Wire."  I usually teach it in conjunction with Jonathan Edwards' "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" sermon because they are both written out of the Puritan tradition, although there are a few hundred years in between them.  I asked the students to write a short 20-minute essay comparing and contrasting the two views of God with their own.  I decided to write with them...

One of the most important things in life is our relationship with God.  Not just that we have a relationship, although that matters, but what kind of relationship we have.  Our view of God will dictate the quality of connection we have with Him and our view of God is determined by our upbringing, our experiences, and our personal efforts to establish and maintain a relationship with Him.  Jonathan Edwards wrote and delivered his sermon at the height of the Great Awakening in the 1740s.  Ministers at the time were using every tactic they could to bring their parishioners back to where they felt they should be, back to the Puritanical tradition of an angry, jealous, no-nonsense God.  Edwards tried to terrify his listeners into coming back, and he succeeded.  But at what cost?  Obedience at the price of love? Edwards describes us as loathsome creatures--even to God our creator, who preserves us on a whim rather than because he loves us.

Anne Sexton, on the other hand, realized that even though our connection with God might be tenuous at best, it doesn't matter.  God will easily and lovingly not only connect with us, but will hold us close and not allow us to fall.  Sexton was a descendent of Puritans, so she knew the traditional concept of God, and yet writing in the 1970s, she had a much more open view of God.  She also understood that our need for God is there, it is inevitable, even though we might not understand it fully.  The relationship is a two-way experience, though.  Both are involved--God and us.

My view is even more evolved than Anne's, I think.  I had the great privilege of growing up in a home where a loving, merciful, generous, and kind God was actively included in every aspect of living.  My father, a theologian in his own right, and a great student of the Bible, would often share his thinking and learning with us, so by the time I got to college, I had a healthy understanding of, and appreciation for, a God more like Anne's than Jonathan's.  College teachers continued to challenge and encourage my thinking and my relationship in ways I am only now beginning to appreciate.  What I thought was the norm turns out to be somewhat unusual for most.  But it has given me is a place and a way to minister to others in encouraging their own personal discovery of the true character of God and for that I am thankful.

For Balmy Sunshine and Rich Blessings

Saguaro National Park, Tucson, AZ

Day three of the longest Thanksgiving Break I've ever had--one whole week.  What a luxury!  Normally I'd be in school until noon today but this year, our school decided to take the entire week off.  For that, I am thankful.  But that's the least of the things I am thankful for this year.  I'm mindful of the prayer-song that we used to sing when I was a girl--about being thankful for the basics that surround us along with the bountiful blessings.

Hartwell Tavern, Concord, MA

Five years ago, when I blogged about it (here), I had no idea that I'd one day be living in the Valley of the Sun enjoying serious balmy sunshine (but very little nourishing rain) year-round.  In many ways, that's one of the rich blessings, even though I miss New England so much sometimes that it aches.  Times like this week, I'd give a lot to be able to take the quick drive to Lexington and Concord to start my Christmas shopping, or take a stroll through the woods to Hartwell Tavern, or walk the path to the Old North Bridge or take the tour through Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House for the umpteenth time . . . never mind enjoy the bounty of a table laden with favorite food alongside family and long-time friends.  I'd even give something to watch the snow swirl crazily outside my window, piling up on the car and working its magic in the dusky sky at sundown.

Old North Bridge, Concord, MA

Instead, I am spending the early morning hours of this day at my laptop, watching out my window at hummingbirds, woodpeckers, Western juncos, and finches taking their fill at the feeder on the other side of my window and anticipating a delicious meal tomorrow with new (relatively) friends.  And while this isn't the Thanksgiving I have long loved, it is a Thanksgiving I will enjoy all the same.  I cannot complain...

Saguaro National Park, Tucson, AZ

For balmy sunshine
For nourishing rain
Dear Lord and our Father
We thank Thee.

Monarch Butterflies

For food and Thy care
Rich blessings we share
Dear Lord and our Father
We thank Thee.

We thank Thee, oh Lord.

Photos taken in Concord 5 years ago, Saguaro National Park near Tucson two weeks ago, and the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix one week ago.

Preparing for Day One

We are one week away from starting classes again (school starts on Monday, classes begin on Wednesday), but have been in pre-session meetings since last Thursday.  During and in between those meetings, I've been talking with various colleagues about the importance of writing.  The more I said, the more hypocritical I felt.  With my mouth I was saying yes, it's important to write, to let your students and colleagues see and know that you write.  A new colleague shared extensively with us about the importance of writing in the classroom and our departments are collaborating on creating a whole-school writing protocol, complete with rubrics that will help all disciplines work towards competence in writing in each and every discipline.  But here it has been seven months since I've written here!  That is about to change . . . I hope.

Thing is, I go at this in jags.  sometimes I'll be on a writing jag and other times I'll be on a reading one . . . and rarely am I on the two at the same time.  For me, it's almost physically impossible as they require two opposite actions of me.  And yet one feeds off of--and inspires--the other, so I really should be able to do both, right?

Yes.  I am determined.  Wish me luck!!!

Trying my hand at writing with a quill pen at the Jane Austen Centre in Bath, England.