Quarantine Blues?

Still apart…

It’s a Monday here. I realize I am fighting the blues. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be…because there are many people in situations much more dire than mine! In fact, I am not in a “dire” situation at all…however, I am in an “abnormal” situation like everyone else! I am estranged from my husband, who was working out of state when COVID-19 struck–and unable to make plans to see him. So, like many others–Abnormal is an apt word for our lives–at minimum. And for some, who have been unable to be with loved ones the few days before they passed away–unthinkable is more apt.

After awhile, abnormal becomes–stressful–no matter what point your life falls on the scale of abnormal to unthinkable. So I was grateful this morning for the Daily Bread that focused on Psalm 42. Because not only does this Psalm remind us we WILL “put [our] hope in God” again –[despite very discouraging times]–the Psalmist also gives meaningful expression to our feelings during such times. Listen…

“Day and night I have only tears for food…” (v.3)

“My heart is breaking…” (v.4)

“My God! Now I am deeply discouraged…” (v.6)

“‘O God my rock,'” I cry, ”’Why have Your forgotten me? Why must I wander around in grief?'” (v.9)

“Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad?” (v.11)

Often we hesitate to spend time giving voice to our feelings of sadness, frustration, or grief–if we are Christians. Instead, we press on to the “solution verses” and just focus on the “God will help us” parts. Because, yes, it’s true–He will. But it’s also obvious from this Psalm (and others) as well as Jesus’s own ministry, that giving time and voice to pain and suffering is important.

Jesus wept, too. And He is the One Who said: “Come to Me all Ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11:28) I assume He said this, because He knew we are all heavy laden with many things. Our sin, yes, but the troubles of this world, too. Jesus mentions those as well, and offers His peace, which is unlike that of this world (tied to circumstances) (John 14:27). I note that with His Peace He does not promise an escape from suffering on this earth (John 16:37), just an antidote in Himself to deal with the troubles of this world and an eternal solution to sin and strife. Which I find to be more honest and genuine than any other offer quite frankly.

So back to our Psalm 42. It is therapeutic to recite it aloud. Sometimes there is no concrete answer to ‘Why is my heart so sad?”– and sometimes there is. Regardless, God is there feeling our pain and offering Himself to share the yoke of suffering with us. And with the Psalmist we, too, can eventually say,

“Each day the LORD pours His unfailing love upon me; and through each night I sing his songs…” (v.8)

Lent: A Season to Reconnect

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do you remember life before Smart Phones? Before that voice in your head was always saying things like: “better check my _____ site”,  “my ________ page”, or “see if _________  replied?”  Frankly, that’s a lot of blanks!  And even more frankly — there seems to be an ironic DISconnect because of the constant use of sites and devices designed to keep us connected.

Once upon a time we got home from work, opened the mail, returned a phone call or two–and bingo–we were done with messages for the day! Almost miraculously (it seems now), we could enjoy the rest of the evening relaxing with our families. Now, we have an endless battle with messages:  voicemail, email, Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and snail mail! We are NEVER done checking messages, because with 24-hour access the day simply never ends. And we are always accessible.

For example, have you noticed when two people meet for lunch, there are way more than two people there? “Ding. Oops, gotta check this…Sorry. What was that?”

And even if we are dutifully ignoring our phones–honestly, where is our brain? Worried about what needs to be responded to.  All these obligations – are to what? And to whom?

That is the question of today.

And no I don’t have the answer. But I do know one thing, I am not going to sit around and simply be swished downstream in the ever-widening flood of omnipresent social media. Pretty soon a talking head will appear in my bath water!

Hence, my decision to engage in a primary fast from social media for the season of Lent. Why? My hope is to spend time reconnecting with God– to learn again how to be quiet enough to hear His voice (rather than mine). And then to pray for better connections with friends and family, too.

Thus, for the 40 days of Lent I will:  A) not post anything      B) not spend spontaneous time scrolling social media sites  and C) will purposefully do “spot checks” twice a week (with a timer set for 5 minutes)–to scan for major life events such as funerals, weddings, etc.

I have learned that nothing takes precedence over relationships: our relationship with God and our relationships with others. And whatever we can do to enhance these…well, it is simply worth trying.

Just how to get there… more thoughts after Easter!

” For thus said the Lord God… in quietness and trust shall be your strength.”             (Isaiah 30:15)

 

 

 

 

 

“A Room Called Remember”

 

Sometimes there is a simple path to a profound truth.

     In my last post,  Sorrow and Solitude  , I shared my need to take time away because of the sadness that had come to people I love. And hence to me.  I needed time to feel the sorrow–to reflect on things–and let God speak to me.

During this time I read a book by the wonderful writer, Frederich Buechner, called The Remarkable Ordinary.  In it he tells of the healing that comes when we pause the rush of life long enough to remember–and reflect–on our lives.  So that we begin to see our “story,” and perhaps find that our “ordinary lives’ may actually be weaving an extraordinary tale.

Then, says Buechner, one can begin to see a “stream” of Grace, that flows through our life–almost hidden, but really there–just as real as the rest of our life.  It will be that we can hear it, feel it, and see it–if only we take time to listen (which is the hard part).  But if we do–reflect, remember and listen–the story can lead us to places where we catch a glimpse of God–reaching out, as it were, to intercept us.  A little push in some direction, or a “clue’ that He is there–watching–and working out a redemptive story for all the sorrow that crushes in on us–and everyone else–in this broken world.

For your story is also my story, Buechner reminds us, quoting Maya Angelou.  Though the details, of course,will differ.  They are the same because, somehow, we all must work our way through life’s heavy loads–but we need not do it alone, nor without moments of joy that help heal the sorrow.

And that is where “The Room called Remember” comes in.

Beuchner tells how this came to him in a dream–where he found himself searching and longing for a certain room in a large hotel.  He knew only one thing about this room, only that he always felt perfectly at peace there.  But after leaving it,  he could not find his way back.  So, in the dream he inquires at the desk for the room number, but the clerk tells him the room does not have a number– only a name.  But that he can go back there anytime he wants–he only needs to: “Remember.”   And so, it is “The Room Called Remember.”

This so touched me I began to cry.  Because, even though I did not have traumatic childhood memories to work through (as Buechner did),  there is so much in life I NEED to remember–to go back and truly feel and experience. Because life has been so busy–well, since forever–as it has for almost everyone.  And yes, even for those of us with “ordinary childhoods” there are hurts left in closets.

It’s as if we live life without feeling it most of the time. Always moving on because of the pure busyness of it all. As if joy and revelry and delight in the sunshine of the day is only for children.  But remembering and feeling, smiling and laughing have their place–and it’s a healing one.

Truly, we must remember–and feel again–or die inside.

So because of the sorrow I took this time.  And then–“out of the blue” I had this dream (I am one of those rare folk who sleep like a rock and seldom dream at all, much less have “meaningful” dreams, so this is a first…).  But, in this dream my deceased father appears. Out of nowhere he is there; we are just standing, facing each other at the end of a road.  In the dream I know he is not supposed to be there, so I just stare at him and think…

“Dad, you’re dead–you can’t be here!!”

He looks over at me and smiles.  Then, very characteristically, with his slow deliberate walk, comes over and puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a good hard squeeze.   He looks me in the eyes and says, “I just came to give you a hug.”  He smiles his mischievous smile again and then he is gone, just like that.

The dream woke me up with a start.

“Wow. Dad came to give me a hug!” That was all I thought, but it was like shot of pure adrenaline.

No plot, no nothing else.  So maybe it was more like a vision than a dream? I wouldn’t know.   But regardless, I knew that it MEANT something.  I knew that as clear as day–which was very odd.

Buechner writes about how a dream can be at the same time, a “word from you and a word to you,” and I think that was true about this dream. It was a revelation of sorts–a message I needed to hear.

Later on that day as I thought about that dream, I asked God to help me know what the dream was to show me.   It was a simple reminder of the Father love of God–something to REMEMBER: We don’t just serve God, we are to enjoy His love.  That was it–the delight of a Father who just wanted to hug his daughter–pure love–nothing to prove.

God delights in me simply because I am His… What a thought to think on.

So take time to reflect on the ordinary things in your life–and you might catch a glimpse of that quiet, grace of God on a simple path called Remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorrow and Solitude

 

 

Life has gone sad lately.

And I’ve been craving the quiet—still paths to ponder and think.

It began to happen all at once.

My daughter was pregnant, and then she wasn’t–she lost her baby–our first grandchild.

Then two of my best friends had sudden, close deaths in their families.

So much sadness at once!

I find myself  longing for music–long, low songs filled with emotion.  Most any kind, as long as it calls to the heart.

I want to feel the pain, the sorrow, the missing someone I never really knew, yet loved. I want to feel the hurt for friends, and my daughter, who are on journeys of grief, deeper than my own.

I have decided grieving is a journey with no destination–for sorrow has a home all its own.  And for everyone it is unique, and there is no way to know when you are there, or if it’s good to arrive–or not.

It is like traveling in tunnel, with only windows that others peek in.  They try to come in, but they can’t–for your sorrow is yours, not theirs.

How can another know the love you lost?

Yet, in the dark, still of the quiet night—I found there is One Who walks beside me.

And so I rest in His arms, this God in flesh, the “Man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief…” He knows. (Is. 53:3)

Alas,  we women often cope with pain by staying busy; I can’t do it this time. So, I will be taking a break from regular blogging, to find solace in the silence, solitude with God, and time with family and friends.  Though I will be perusing others’ posts to find inspiration and the joy of community…hopefully the desire to write will return in time!

My many thanks to the WordPress Community 🙂

Weekly Photo Challenge: Beloved

* “Dad” – the one who made us smile

Beloved – “dearly loved, cherished, treasured…prized.”  The dictionary defines it.                                                            But only people can embody it.

To share a photo of someone or something that is beloved.  Now that’s a hard challenge– because there are many.  But since this is February I chose my Dad.

Echoes of his voice, his piercing whistle and the scent of his pipe filter in and out of my thoughts this time of year. It was a February four years ago I got the call.  You know the one–when someone leaves this world for another–and you aren’t ready for it.

Yet, it was in my loss that I learned how MUCH I’d been loved.

Yes, my Dad was truly beloved.  Not just by me, but by many.  My brothers, my mother, grand kids, friends at his morning coffee spots and business associates… It is easy to say why.  In a quiet and unassuming way, he made you feel as if you mattered–valued, important, and heard–as if you counted.  Believed in.  Some people go their whole lives and never feel that.

Yep.  Beloved is the best word for a man like that.

 

*Photo credit for the collage goes to my younger brother, Jeff Vestal