Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

The Joy of Eyebrows



I never really appreciated eyebrows properly til now. They let you know where your face begins and they punctuate your expressions. I'm glad I've still got mine - mostly.

On Monday, I had my last really toxic chemo! Like eyebrows, it marks the place where I can expect healing to begin. I will continue to have infusions every three weeks of herceptin and the experimental drug avastin, but they don't carry the toxic wallop of the full chemo treatment I've been getting.

Thank you for your prayers. I had no emergencies at this treatment. And while my face is burning, most people think I've just been out in the beautiful spring sunshine. It reminds me not to celebrate quite yet. I will still need to expect the full round of difficulties for the next three weeks. Then I can begin to make real headway against the damage done to my healthy systems by the chemo.

I will see the radiation oncologist in mid-April and find out what that regimen will entail.

Monday, February 01, 2010

Seeking True North


When I started chemo, several friends who have survived cancer advised, "When you begin to lose your hair, just take charge and shave it all off. You need to have some way to take control." I liked that idea. Me over cancer. Me wryly living that dream all of us women have embraced on some dark bad-hair day of simply shaving it off and starting over. I'm a take-charge kinda gal.

But when the hair began to fall in sheets and clumps, I knew there was something else I needed to affirm. I have cancer because God is in charge, not me. All the things I have taken charge of have been taken from me - at least for a time - because I need to remember that truly I am NOT in charge. And however it looks from here and now, that is a good thing. So I needed something to remind me that I will seek God's direction and be still under His guidance.

No, I didn't shave. I tried to enjoy the emotional satisfaction of actually being able to tear my hair out when things got intense. But it wasn't fun enough. I knew I was just waiting in a trackless darkness for God to...do something.


Then Richard Fudge's Visual Prayer Journal project came across my radar through the Creative Edge Artist's Network. He and God arranged for the Journal to reach me during my most discouraged cancer time so far. Designing a page that reflects my determination to wait on God's direction helped me come to terms with the feelings of helplessness, and to frame my prayer for His will to be done in and through me.

The background is a map of the Arctic Ocean sea floor, the darkest, most trackless place on Earth, a place where even a compass is useless. As the tsunami of troubles obliterates all known landmarks, God's Will is the only true north my heart will seek.

Photo is True North by Kim Anderson, 2010. Click on photo for a larger view.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Cold Comfort & Warm Hearts


As you know, I particularly dreaded this chemo round. So God's comfort began before treatment on Sunday. Our church had a special Ascent service, a modern hymns movement concert and worship service that included communion, foot-washing, healing anointing and prayer. The music was beautifully done and encouraged vocal improvisation that I really enjoy. Then the music took a more contemplative turn as worshipers were invited to the ministries at the sides of the sanctuary. It is distressing to me when I am too sick to come to communion, so this was His gracious banquet to strengthen me. The prayer warrior I spoke with for prayer knew my general illness, but not the details. Unusually, she anointed my hands with oil, not my head. Coincidence? I thought it was all over, but an old friend pulled me aside and wanted to wash my feet, "because she loves me". It was an astonishing revelation of the Body of Christ. Some fed the spirit, some the heart and some...comforted the poor broken places they didn't even know they touched.

Chemo #3 yesterday began rather discouragingly, when the nurses had trouble accessing my port. The port is a surgically-implanted catheter into a major artery, giving access with minimum damage to veins to all the infusions I'll need plus allowing all the blood samples to be collected easily and with a minimum number of stabs. The tubing inside had gotten both kinked and clogged at the end. The nurses were creative and patient, but they still had to draw blood at another site. The good news is that they got it working for the chemo infusions - so no damage to peripheral veins. This could become a real problem, since this port should serve me for a whole year.

This time, I tried my naturopath's latest suggestion for minimizing the debilitating burning in my hands & feet. While I was taking the bad-boy chemo infusion, I immersed my hands and feet in icy water. This constricts the blood flow, limiting the amount of taxotere that is delivered to the afflicted areas.

I had a bit of swelling & burning in my hands last night, so I thought it hadn't worked. But I took some Apis (made from bee venom - go figure), and by morning, all the swelling & burning was gone. So maybe we have this under control. I will know for sure some time around Wednesday.

Meanwhile the "Merry Maids" from church came to make my house feel like home again. Not only did they clean it top to bottom, changing sheets and towels, but they left a fragrant soup in the crock pot, and my favorite flowers smiling out of surprising nooks throughout the house. Best of all, they left the benediction of their special prayers in all the living areas.

Mom & Dad completely rearranged their lives to schlep me around town in case I should be too dizzy after chemo to be a safe driver, and then to be with me overnight as well. My cup runneth over.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

CarePages echo #2


Becoming

Thanks for your prayers this weekend. Monday I took a turn for the better and today, I'm beginning to feel human again.

My Doc chirpily told me on Monday that all of my difficulties were within the bounds of normal expectations for this type of chemo. Well, the burning hands & feet concerned her enough to consider reducing my taxotere dose in the next round. While I'm glad to know that I won't be having to spend my most miserable days in the ER, I'm a little daunted by the prospect of anticipating this stuff in the ordinary course of affairs.

At this rate, I'm useless for a good ten days following chemo. I find being a virtual invalid as difficult as the actual symptoms. My good friend, Sandy, a breast cancer survivor, put things into perspective for me over coffee last week. "Asking for help is one of the things God wants you to be able to do."

It was an Aha! moment. These disabilities are practice for expanded ability. Ps 104 reminded me today that the waters that drowned and shrouded the mountains as they rose as scars on a broken earth, are the same waters that nourish man and nature today. All wine-gladdened feasts, all forested wonders, all mysteries of the seas flow from springs that frolic down the craigged remnants of that terrible judgment.

So once again, it's not about what we have been. It's about who we must become.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

CarePages posts now here, too


After receiving several distressed messages from friends whose computers don't want to be friends with CarePages, I agreed to post the CarePages notes here as well. If you want to subscribe here, you can set your preferences to email you when I post, just like on care pages. See the sidebar. Sorry to all of you who are seeing this for the second time. Here are the last two CarePages posts.

Chemo #2: Natural Therapies Pay Off

This second round of chemo started with 2 hours worth of labs and tests. (They took more blood than sparkly Edward.) But the results showed that the fasting across the chemo toxicity, and the naturopathic supplements (not to mention the prayers) have been having a significant protective effect. Most of my blood counts were still in the normal range, only two dropped just below the line. And my kidney function, which is expected to be impaired by the Avastin trial, actually increased!

I am very encouraged because the first round of chemo is an especially heavy dose the Doc calls the loading dose. The rest of the treatments are smaller maintenance doses.

Today I will start a few new supplements to combat the Hand & Foot syndrome reaction, which is already showing itself again. I am hoping to upload a music video of a setting for Ps 123, which I wrote, before my fingers get too burned to play. Ps 123 has become my theme song for cancer. I'm not in charge; I'm not in control, but I'll take my cues from the Master whose hand I watch intently.

Watch for it on my blog: www.mother-lode.blogspot.com If you subscribe, you can set your preferences to email you a note when I update there. You can also follow me on Twitter @KimAMotherLode. When I tweet about cancer observations I use the hashtag #kcancer

As the Stomach Turns

Well, this morning (Sunday) I woke to find the world spinning at a different rate than my insides. It must have been a riot watching me try to walk to the bathroom or even to sit up. Of course, none of my gentlemen watched (the girls are back at school). They leaned in to brace me to the straight path.

Against my better judgement, but in obedience to Dr's orders, I spent most of the day in the ER trying to run down the cause of my extreme dizziness & vomiting. The ER did its best to find out: CAT scans, x-rays, blood tests - the whole nine yards. In the end, they sent me home full of Benadryl and nausea meds with a big shrug of their collective shoulders. Jack says the good news is that they ruled out brain tumors and other shadowy horrors. I just feel sheepish - and slightly green.

I think the good news is that the dizziness has mostly passed. I have kept my dinner down, and had a good nap into the bargain. I was well enough this evening to go to a gathering of church musicians, in celebration of God's power not to let this disease have the last word in my life.

Tomorrow, I have a follow-up appointment with my oncologist. Please pray that she will have some insight into the dizzy episode, as it doesn't seem actually to be over. My hands & feet continue to blister, making basic chores mostly beyond me. Grr!


Friday, January 08, 2010

Things You Can't Do Without Cancer


Faithful followers will recall that God served me up this little Short Term Project (STP) this fall: breast cancer. And that I resolved (not merely) to beat it. So I've been looking for the things I couldn't have done without it. Thought you might like to have a preliminary look at my current list.

Without cancer you can't:
  • Participate in clinical trials for new cancer drugs or natural therapies.
  • Tear out your hair in clumps for emotional release or personal revenge (ask me later).
  • Justify ordering people to fetch, carry, scrub, cook, open jars, or be your hands and feet without feeling guilty.
  • Dress like a pirate queen in a business setting and keep your job.
  • Inspire half a dozen co-workers to stick with the South Beach Diet through the Christmas holiday.
  • Find a moral imperative in a hair-do or lack thereof (story for another day).
  • See sunsets, snowstorms, Christmas trees or children's faces clearly enough.
  • Catch a glimpse of the Bride in all her compassionate splendor as she dispenses gifts from Christ's bounty.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Lizard Woman


Well, I'm officially ready for the freak show. The steroids finally got ahead of the burning hands, but now everything that burned is peeling. Aaand the hair is going.

To tell the truth, it does feel like I'm half dead. Nothing tastes right. I'm touching life through a stiff film that flakes off as I bend. Even my eyes fog over like some snake shedding its skin.

"Wilt thou show wonders to the dead? Shall the dead arise and praise thee? Shall thy lovingkindness be declared in the grave? or thy faithfulness in destruction?" Ps 88:10,11.

David thought the answer was "of course not"; he was asking for deliverance. I think that since Jesus' resurrection the answer is actually, "Exactly! Yes." The dead rise to praise Him every day. So will I.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Advent: Crushed Head, Bruised Heel


Advent invites us to consider - no, to dance - the measure of memory and of longing. Christ has come; Christ is coming. It is not enough merely to think. It might be enough to journey, to wait, to bear the shame to shudder under the angels' song, to labor, to cradle, to wonder. It might be enough to live His coming. Every year He comes into a new place in each of us personally. And He uses the wildest media. The things we discard, disregard, dread.

This year, for me it is illness and humbling. I have cancer. I am not in control. My cells have forgotten their duties. I have forgotten what it means to be human. Judah had forgotten what it meant to be God's people. Surgery at the end of the old Church calendar carved out the deadly flesh that spread still more death. The chemotherapy coincides with the beginning of Advent, the new year of our Lord.

I am looking for Him. Will He "reconcile the violence in my heart"? Will He purge the demons of my past and read, somehow, the longings I have buried under the limping drive to make some kind of a difference to His Kingdom? What kind of new birth can I expect in the stabled darkness?

Surely He will come. Even Time serves Him. I expect to hear the Gloria, to rock the limp weight of new life...something. But I will not settle for a substitute.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus!
-----------------------------------------------------
Artwork by Kim Anderson. Crushed Head, Bruised Heel. Ink on glass, 1978.

Monday, November 16, 2009

How NOT to (merely) survive cancer


Did you catch Kyle McDonald's One Red Paperclip? In which, an enterprising guy traded for a year for a house, starting with one red paperclip? Maybe you saw SuperSize Me! in which a brave guy with questionable intelligence ate only McDonalds fast food for one month and proved that it will make you sick - and fat. These short term projects or STPs are the thinking man's reality TV.

Well, some are born to STPs, some achieve STPs and some have STPs thrust upon 'em. A few days after my last post God thrust upon me a one-year STP: breast cancer. One year to lose hold of all the projects I’ve chosen. One year to be the needy one, the un-able, the circumscribed. One year on the Tilt-a-Whirl of chemo, radiation and clinical trials. One year to focus on saving my own life (something about that just seems wrong to a lifetime, frontline Christian :p).

Nevertheless I still have choices, in the grace of God. So the STP that I chose is: How NOT to (merely) survive cancer. I will be looking for opportunities that come to me uniquely because I have cancer. Hands in the air, screaming my lungs out, I will be hoping to step off the ride next Thanksgiving, wobbly with triumph, with something more than (merely) my life in my hands.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Sabbath or Slavery: Understanding the Banking Bailout Part 3


The passage of the banking bailout is profoundly troubling. When men play God, their plans soon go awry and other men suffer. And when men manipulate a fiat currency, they declare that they can change the standards of measure without reference to any higher authority or any stable measure of value. They imply that they themselves are the standard of value. That is playing God.

The God who rules from on high will not be mocked. I think this will turn out badly. However, that is not the end of the story.

Ancient Israel was destroyed by God in response to Israel’s perversion of His law, particularly for oppressing the poor economically and judicially (see Amos). Judah, the southern kingdom was sent into exile for oppressing widows and orphans. It looked like the end for them. But the prophets never said so. Wherever they predicted death, they also predicted resurrection for those who would devote themselves to God anew. The judgments were designed to remove oppressors and to promote those who served God to wider influence.

Consider Daniel and his three friends. They were torn from their families, displaced from their homes, shoved into a rehabilitation program designed to produce good little Babylonian yes-men. But, drawing on the pastoral training of Ezekiel, they refused to despair. They dared to look to God as a deliverer, even as they knew Him to be the avenger of wrongs. They purposed to follow Him, come what might, and to throw themselves on His mercy rather than on Nebuchadnezzar’s. Essentially, they determined to be on the right side of God’s vengeance the next time.

God did become their protector, and more. He became their promoter. Though they had been princes in little, backwater Judah, God promoted them in exile to the highest influence and direct authority in the greatest power of their time. Death and resurrection. A purge and then promotion.

I don’t pretend to know how this will work out precisely for us in this situation. But I do know that the response of the faithful will look something like Daniel. We should not hope in the banking bailout; neither should we despair as it produces more oppression. We should imitate Daniel and his friends.

What did they do?
1. They confessed the sins of their nation, acknowledging God’s justice in judging those transgressions.
2. They asked for God’s mercy, not because of any righteousness in Judah, but because Judah represented God to the nations and Judah’s demise would bring God’s reputation into question among the heathen.
3. They purposed to follow God regardless of men’s demands, determining that they would rather fall into the hand of God than into the hand of man.
4. They hoped in God’s deliverance, and depended on His goodness. But they did not expect an easy time.
5. They looked for opportunities to serve God and to spread His rule to those among whom they found themselves.

All this we can do in our situation. Despite the assumption by the Federal Reserve and other economic bigwigs that they are in control, we must depend on the One who owns every asset in the universe.

My favorite commentary on Daniel: Handwriting on the Wall by James B. Jordan. It's inspiring, encouraging, practical, and soul-searching. Available at Biblical Horizons or American Vision.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Accidental Joy


Her voice was stiff with unshed tears. “Mommy? Somebody hit me. I was just sitting at the light and this big truck knocked me into the SUV in front of me. I’m OK. He just plowed into me. The police are here. He never even looked. I think my car is totaled. Can you come and get me?” The last word sheared up on the ragged fringe of her courage.

Anne had won an appointment to a state legislator’s staff as a high school junior. And she had won a grant for the car that would take her to the capitol past our most dangerous neighborhoods every week. Together, they had been her God-given respite from the money worries that threaten to swamp our children’s hopes; the reward of long, diligent work. And now both internship and car were the wreckage of another man’s neglect.

“Oh, God! Let her know with complete certainty that You have meant this for her benefit. Let her know that You are good, even in this,” I breathed as I navigated the patchy ice of downtown side streets to her rescue. I was furious; worried that she would feel mocked by God. I could just hear Him laughing.

This weekend, I dropped Anne off at one of the nation’s most well-respected music camps for a six-week one-on-one music composition intensive with a famous American composer, and a new computer, and a new (if somewhat humbler) car. The long-delayed insurance settlement had principally financed them all. Somehow, we had managed to get Anne safely to her internship every week without her car.

Her assessment of the whole episode? “Well, God certainly has a sense of humor!” And we are all laughing now.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Sacrifice of Praise


Did you ever notice how often David's Psalms say, "I will praise the Lord..." Not, "I feel so wonderful! Praise God!" Not "I can't keep from busting out with happiness!" Just "I WILL".

I am reading I Samuel with my son, and we are finding it instructive to read his poetry along with David's life story. From the perspective of suburban American comfort, David's poetry doesn't jibe with his experience.

He was the overlooked, un-promising youngest son. He spent most of his adolescence shouldering adult responsibilities with spectacular success and provoking growing envy. He spent his young adulthood living hand-to-mouth in caves, hunted as a criminal by the very man who had been his role-model. When he came to power, not only was his kingdom surrounded by external enemies, but it was wracked by internal factions stirred up by the insane policies of his predecessor. He sinned grievously in one terrible abuse of power, resulting in revolt in his own family. David's own son led a (briefly) successful coup...

But his poetry is laced with "I will praise the Lord..." Seems to me that feeling good wasn't the motivation for that praise. David himself calls it "the sacrifice of praise." He simply chose to focus on God's rescues, not on his own difficulties. And so will I.

Have a look at others' praises on this Thankful Thursday at Sting My Heart...

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Fellowship of Suffering


"Wherever you are spiritually whatever you have been through emotionally, you are already wrapped in the Lord's embrace. Held close by nail-scarred hands." ~ Liz Curtis Higgs~

I believe in a sovereign God. So when I look around (or inwards) and see all the suffering, it is often difficult to reconcile His power with a loving God. Surely a loving God who is all-powerful would do something to relieve the suffering of His people.


But no. Our suffering is called chastisement. It is given by God Himself, according to Scripture in order to strengthen us and to lead us to greater understanding.


Psychologists tell us that this is exactly the argument of an abuser. An abuser, in the midst of his torments, tells his victims, "This is for your own good."


So what's the difference? The difference is the Cross. Our sovereign God is also a suffering God. One who has taken on Himself, undeserving, all the destructive power of Hell.
He endured infinite torment, closed in a frame just like mine, to crush the head of the serpent. To draw the deadly poison from pain. So that now, the suffering He serves us is in the character of the pain inflicted by a surgeon saving the life of a cancer patient. Or of an Olympic trainer preparing an athlete for victory.

Christ Jesus does not view our suffering from a safe distance. He does not even enter the suffering with us.
He is there already, waiting for us to join Him in the 'fellowship of His suffering'.

So when you find yourself tossed into the furnace, expect two things. Like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, expect to see Him there, and expect your bonds to go up in smoke.

I commend to you a study of Hebrews, where Jesus' identification with us in suffering is explained as a supreme credential qualifying Him as our High Priest.



Friday, December 22, 2006

Redeeming the Time: Imitating Christ 2


"...out of the mouths of babes and infants you have established strength (praise) because of your foes, to still the enemy and the avenger..." (Ps 8:2)

This is the paradox of the Incarnation. God proposed to still His mighty and numerous foes out of the mouth of one Child, who had taken on all the limitations and disadvantages of humanity.

And yet, because He put on frail flesh, we can put on the whole armor of God (Eph 6). Because He did not cry or lift up His voice against His oppressors (Isa 42:2, 53:7), we can open our mouths in praise and thanks (Phil 2:9-11; Isa 35:10; Lk 1:67-75). Because He limited His divine perceptions to five senses, we have our eyes opened, our ears unstopped, our hands strengthened, our tongues loosed, our feet straightened and our prisons unlocked (Isa 42:7; 35:3-6).

Because He did not insist upon His divine prerogatives, but condescended to serve the blind, the lame, the fearful, the ungrateful, and even the traitor; we are called and enabled to serve where no one sees, no one helps, no one says 'thanks', and where we are likely to be betrayed (Phil. 2:5-11). Probably we will not have to search far to find such a place in our lives.

May God strengthen us with His joy to this service: that we may set aside our prerogatives and serve in such a way that eyes are opened, ears are unstopped, hands are strengthened, tongues are loosed, and prisons unlocked. And though we suffer in this service, let it not be simply as a doormat, but only as it frees to righteousness those we serve and binds us in joy and gratitude to the One who suffered everything for us.

Let us see and adore Him.

An Epiphany

We've never been rich, but we thank God. There really is something about scarcity that sharpens the sensibilities. When it comes to gift-giving times, the desire to be able to gift the ones you love with something of real value is almost a physical ache.

And it brings into clearer focus some of the reasons why Jesus came to us in poverty and lowliness - not only to feel our weaknesses, our miseries, but also to feel that sharp longing to have something to give...

On my birthday, three little packages shone bravely from the festive table. The first, urged upon me eagerly by Elizabeth, our eldest, was wrapped in an origami envelope of Byzantine complexity. The shining contents cascaded and clicked sensuously into my hand: a necklace gathered of all the lost and secret bits of the jewelry our sometime princesses have worn in their day. She had even sacrificed a couple of real Venetian glass beads that had been handsome vases in her dollhouse. Together they were a talisman of childhood's delights.

Then Winston, with ingenuous grin and self-deprecating wag of the head, thrust two carefully folded sheets of paper into my hand. "I love you, Mommy!" he breathed. The papers showed a four-year-old's pen and ink jungle inhabited by an ark-full of dinosaur stickers. Just days before, feeling wealthy with the proceeds of her first babysitting job, Elizabeth had bought each of her siblings a small present. These dinosaurs had been Winston's.

With a miserable sigh, Anne pushed her offering closer and handed me another origami envelope. She plopped down next to me, studying my face as I read the careful second grade script, "I didn't have much to work with. Love, Anne". I blinked and swallowed hard. Inside her box was a bird, soaring wings outstretched. It was too large to make a convenient ornament, but its curves whispered, "touch me". Anne alone had seen hidden possibilities in it as it lay in a jumbled garage sale box last summer and had rescued it with her last nickel. Now it wore fairy tale colors and sparkled with a crusting of make-believe gems that would have done credit to the Emperor's nightingale.

Anne glowed like a star next to me, urgent with the hope that I, too, could now see the fabulous beauty in this homely bit of plastic. And those wings arched with a burning radiance, thundering accompaniment to the heartbreaking "Gloria!" blazing from otherwordly throats, the love song of the Bridegroom, argent with the hope that we, His beloved could see our ransom, our resurrection, our Redeemer in a pauper's newborn.

With such gifts, we shall never be poor.

December 1996

Kim Anderson

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Redeeming the Time: Imitating Christ


This Sunday, Christmas Eve coincides with the final Sunday of Advent. So we have a superabundance of Scripture to choose from. Traditionally, when this happens the Church has read the Advent Scriptures in the morning and the Christmas Eve Scriptures in the evening.

Fourth Sunday of Advent:
Isa 42:1-12; Eph 6:10-20; John 3:16-21; Ps 8
Christmas Eve: Isa 35:1-10; Phil 2:5-11; Luke 1:67-80; Ps 45

These are particularly rich, showing us how "all the light of sacred story gathers round thy head divine..." to quote the hymn. Here we see Jesus, the King, the avenging warrior, the lover, the humble servant, the obedient son, the innocent babe, the Creator, the Redeemer...

And then there is the admonition, "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Jesus Christ..." So let us especially consider 'how would God have me to imitate Christ?'

See you Friday!

P.S. Thanks for being patient waiting for this post! Denver is in the grip of a tree-cracking, road-blocking, power-grid busting blizzard. I'm grateful to be able to get online!

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

He Still Comes


As part of our Advent celebrations, my family is reading aloud The End of the Spear, the account of how Jesus' coming to the Waodani people of the Amazon is transforming their culture.

Steve Saint, the son of one of the five missionaries killed by the Waodani in the Through Gates of Splendor massacre in the '50's, tells how his second-generation family was invited by the Waodani to help them learn how to interface with the modern world. Though Saint's style is unsentimental, the tale is incredibly moving.

I was struck with his concern to encourage the Waodani to take up responsibility for themselves and to take initiative to produce their own economy, to provide their own tribal leadership, etc. He walked the fine line of showing them the way and then getting out of the way, lest they become just another exploitable welfare-state waif tribe.

I found it very encouraging for times when I feel deserted by God, who could make everything alright for me. Isn't this what God is doing for us? He has shown us the way to holiness, to sanctification, to becomming more and more conformed to His image, and then He has left us with the subtle 'radio contact' of the Holy Spirit - so that we won't become Heaven's welfare cases. So that we will be able to take our places among the strong, shining ones we admire among His saints.

(I-TEC is the "Indigenous Peoples' Technology and Education Center", an organization creatied by Steve Saint and the Waodani to help other tribal peoples enter the 21st century without entering a slave-like dependency on first-world peoples.)

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Faith & Insanity


"Faith is deliberate confidence in the character of God whose ways you may not understand at the time." ~ Oswald Chambers~

What is it that persuades someone to hope beyond the evidence of their experience? When everything around you tells you that the world is nothing more than a place of cruel torments and that God, if He exists, loves to mock His creatures, what gives you the audacity to declare that God is good? Or that life's horrors are the path to glory?

Your shrink will tell you that it's insanity (what color would you like your straightjacket?). Your pastor will tell you that it's faith.

But don't worry, you're in good company.
  • Noah, that old fool, was a-building a huge boat for probably upwards of a century on a land-locked bit of ground while raving about escaping judgement by means of this mercy of God.
  • Joseph continued in patient and excellent service, on the hope of a dream (literally!), after being betrayed by his own brothers, sold as a slave, falsely accused by his master's wife, and forgotten in prison by those he had helped.
  • Mary maintained that God was her good and merciful savior even after He exposed her to the dangerous accusation of "unwed mother". She even heard voices and saw things that no one else saw.
I think I'll take my place among these raving lunatics. And there is a reason - even while the rest of it looks crazy. If God is not who He says He is; if life is not a training ground for something more; then nothing matters at all. There really is no difference between cruelty and non-cruelty, between good and evil, between "making a difference" and living for "all the gusto you can get".

So get the straighjacket ready, if you like. I'll just go on singing.



Tuesday, November 14, 2006

The Perfect Gift


"No gift unrecognized as coming from God is at its own best... when in all gifts we find Him, then in Him we shall find all things."

~ George MacDonald~

"So tell us about your walk with God." The elders leaned into the membership interview. The organist was practicing in some far gallery, and the library shelves embraced them all with the wisdom of the ages.

"Well," she began, "I can't ever remember a time when I didn't know about God." (And how did that ever save you sorrow? she wondered. ) "But when I was three I had a problem with guilt…"

The afternoon sun dusted into the room where the tiny girl squirmed on her rose-crusted quilt, tears dry on her hot cheek. "It's not fair. I can't do it. I have to be perfect. I can't ever do it. They’ll never believe I'm really sorry. How will they ever forgive me?" She looked around desperately, raking long scratches down her arms, trying to shed the loathsome skin.

“My parents would discipline me – appropriately – and send me to my room to think about what I had done. But it never seemed enough to me.” (Why? What would drive a three-year-old to self-mutilation? A three-year-old who had never heard of such a thing?)

A dusky early morning. Her father with a suitcase and a business suit bending down, down to catch her as she danced to the fizzy hi-fi and to kiss her good-bye. “I’m going on a business trip. Don’t know when I’ll be back.” He paused, “Who do you love best, Mommy or me?” Suddenly, all the dance drained out of her. Hardly breathing, she remembered the shouting, the weeping in the night, something in a bad dream…but no. Surely what she said now would either bring her Daddy home again or never again. She would have to hold them together. All of them. Now there was a baby sister, too.

A perfect answer. It would have to be a perfect answer. No second chances.

“So in the interval for thinking, I would…hurt myself. Biting, bruising, scratching. It was best if I could bleed. My mother was beside herself with worry. She consulted with older women, who taught her to tell me the Gospel very simply. I remember asking Jesus to pay for my sins with His blood. And I never needed to hurt myself again.” (The abuses continued. Dad was …the pressure never let up, she realized. I would never be perfect enough to make life OK for Dad. But someone else had bled. Someone else had died, as I would have died. It was the perfect gift.)



Sunday, August 13, 2006

No Victims Here

Divorce is epidemic among modern Western peoples. This is not news to anyone.



But consider this: Divorce, meant to decrease domestic violence and protect women and children, actually increases poverty among women and children, and increases violence against them. Americans for Divorce Reform summarizes:

"Children of divorce are twice as likely to be abused and to become criminals and teen moms -- even if they have stepparents. And divorce doesn't end fighting in front of the children -- in most cases, it escalates it!"

and...

"A 1991 Justice Department survey, for example, found that more than two-thirds of domestic violence offenders were boyfriends or ex-spouses, while just 9 percent were spouses. Cohabitating women, according to one review of the literature, are four times more likely to suffer severe violence than married women."
Gallagher in "End No-Fault Divorce?" (Maggie Gallagher debates Barbara Dafoe Whitehead) in First Things 75 (August/September 1997)
And it seems to be self-perpetuating, like a genetic disease. Children who live in a divorced home are much more likely to become single parents, either through divorce or out-of-wedlock child-bearing. And this is much more pronounced if the children are exposed to divorce during their teen years.

'Exposure to single motherhood at some point during adolescence increases the risk [of a daughter's later becoming a household head] by nearly 1 1/2 times for whites and.....by about 100 percent for blacks.' " Sara S. McLanahan, "Family Structure and Dependency: Reality Transitions to Female Household Head ship," Demography 25, Feb., 1988, 1-16. Cited in Amneus, The Garbage Generation, page 240

"...teen boys from one-parent households are almost twice as likely to father a child out of wedlock as teen boys from two-parent families." William Marsigilio, "Adolescent Fathers in the United States: Their Initial Living Arrangements, Marital Experience and Educational Outcomes," Family Planning Perspective, 19, November/December, 1987, 240-51. Cited in Amneus, The Garbage Generation, page 241

The suffering not only of women and children, but of the husbands and fathers in these divorces is staggering. The cost of supporting these broken impoverished, embittered families is becoming more than the fabric of our society can bear, and society in itself does not have the answers. Even the liberals realize it.


"[Non-nuclear families can work, but] every society requires a critical mass of families that fit the traditional ideal, both to meet the needs of most children and to serve as a model for other adults who are raising children in difficult settings. We are at risk of losing that critical mass in America today." Hillary R. Clinton, It Takes a Village, p. 50

Visionary reformers on all sides of the political spectrum are working to reform divorce laws to remove the incentives for couples to divorce as soon as life together looks less than rosy. The trouble is, laws cannot change hearts.

Someone is going to have to be willing to suffer for righteousness' sake. Living in intimate circumstances with a fallen spouse as a fallen spouse is unquestionably the most difficult thing we could be asked to do - even in the best scenarios. Poster-children for the horrors that can happen in marriage situations abound. Well-meaning political saviors use them liberally to weaken family institutions every day.

But where are the poster-children for the beauties of perseverance in difficult marriages? Where are the mothers, ferocious to save their children from a future of abuse, brokenness and poverty? Where are the fathers who will sheild the women and children under their protection from the dragons of divorce, at their own peril? Battered by the brutalities of fallen men, ridiculed by the rhetoric of self-actualization, they give up the struggle - and divorce.

"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."~ Albert Einstein ~ The battle to defend marriage and family is one of the greatest difficulties of our time. Yet most of us only see the blood and smoke. We cannot or will not see past the warfare to the peace we might purchase for our children and grandchildren. And those who do see it rarely have the courage or fortitude to see it through in their own marriages.

I have a dear friend whose husband is mentally ill. He is manipulative, unfaithful, verbally and psychologically abusive, and completely oblivious to any needs but his own. She makes no excuses for her husband's behavior, and tries not to soften the consequences of his destructive choices, except where they will hurt others.

Many have asked her why she doesn't just divorce the jerk. She says, " I have seen what divorce does. My husband is the way he is in part because of the abandonment he felt in the multiple divorces of his parents. There has never been a divorce among my forefathers. I will not be the one to let it in."

Nothing about what he deserves. Nothing about what she deserves. Nothing about whether divorce is a sin. Nothing about what others should do. It is simply and single-mindedly about what she has decided to do.

She has seen a strong opportunity in her suffering. She has decided to stop the ravages of divorce in the next generation of her descendants, as far as it is possible for her to do. She is willing to suffer to achieve it, but not as a victim. She has chosen this in the midst of legal and ecclesiatical freedom to divorce.

And have her children suffered as a result? Oh, yes. But who escapes suffering? Not those children of divorce. We do not have the option to escape suffering, we only have the opportunity to decide what to do in the suffering.

Interestingly, all of her children have chosen to marry. They have persevered not only in a strong faith, but through several years of marital difficulties of their own.

Trends are made quietly, one personal decision at a time. Will you see only difficulty in your marriage? Only victimization? Or will you see opportunity? And what will you choose?

Also visit the Christian Carnival for other essays on various topics of interest to those of Christian persuasion, at the Wittenberg Gate on Wednesday, August 16th.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Notes from Underground - Light

In the mine, the only light is the light you bring with you. Except occasionally, there is a fissure above that allows a tiny shaft of light to finger some glittering crystal, as if God says, "See here!" You have time to gasp in wonder. But the world turns, and the light fades.

The glitterati of the homeschool speech and debate world were there as the graduating debaters from across the country halted down the aisle to the first ever NCFCA graduation ceremony. A trio of sisters serenaded us with Pachelbel's Canon in D, and my daughter sang of being changed "For Good" by knowing her family and these friends. No less a man than Michael Farris exhorted the graduates not to despise the day of small beginnings nor the small decisions to walk in God's ways that put us in the way of His later great blessing. The young lady who had just won the policy debate crown exhorted the graduates to strive not to be the "Greatest Generation" but the "Faithful Generation".

One by one the graduates received their diplomas from their parents with words of praise and encouragement. And in the gracious liturgy of such things, the students responded with tearful thanks to parents, sibs and mentors.


One, however, began, "Wherever God calls us in the future, whether to halls of justice, fame or hidden service, we rarely get to see the whole picture. But it is there. And it is beautiful. And in our lives we will be called to be broken - and willingly or not - we will be broken. Broken from friends, and dreams. Broken from family and even everything we thought was ourselves. But it is that shattering that makes the difference between being a clear piece of glass - flat, invisible and unnoticed - and becoming a sparkling rainbow mosaic of life that is a wonder to all who pass by. And no one will be able to pass without asking, "who has done this?" And then it will be our privilege to tell them of the reason for the hope that is within us. "

"And we will fly on wings like eagles above the vaulted ceilings of the possible. Higher than we thought possible because it is another's strength on which we rely."

And that one is mine. And she has understood the secrets I whispered to her as she slept. She has deciphered the stories I told her as she played at my knee in her innocence. And she has waited patiently at the Master Glazier's feet, as He has lifted her broken heart, piece by piece, to His mosaic.

Oh yes! Here's to defying gravity...

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