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Good Friday—The Willing Ordeal
Darkness shrouds the day
like a heavy, leaden cloak.
The ominous sky thunders its anger.
Or is it victory it is booming?
The temple curtain tears in two.
The earth rumbles,
rocks crumble,
tombs split open,
centurions tremble.
Men and nature proclaim,
“Surely he was the Son of God!”
With Your last earthly sigh,
the unspeakable agony
abruptly and thankfully stops.
Your horrific ordeal is over.
Now You sleep a peaceful sleep.
Reunited with Your loving Father,
my loving Father.
And in the blink of an eye,
You are new, glorious.
You are risen.
YOU ARE RISEN INDEED.
Imagine…Maundy Thursday, the Day Before Jesus Dies
It’s Thursday.
Jesus already knows what the day entails. Did He sleep that night, or did He toss and turn until the sun rose that morning?
We don’t know how He spent His last free morning, but in the early evening, He gathers His disciples—this band of ragtag men He loves—for the Passover meal. He lovingly and humbly washes their feet, realizing one of them will betray Him before the day is over.
He’s going to die tomorrow. That had to be front of mind. Is His stomach roiling as He eats His food? He seems more interested in pouring out His heart to His friends.
Does He savor this time? It’s the last meal He will ever share with His beloved twelve. And, He knows most of them will flee and scatter when He needs them most. How does He keep from crying? How does He keep on loving?
He confronts Judas with kindness, in spite of his thievery and his disloyalty.
In the garden, He implores His inner circle to stay awake with Him while He prays a gut-wrenching prayer before His Father, but they fall asleep. They reveal their weaknesses in His greatest hour of need—and He loves them anyway.
He is arrested when Judas betrays their friendship with a kiss.
In the chaos of anger and hatred, Jesus restores the severed ear of the high priest’s servant. He is being treated roughly and unfairly, yet rather than focus on the abuse—or even on the horror ahead—He shows compassion.
I wonder what the servant, and those who witnessed this last miracle, thought about that? Did it give them pause? Cause them to question the logic of what was happening? I imagine the servant remembered Jesus’ compassionate act the remainder of his life.
Jesus is dragged away without a single friend at His side. He is abandoned, save the presence of His heavenly Father. Was there a desperate, non-stop prayer running through His mind? Or, were His thoughts about what was coming next? I suspect it was both.
In the span of an evening, Jesus moves from loving companionship with His dearest friends, to isolation and aloneness. He has poured His life into these men for three years. He has walked, prayed, laughed, shared meals, and worked with them, and done countless miracles in their presence.
Where are they now? Some fled. Two followed the angry mob at a distance. One denies Him—not once, but three times.
Who was there to comfort Him, reassure Him? As far as we know, not one loving word was again spoken to Jesus that Thursday. That last full day of His life on earth.
That Thursday morning when Jesus woke up, He knew His most cherished friends would prove to be frail and fickle when He needed them most.
Yet, He loved them.
Oh, how He loved them. And how He loves us.
Enough to lay down His precious life for them.
And for us.
Reflections on Jesus and Palm Sunday
The day Jesus rode into Jerusalem, the elated crowds cheered for Him. They had heard about His miracles, they knew the prophetic scriptures that spoke about the coming Messiah, and they truly believed He was their long-awaited king.
They laid their cloaks on the ground before Him, and waved palm branches—a symbol of victory—as He rode by. “Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!” they jubilantly yelled.
One short week later, they were screaming for His death. And not just any death—the most horrific death imaginable. When Pilate asked them why they wanted to kill an innocent man, their only answer was to scream all the louder. “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
How could this happen? Why would Jesus’ adoring fans turn on Him, reject Him, and so quickly?
He was the same man He had always been. He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t lied or reneged on any promises. He was exactly Who He had always claimed to be.
So why the hate? A hate so appalling it would demand His excruciating death?
Because He didn’t perform the way they expected Him to. He didn’t fit into the neatly-tied little package they had prepared for Him. They had their own expectations for who He would be when He finally emerged on the scene, and for what He would do for them as their mighty king.
They were suffering under Roman oppression and, in their minds, He would free them from their miserable circumstances and restore Israel’s glory. He would make them comfortable again. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, just like that, they turned on Him. Not only turned on Him, but suddenly despised Him.
They were rejecting God, their loving Savior—and didn’t even realize the heinous thing they were doing.
It doesn’t seem logical. Or reasonable. In fact, it seems downright ignorant and despicable.
But wait.
Don’t we sometimes do the same thing?
Don’t we put God in a neat little box, make Him fit into our own customized expectations—then get angry and reject Him when He doesn’t fit the mold? Don’t we turn on Him, reject Him, and determine to do things our own way when He does things differently than we want or expect Him to?
I know I have.
When we’re like that, how are we any different than the crowd in Jerusalem? When we reject God’s perfect love—because it doesn’t come wrapped in the package we expect—we embody the sin in each of us He died for. Willingly.
So what if, during this Eastertide season, we look at who Jesus is? Really is? Not who we expect Him to be. He’s a better version of a Lord and Savior and King than anything we could ever dream up!
He is almighty, all-knowing, perfect God. And He loves us! Sinful, imperfect, messy us! And His love is so immense He endured a painful death for us.
I’m thinking that’s reason enough to surrender ourselves to Him and let Him lead our lives—His way!
Hosanna in the highest!
Be the “Healthful Hero” of Your Holidays — and Your Body, Mind, and Spirit
Holidays can be both wonderful and challenging at the same time. That makes it hard for us to stick to our health goals.
Food, shopping, parties, decorating, lack of down time, and sometimes, even our families, can all contribute to creating chaos and stress. We simply can’t control everything. The house may not be as clean as we hoped when the first guest arrives. We may not be able to afford all the gifts we’d love to buy. And, if it’s his habit, “Uncle Gil” will probably tell those really dumb jokes again this year during dinner.
So instead of looking at what we can’t control, let’s focus on what we can! Let’s be intentional about caring for our bodies, our minds, and our spirits.
In Part One, we’ll focus on…
CARING FOR OUR BODIES
FOOD
Holidays always center around food! It’s way too easy to toss our real priorities for healthy and balanced eating out the window and give in to the temptations, so it requires—here’s that phrase again—being intentional.
Let’s start by looking at three options:
- Do you want to maintain where you are now, and avoid gaining any weight this season, even if it means exercising some self-discipline around those wonderful treats?
- Do you want to compromise, and continue to eat healthily, or at least normally, for all but the three-to-four main dinners you’re likely to have, then immediately go back to good eating?
- Do you want to throw all resolve out the window and eat what you want between now and the new year?
Let’s think about what each of those commitments will look like. What are the benefits, and what are the costs? We’ve got to be realistic. How do we want to feel when January 2nd rolls around?
Now, let’s commit to the end results we want!
If we opt to show some constraint, here are just a few tips to help us stick to our guns:
— At parties, take a water bottle and always hold it in your dominant hand
— Don’t go to a meal hungry; have a healthy snack before going
— At dinner, use the smallest plate possible, and…
• be mindful of portions
• ask yourself, “Is eating this in my long-term best interest?”
• tell yourself you can go back for seconds, and when the time comes, it’s likely (and better if!) you can do without more later
— Eat slowly, and savor the textures and flavors of every bite
When we constrain ourselves now, we’ll thank ourselves later! I know from many a miserable January that regrets come with consequences—in how I look and feel physically, mentally, and emotionally. This year I intend to make great choices!
SLEEP/REST, EXERCISE, AND STRESS REDUCTION
Especially because the holidays are hectic, we have to protect our times for sleep, rest, and exercise. These three activities are so beneficial for our bodies, and also help keep stress at bay. A combination of lack of sleep and stress impact our weight as well.
In an article published for Psychology Today, Dr. Seth J. Gillihan states: “A study published in the International Journal of Obesity found that people who reported less than 6 hours sleep and the highest stress levels were around half as likely to reach their weight loss goals than those with 6-8 hours sleep and lower stress.” We’ll talk a bit more about stress in Part 2 of this series, but you can see how important both sleep and stress management are to our health goals.
Gentle exercise, like walking, bicycling, yoga, light gardening, and swimming, will help us feel more relaxed. And when we’re relaxed, we sleep better. I like to get outside in the fresh air when I can. There’s just something about watching the change of seasons and listening to birds and the wind in the trees that is both invigorating and relaxing!
Here are two great great tips:
— When you have a big night coming up, give your body a chance to rejuvenate—both before and after the event—by getting enough sleep, doing some sort of exercise, and eating good healthy meals
— After the big meal, instead of couch-potato-ing in front of the TV or taking a nap, tape the game and go for a nice, leisurely walk. Not only will it offset the lethargy-producing tryptophan from the turkey, it’s a warm, wonderful way to spend time with others.
So that’s it for Part 1. I hope you found this encouraging in at least one small way! Remember:
Being intentional is the BEST FIRST STEP!
NEXT TIME: PART 2:
CARING FOR OUR MINDS—Attitude, Stress, Self-Care, and Relationships
See you then!
7 Survival Tips for Grandparents
Okay, so your grandchildren are the epitome of cuteness and extremely well-behaved.
Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security.
Those little bundles of sweetness may be oblivious to the dangers they impose, but they can be hazardous to our greatest sensibilities.
Here are seven tips for remaining safe and sane in their midst:
- Never assume the kitchen hand towel—or any other low hanging towel—is clean. It may have been used by children to wipe a spill off the kitchen floor or to swipe ooze from a runny nose or to dry hands that have been outside playing with snails.
After showering, be sure to peek out the bathroom door before stepping into your room naked—especially if your bedroom door leads to a common area. That door may be standing wide open and is now a large window into your “private” world.
- At Christmas, always write names on the bottom of presents. Tags have a way of coming off. When a child happily exclaims, “I’ll put them all back!” the tags won’t necessarily go back on the right packages—unless, of course, your grandchild is clairvoyant.
- Be ready to set aside your pride and any sense of positive self-image you may have. You can expect to hear things like, “Grandpa, why do you have red lines in your eyes?” or “Nana, you have old elbows,” or “Grandma, when you were little, did they have bread?”
- Never play “This Little Piggy” without first doing a mental check as to where the little piggies have recently been.
If you notice there are foreign objects floating in your tea cup after leaving it on the coffee table, do not assume they are crumbs from your morning toast. Even more insidious are the objects that have sunk to the bottom of your cup, only to be discovered as you are taking your last sip of tea.
And lastly…
- On a scale from 1 to 10—with a 10 being the worst pain imaginable—stepping on Legos in bare feet is easily a 17.
BONUS TIP—Regardless of the hazards involved, the joy of being with my grandkids far outweighs the inherent risks. So my Bonus Tip is this: loosen up and relax; unpleasantries last only a moment, but sweet memories are forever!
Disclaimer: I have personally experienced most of the above situations, but not all. I leave it to your imagination to figure out which ones.
Have you experienced any of these for yourself?
What survival tips can you add?
Enough Already! Pounds, That Is!
Confession time!
After finally reaching a point a few years ago where I was at my optimal, healthy weight, easily maintaining it—and feeling great!—I managed to put those pounds back on.
I’m not going to make excuses, but I do want to figure out why it happened so it won’t happen again. I think I do understand part of it.
Two years ago—my slender self feeling fit and fantastic and ready to conquer the world—I headed off to Spain for a 500-mile trek on the Camino de Santiago. I walked the first hundred miles in eight days, felt great, and loved every minute of it!
Then I ended up in the hospital in Logroño, Spain where I remained for sixteen days before being able to fly back home.
Diagnosed with some sort of intestinal obstruction, I spent the next four months trying to figure out what I could eat that wouldn’t make my body revolt. During that time I lost twenty pounds I didn’t need or want to lose. I was starving, emaciated, and weak. Gradually, things improved.
At first I couldn’t seem to gain weight—at least not in a healthy way. I had to be so careful of what and how I ate. But over time, my traumatized system recuperated, my diet expanded, and I began to put on healthy weight.*
But I didn’t stop.
Like I said, I don’t want to make excuses. But best I can tell, I was deprived for so long that when I could finally eat again, I felt desperate to eat everything in sight! You can probably relate if you’ve ever tried to figure out what it is that makes you eat too much, or too much of the wrong things!
So, I’m back on my “becoming my healthiest me” plan again. And I’m excited about it!
I’m officially kicking off my journey on July 1st—as soon as I get back from a vacation at the end of the month. Gotta be realistic! And to keep myself accountable, I’m going to share my journey here on Facebook. Yep—the goods, the bads, and the uglies.
Speaking of…I’ve taken my “before” pic, and it ain’t pretty! But NO ONE will see it until I see some real progress. For some strange reason, my body has decided to pack on all the weight in one place: right around my middle! Can any of you relate? So I’m staring at a floppy belly I’ve never seen before—and I can hardly wait to kiss it goodbye.
Wait…flexibility-wise, that might be hard to do!
Anyway, soon I’ll be off and running. And I’m looking forward to this journey toward optimal wellness.
If you’re ready, wanna join me? I’d love the company!
*If you’re interested in the story of my unexpected “Journey with Jesus” in Spain and the aftermath, check it out at: https://is.gd/89FWBR
A Different Kind of Camino — An Unexpected Journey with Jesus
Exactly one year ago today I flew to Spain to begin a solo, 500-mile, six-week journey on the Camino de Santiago.
The traditional route begins in the village of Saint Jean Pied de Port, France—which sits in the northern foothills of the Pyrenees—and heads west. Although inland, the Camino roughly parallels the northern coast of Spain—up and over a few challenging mountains, through lush meadowlands and pastures, across a vast plain—officially terminating in the city of Santiago de Compostella, about a three day walk from the western coast.
Pilgrims undertake this journey on the Camino—also known as “The Way”—for any number of reasons. For some, it’s spiritual. Others are trying to find themselves—or lose themselves. For yet others, it’s merely a beautiful trekking experience or a physical challenge.
My motivation was more about relationship than accomplishment.
While I certainly hoped to be successful in my ambitious endeavor, my heart’s desire was to make it a Journey with Jesus. To share long hours alone with Him as we walked dirt paths and explored the many small villages along the route. To meet and enjoy other Pilgrims, yes, but to see them through His eyes and love them with His heart. And to depend solely on Him for my safety and for finding a bed each night—and, for not getting lost!
For the first week and a half, that was my journey.
I began my adventure with two days in France, roaming the charming village of Saint Jean before taking my first step onto the Camino and tackling the steep walk up the Pyrenees. The next eight lovely days, I traipsed across the first 100 miles of the centuries-old path.
Idyllic days with Him unfolded. Laughter and delightful fellowship with new friends. Nights in sometimes crowded, sometimes noisy, but always interesting albergues (Pilgrim hostels). And, an exciting new adventure with every sunrise.
Then abruptly, that all changed.
After over 36 hours of misery and several medical clinic visits—hoping it would go away—I ended up in the hospital in Logrono, diagnosed with an intestinal obstruction.
I remained there for sixteen days.
This was not the Camino I had planned. Jesus had a very different vision for our journey than I did.
— Instead of roaming the Spanish countryside with Him, I was walking hospital halls.
— Instead of feasting on delectable local food, I was sipping a liquid diet.
— Instead of the companionship of Pilgrims, I was making friends with other patients.
And my new bedroom looked very different than my previous ones.
Now, as I look back on all this—surprisingly, with a great deal of fondness—I see this unanticipated Camino unfolding in three parts.
PART ONE — Hospital time
No, it was not fun, and it was not without many physical and emotional difficulties. Pain and discomfort and nausea. A frightening number of X-rays and a CAT scan. Many rotating doctors made for many opinions, some encouraging—“We’re going to get you back out on the Camino!,” some not so much—“You will probably need surgery.”
Add to that the practical obstacles—no one spoke more than a smathering of English, and my Spanish wasn’t any better. Lack of toiletries—I had thought to grab my toothbrush, thankfully, but everything else was in my backpack at my last lodging some 40 miles away.
One word of advice: hand soap is not a good substitute for shampoo.
But through it all, He was there.
I can’t explain it, but I never experienced a moment of fear. Frustration and a bit of dread with the recurring discussion about possible surgery, but no fear. In fact, I felt… joyful. Well, most of the time.
Pretty remarkable given the circumstances.
It had to be Him. All Him.
His Presence was so real. And constant. At times my conversations with Him were non-stop. And the moment I began to feel anxious, He would remind me of Himself with a Scripture, a song, a tender encouragement, or a physical sense of His Presence.
My two favorite, much-used, and personalized Scriptures were:
You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in You, whose thoughts are fixed on You…
Your perfect love casts out all fear.
I can’t begin to convey all the ways He lavished special care on me.
— A hospital “neighbor” who spoke very passable English.
— Two beautiful women from a local church who regularly called and visited me—and brought me shampoo!
— A travel medical assistance plan that kept in touch with me and my Spanish doctors almost daily—and flew my daughter all the way to Spain when surgery finally looked eminent. Instead, I got to go home a day later.
I could go on and on and on, but those are the biggies.
There were many fun and humorous moments as well, especially around language misunderstandings. Like when I got that strange look from a doctor after trying to tell him I was embarrassed—but was actually saying I was pregnant!
And, there were so many lovely people there, on the staff and in the halls as I did my required daily walks. Without an interpreter, we still managed to communicate.
Once, when a fellow patient found out I had been on the Camino, she got excited. She gestured to indicate my circular walks around our floor and said, “Este es tu Camino ahora!”—This is your Camino now!
Yep, still on the journey! And still with Him.
Finally, I was well enough to fly home with a medical escort.
PART TWO — Back home and the four-month journey with food (or lack thereof!)
I have a confession to make here.
Once I was home again, keeping my focus on God was more difficult. Probably because I felt less dependent back in familiar surroundings and the security that comes with that. And being with friends again. But He was persistent. Maybe that’s why two of my three days in the hospital at home were so difficult—I had to continue to rely on Him.
More X-rays. An MRE—a bit different than an MRI, but I still had to drink yucky stuff—and it showed there was a narrowing in my intestine. Oh, yeah. And a terrible experience with an NG—nasogastric intubation. More discussion about surgery. Or not.
At this point I hadn’t eaten any “real” food, or had any… how do I say this delicately… “elimination activity” for over 20 days. On day three, I was sent home.
Being home was the beginning of a long, arduous, and disheartening roller coaster ride. Beginning with a liquid diet, I painstakingly tried new foods, adding one bird-like portion of something new every two days.
We’re talking hummingbirds here, not vultures.
But each time I reached a certain point, my poor little body rebelled. And by this time my body was little—to the point of being frail and emaciated, and I was still losing weight. I won’t provide any details about the bodily rebellion, but you can Google “intestinal disorder symptoms” and get my drift. Then it was back to a liquid diet again.
This continued for four months.
PART THREE — The seven-month journey to recovery
I had become my own health and medical advocate, doing extensive online research. Bone broth was my new go-to brew. Soft, bland foods were my staples. Probiotics re-entered my regimen.
Making a VERY long story short, at about the four month mark, my body began to tolerate the foods I was eating. Little by little I increased variety and volume.
God remained faithful—no big surprise—reminding me of His sovereignty with my life and my body. I reached a point of peace again, knowing that regardless of the outcome—good, bad or somewhere in the middle—I was in His hands. I continued to pray for healing and recovery, of course, but got better at truly trusting Him for whatever lay ahead.
At some point I began to feel human again. Finally, I was avoiding only a few types of food, but was doing well with everything else. As time went on my doctors, convinced I had Crohn’s Disease or something else of that ilk, seemed stymied that I wasn’t having any symptoms. At all.
I was was simply overjoyed!
TIME OUT
Somewhere in the middle of PART THREE something curious happened.
I was doing nothing in particular one afternoon when I felt a strange warmth in the right side of my abdomen. Pretty much where I guessed the intestinal stricture, or narrowing, was located.
My immediate thought led me to ask out loud: “Lord, did You just heal me?”
This was a new experience and I pondered it. For a long time. It was profound enough that I later shared it with several close friends. Had I been healed? I believed so, but how could I know?
MEANWHILE, BACK IN RECOVERY…
I continued to do well with all sorts of food. I was getting stronger, feeling great, and was putting on weight. I was out walking and doing short hikes. Went kayaking with my family. Life was becoming more normal again.
In fact, I felt so good that when the opportunity presented itself to go to New Zealand a few months ago to visit friends, I jumped at the chance. I will admit, however, that the nagging thought of, “What if this happens again …?” reared its ugly head a number of times. I got my same great travel medical insurance, and I went.
I didn’t take anything for granted. When my system continued to work the way it should, I thanked God. Every time I indulged in more adventurous foods without repercussions, I thanked God. In light of all that had taken place, and my ongoing recovery, gratitude was becoming more commonplace. I had an incredible time and had no problems whatsoever.
I was due for a follow up MRE shortly after I got back from my trip, so three weeks ago, I got it done. More yucky stuff to drink. The clunk-clunk-clunking of the claustrophobic machine. And then the wait.
I prayed, still wondering if He had healed me several months ago. Still working at trusting Him for whatever the results would show.
I got the results back in an email from my doctor a few days later.
EVERYTHING was ABSOLUTELY NORMAL. There was NO evidence of the stricture. It was gone!
I bounced out of my chair with joy, thanking God profusely! I made calls and wrote emails, thanking friends and family for their prayers and support during this very long journey.
And then I thanked God some more. I’m convinced He touched me that day and healed me.
THE WRAP-UP
My heart’s desire had been to do the Camino as a Journey with Jesus.
It’s true—my journey didn’t go as I envisioned or planned.
God didn’t give me the Camino I desired,
but He did give me the desires of my heart!
The Real Reason We Celebrate Easter… and It’s NOT About the Bunnies
Easter celebrates the most astounding event in human history.
The miracle itself is spectacular—a dead man coming to life after being entombed for three days. But Jesus’ resurrection was more than that. Much more. When He rose, He not only overcame death, He defeated it.
And in doing that He freed us from spiritual death and made us “alive,” with Him (Ephesians 2:4-6).
What an incomprehensible gift.
I’m delighted we focus on Christ’s resurrection, rather than His suffering on the cross. In that miraculous event, we are given great hope for our future. And the remarkable blessing of a loving, personal relationship with a risen, living Savior.
But in our pursuit of the positive, of the jubilation we enjoy, I fear the pendulum has swung too far.
So much of our celebration has become about bunnies and jump houses and Easter egg hunts and ham dinners.
So let’s back up a few days. Let’s go back to the garden. To Gethsemane.
There we see Jesus, praying, pleading with God, His Father.
Tears streak His face. His chest heaves in anguish.
He is desperate.
He is fully God, fully human. As a human he has certainly encountered stubbed toes, bunged up knees and other physical afflictions. He knows pain. He has experienced sadness and crushing disappointments. He’s no stranger to emotional anguish.
And He knows what lies ahead.
He is about to endure as much pain—physical, emotional, and spiritual—as any man can possibly endure.
And then He will die a gruesome death.
What if you could go back in time?
What would you say to Him there the garden?
Would you somehow try to comfort Him? Would your heart ache with His? Would you share tears with Him? Would you cling to Him, stroke His neck, His back, His beautiful head? Would you try to talk Him into running away, escaping?
But if He gave in, chose to turn His back on His God-ordained destiny, you would lose Him forever. You would be without a Savior, and without a Best Friend.
You would be eternally lost. The whole world would be eternally lost. And that’s not God’s plan.
Love compels Jesus. Resigned, He expels a racking sigh and rises to His feet.
You watch Him leave, knowing You can’t save Him without losing Him. He goes on to do what only He, the beloved Son of God, can do.
This loving, tender Man is spat on and ridiculed. His perfect, beautiful body brutally shredded with a whip.
Then come the nails. The horrific nails.
And He endures it all for loves’s sake—love for you. And love for me.
At last, “It is finished.” He is finally free of the unrelenting agony.
Three days later, the impossible happens and we are given a new lease on life—and eternity. Through His excruciating sacrifice a way is made for us to BE with Him—now and forever! We are no longer in bondage to sin and darkness. We are invited to drink at the Fountain of Living Water—Almighty God Himself!
That’s much to rejoice about! So let’s celebrate and enjoy our Easter festivities and ham dinner.
But first and foremost, let’s remember:
Easter is NOT about the bunnies.
When Jesus is Better Than Chocolate (Confessions of an Exhausted Grandmother)
I adore my grandkids—even more than chocolate—and that’s saying a lot. They are great fun and well behaved, but… they are still children. Two of them, very young.
I’m used to living alone.
My home is quiet. My time and space and schedule are my own. So when I’m thrown into the role of Caregiver Grandma, I very quickly succumb to sensory overload. Kids are noisy, even when they’re happy. Maybe even more so when they’re happy. And happy is a good thing. But sometimes their shrieks—and often the non-stop chatting, questions, humming, and the ninth rendition of Frozen’s Let it Go—send my system into what I can only describe as the “finger in an electric outlet” mode. Every nerve in my body stands at attention, on the verge of implosion.
Another thing.
I never have a moment to myself. If I don’t lock the bathroom door, I will most likely get a surprise visitor. Frequently, there’s a knock and a plaintive “Grandma, what are you doing?” while I’m busy doing what I don’t particularly want to say I’m doing. If I don’t dress in the locked bathroom, there’s a good chance a little one will fling wide the bedroom door and there I’ll be, for the whole clan to see, in all my unclad glory.
Board games, card games, adventure walks, tea parties, the tot lot, reading, the belly-button game, watching kids perform on the trampoline or on a bike or on a play structure are all really fun and rewarding. But doing that, back-to-back, from sunrise (often before that) until well after sundown, is exhausting. And in the in-between times there are snacks and meals to prepare, dishes to do, toys and clothes to pick up, noses to wipe, disputes to settle, and of course overseeing yet more snacks and meals. Add to that the nap time and bed time prep and by the time my head hits the pillow at night my parched energy tank is gasping for replenishment.
I’m learning to pray-up ahead of time—long before I pack my bag and head for the airport. Even though I’m a very active and outdoorsy “older woman,” on my own I simply do not have the natural resources, or the energy, to remain patient and joyful with my sweet grandkids for the long haul.
With the help of the Holy Spirit, it’s quite doable.
But I’ll be honest; once I’m caught up in the vortex of crayons, skateboards, bankies, and Chutes and Ladders, it’s easy for God to get lost in the shuffle of the day and the Skip-Bo deck.
I do have a few “coping” secrets. The best and most important one is chocolate—to self-soothe and simply because it’s a yummy, forbidden treat. So I often tuck contraband in my suitcase in the form of dark chocolate M&Ms. The only reason they’re contraband is because if they’re discovered, they will become community property. And I don’t want to share! Each and every little morsel, with its brightly colored, thin candy shell, is intended to be savored, in secret, by me, alone.
Yesterday, as my very tired “fun grandma” persona began sliding down that slippery slope toward the black abyss—and the snarling “evil grandma” was getting ready to emerge from that dark place—my desperate mind screamed,
“I need chocolate!”
But surprisingly, that thought was immediately followed by a different message from somewhere within:
“I need Jesus.”
More than chocolate.
The incredible thing was, I really felt that. I wanted Him. Knew I needed Him. More than chocolate. Wow. Those of you who know me and my obsession with chocolate will appreciate the profundity.
I smiled as I headed toward my small devotional and away from my chocolate stash. In the midst of the mostly happy chaos, I began reading and praying—and immediately felt light seeping in, replacing my exhaustion and impatience and frustration with much-needed energy and joy.
What a difference that made! A big difference. A better grandma. And a much happier one!
So from now on, when the going gets rough I’m going to remember I have a choice.
Chocolate gives me a sweet escape from the moment;
Jesus enables me to sweetly embrace the moment.
Hmmm. I choose Jesus. He’s better than chocolate.
“I challenge you to relinquish the fantasy of an uncluttered world. Accept each day as it comes, and find Me in the midst of it all.” — Jesus Calling
Love Answered
Note from Dee:
This is pretty much straight from my journal—captured feelings and “thought pictures.” I’ve made no effort to clarify or story-fy. It is what it is. If you find something here you relate to, I hope it leads you closer to the ONLY One Who truly satisfies our hearts—Jesus.
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Mommy’s sad.
Something’s wrong. Is it me?
Can I make it better? Maybe if I’m very good…
“You’re a good girl.” She smiles. She loves me. We have fun.
Uh-oh. Something is wrong again. Her words hurt sometimes. I feel very alone. I need to be good so she won’t be so sad.
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A daddy to love me!
I’m so happy! I’ve wished for this a long, long time. Since I was five, I think. That’s when I first knew I didn’t have one. He doesn’t act like it now, but I know he’ll love me. I’ll show him how wonderful I can be. He’ll like me, I’m sure.
But… the way he looks at me.
Resentment.
That’s the word.
There’s something else. He has mad eyes. Does he… hate me?
I’m so confused. What is making him that way?
It must be me.
I try so hard to be the little girl a daddy will want. Will love.
He never hugs me.
He never takes my hand.
He never smiles at me.
I’ve tried everything.
I guess something’s wrong with me.
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He’s handsome and athletic. I’m flattered he’s interested. His family is fun, and they really like me. It feels like what I want.
Someone to love.
To be loved.
To belong somewhere.
I work to make it special for us. But something’s wrong. He takes all I offer, but without much comment. He is aloof, smugly amused by my efforts.
I give. He takes.
I give more. He takes more.
Surely he’ll reciprocate?
I chase him for his love. He laughs and taunts me, holding his love at arm’s length, just where I can’t reach it.
Is he rejecting me? I don’t know. I must try harder. Surely he loves me? I don’t know that either.
Is he using me?
I pull away.
He pursues me, charms me back into his arms.
Ahhh, he loves me!
I feel secure.
Then the hurtful game begins again.
Taunting. Teasing. Keeping himself and his love just beyond my grasp.
On and off. On and off.
Over and over and over and over and over.
I am drained dry. Shriveling. Fading. Disappearing. Dying?
It ends, at last.
I grieve and celebrate all at once.
I failed. I tried so hard, and failed.
Myself.
God.
But I’m alive.
I thought I was dead, but now the joy seeps back into my fragile mind, my broken soul. I was crushed underfoot, but I begin to rise and bloom again.
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He comes. Silently.
He whispers with a roar. “I Am Enough.”
His words swirl inside my head. In that split second I am wide-eyed. Knowing Who it is, my tears flow. In surprise. In awe. In submission.
It has begun, although I don’t yet know it.
He is calling me. Wooing me irrevocably to Himself.
The journey is long. Hard sometimes. But He is always there. Most often unseen. Lifting. Guiding. Nudging.
Then finally, giving me courage to uncurl. To open up and let Him touch my bleeding, hurting heart. The heart my wounds taught me to protect.
He comes in. Gently. Carefully. I feel His strength. His protection. His passion and His jealousy for me.
He makes me a new creation.
A new child.
A new daughter.
A new bride.
He has no words of censure. He has no expectations of me, but simply to be His.
His words are full of love—they evoke no guilt or shame or anger or confusion.
He holds me snugly in strong arms.
He takes my small hand in His as we walk together.
He smiles at me with eyes that make my soul dance!
His touch is pleasant. Welcomed. Desired.
I am in love. I am smitten. I have it all, yet long for more. More of Him.
He is the Love I sought, desired, desperately needed, and never found.
He is Mother, Father, Husband.
He is more Love than I knew existed.
I don’t have to be anything.
He is Enough.