I am 50

Here is a picture from my 50th birthday.  What?  Has it been nearly a month already?

(Click to enlarge view.)

Matthew smiles.

David points.

Jon's fingers.

Shawn lights the candles (yes, 2).

Shannon frosted the cake.

Lu is behind the camera.

(Yes, gluten free.)

(Shawn can even make decaf taste nice.)

In praise of apologies

A couple days ago, I was looking for my refill ink cartridges for my fountain pen.  Shawn also has a fountain pen, and some time ago he asked to use one of my refill cartridges for his pen.  That was the last time I remembered seeing the little packet of refills, so when I couldn't find them in a couple of places that I looked, I went to Shawn.

"Do you know where my refill cartridges went?" I asked him, holding up my dry pen.

"No," he replied.

"Remember how you asked me to give you a cartridge?  What did you do with them after I gave you one?" I was getting a tad snippy.

"I believe I handed them back to you," he said.  "They aren't here."  He was sitting in the study, at his desk, at his computer.  I reached in front of him, pushy, a bit rough, and yanked out his desk drawer to have a look.  He helped me sift through the contents of the drawer, a bit defensive.  "They aren't here," he maintained.  They weren't.

"Can't you remember what you did with them?" I demanded, "I need one and I can't find them."

"I'm pretty sure I handed them back to you."

"Hmph."  I stomped away, frustrated.

And then I thought of another place to look: the nightstand next to my side of the bed, where I usually store the pen.  It probably should have been the first place I looked, and sure enough, there they were.

Shannon says there is sometimes a point in an argument where you realize that you are wrong, and that realization is one of the worst feelings in the world.  At the moment I found my ink refills, I felt terrible, as though I'd taken a fist to the gut.  I'd all but accused Shawn of losing them for me, and suddenly there they were, in my very own nightstand, right in the little basket where I keep pens and writing supplies, exactly where I must have put them myself.

In that moment, I could have said nothing.  I could have pretended the cartridges were still lost.  I could have put down my empty pen and quietly gone downstairs to work on laundry or dinner.

But instead, I swallowed and called out, "Oh my word!  I found them!"

Shawn, from the study, said, "Where were they?"

"Right here, in my nightstand," I admitted.  "I'm sure I must have put them here myself.  I don't know why I didn't think to look here first."  And then I said, "I'm sorry."

I said, "I'm sorry I was mean, and crabby, and acted like I thought you were to blame.  That wasn't very nice of me.  Will you forgive me?"

And do you know what?  He did.  He did forgive me, and we went on to have quite a lovely, peaceful and harmonious day.

In apologizing, I gained for myself forgiveness, peace and freedom from the need to cover up what I had done.  It was so worth it. It was a blessing.  Also, I was able to ask my husband to help me replace the dry cartridge in my pen and get my pen up and running, right away.

I wish everyone could learn the beauty of an honest apology, well spoken.  An apology is such a relief for everybody.  An apology blesses both the one who apologizes, and the one who receives the apology.

Apologies mitigate the damage that happens in relationships.

The awkwardness that you feel in realizing that you are wrong, and acknowledging it, and saying that you are sorry for what you have done, that awkwardness is literally nothing compared to the awkwardness that results from months or years of unacknowledged wrong eroding a relationship.

When you agree with someone that you are wrong, that you have acted badly and are sorry, this is disarming.  It takes all the tension out of the fight immediately.  People cannot be defensive if you are agreeing with them.

"You were mean," the wronged party says, expecting to have to prove it to you.

"Yes," you agree.  "I was mean.  I wish I hadn't been.  I'm sorry.  What can I do to rebuild your trust in me?"

Boom.  The fight is over.

Another thing: Pretending that nothing happened never makes a problem go away.  Insisting on pretending that nothing happened is cruel.  Everybody knows that something happened, especially the person you most directly hurt.  If you want to build walls of resentment, pretend that nothing happened.  Pretend that you didn't do anything and watch the hurt multiply while the relationship disintegrates.  If you really want to kill a relationship, pretend that you are faultless and the injured person is just a head-case with no right to be angry.  Tell the injured person, "You have no right to bring that up.  That is in the past, and you are over-interpreting, stewing, being bitter."  Expect that the injured party should agree, "Nothing happened; it is all in my head.  The problem is all my fault.  I do not deserve resolution.  I do not deserve an apology."  Tell the injured party, "Move on!"  He might do just that, maybe even without you.

Here's the deal: when you need forgiveness, you need forgiveness.  To receive forgiveness, you have to be sorry, admit what you did wrong, name your sin and acknowledge the damage that resulted from it, own these things and repent of them.  And here's the next deal: when you do all that, you get the most fabulous freedom and peace you can imagine.  The destructive cycle begins at once to reverse, and you were the one who reversed it!  Why wouldn't you want that?

Yes, we need to forgive whether people ask for forgiveness or not.  When you are the injured party, you have to extend forgiveness to the one who hurt you.

But don't you know?  If you are the one who caused the hurt, you are the one with the true opportunity to fix things.  Forgiveness extended does not culminate in restoration until it is received by the one who did wrong.  To receive forgiveness, you need to apologize, expressing true sorrow for the wrong you did and the hurt you caused.  It stings for a moment, but it makes things so much better in the long run.

It is the same when we come to God.  He freely offers forgiveness to all who ask.  However, salvation is only for those who do avail themselves of His forgiveness.  You need to start out by being convicted of your sins.  You need to feel the guilt of your wrongdoing.  Guilt, when you have done wrong, is a good thing that leads to the next step in healing: confession.  After you are convicted of sin, you confess your sin.  Name your wrongdoing.  Ponder the effects of what you have done, and grieve over them.  Wish in your heart that you had made better choices, and determine that next time you will make better choices, because you understand the ugliness of doing things the wrong way.  This is repentance:  Turning from the wrong way and heading in the right way.  Agreeing with the one you have wronged that you have done wrong.

When we confess and repent, God promises absolutely to forgive us and cleanse us from unrighteousness, to wash us and make us new, to restore us (1 John 1:9).  This is the beauty of becoming God's child.  We are reborn out of our confession and repentance into a renewed state where God's Spirit purifies us and teaches us to walk in grace.

Lastly, I've heard it said that it is never too late to send a thank-you note.  That goes exponentially for an apology.  Whether it's days, weeks, or even years or decades overdue, it's never too late to apologize.  Admit your wrong.  Own your responsibility.  Ask for forgiveness.  And let the healing begin.  You'll be so glad you did.

To whom do you need to apologize today?

Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar
and there remember that your brother has something against you,
leave your gift there in front of the altar. 
First go and be reconciled to your brother;
then come and offer your gift.
Matthew 5:23-24 (niv)

Encouragement and dreams

Today in church, our pastor preached about Gideon.

Sometimes a detail in a sermon catches one's attention more than the main point.

Pastor was talking about how the Lord encouraged Gideon, and he read the part where Gideon and Purah, his servant, sneaked down into the Midianite camp to spy.  Gideon arrived just as a man was telling a friend his dream.  This man had dreamed that a round loaf of barley bread tumbled into the Midianite camp and struck a tent with so much force, it collapsed.

The man and his friend figured it was an omen that God was going to give Gideon and his army victory over the Midianites.  They were scared.  Gideon, hearing the story, drew the same conclusion, but of course he was elated.

Our pastor then remarked that God sometimes encourages us through dreams.  He recounted how his father had died over a year ago, in early November 2014.  His mother had not had a dream about her departed husband until recently, but recently she dreamed that she was in a familiar garden, and he was there, her husband, on the other side of a fence.  She saw his hand on the fence.  He was smiling and happy, and she tried to run to him, but she woke up.  Although she did not reach him in her dream, the dream filled her with peace and joy because she had seen him, and he was happy.

This reminded me that I had a dream myself, the other night.

Isn't it odd how you can have dreams which evaporate so quickly out of your mind, but then random things awaken a memory of what you'd dreamed?  If I'd been paying attention, it might have been a dream that I woke up with on New Year's Day, 1/1/2016.  That seems about right, but I'll never know for sure.

I dreamed about our house on Sugar Pine.  I've been wondering when I would dream about that house, if I would dream about it.  I used to dream about our house on Homeland Road fairly often (after we moved out of it), recurrent dreams about huge unexplored portions of it that we were only just discovering, with lots of bedrooms and bathrooms, but the plumbing was all broken.  I dreamed about Homeland Road so often, it seemed natural to wonder when the dreams about Sugar Pine would begin after our move to Illinois.  Now and then, I would realize that I'd lived here in Illinois for over a year, or over two years, and not had a single dream about the house back on Sugar Pine.

That night (New Year's Eve?) I dreamed about Sugar Pine.  I did not dream about the kitchen, or the family room, or even the front foyer, images that usually come to mind when I think back to that home.  No, I dreamed I was in my bedroom, the master bedroom, but I did not see the bedroom, because I was looking out the bedroom door and down the upstairs hall, which culminated in the kids' bathroom.  Jonny was in that bathroom.  He was about five or six years old, with his hair asunder and his smooth little olive skinned cheeks, dancing around in a big old tee-shirt that hung down about to his knees, and he was running himself a bath.  I could hear the bathwater roaring from the tap, and I could smell the sweet, clean scent of soap.  I kept thinking, "Does he know how to run himself a bath?  Does he know how?"  But for some reason, I felt that it was important to leave him alone and let him do it by himself.

When I awoke, I still lingered in the warm, fragrant, steamy sensation of air floating out the door of a room that held a hot bath.  It took me quite awhile to remember that Jonny is no longer six, cavorting in a floppy tee-shirt.  He no longer takes baths.  He showers.  He is 6'4".  His voice is a deep bass, and he has facial hair.  This was a startling realization as my waking consciousness was restored.

It was one of those dreams where I feel as though it meant something, but I don't know what.

2016.  My main word for the year is restoration.  God restores our souls.  He restores the joy of His salvation.  He restores hope and peace (which were my words last year).  He is in the business of restoring what is broken: fixing, polishing, beautifying things so that they will be able to bring Him glory as they were originally intended to do.

God is a God of restoration, primarily because there is nothing on this earth without need of restoration.

My dreams about the Homeland Road house were about potential restoration.  I saw in the dreams how much potential that house had to become big and beautiful, but I was always utterly daunted by its condition and all that extensive broken plumbing.  In my dream of the Sugar Pine house, the plumbing was fine.  Although I saw the bath through two angled doorways and down a significant hallway, it was a beautiful bath.  The tub was white and sparkling, and the water was hot.  The little boy was ready to get clean.

the year

January is ice outside, soup inside, long nights, long weeks, football.

February is purple fingers and toes, but red hearts, red roses and cherry cheesecake.

March is melty, windy, brighter, and (here in Illinois), actually the beginning of spring!

April is delicate blossoms, daffodils, misty leaf buds and Easter eggs.

May is when the flowers start in earnest, and I love it, everything building to the crescendo of the summer solstice.

June is almost as good as May, except that it's so near the end of the crescendo.  Sunshine, strawberries, peonies and the end of the school year!

July is hot and wonderful; zinnias take off in abundance, slightly out of control.  Fireworks, watermelon and home improvement projects.

August is beach vacations, sea shells and fresh peaches.  Yes.

September is apples, school buses, new crayons.

October is pumpkins, miles of razed corn fields, blazing treetops, and marching band.

November is fallen brown leaves, turkeys, and warm kitchens with their lights turned on.

December is secrets, snowflakes, peppermint, chocolate, Christmas trees and holly, twinkly lights.

And then we go again.

Aftermath, restoration, and a new year

It is quiet now, in our home.

The refrigerator, once stuffed to the gills, is mostly empty.  Shawn and I polished off a bunch of leftovers last night--roasted vegetables and lamb, some sausage and spaghetti squash lasagna--after our fourth trip to O'Hare in three days.  I finished the last cup of yogurt for breakfast this morning.  There's still quite a bit of ham, and a dwindling container of cheesy mashed potatoes, so we won't go hungry tonight.

The Christmas decorations.  At this point in the season, they always seem to adopt a sag, a droop, a tiredness.  They remind me of my own body, giving in to gravity with age.  Once perky, red-plaid bows hang loose on evergreen garland that has slowly worked its way downward along the slope of the stairway railing.  I wanted to leave the decorations up through the new year.  Tonight will be the last night we turn the Christmas lights on; then the tear-down will begin.

Yes.  Four trips to O'Hare in three days.  Shannon and David had flights out on Monday at 8:30 p.m.  There was a big storm in Chicago on Monday, but it was mostly over by evening.  We spent the day checking for cancellations, but were apprised of nothing.  So, we set out on the 2.5 hour drive up to Chicago at about 4 p.m. as the sun was going down.

After we'd driven for about an hour, David received notification that his flight was cancelled.  Shannon, however, did not.  So we soldiered on.

We dropped Shannon at O'Hare at about 6:30 p.m.  Darkness had descended over the wintery earth, and it felt much later than that.  Shannon's flight still claimed to be departing on time, so she braved the disgruntled crowds spewing their misery all over the airport, and shouldered her way through to the concourse where her flight should eventually be assigned a gate.

Not sure whether to believe that her plane would really leave, we hung around the area, eventually looking up a place to go out for dinner and kill some time.  Finding the restaurant was an adventure in traversing poorly plowed roads. I'm not sure how Shawn did it, actually.  Sometimes we couldn't tell where the road was, and once he had to bust through a snowbank.  Finally, we got to a Lou Malnati's somewhere north of the airport and settled in for some deep-dish pizza.

Meanwhile, Shannon's flight was delayed from 8:30 to 10:30.  While we slowly chewed and swallowed savory sausage, cheese and mushrooms in a cozy restaurant north of the fray, Shannon's gate attendants made announcements: "The plane has arrived!"  and, "We now have a gate assignment!" and, "The pilot is here!" and, "We are just waiting for the crew to disembark from a different aircraft!"

It sounded like it was going to be a go, against all odds.  We headed home, texting Shannon often as we looped southward around the airport.  We passed the airport, continued down the beltway, and eventually merged onto 57 south toward home.

At 11:26 p.m. Shannon texted us that her flight was cancelled after all.  She was rescheduled to a flight on Wednesday afternoon.

At 11:30 p.m. Shawn found an exit on 57 and turned around to go back up to O'Hare.

Meanwhile, David had been working on rescheduling his own flight.  It looked like there was a 2 p.m. flight on Wednesday that he could take, that would coordinate nicely with Shannon's rescheduled flight.  However, when he used his "smart"phone to try to get it, somehow the system automatically assigned him to a 2 p.m. flight on Tuesday.  He tried repeatedly to change it, and to call in and talk to someone about changing it.  He could not get through.

At 12:26 a.m. we arrived back at O'Hare and retrieved Shannon, and thus began the 2.5 hour drive home, which would be longer, because we couldn't go straight home, but had to deliver Jonathan to his apartment, for he had to work Tuesday morning.  (Jon had joined us for the company and hoping for dinner at Lou's.  He is the only one who got what he wanted that night.)

We fell into bed sometime between 3:30 and 3:45 a.m.  We just dropped the suitcases in the entryway and fell into bed.  I did brush my teeth.  By some miracle, neither of the dogs had had an accident during the 11.5 hours we'd been gone.  God is good.

The dogs woke up and needed attention Tuesday morning at 7:52 a.m.  I tried to handle this quietly so Shawn could rest after his marathon drive.  While the dogs ate, I brewed a large pot of strong coffee, just in case, but after walking the dogs, I passed up the coffee and slipped back into bed. However, David never did get through to his airline, so there was a tap at our bedroom door at about 8:45 a.m. We were back on the road to O'Hare by 9:37 a.m.  David drove this time, and Shawn tried to do some work on his computer on the way.  We pulled back into "departures" at O'Hare shortly after noon, and David set out for his own adventure in flying.  He was technically standby, but he was able to get a seat and make it to Durham.

Shawn and I arrived back at our house by about 3:00 p.m. where I crashed for a quiet late afternoon with Shannon, who had kept the dogs company during the Tuesday airport excursion.  Shawn worked at home in our study.  He had also scheduled a Homeowners' Association Meeting for our neighborhood HOA, at our house, that evening at 7.  Shannon and I hid antisocially in the family room and watched Chip and Joanna Gaines on "Fixer Upper."

After a decent night's rest, we were up and on the road to O'Hare again Wednesday morning, this time with Shannon.  The good news: she was upgraded to a first class seat.  So there is that.  We took the dogs this time.  They were good.  It was a decent day.  Shannon got home as smoothly as could be hoped.  Additionally, here is a picture of when we dropped her off:

Do you know what time it was at that moment?  It was 11:11 a.m.  The fact that God worked out the detail of that picture being taken at 11:11 was a blessing, a mercy, a divine act of lovingkindness which helped me rest in Him and not fret about the travel situation for the rest of that day.

Today.  Today I did not go to O'Hare.  The house is quiet.  Schubert is literally trembling at the changes in who is home and who is not, sensitive little animal that he is.  It is quiet.  Dark.  Lonely.  Cloudy.

It's been a cloudy, rainy Christmas season, and I don't mean just the weather.  Actually, on Christmas day, we went for a walk in the park, and there was golden sunshine.  It was rather fantastic.  Christmas Eve was a pretty, blue-skied day as well.

There was a song this year, "A Different Kind of Christmas."  It wasn't my favorite, but I think it was intended for people who have lost someone this year (to death, presumably).  I keep thinking, though, that this year was a different kind of Christmas for us, so many different things.  For one thing, it was the first Christmas we didn't spend with Laura.  Shannon, David and Jonathan are all going through various issues and transitions as well, which cast lenses of many different colors over our festivities and traditions.  Two years ago, Christmas 2013 was "different," in that we'd moved across the country, and I had surgery on 12/5 that year, and I'd done essentially no Christmas preparations.  But this Christmas, Christmas 2015, was profoundly different, almost frighteningly different, sliding-off-the-edge-of-the-earth different.  However, we are still here.

Christmas 2015 was a different kind of Christmas, and 2016 will be a different kind of year.

2015 was a year where I sought the Lord and clung to Him, where I depended on Him for peace.  I craved His peace, and He came through.

I began the year with John 16:33, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (niv)

Somewhere during the year, I transitioned over to Romans 15:13, "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." (niv)  

He's been speaking to me.  He's been comforting me.  I asked for peace, and He gave me peace, hope, joy and the Holy Spirit.  He didn't give me all of the solutions and outcomes I wanted to see, but He gave me Himself.  There is nothing better that He could give me, but I long to see Him give Himself to people I love, in the same way that He has given Himself to me.

This year,  I want to ask for restoration.  Restoration.  His restoration.

Psalm 23:3 says that He restores my soul.  I yearn to see Him restore my soul, and the souls of a number of others whom I love dearly.  I desire the glory of His handiwork displayed, restoring joy to the sorrowful and rest to the weary.  I want to see Him restore sight to the blind and truth to the deceived.  I want to see the restoration of comfort to the hurting, community to the lonely, home to the homeless, and hope to the hopeless.  I want to see the power of His loving hands at work in the world.

I see a shepherd lovingly following after a tattered and filthy lamb, injured yet stubbornly heading its own way.  This gentle shepherd knows where the lamb is struggling; He knows in which thorny bushes it attempts to hide from His loving eyes.  The cold and the rain and the snow will beat down on this vulnerable sheep, but the Shepherd will not leave it out in the wilderness alone.  He is right there, in the storm, zealous to take the battered lamb into His arms and carry it home, to restore it to the fold where His sheep abide in safety while He Himself guards the gate.

The Lord is our shepherd.  He provides all our needs.  He restores our souls.  Surely goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives as we dwell under His loving care.

Dear, merciful, kind Lord Jesus, please let 2016 be a year of restoration.

(this is a picture from back when we lived in New York, where the sky is usually white)

Regaining peace

So.

It is the 17th of December, and a few things are happening that threaten to steal my peace.

I find myself praying frantically, heart pounding, stomach churning.  I pray.  I read my Bible.  I try to breathe.  I pray some more.

And then I remember that it is not about my prayers.  It is about the hand of God.

My prayers do not direct the outcome of God's will.  God will accomplish His purposes.  Period.

My prayers do not wake up a sleepy God who has forgotten to pay attention.  The Father above does not slumber nor sleep.  He is always watching, always working, always attentive to the plight of His people.

My prayers, in and of themselves, have no power.  It is the God to whom I pray who has power.

My prayers remind me that God is God, my loving, attentive, almighty heavenly Father.

God cares.

God has a purpose and a plan, and He cannot be thwarted.

God is merciful, loving and kind.

God is always present, everywhere.

God never worries, for He directs the doings of the Universe with sovereign control.

God knows the end of the story, even though I do not.

God's love never fails.  Unfailing love, the Bible calls it, over and over again.

If you look at the problem, it will always seem too big to handle, too frightening to face.

But God is the solution, and He will never fail.  So look at God; keep your eyes on Jesus.

but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.

~from Isaiah 40:31 (niv)

You will keep in perfect peace
    those whose minds are steadfast,
    because they trust in you.~Isaiah 26:3 (niv)

May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
    even as we put our hope in you.

~Psalm 33:22 (niv)

The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.

~from Romans 16:20 (niv)  

We can pray, and then we can rest in the Lord.  He hears our prayers, but do you know what?  He has ideas that are far better than our ideas.  He knows what to do.  He never makes a mistake.  He cares for us.  He is good.  He is on our side.  He is mighty in battle, and always victorious.

He has this.  He will not fail.  He Himself is our peace.

He is where I regain my peace. 

But I have calmed and quieted myself,
    I am like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the Lord
    both now and forevermore.
~Psalm 131:2-3 (niv) 

(I may need to come back and read this to myself a number of times.) 

If you're hurting this Christmas

The trouble with Christmas is the pressure to be happy, joyful, cheery, on top of your game.

It is much easier to be all of these things when they are not an expectation.

So, you see, the expectations for Christmas joy and cheer can set the stage for trouble, even if your life sails along on a mostly even keel.

But the trouble is all the greater when your course turns askew.

What do you do when a great shadow looms over your life, when your heart is broken, when loss stares you in the face, or the threat of impending loss . . . then what?

When it seems like everybody else is all, "Jingle all the way!" Sprinkling glitter and snowflakes and confectioner's sugar.  Expecting you to smile and join the laughter and the song.  When this is going on, but your heart is bleeding out inside of you, what do you do?

You remember Jesus.

Jesus cares about you.

Jesus sees through the hoopla and and the bling, hears beyond the frenzied voices and the seasonal music.  Jesus sees you: your heart, your tears, your empty hands and jumbled thoughts.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit.
~Psalm 34:18 (esv)

He heals the brokenhearted 
and binds up their wounds.
~Psalm 147:3 (esv)

This is exactly why Jesus came, why that baby packaged full of the Divine essence was delivered to a  humble stable in the midst of the craziness of a Roman census. He came to save us from the brokenness of the world.  He said so Himself, when He got older.

And He [Jesus] came to Nazareth, where He had been brought up.  And as was His custom, He went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and He stood up to read.  And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him.  He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written, 

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because He has anointed me 

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim

liberty to the captives

and recovering of sight to the blind,

to set at liberty those who are oppressed,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

And He rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down.  And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on Him.
~Luke 4:16-20 (esv)

This quote that Jesus read comes from Isaiah 61:1, and in Isaiah 61:1, it also says, ". . . He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted. . . "

Jesus came to bind our broken hearts.  Sometimes our hearts are broken because of our own spiritual blindness and captivity in sin.  Sometimes our hearts are broken because of sin's effects on someone else.  Sometimes our hearts are broken simply because we miss somebody we love.

No matter what kind of care is wearing away at you, bring it to Jesus.

Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.   ~1 Peter 3:7 (kjv)

He delights to comfort you with the glory of who He is.  He will never condemn you for your sorrow.  He will wipe away your tears and (eventually) make all things new.