Dear Stephanie,

Today marks the 30th anniversary of your going to God. Thirty is a big deal here on earth, it seems. When your birthday passed in May, I had my usual dip into sadness. The whole month of May kind of stinks for me. But it is here at this point when I remember saying good-bye to you that my mind has been lingering. I was really hoping that your brother Peter's son would be born today. I thought that would be so redeeming. That is not to be. Dear Kristie still carries little Cohen in her womb.

I want to let you know a few things. First of all, I'm glad God called you to Himself. You would have struggled so much had you been confined to your earthly body. Though my heart has grieved for thirty years, I am glad His grace relieved your suffering. I often try to imagine what your spiritual life is like. I have to content myself with the knowledge that it is good, peaceful, and full of love.

The second thing I want you to know is that I look forward with great anticipation to the time when I will get to know you in your perfection. I wonder if you are like your brothers, funny and smart and deeply thoughtful. Do you have that mix of me and your dad, so cerebral joined with passionate emotion? What will you look like in your new body, having shed the one that was so broken?

Finally, I want you to know that I wouldn't have missed you for anything in the world. I am so glad I was your mother. Your short life changed mine in ways nothing else could have, and for that I am grateful.

Your dad realized today that you share the same earth exiting anniversary as that great church father, St. Augustine. Maybe you have met him.

There is so much I don't know about life eternal. But I do know that one day we will be reunited in the presence of the Triune God and the holy angels. Thanks be to God.

I love you. I miss you. I will see you again.

Your Mamma

Some of the most seemingly innocuous experiences sometimes have the most profound impact. I have a tendency to store up memories of moments of failure and, from time to time, feel the sting of regret. Walking in the back yard today, some unknown trigger took me back to a long-gone Saturday afternoon in June where I was dishing out ice cream to a customer at the annual Ice Cream Social of our little country church. Being the "rule-keeping" girl that I was, I carefully measured the scoop into this man's cup. He evidently thought my portion miserly and asked for a little more. I basically ignored his request (had to follow my instructions precisely) and received his angry look in return.

Why has that scene played in my mind sporadically over the past twenty years bringing with it a feeling of great remorse? I don't know all the answers to that question--that would probably take therapy--but as I mused again today over that blip on the time-line of my life, my prayer to God was for Him to continue to change my heart and renew my mind. I pray for Him to continue to root out a spirit that is more concerned with the letter of the law than the hospitality of the divine nature. The memory of that experience is a reminder to engage people with the lavish generosity of the Savior.

It may be that faithfulness to Christ will be my crowning achievement (maybe Carl's too).

How often we have longed to do something great and significant, become a change-agent in the world, "make the world a better place." Yet, at 55 years of age, the prospects of doing something great (or being married to someone who does something great) are getting pretty slim. It has now been a year since we have been decidedly in our most recent "crisis, battle, trial"--whatever you want to call it. Last year at just this time, Carl and his close colleagues came under direct attack from the powers at the university--beginning with the onslaught against Michael Pahl and his family. Since last June, this group of faithful scholars with their families has endured sortie after sortie. I am convinced that spiritual warfare like we cannot even imagine has been occurring over the town of Cedarville, OH. Of course, this is not unlike many times throughout history when people who claim to be followers of Christ have ravaged fellow believers, leaving a putrefying taste in the mouths of observers. (Who needs oppression from the world when God's people crucify God's people?) After a year in this hostile environment, some have seen prayers answered and are being released to seek ministry in other places. This is a joyous thing, but not without its sorrow. It is never easy to uproot and start over, and it is never easy to leave friends who have bonded through the power of suffering. So, as we had our final big get-together last evening with this amazing group of people, our hearts are happy for those who have found new places, but intensely sorrowful over the scattering to the four winds, as well as the plight of those of us who still have no clear direction for the future (especially those who it appears will have to "soldier on" for one more year at the university).

Which brings me back to my opening statement--My life with Carl seems to have been one struggle after another, not the least being the struggle against a suffocating brand of Christianity. By the leading of the Holy Spirit and the integrity of his soul, Carl could not serve another year at Cedarville University. This has obviously been a step of faith and obedience to Christ. It is a step with no guarantees of outcome. Will he find a place of fulfillment where he can use his gifts and experience to their fullest? Will he have future impact in the lives of students through his teaching? Will we have financial security? I do not know. The only thing that is in the sphere of my control is my response to God and life's circumstances. Will I trust God or fall into despair? Will I succumb to anger and bitterness or remain gracious and forgiving? Will I give way to anxiety and fear or maintain hope and joy? These are my choices. Whatever dreams of greatness that still may lurk in the corners of my mind may totally dissipate in the reality of daily life. There may be no great achievements in my life (or Carl's). That is in the hands of God.

So, if God wills it, with whatever time I have left on earth, may faithfulness to Christ be my crowning achievement.

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The Old Testament reading in the daily office for this morning is Judges 13: 1- 15. This is the story of how the birth and purpose of Samson was revealed. I thought it quite interesting that the angel of the Lord appeared to the woman (we don't even know her name), the wife of Manoah, and gave the revelation. Even after Manoah prayed for God to reveal instructions on how to raise the child, God sent the answer to the woman. She had to go fetch her husband. I can't help but like that. It seems as though, every so often in the Scripture, God side-steps cultural norms.

Maybe it's sad that I like this so much. Does it reveal a deep longing for validation and recognition? Does this struggle between the genders stem from the fall of the human race?           

May 18, 2012

I was reading a brief sketch of Florence Nightingale's life. An excerpt  reminded me of some of our students at my school. :) 

"Then war broke out in the Crimea (in Russia, on the north edge of the Black Sea), and Sir Sidney Herbert, now Secretary of War, obtained permission for Florence to lead a group of 38 nurses there. Of these, 10 were Roman Catholic nuns, 14 were Anglican nuns, and the remaining 14 were "of no particular religion, unless one counts the worship of Bacchus." They found conditions appalling. Blankets were rotting in warehouses while the men did without, because no one had issued the proper forms for their distribution. The lavatories in the hospitals had no running water, and the latrines were tubs to be emptied by hand. But no one emptied them, since official regulations did not specify which department was responsible for doing so. The result was that the hospital had a foul stench that could be smelled for some distance outside its walls. Far more men were dying in hospitals of infection than of wounds. The chief concern of many of the Army doctors was that the nurses might usurp some of their authority. Florence gradually managed to win the doctors and other authorities over, and to reform hospital procedures, with spectacular results. Once the medical situation had ceased to be an acute problem, she turned her attention to other aspects of the soldiers' welfare. For example, most of them squandered all their pay on drink. She noted that there was no trustworthy way for them to send money home to their families, and she set up facilities for them to do so. First, she undertook to send money home herself for any soldier in the hospital that wanted it sent, and the soldiers brought in about 1000 pounds a month. She asked the authorities to set up an official service to do this, and they refused. By appealing to Queen Victoria herself, she overcame opposition to the idea, and the men sent home 71,000 pounds sterling in less than six months. She established with her own money a reading-room with tables for writing letters, and the men used it enthusiastically. She imported four schoolmasters to give lectures, and the halls were filled to overflowing. All this was done despite opposition from officers who said, 'The men are hopeless brutes. You cannot expect anything from them.'"

Sometimes we think about some of our students as being "hopeless brutes," and there may be some that are. But we don't know which ones they are (only time will tell that), so what can we do to solve problems, motivate students, and give them opportunities to be better? Nightingale assessed the real problems these men were facing that led to their irresponsible choices, and she worked to give them opportunities and control in their lives. What more can we do for our students who are squandering their resources and living irresponsibly? We have to do some things differently if we are going to be successful with our students, at least as evidenced by our OGT scores, (which doesn't tell the whole story, but is an important indicator).

I am an idealist I know, but I like to think about and talk about these kinds of questions. 

As I continued to think about the way God works to bring about justice in the world--seemingly slowly and mysteriously--my mind went to Sweetie, the baby that the WAR community is praying for. Sweetie is the child of a young woman, barely out of childhood herself, who is the victim of sex trafficking probably in India. Sweetie is what the rescue workers call this baby because she has no name and is held captive like an animal, tied to a post. Sweetie remains nameless and is denied loving care because her captors want her to grow up to be used in the sex trade, not to be a relational human being. My heart and mind wail out to God for her deliverance, and I wait and hope for the mercy of God. But at the same time, I know she is just one example of the cruelty and evil perpetuated on women and children throughout the world. And my soul cries out with the psalmist, "Oh Lord, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked exult?" (Psalm 94:3) And the prophet Habakkuk complains, "Oh, Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? Or cry to you 'Violence!' and you will not save?" (Hab. 1:2)

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.