Shadow of a Doubt

Awakening in the shadow of a doubt.  Heavy and gray.  I passed into sleep last night after having the sweet occasion to be among those who fortify and share the same love for God as I do.  

So this feeling of doubt points to the one who deceives me, attempting to thwart the good intended for me.  

Scripture tells me to look around at my brothers and sisters in Him.  In them I see hearts breaking for those who don't know Him.  In them, I see the desire to reach out and share what has made such a difference in their own lives.  The very thing that gives them hope and purpose.  In them, I see a love for others.  It's in their love that I see God.  He truly works through people.

 My vision sharpens, the weight lightens and I see that what is offered to me is the choice to believe or disbelieve.  Once again my decision rests heavily on the side of belief.  Belief in the One who seeks and saves.  Belief in the One who accepts me as I am and forgives me for all I am not.  I'm at peace again knowing and resting in a love like no other.  What is offered by Jesus is far greater and richer than anything this world has to offer me. 

Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.  So I will bless you as long as I live.  In your Name, I will lift up my hands.

Psalm 63:3-4

Dogs, death, divorce, deliverance

It was four years ago today that my son Rob stepped into heaven. These last four years have been a deep valley I've traveled through which has brought me to new vistas in my walk with God. Robbie's memories don't pierce me as they did when I first wrote this story I'm sharing with you today. His memories are more like whispers now, sweet and nostalgic.. I miss him most when I see his older brother hold his son, or when his friends get married and I watch their lives unfold without him. It's the life he didn't have that can prick like a thorn now.

Also since the writing of this story, his dog Shelby has passed away. Although I would like to believe "all dogs go to heaven". I only truly know that she has been set free of the disease that robbed her of mobility and crippled her. It has to be better for her now.

So on this day of remembering Robbie's departure, I offer my blog to all the road-weary as encouragement and inspiration to live greatly despite your circumstances. To quote my acupuncturist, "A miracle is that we keep going in spite of everything and that we keep looking to and thanking God."

- - -

Robbie's sandcastle memorial

Dogs, Death, Divorce, and Deliverance

There's a young cardinal feeding outside my window. The comb on the top of its head is still small and his feathers haven't yet filled in with red. It chits off and on as a small downy woodpecker shows up and exchanges a chirp or two, fluffs its soft feather-white down and continues on its way. In the distance, I see a wind-mill in the shape of a flower spinning in the easy breeze that blows across the day. A cassia tree is blooming in all its yellow brilliance. 

I hear my son's dog panting quietly beside me after its romp outside with Bacon and Theo, a friend's pets. My first anniversary of becoming a dog owner is in a few days. Before Shelby arrived, I had pretty much been interested in cats; at one time being the feeder of five. One from the pound, another named Gracie who moved back and forth between my son Robbie and me and the others were delivered to my doorstep by God's grace or sense of humor. My husband and I jokingly imagine that it was our cat Suma, the goodwill ambassador, who sent the word out to all the neighborhood homeless that our home was a safe house. Shelby came to live with us last Labor Day weekend when my youngest son had his homecoming in heaven. 

This past year I've learned a lot about dogs and a lot about grief. I could also say I've learned a lot about myself but it would be more accurate to say I learned more about God. Is it possible for me to explain how the pressing in of grief has pressed me into a more real version of faith? I'm going to give it my best shot to explain. 

I had laid awake all night until the tell-tale signs of dawn began to loosen the nights hold on the day. This was the first morning that would dawn over the loss of my son. I was gripped with a deep desolation and fear at the thought of the day dawning. How do I walk through this? I remember crying out to God that I didn't know how to do this…

That morning was a year ago. Since then I still hear over and over again the words of the police officer softly explaining that they found my son and he had passed away. These two sentences still bubble pop into my day like a macabre surprise party. Not nice, sharp and convincing. Robbie was involved in a tragic ATV accident. He was 27. He loved his ATV as much as he loved his dog, Shelby. As I write I hear Shelby snoring softly on the floor next to me. She has finally settled down from her romp with the boys. 

Many storms have rumbled through my life. The difference in the aftermath of the two storms is what inspired me to write this quiet afternoon. In one storm my faith was in myself, I had no relationship with God and then in this more recent storm, my faith was in God. Maybe you've had a few storms already in your life. If you haven't, count your blessings, but know that none of us walk through our lives unscathed. It is my hope that in sharing my storms, it may help you through yours. 

The first storm was my divorce and I didn't know much about the God of the Bible during that time. I was seeking God my way. Sampling what I was going to believe as if it were a spiritual buffet. I sampled 20 years of meditating twice a day to reach God-consciousness; Hinduism, followed the teachings of Ramtha (a woman claiming to channel a spiritual entity) and countless other ways where one could work or think their way to knowing or becoming like God. So when that first storm rumbled through my life I was left with my choice, me. I was lonely, broken, spent, desperate, and hopeless for many years.

As I write this I realize it has been fifteen years since I, through some rather amazing God-incidences, took a look at what the God of the Bible had to say about life, purpose and his love for me, His created. Most of my life I believed in God but now I was believing God. I began to see my life through the lens of a holy God. I certainly wasn't as shiny and bright as I had thought. But in spite of that, there was a God offering grace to me despite all the messiness in my life. Come as you are. 

It reminds me of a poem written by Augustine of Hippo speaking about the lament of a soul who has realized belatedly that God is there, while he was not aware of it. He writes, 

"Slow was I, Lord, too slow in loving you. To you, earliest and latest beauty, I was slow in love. You were waiting within me while I went outside me, looking for you there, misshaping myself as I flung myself upon the shapely things you made. You were with me all the while I was not with you, kept from you by things that could not be except by being in you. You were calling to me, shouting, drumming on deaf ears. You thundered and lightninged, piercing my blindness."

Through this more recent storm, my heart was inclined toward Christ. I had placed my trust in Him alone. I had a strong family of friends who supported me, prayed for me, cried with me and stood beside me and in their eyes, I saw the reflection of God's love. I was surrounded by a deep love I'd never experienced before. Additionally, I experienced a peace from God that was beyond any understanding. How can I have peace when "that" happens? A pastor* I respect greatly explained it as such… 

The how has no human answer. It is beyond human understanding. Human understanding will not be able to come up with an answer as to how you enjoy peace in "that" circumstance. It is suprarational. Reasoning doesn't make the peace happen. God makes the peace happen and he does it in answer to prayer. It's a wonderful experience (paraphrased). 

These experiences of the love and peace that come from God would have just remained something I had read about had it not been for this grief pressing into my life. I'm here to tell you it is a very, very real experience, one that has deepened my faith in a way I would not have thought possible. Know that my peace during this time does not mean I don't miss Robbie. I do, deeply. But I rest in knowing I will see him again, not as he was, an earthly man troubled by sins. But as a heavenly man, as God intended him to be. And I will be the same.

"You will keep him in perfect peace,

Whose mind is stayed on You,

Because he trusts in You."

—Isaiah 26:3—

*John Piper

Float

Her beautiful eyes are fixed on the sky and I can tell she is listening closely yet every muscle in her little body is still held taut.  I encourage her to relax. Just let all the tenseness drain out of your muscles and let me hold and steady you.  

It’s a beautiful summer’s day and we’ve gone to the community pool to cool off.  My granddaughter is an active five-year-old who loves a challenge.  After swimming back and forth from the side of the pool to my measured distance out into the pool, she creates a challenge by asking me to step a little further away each time she completes a swim out.  I can see her tiring physically, but mentally she was grimly determined to continue to swim a greater distance with each attempt.  About this time I realized there was a teaching moment in the midst of her challenge.  After a few more tries, I introduced a new challenge.  How to float.  How to let go of her efforts when she becomes tired and just rolls over onto her back, relaxes and floats. 

As I hold her tiny lighter than air form above the waterline, I can’t help but realize this teaching moment is also one for myself. My memory reaches back into past times in my life where though mentally and physically fatigued, I would doggedly push myself to continue despite the ache in my bones and the fog in my head.  Sometimes my anger would even become the tired fuel I would spend to accomplish checking off one more "to do" on my mountainous list.  

    

In retrospect and through the eyes of faith, how much easier if I had learned how to relax sooner in my life.  If I had taken some time to fix my sights on the one who holds me above the waterline and encourages me to rest into Him,  much like I was encouraging my granddaughter to do.  

Gradually I begin to see her struggle lessen as she begins to trust my support beneath her.  She experiences her buoyancy as she turns her efforts down and floats.  Her smile lights up my world.

We can light up His world too.  No matter the tempest, storm or workload.  No matter how high the waves or strong the wind, we can relax our struggle and release it into His loving hands.  We can trust him as my granddaughter trusted me.  Our trust in Him can be the smile on His face and a light in the world.

~

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”   

Matthew 11:29-30 The Message (MSG)

The Singer

The day's temperature was just beginning its upward climb toward the nineties.  The parking lot was full but we found a spot reasonably close to our destination that offered a stingy piece of appreciated shade.  As I stepped out of the car the Florida temperature greeted me like a warm hug.  Immediately my ears picked up the sound of someone singing.  I recall having heard this before from a previous visit to this shopping area.   I also recalled the thoughts I had the first time I heard him here.  My heart becomes hard like a sharp-edged rock.

The man singing is standing against the wall of a department store.  He isn't near the entrance to the store so we can avoid him rather easily as we head in that direction.   He appears to be blind as he has a cane next to him and a jar before him.  As my sister and I are walking we exchange some comments about him.   I may have said something to the effect of having seen him here before,  keeping veiled the nature of my inner thoughts.  We continued toward the entrance chalking him up to be one of the many homeless copping a coin. 

As we navigate toward the door his singing ceases and he begins to speak about new life in Jesus.   I pause for a moment listening to him as he speaks truth into the wide-open space of this busy parking lot. He has become a font of spiritual water running like a stream in a desert wilderness. My heart seizes.  I know what it's like to thirst for something and attempt to quench it with what doesn't satisfy.  

As we enter the store the grip on my heart does not relent.  I am unenthused with all the merchandise before me.  What happens instead is all the negative thoughts I've had about this blind solo singer in the past begin to bubble up in my memory.  As I am convicted of this my heart continues to ache and I'm unable to think, let alone shop.  

 I look in my wallet for some bills and find I have none.  I ask my sister if she has cash and she gives me a questioning look but responds with a  yes.  I mumble to her I'll be right back quickly explaining to her that the singing man was speaking the truth and I felt compelled to respond in some way.  

As I exit the store the sound of his song touches my ears once again.  The hardness in my heart eases, the ache lessens.  I walk toward him with purposeful intention.   As I draw up closer to him, I put the bills into his jar and thank him for speaking the truth.  Just as I finish my sentence he stops, turns his blind countenance toward me and asks my name.  I answer and ask him for his.  He is a young man.  It's then that he asks if he can pray for me.  I am caught a little off guard but I respond with a yes.  

I ask him for prayer on loving God in a greater way than I already do.   I know deep in my soul that to love God more would enable me to love others more genuinely.   We bow our heads together and this young blind man whom I've criticized and disregarded in the past is praying confidently for me to Jesus.  He knows Him well. 

As he prays it seems as if there isn't another soul around.   It's as if all the people that were bustling about were swallowed up in a vacuum and all that was left behind were this young man and I standing in prayer before the very one who has quenched our thirst, Jesus. He is there with us.

"For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Matthew 18:20

For days the memory of this parking lot prayer remained as a tangible presence in my life.   Words fall short of the spiritual blessing God graced me with through this young man.  It was supernatural.   Some of the scales that were blinding my eyes dropped away and my heart discovered a greater tenderness.   I chuckle to think I went to give him a few dollars and he gave me a memory that was as precious as pearls.  

I haven't seen him in the area for many months now.  He truly was a lesson placed there to be learned.  And you may wonder if the prayer was answered.  I would have to say the prayer was being answered before it was ever spoken. 

Life lessons from Shelby

I can still see her running away from me.  Nothing but a cloud of sand following behind her as she charges forward.  Her sheer joy is obvious as she streaks along the shoreline, pulling muscles drawing tight against bones, stretching for the distance.   Boxers have a lot of unbridled energy.  

Relieved I see her slowing down.  Being caught up in the rapture of running she has journeyed farther than she thought, or perhaps even had no thought at all which would most likely be closer to the truth.   

I watch her as she runs over to strangers seeking something familiar, wreaking havoc on beach blankets of unknown scents.  She is searching,  at times even looking panicked. Suddenly she stops and stands still and silent in the distance.   How my heart races that she sees me, that she hears me calling out to her.

 She turns and faces a familiar sound, though slight and quiet there is some familiarity in it.  A remembrance of being loved,  protected and cared for.  Oh, how she charges back in my direction joyously, ecstatic and very slobbery.

I can't help but reflect how many times in my life  I do the same thing?  Exuberantly running off in my own direction, plowing ahead with no thought of checking in with the captain of my life, the one who holds my life, protects my life and gives me life. 

I can find myself lost among the unfamiliar looking for help where help doesn't live.  It's that moment when I stop and stand shocked still that I have the ear to hear the sound of His voice, the call to remember whose I am.  

Then, I too, turn and run back ecstatically,  joyously and hopefully not slobbery, into His presence.  I am received into His loving arms, His easy yoke and am overcome with that same giddy reassurance that I am kept, I am held,  I am loved and protected by the very one who gives me life.  My Father, my Friend, my Master, Jesus.  

"Be still and know that I am God". 

Psalm 46:10

A blog revisited

I'm just not sure where to pick up where I left off.  I could be making something complicated that doesn't need to be.  I have tendencies toward that.  

I 'd given some thought to changing the name of my blog.  Hermit crab stories was a perfect fit as my husband and I  were doing some traveling back and forth from Baja.  But do we ever really stop our travels? It seems we move forward albiet our steps may be shaky at times or sure.  

I think I have covered more terrain these last few years than I thought possible.  I've discovered deep valleys and high plateaus in the everyday movement through life.  

I'll keep the name the same simply because I'm not able to find one I like to replace it.  I'll pick up the  telling of  some of the views and vistas I've experienced.  It seems to be the balm my soul needs right now.

I invite you into the written life of the world expressed through my experiences.

The Fog of Disconsolation

It was my hip that woke me and spoke of rearranging myself so it could decompress. Rolling over to my belly and propping myself up on my elbows I slid the window open to peer out into the desert sky. I took a deep, slow breath of the slightly moist fragrance of the desert. Desert air is not fragrant in the sense of the tropics, but fragrant in the sense of the desert, a mix of green, dry dirt and manure. I even smell coyote. I can imagine your noses wrinkling at the mention of that but suffice it to say I’m left with words to describe an experience. Try and describe the taste of ripe mango, or a sour patch kid candy. The experience is so much more than speaking of it. The same holds true of one's faith. How to describe the comfort of surrender and the gift of His word and will in one's life? How that type of comfort feels….. The use of words cannot really touch it and a person with an experience is never at the mercy of a person with an argument. So my friends with the crinkled noses, you’ll just have to trust me on the fragrance of the desert air. It is sweet in its own way.

Looking to the east I see no light yet and have only the sweet promise of the sun rising. This in itself is a reassurance we all too often take for granted. I am unable to see the constellation of Scorpio this morning due to an unusual fog bank lying low across the horizon. As I rouse myself to move out of the camper bunk, I move straightaway to the furnace. It has been rather temperamental this year and with this cold dampness, I’m looking forward to the soft whir of the furnace as it blows out that heated air that makes the camper warm and toasty. I click it on and step outside into the cold morning.

There is a northwest wind already blowing which immediately foretells a day with yet again unfavorable wind conditions. Surf check over before the sun rises. Darn this La Nina year! Slipping back inside expecting the warm greeting of a toasty interior but instead find the furnace is stubbornly choosing to sleep today. Hmm, it looks like no heat this morning either. I begin the process of layering my clothes and getting the coffee on.

About this time my husband is jostling about, focused on the furnace and why it won’t do what it is designed to do. It stubbornly refuses to crank up and even the coffee isn’t satisfying. The fog is thick, so thick you can’t see the ocean and hidden inside the hem of that layer of fog are the threads of disconsolation and worry for no reason. It begins slowly, insidiously with the problem of the heater and threads its way to other worries. My dear beloved cat was put to sleep five days after we arrived here in Conejo and no one was able to contact me. Woe. The “what if” train starts to roll. We are chug-a-lugging along and then I remember to fix my eyes on what is unseen rather than what is seen. Time for prayer, but for what? Heat? Not really, but it would be nice, right? I'm going to take the matter into my own hands and build a fire. So I begin positioning the wood in the ring. It’s cold and wet and damp. I’m able to get it to start up a bit and am momentarily a little hopeful but it dissipates into a smoldering, smoky, damp, ugly mess. No crisp, warm and crackling fire this morning.

Meantime, grumbles from the mate who is still attempting to get the furnace going. It just won’t crank up and spark to ignite the propane. He comes around the back of the camper with an assortment of wires. I ask him what the wires are for and he explains he is going to get it to spark and I should prepare myself for a loud explosion. Woe and now panic. He’s serious! I had an inspirational book beside me near the fire. No, not to use as the starter for the fire but for me to use as the starter for my spirit. What with all this stuff going on I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I open it randomly to a page that suggests I tell God exactly how I feel. “I can’t be quiet. I am angry and bitter. I have to speak!” So I begin my silent tirade to the Lord, expressing my fears, my discomfort, how I need his help, keep us safe, keep my sons safe. I need to speak to them but how? He can change it all; I give the reins back to him. I need Him! So many worries. I’m about to drown.

I douse the fire with water and give it a few stirs. The smoke mixes with the fog in a cloying cloud. The morning wasn’t pierced with a loud explosion and the heater still sleeps. So we sit in the morning fog watching our breath hanging in the cold, damp air.

 Moments later I look up and see a patch of blue through the gray. The fog slowly begins to lift. As it lifts I spot a friend’s truck on the bluff checking the surf. Robert hops on his bike and rides along the dirt path to the sea looking much like a Mexican peasant. The sky becomes bluer than gray. The sun begins to pour warmth in the morning. The coffee tastes better. My companion returns with the news that our friend has a cell phone with a signal and we can call home today. The rest of this day was blessed and golden and rich. Oh, and by the way, the heater started working too.