On this date last year my sister, Cassie died. At that time, I was tasked with the responsibility and the privilege to write her obituary. Because of space and financial considerations (you have to pay the newspaper for extra words), I was limited in what I could publish. If I'd had unlimited funds, this is the obituary I would have written. And this is the obituary she deserved.
Mary Catherine (Cassie) Best Kraus King died in her sleep on June 9, 2012 at her home in Odessa, Texas. She was born on August 15, 1956 - a Wednesday. "Wednesday's child is full of woe..." and Cassie had her share of woe. But on that day in 1956 her parents, John Edward and Jean Shirley Hammerton Best, greeted her with joy and much love.
She was named Mary because August 15 is a Catholic Holy Day - the Feast of the Assumption of Mary. Her middle name Catherine was after her paternal grandmother, Catherine Carney Best. The name Cassie came about because her sister Jean (Jean Wright) couldn't pronounce Cathy. Her parents called her Cassie Assie, but because she wasn't allowed to say "ass" she referred to herself as "Cassie Bum Bum".
She was the third of four children - Bruce Best, Jean Wright and Barbara Best. In addition to her father and siblings, she is survived by her son Steven Michael (Julie) Kraus and two grandchildren, Damian and Skylar.
Family was important to her and so she would have liked to include all her aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, great nieces and nephews, steps-, friends who were as close as family, etc in this list. And she could have named every one, along with their birthdays and anniversaries!
She attended St Lawrence O'Toole Elementary School, Ursuline Academy, and for a time, Clarion State University. She graduated from Allegheny County Vo-Tech with a degree in Practical Nursing and was a Licensed Practical Nurse.
As a young teen Cassie had thyroid problems that were possibly thought to be cancerous. She was finally diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and had to have her thyroid surgically removed. It was serious surgery for it's time and a cause of great worry for her parents. The surgery was successful and the experience may have fueled her nurturing skills.
From an early age, Cassie demonstrated great nursing skills. She often tended to her siblings and parents when they were sick or hospitalized. Highly intelligent, she understood medical science, but her best professional skill was her compassion and desire to ease people's pain. Prior to her nursing career she worked at a church bingo refreshment stand, as a Laundromat attendant, a hospital food service worker and a waitress, always serving people. She was an advocate for her patients and any downtrodden she thought were being disrespected and ignored. You would not want to be the Customer Service representative who was rude to a hapless customer! Cassie would have had no problem coming from the back of the line to dress down said representative for the sake of a total stranger. And if the customer happened to be rude to the person behind the counter, she'd take them on as well.
Cassie had a variety of interests. Her musical taste ranged from Elvis to Elton John to... (gasp) Barry Manilow. She loved to read - anything from Best Sellers to gossip rags. It was the latter that made her a killer Trivial Pursuit player, especially in the Arts & Entertainment category.
Her taste in food was far from refined. Cassie's favorite Italian meal was Chef Boyardee Spaghetti-O's. She liked Potato Buds over homemade mashed potatoes and LaChoy over any Chinese restaurant. However, she was quite particular about stuffing. It had to be homemade - her mother's recipe; StoveTop was no substitute. Cassie's culinary skills were not top-notch, either; but she WAS able to duplicate Mommy's stuffing (for which there is no written recipe, it's totally by "feel & taste") like no one else in the family.
Her greatest love was for her son, Steven - her "Bunny Boy", and his family. She adored her granddaughter, Skylar or, as she referred to her "Skylab". She wanted for Steven every experience, every advantage. She scraped together money for him to take a few flying lessons, and took him on a trip to New York City. And there were also the numerous trips to Cedar Point... Steve inherited his love of roller coasters from her. Though she enjoyed coasters, she would still try to protect Steve and any one who was riding next to her, by putting her arm up in front of them to stop them from falling out - again, sometimes total strangers.
It would be easy to ignore or gloss over the "full of woe" portion of Cassie's life, but it was part of what made her - and she would be angry if I didn't acknowledge it. Throughout most of her life, Cassie struggled with substance abuse and suffered the physical, emotional, social and legal ramifications. It may have been what killed her, we don't know. At the very least, it contributed to her way too early death.
I don't know what caused her addictions. I wonder if maybe it was her great compassion and empathy; her ability to feel others' pain. Perhaps Cassie was so sensitive to everyone's hurt that she was overwhelmed by it and sought relief in drugs and alcohol. I don't know. Nobody does.
In January, 2012 I read the book "A Praying Life" by Paul Miller and was struck by the need to pray for my sister in a regular and very concerted way. The verse that came to mind when I prayed for her was Matthew 11:28 - "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I did this quite often over the next few months. After she died, I was sorting through the prayer cards I kept for various people and thought to myself wryly, "Well, I don't need this one anymore".
(Yes, it's a sick joke; but Cassie would have liked it. She would have laughed at it...hard. Her only complaint would have been that I'd said it before she did.)
Thinking about my prayers, I realized God had answered this prayer. This wasn't the rest I'd expected Him to give her, but Cassie is at rest. As a teenager, she'd made a commitment to Christ; she knew that her own good works were not enough to please God; she couldn't do enough of them to earn salvation. And at that time, she'd done quite a few good works. To look at her life afterwards - the stints in rehab, the times in jail, and all the other ugly acts - it didn't look like she was "living for Jesus". But pull back the curtains that cover our lives and our selfishness, greed, anger, malice, impatience and pride (to name a few) would be revealed for all to see. We all fall short; which is why we need Jesus in the first place.
So, Cassie is at rest; she is in heaven with God, healed of her addictions. She is not in hell because of her addictions and crimes any more than she is in heaven because of her good acts. For all of us, our sinful acts and attitudes far outnumber our "saintly" ones. Cassie is living in heaven because Jesus took the punishment she (and we all) deserved and she accepted His free gift of eternal life.
On this, the first anniversary of her death, I say with confidence in God, who answered my prayers that Cassie is Resting in Peace.
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Trashy Thoughts
Why is it my most profound thoughts come to me just as I start to fall asleep? While I drift off to slumber these inspiring ideas drift off someplace else. Maybe they travel to the place where socks lost in the dryer and teaspoons that disappear in the dishwasher go to nest.
Why is it my most provocative writing ideas come when all I have at hand are a leaky pen and a mere scrap of paper? Either the words are too smeared to decipher later or the scraps wind up tossed in the trash.
Maybe it's because these ideas were not as profound as I thought. Or maybe they were too profound; maybe they would cause me to be too proud. Losing these thoughts is God's way of keeping me humble; reining in my ego and keeping my reliance on Him closely tethered.
Whatever His reasons, I trust that the words that do survive carry on for a reason; reasons to which I'm not always privy. Maybe they'll encourage someone. Maybe they'll make someone laugh (With me not AT me, please). Maybe the reason is as simple as keeping my head from exploding from the buildup of too many ideas.
Why is it my most provocative writing ideas come when all I have at hand are a leaky pen and a mere scrap of paper? Either the words are too smeared to decipher later or the scraps wind up tossed in the trash.
Maybe it's because these ideas were not as profound as I thought. Or maybe they were too profound; maybe they would cause me to be too proud. Losing these thoughts is God's way of keeping me humble; reining in my ego and keeping my reliance on Him closely tethered.
Whatever His reasons, I trust that the words that do survive carry on for a reason; reasons to which I'm not always privy. Maybe they'll encourage someone. Maybe they'll make someone laugh (With me not AT me, please). Maybe the reason is as simple as keeping my head from exploding from the buildup of too many ideas.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Bizarro Barb
A few months ago, curious about my web presence, I Googled myself. There were many references to Barbara Best. Most were something like Santa Barbara Best Vacation or Barbara's Best Cheesecake, etc. However, one hit really hit home. It was another Barb Best - a REAL live person, with my name, with her own blog and everything. I now follow her on Twitter and we are Facebook friends.
Reading her Blog and getting to know her, I'm reminded of the Bizarro Superman comic book. Or for a more recent reference, the "Bizarro Jerry" episode of Seinfeld.
The other Barb Best appears to be opposite me, from a parallel universe. From her pictures, she appears to be short; I'm tall. She's blond; I'm brunette. She lives on the West Coast; I live on the East Coast. She won the 2010 Erma Bombeck Global Humor Award; I think I could be a finalist in the Erma Bombeck Housekeeping Award.
It's confused me quite often when I see a Tweet or Facebook Post by the other Barb Best. My first reaction is that someone must have hacked my account and posted as me. I wonder if she has the same reaction. I wonder if my friends think I've suddenly become funnier or her friends think she's having a dry spell. She hasn't unfriended me, yet so I must not be detrimental to her career.
Recently I saw from her Twitter feed that the other Barb Best is going to be at Lucy Fest in Jamestown, NY. I work in Jamestown, NY! I immediately messaged her when I saw this and we plan on meeting; I'm looking forward to this unique experience. I have only one concern. Which one of us is Bizarro?
Reading her Blog and getting to know her, I'm reminded of the Bizarro Superman comic book. Or for a more recent reference, the "Bizarro Jerry" episode of Seinfeld.
The other Barb Best appears to be opposite me, from a parallel universe. From her pictures, she appears to be short; I'm tall. She's blond; I'm brunette. She lives on the West Coast; I live on the East Coast. She won the 2010 Erma Bombeck Global Humor Award; I think I could be a finalist in the Erma Bombeck Housekeeping Award.
It's confused me quite often when I see a Tweet or Facebook Post by the other Barb Best. My first reaction is that someone must have hacked my account and posted as me. I wonder if she has the same reaction. I wonder if my friends think I've suddenly become funnier or her friends think she's having a dry spell. She hasn't unfriended me, yet so I must not be detrimental to her career.
Recently I saw from her Twitter feed that the other Barb Best is going to be at Lucy Fest in Jamestown, NY. I work in Jamestown, NY! I immediately messaged her when I saw this and we plan on meeting; I'm looking forward to this unique experience. I have only one concern. Which one of us is Bizarro?
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Heal My Lonely Heart
There are millions of lonely people in the world,
Studies show this true.
I wish there were one less around;
Correction, I wish for two.
I pray my loneliness be healed
By His giving me to you.
Studies show this true.
I wish there were one less around;
Correction, I wish for two.
I pray my loneliness be healed
By His giving me to you.
My Sixth Sense
While out running with my dog, Dora this evening, I was struck by how all my senses were engaged during our jaunt. I was enjoying the view of the beautiful sunset, the salty sweat dripping from my top lip onto my tongue. A light rain began to fall and I felt the refreshing droplets tickle my face, the fresh clean scent filling my nostrils. I was listening to some jazz music while enjoying the gentle shower when I realized what band I was listening to - Weather Report. During my spurt of giggles I realized I have a highly developed sixth sense - a sense of humor!
Thursday, May 02, 2013
A Jackson Pollock Painting-Repost
Reposting this from 2011 'cause it's one of my favorites. And it's still pretty accurate description of me.
I'm not a fan of Jackson Pollock's art. It's way too out there for me. But I was thinking about myself, my personality, my likes/dislikes, my history, what I read, what I listen to, what I think about. And I realized, I am a Jackson Pollock painting. I'm a mishmash of colors thrown together, with no discernible rhyme or reason. A drop of green here, a streak of blue there, dabbles of pink and red and purple and white.
I like jazz music, rock music, bluegrass, Celtic, some country. I own some bagpipe cd's, for crying out loud.
I read murder mysteries, urban noir, biographies, history, current events, contemporary thought, health and wellness. I read newspapers, books, magazines, blogs, cereal boxes and nutritional labels.
I dress conservatively, casually, modern, old-fashioned. I'm just as at home in jeans and sweatshirts as I am in business suits, as I am in khakis and blazers. I'm LL Bean, Evan Picone, WalMart, and Salvation Army Thrift Store.
My home is decorated in Traditional, Country, Cottage, Mission, Victorian, Romance, Contemporary.
I have an educated slang casual city country vocabulary.
I drink wine, Diet Coke, tap water, spring water, flavored water, black tea, white tea, green tea, herb tea, iced tea, Long Island Iced Tea and the occasional cappuccino. That's really as far as I've delved in to the coffee world.
I like a clean house; I like a messy house.
I like to ride my bike, walk, hike; I am a couch potato.
I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted - sometimes all at the same time.
Many biographers and art historians speculate that Pollock suffered bipolar disease, which would explain the mania exhibited in his art. Some might look at the canvas that is my life and wonder about the Artist that created me, as well.
No one understands what was going through Pollock's mind as he dripped and tossed paint on canvas. No one knows what fueled the thoughts and feelings he was trying to display, what emotions he was trying to free from deep within his soul.
I don't really understand what the Artist who created me was/is trying to accomplish. His Word, His Autobiography says we all were fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps 139:14) in His image (Gen 1:27). However, His art is not from bipolar disease. He is not manic. God is quite deliberate in how He proceeds.
One need only look at the history of creation in Genesis to see how carefully He made the earth and all that is within it. For six straight days, He created a new item, one thing leading to another. There was nothing random about it. He separated land and water before He made plants. He created plants before He created the animals that would eventually feed on those plants.
As I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted (sometimes all at the same time), contemplating the "why's?" of my life, I have to step back and see the Artist at work, trusting there is a masterpiece being made that is still in process. He's dripping points of sad blue on to streaks of boring beige next to lines of hot red through pools of peaceful yellow and green, with some splashes of fun pink and purple tossed in for humor and good measure.
There will be a day when the canvas that is me will be in His heavenly gallery. Jesus and I will be viewing the completed work and I'll understand why that big black drip fell on to that fuschia experience and that it hadn't ruined but enhanced my life. I need to have faith that the omniscient, omnipotent Artist will complete the good work He began in me (Phil 1:6). Until that time, I need to watch the Artist wield His brushes, trusting that He has complete and total control. There is nothing random about His paintings.
I'm not a fan of Jackson Pollock's art. It's way too out there for me. But I was thinking about myself, my personality, my likes/dislikes, my history, what I read, what I listen to, what I think about. And I realized, I am a Jackson Pollock painting. I'm a mishmash of colors thrown together, with no discernible rhyme or reason. A drop of green here, a streak of blue there, dabbles of pink and red and purple and white.
I like jazz music, rock music, bluegrass, Celtic, some country. I own some bagpipe cd's, for crying out loud.
I read murder mysteries, urban noir, biographies, history, current events, contemporary thought, health and wellness. I read newspapers, books, magazines, blogs, cereal boxes and nutritional labels.
I dress conservatively, casually, modern, old-fashioned. I'm just as at home in jeans and sweatshirts as I am in business suits, as I am in khakis and blazers. I'm LL Bean, Evan Picone, WalMart, and Salvation Army Thrift Store.
My home is decorated in Traditional, Country, Cottage, Mission, Victorian, Romance, Contemporary.
I have an educated slang casual city country vocabulary.
I drink wine, Diet Coke, tap water, spring water, flavored water, black tea, white tea, green tea, herb tea, iced tea, Long Island Iced Tea and the occasional cappuccino. That's really as far as I've delved in to the coffee world.
I like a clean house; I like a messy house.
I like to ride my bike, walk, hike; I am a couch potato.
I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted - sometimes all at the same time.
Many biographers and art historians speculate that Pollock suffered bipolar disease, which would explain the mania exhibited in his art. Some might look at the canvas that is my life and wonder about the Artist that created me, as well.
No one understands what was going through Pollock's mind as he dripped and tossed paint on canvas. No one knows what fueled the thoughts and feelings he was trying to display, what emotions he was trying to free from deep within his soul.
I don't really understand what the Artist who created me was/is trying to accomplish. His Word, His Autobiography says we all were fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps 139:14) in His image (Gen 1:27). However, His art is not from bipolar disease. He is not manic. God is quite deliberate in how He proceeds.
One need only look at the history of creation in Genesis to see how carefully He made the earth and all that is within it. For six straight days, He created a new item, one thing leading to another. There was nothing random about it. He separated land and water before He made plants. He created plants before He created the animals that would eventually feed on those plants.
As I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted (sometimes all at the same time), contemplating the "why's?" of my life, I have to step back and see the Artist at work, trusting there is a masterpiece being made that is still in process. He's dripping points of sad blue on to streaks of boring beige next to lines of hot red through pools of peaceful yellow and green, with some splashes of fun pink and purple tossed in for humor and good measure.
There will be a day when the canvas that is me will be in His heavenly gallery. Jesus and I will be viewing the completed work and I'll understand why that big black drip fell on to that fuschia experience and that it hadn't ruined but enhanced my life. I need to have faith that the omniscient, omnipotent Artist will complete the good work He began in me (Phil 1:6). Until that time, I need to watch the Artist wield His brushes, trusting that He has complete and total control. There is nothing random about His paintings.
Wednesday, May 01, 2013
War Wounds
The wounds of loneliness
Bleed tears of grief.
Scar tissue covers the wound
But constricts the heart.
Bleed tears of grief.
Scar tissue covers the wound
But constricts the heart.
Spin Doctor
Intense.
Emotional.
Passionate.
Who can look beyond the intensity;
Through the emotionality
Recognize and appreciate the passion?
Emotional.
Passionate.
Who can look beyond the intensity;
Through the emotionality
Recognize and appreciate the passion?
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Laugh and the World Laughs With You
One of my favorite quotes is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Earth laughs in flowers" from the poem Hamatreya. The quote is taken out of context of the poem; but still, I like the imagery. This got me to thinking of other ways in which the earth expresses itself.
If "earth laughs in flowers" then it rejoices with gleeful jubilation with sunshine. It giggles with rain. The earth howls during windstorms, obviously. It roars with hurricanes, shrieks with tornadoes, and shouts with thunder.
Then there are days like today. On these days, when it sleets and snows on APRIL 24 , earth guffaws... loudly...at us, not with us.
I think my brother and his wife, currently vacationing at Disneyworld, are guffawing along with earth.
If "earth laughs in flowers" then it rejoices with gleeful jubilation with sunshine. It giggles with rain. The earth howls during windstorms, obviously. It roars with hurricanes, shrieks with tornadoes, and shouts with thunder.
Then there are days like today. On these days, when it sleets and snows on APRIL 24 , earth guffaws... loudly...at us, not with us.
I think my brother and his wife, currently vacationing at Disneyworld, are guffawing along with earth.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Waiting-A Valentine's Lament
I don’t need to know
What you are doing,
Who you are with.
I don’t need to know
What you are buying or wearing;
Where your mind and your heart and your body are.
I don’t need to know
What you are thinking or planning or feeling;
Your hopes, your dreams, your aspirations…
Your desires.
I WANT to know.
I want to know
That you are happy, that you are at peace;
That you are under His watchful eye and care.
I need to know
That I am under His same care;
That the peace I so desire for you is available to me.
I need to know
That I matter; that my thoughts and plans and feelings
What I hope and dream and aspire
Are of some value, warrant some attention – if not from you,
From Him.
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Peaceful Easy Feeling
There are thousands of books, probably millions of articles and interviews written on how to handle the onslaught of responsibilities and activities and tasks we have taken on. How to multitask, how to prioritize, how to have it all.
God says it in 8 words:
"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10
I can't add anything to that.
God says it in 8 words:
"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10
I can't add anything to that.
Friday, February 08, 2013
Ripples
I awake deep in the night,
My heart pounding;
Hard and fast it beats for you.
It's rhythmic throbbing
Sends shock waves towards you.
Ripples in the ocean
They grow larger, stronger, higher
Becoming earnest waves of emotion
Seeking their way
To the shores of your heart.
Will they reach you?
Will you feel them?
Will they move you;
Throwing you off balance?
Will you respond?
My heart pounding;
Hard and fast it beats for you.
It's rhythmic throbbing
Sends shock waves towards you.
Ripples in the ocean
They grow larger, stronger, higher
Becoming earnest waves of emotion
Seeking their way
To the shores of your heart.
Will they reach you?
Will you feel them?
Will they move you;
Throwing you off balance?
Will you respond?
Monday, January 28, 2013
Red Neck Grocery Shopping...
...or "Why I Shouldn't Buy Bras at the Same Store I Purchase Food"
I ran in to WalMart for a quick trip. I wanted to get my hair trimmed in the salon. Once inside the store, I was told it would be a 45 minute wait so I decided to head home. But while I was there, why not be efficient and pick up some Diet Coke? Since I only had one item to buy I didn't bother with a cart. If I take a cart during these escapades I end up spending a small fortune; so in an effort to be frugal I abstained.
I was in a hurry so I took the diagonal short cut through Ladies clothing. I passed a cute skirt (black a-line with a splashy white rose print) that was inexpensive. I did a quick check and the size and the price were right so I took the hangar off the rack and proceeded towards the grocery section with my spontaneous acquisition.
A few rows later I saw some tights that might look good with the skirt but there were none in the right color or pattern so I refrained, proud of my budget discipline. I then continued forward to the food, which was why I entered the store in the first place. Because of some people standing in the aisle on my route, I had to detour. I then found myself in the lingerie section. In desperate need of bras and remembering that I'd found an inexpensive, utilitarian model a few months ago, I scanned the racks looking for the proper size that would support my rack. I found it, grabbed it, and then speedily walked towards the food. I was congratulating myself on my quick progress through the store.
I grabbed my intended purchase (Diet Coke) and headed towards the checkout line purchases in hand, as I had wisely forgone a cart. Again, due to shoppers, I was forced to take an especially circuitous route, this time through the grocery aisles. Diet Coke and skirt weighed down my right hand at my side, while in my left was the new brassiere, moving in cadence with my step. Back and forth, up and down the double-barrelled slingshot swung and bounced with abandon. My speed and tempo was akin to a running back, dodging shoppers right and left, the checkout line my only goal. The over-the-should-boulder-holder in hand, it brushed against a few shoppers. Only when the ample, empty cups nearly collected a few canned goods off a shelf did I realize I had been swinging a bra all the way through WalMart!
Next time, I get a cart.
PS - In the "it could have been worse category" I had originally been eyeing up a (tasteful) black lace model but decided to be practical and bought the beige model instead.
I ran in to WalMart for a quick trip. I wanted to get my hair trimmed in the salon. Once inside the store, I was told it would be a 45 minute wait so I decided to head home. But while I was there, why not be efficient and pick up some Diet Coke? Since I only had one item to buy I didn't bother with a cart. If I take a cart during these escapades I end up spending a small fortune; so in an effort to be frugal I abstained.
I was in a hurry so I took the diagonal short cut through Ladies clothing. I passed a cute skirt (black a-line with a splashy white rose print) that was inexpensive. I did a quick check and the size and the price were right so I took the hangar off the rack and proceeded towards the grocery section with my spontaneous acquisition.
A few rows later I saw some tights that might look good with the skirt but there were none in the right color or pattern so I refrained, proud of my budget discipline. I then continued forward to the food, which was why I entered the store in the first place. Because of some people standing in the aisle on my route, I had to detour. I then found myself in the lingerie section. In desperate need of bras and remembering that I'd found an inexpensive, utilitarian model a few months ago, I scanned the racks looking for the proper size that would support my rack. I found it, grabbed it, and then speedily walked towards the food. I was congratulating myself on my quick progress through the store.
I grabbed my intended purchase (Diet Coke) and headed towards the checkout line purchases in hand, as I had wisely forgone a cart. Again, due to shoppers, I was forced to take an especially circuitous route, this time through the grocery aisles. Diet Coke and skirt weighed down my right hand at my side, while in my left was the new brassiere, moving in cadence with my step. Back and forth, up and down the double-barrelled slingshot swung and bounced with abandon. My speed and tempo was akin to a running back, dodging shoppers right and left, the checkout line my only goal. The over-the-should-boulder-holder in hand, it brushed against a few shoppers. Only when the ample, empty cups nearly collected a few canned goods off a shelf did I realize I had been swinging a bra all the way through WalMart!
Next time, I get a cart.
PS - In the "it could have been worse category" I had originally been eyeing up a (tasteful) black lace model but decided to be practical and bought the beige model instead.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
The Checkout Line
I stand expectantly
My legs are weak, m y feat are numb
My spot in line has not moved.
I've worked so hard, I've waited long
But my place has not improved.
In the checkout line
Waiting for my turn to come;
Biding my time.
Many others have gone ahead of me
They waited for their turns.
I understand their places in front
They previously had earned.
But some have come from behind
And pushed me aside.
The jumped the line ahead of me
My good manners they did deride.
I wonder should I join them,
Taking others’ places?
Ignoring their positions?
Ignoring their pained, hurt faces?
I still hold my place
Respecting others’ stations.
I accept my circumstance
But I’ve become impatient.
I worry that when I get to the front,
Where the shelves were once so plenty
My turn will come and I will find
The shelves are all now empty.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Waiting for Christmas
Remember as a child, waiting for Christmas to come? We were distracted and occupied by the excitement of Halloween, then the preparations for Thanksgiving. But after the turkey was eaten and the leftovers wrapped and packed away, Christmas and all it's trappings were dead in our sights!
The days on the calendar were checked off. As each block was counted down, the pile of gifts stacked up proportionally. Every day one more house on the block was bedecked in lights and garland.
The wait was excruciating. Curiosity was painful; the anticipation was like an electric current running throughout our bodies, making us tense and excited. Trying to complete schoolwork was next to impossible, distracted by the thoughts of what was in all those decorated boxes. The closer Christmas came the worse it got with the anxiety and "what-ifs" and "what-if-nots" stampeding through our emotions.
I've been waiting for "Christmas" to come for a long time. Earlier in my life, I was distracted by work and activities that kept my mind, body and emotions busy. But they no longer work. I'll be 52 in a few months, all the major "holidays" behind me. The only one looming is "Christmas". Only this "Christmas" doesn't have a specific date on the calendar on which I can pinpoint being able to open my gift. There's no way to countdown. Every day is painful, as I look for signs that "Christmas" is coming. I don't know if it ever will come for me.
My pain is compounded by the fact most all of my friends have already had their celebrations. Now their children are enjoying their holidays, as the parents look on sharing in their joy and remembering their own "Christmas". I'm still anxiously waiting, wondering if there is a gift for me or am I not supposed to ever celebrate my own "Christmas". I've had a gift waiting for someone, wrapped and ready; but no one seems to want it.
Every moment I'm on edge - curious, wondering if and when...and why. At this age, after so long a wait, it's mostly "why?". My prayers usually consist of two words - my heart not able to voice anything else but "Why?" and "Please!" I repeat them over and over again, almost like a mantra. Only this mantra does not bring comfort or peace.
Is this how Jesus feels - the gift He has to offer so many don't notice or outright reject? Is this what it means to share in His suffering?
To climb out of this vat of self-pity I need to remind myself of the first Christmas 2000 years ago, when the King of Kings lowered himself and volunteered for a messy human birth followed by a messy human life, ending with a humiliating death reserved for criminals, not innocent Kings. I need to remind myself that though I do not know the date or time or even if "Christmas" will come, the King of Kings knows the plan He has for me. His plan ends with a great celebration that surpasses any Christmas that we can plan on earth.
I wait with electric anticipation.
The days on the calendar were checked off. As each block was counted down, the pile of gifts stacked up proportionally. Every day one more house on the block was bedecked in lights and garland.
The wait was excruciating. Curiosity was painful; the anticipation was like an electric current running throughout our bodies, making us tense and excited. Trying to complete schoolwork was next to impossible, distracted by the thoughts of what was in all those decorated boxes. The closer Christmas came the worse it got with the anxiety and "what-ifs" and "what-if-nots" stampeding through our emotions.
I've been waiting for "Christmas" to come for a long time. Earlier in my life, I was distracted by work and activities that kept my mind, body and emotions busy. But they no longer work. I'll be 52 in a few months, all the major "holidays" behind me. The only one looming is "Christmas". Only this "Christmas" doesn't have a specific date on the calendar on which I can pinpoint being able to open my gift. There's no way to countdown. Every day is painful, as I look for signs that "Christmas" is coming. I don't know if it ever will come for me.
My pain is compounded by the fact most all of my friends have already had their celebrations. Now their children are enjoying their holidays, as the parents look on sharing in their joy and remembering their own "Christmas". I'm still anxiously waiting, wondering if there is a gift for me or am I not supposed to ever celebrate my own "Christmas". I've had a gift waiting for someone, wrapped and ready; but no one seems to want it.
Every moment I'm on edge - curious, wondering if and when...and why. At this age, after so long a wait, it's mostly "why?". My prayers usually consist of two words - my heart not able to voice anything else but "Why?" and "Please!" I repeat them over and over again, almost like a mantra. Only this mantra does not bring comfort or peace.
Is this how Jesus feels - the gift He has to offer so many don't notice or outright reject? Is this what it means to share in His suffering?
To climb out of this vat of self-pity I need to remind myself of the first Christmas 2000 years ago, when the King of Kings lowered himself and volunteered for a messy human birth followed by a messy human life, ending with a humiliating death reserved for criminals, not innocent Kings. I need to remind myself that though I do not know the date or time or even if "Christmas" will come, the King of Kings knows the plan He has for me. His plan ends with a great celebration that surpasses any Christmas that we can plan on earth.
I wait with electric anticipation.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Miracle Man
Thinking about Jesus' miracles, I realize He didn't perform His miracles to say "Hey, look at what I can do!" He didn't perform His miracles to say "Hey, you can't do this!" He performed His miracles to say "You can't do this, so let me do it for you. Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest."
Monday, January 14, 2013
Remember Me - A Psalm and a Prayer
The sound of my heartbeats
echo in my empty soul;
Their percussive waves
shake my being like aftershocks;
A continual reminder of it's desolate state.
Their voice mocks me
"No one wants you."
"There is no one for you"
No one.
I cry out ot my God,"Help me.
Stop the noise,
Fill the void."
But no sound comes back.
My pleas are sucked in to the vacuum of space.
Heaven does not answer me.
So many around me are crying out the same prayer.
The same prayer I've prayed for myself, I've prayed for them.
You hear their prayers. You hear my prayers for them.
You answer.
You remember them.
Remember me, now.
Please.
echo in my empty soul;
Their percussive waves
shake my being like aftershocks;
A continual reminder of it's desolate state.
Their voice mocks me
"No one wants you."
"There is no one for you"
No one.
I cry out ot my God,"Help me.
Stop the noise,
Fill the void."
But no sound comes back.
My pleas are sucked in to the vacuum of space.
Heaven does not answer me.
So many around me are crying out the same prayer.
The same prayer I've prayed for myself, I've prayed for them.
You hear their prayers. You hear my prayers for them.
You answer.
You remember them.
Remember me, now.
Please.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Thirty One Days of Joy - Days 1-7
A friend invited me to participate in a Facebook Event, "31 Days of Joy" where participants posted daily throughout the month of January different thoughts on joy. God has been blessing me with a lot of insight on joy, a topic on which I am woefully inexperienced. Allow me to share some of these thoughts with you here:
Day 1: "For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere." Ps 84:10a
Joy is not dependent on my physical circumstances but on the condition of my spirit. As long as I am in the secure confines of His walled courts, I know my eternal soul is safe. It is the condition of my eternal spirit that determines the eternal condition of my mind, body and heart.
Day 2: Joy through tears. Interesting concept that I began to understand when I listened to Page CXVI sing their version of "I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart..." Normally a rousing chorus, they sing it as a dirge. Joy is possible through tears when you define joy as Webster's 7th Collegiate Dictionary does - "the prospect of possessing what one desires". Because of Jesus, believers have the prospect- the good outlook - the sure hope of receiving our hearts desire - eternity with Him.
Day 3: "Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love"
Hearing this song does NOT bring me joy. It just musically expresses what God, in His great mercy placed in my heart. My heart unfolds "like flowers before Thee, opening to the sun above".
Day 4: I read a Tweet by Paul Tripp - "When you work to convince yourself that you're okay, you tell yourself that you don't need the grace that is your only hope." Knowing that the Graceful God, who is my only hope, is also very merciful when I try to tell myself I'm okay.
Day 7: Joy unspeakable. "Though you do not now see him, you believe him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory..." 1Peter 1:8
How often I rely on that verse that says the Spirit is able to translate those deep painful groanings that I cannot put to words - usually when I'm not getting something I want. In this verse, there's a joy so complex that I cannot wrap my finite brain around it - here I have something I do not understand. But the Spirit again translates for me to God's glory. And I'm able to move forward with quiet confidence.
Day 1: "For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere." Ps 84:10a
Joy is not dependent on my physical circumstances but on the condition of my spirit. As long as I am in the secure confines of His walled courts, I know my eternal soul is safe. It is the condition of my eternal spirit that determines the eternal condition of my mind, body and heart.
Day 2: Joy through tears. Interesting concept that I began to understand when I listened to Page CXVI sing their version of "I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart..." Normally a rousing chorus, they sing it as a dirge. Joy is possible through tears when you define joy as Webster's 7th Collegiate Dictionary does - "the prospect of possessing what one desires". Because of Jesus, believers have the prospect- the good outlook - the sure hope of receiving our hearts desire - eternity with Him.
Day 3: "Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love"
Hearing this song does NOT bring me joy. It just musically expresses what God, in His great mercy placed in my heart. My heart unfolds "like flowers before Thee, opening to the sun above".
Day 4: I read a Tweet by Paul Tripp - "When you work to convince yourself that you're okay, you tell yourself that you don't need the grace that is your only hope." Knowing that the Graceful God, who is my only hope, is also very merciful when I try to tell myself I'm okay.
Day 5: Joy immeasurable. This idea brings to mind a picture of overflowing joy; a tsunami of joy! But immeasurable things can be small, too. So small they're almost imperceptible. Sometimes joy is this small. Sometimes it's so teeny, teeny, teeny tiny you'd need a microscope to see it. BUT, it's still there. Even in the darkest times I know there is some iota of joy deep within the recesses of my soul where Jesus still resides.
Day 6: Having trouble finding joy today. But because of God's word, I know it's there. Today is one of those days where I have to allow mind over matter. I have to believe what I read and know, and not how I feel.
Sunday, January 06, 2013
Land of the Giants
Every day I face giants. Giants who are prettier, younger, smarter and more successful than me. How can I compete?
Every day I drag myself to the battlefield and plunge on in. I march through the muck and the mire, evading their blows and dodging their enormous giant feet trying to keep from being crushed under their heels. Every day.
Each night I crawl back home to tend my wounds. My muscles ache and new bruises begin to form on my heart while yesterday's bruises have not even begun to heal. Every night.
I hurt.
The battle belongs to You, LORD. Your word says it; I believe it. I just don't know if I'll be there at the victory celebration. One day I might trip and be trampled. One morning I might not be able to drag myself to the battlefield.
But...
When Moses wondered about his ability You told him "Who has made man's mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the LORD?"
And...
When the spies returned to the people of Israel to report what they'd seen in Canaan, though the Canaanites were much stronger, Joshua and Caleb said "If the LORD delights in us, he will bring us into this land and give it to us..."
And...
You who began a good work in me will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus.
You created me, LORD. And because of Jesus, You delight in me. And You finish what your start.
So tomorrow and any day you ask, I will show up at the battlefield. I will fight and duck and dart my way through the army of pretty, smart, young, successful giants. Because when the war is over, there is a place of eternal peace. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more bruises. No more lonlieness or inferiority complexes. And no more giants who scoff at and ridicule me.
Every day I drag myself to the battlefield and plunge on in. I march through the muck and the mire, evading their blows and dodging their enormous giant feet trying to keep from being crushed under their heels. Every day.
Each night I crawl back home to tend my wounds. My muscles ache and new bruises begin to form on my heart while yesterday's bruises have not even begun to heal. Every night.
I hurt.
The battle belongs to You, LORD. Your word says it; I believe it. I just don't know if I'll be there at the victory celebration. One day I might trip and be trampled. One morning I might not be able to drag myself to the battlefield.
But...
When Moses wondered about his ability You told him "Who has made man's mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the LORD?"
And...
When the spies returned to the people of Israel to report what they'd seen in Canaan, though the Canaanites were much stronger, Joshua and Caleb said "If the LORD delights in us, he will bring us into this land and give it to us..."
And...
You who began a good work in me will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus.
You created me, LORD. And because of Jesus, You delight in me. And You finish what your start.
So tomorrow and any day you ask, I will show up at the battlefield. I will fight and duck and dart my way through the army of pretty, smart, young, successful giants. Because when the war is over, there is a place of eternal peace. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more bruises. No more lonlieness or inferiority complexes. And no more giants who scoff at and ridicule me.
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