Monthly Archives: February 2013

Walking Through the Wilderness

23 Saturday Feb 2013

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img013 San Pedro River

Photo credit: gem66)

I cried, this week, in the doctor’s office.  Quite hard, actually.  In the waiting room.  In front of everybody.  Got lost on the way there, ran out of gas and was twenty minutes late for my appointment.  Desperately needed prescriptions filled, as they ran out a while ago, but I haven’t been able to get an appointment anywhere.  (I lost most of my medical care when I lost my job.)

‘I’m sorry ma’am, but we will have to reschedule you for later in March.  No one can see you today.”  “Yes, I heard you.”  Cried harder.  Once the flood gates are open, it’s hard to stop.                                                                              “Ma’am, nobody can see you.”                                                                          “Yes, but I need help today.”  “Would you like to reschedule?”  No, thank you, I really just want to die.  I did reschedule, made it out to the hallway, sat down on the stairs and cried harder.

“My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.”  (Exodus 33:14)

I hate being on Medicaid, I hate being stuck in a system that probably sounds good on paper, but doesn’t work in reality.  Hate being a single parent, and not having a husband to help with all of this. How in the world do people do this?

I went to church last night.  It was packed;  we’re having a conference, and I really wanted to go, as the speaker was someone who had prayed over me a long time ago;  an amazing, prophetic prayer, when I was going through my divorce.  The whole process of getting a seat in church is a humiliating experience for me.  I miss the ushers at my old church;  always helpful, always respectful, and kind.  Thank God, a friend stepped in to the hallway, and took me to sit with her and her husband.

But, still.

It would be nice, to have someone to go to church with (hide behind?) and have him deal with the ushers, and find a seat for me.  To be protected, cared for, and loved.  I am so grateful for my friend, and her husband, but I want my own husband.

The lobby was packed with people, visiting, laughing, talking.  A lot of noise, lights and motion.  It’s an assault on the senses, and I look for someone familiar to attach to; otherwise it’s an out-of-body experience, but there was no one, so I hid in the bookstore.  And pretended I was having fun, with my coffee, all by myself.  Because this is what divorced women in the church do.

On the way to the car, there was another couple who walked out with me (they never say hi to me, have never, in thirteen years;  my daughter informed me once that the mother can’t stand me)  but they were laughing, and walking together to their car, and I envied her.  Because she had someone to sit with in church, and to go home and do family with.  To do marriage with.  And she has cute clothes.

We claimed a verse this week, one of the women and I did, for the prayer and coffee group that meets in my home.

“See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up;  do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness, and streams in the desert.”  Isaiah 43:19

Thank God.  Because this has been a very long walk.  And I’m tired.

Still Waters

Still Waters (Photo credit: SweetCapture)

Straight Paths

13 Wednesday Feb 2013

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English: The path here is nicely improved A bo...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“So take a new grip with your tired hands and stand firm on your shaky legs.  Mark out a straight path for your feet.  Then those who follow you, though they are weak and lame, will not stumble and fall but will become strong.”  Hebrews 12:12-13 

We are called to  live holy lives for God‘s glory, our benefit, and to help others.  Hard to do when you’re tired.  And shaky.  And you just don’t feel like it.  Don’t want to get up, stand up, start out on the path again, or deal with others. Anybody.  (Unless they’re bringing you a fresh cup of coffee.)

To ‘mark out a straight path for your feet’ means to live (as John Maxwell says) an intentional life.  To decide where you’re going, what you are and are not going to do today.  Who will you spend time with?  Do you even know what path you’re on?  The people you spend time with are largely determined by the places you decide to go, or not go.  Do you know where you want to end up?

Things happen;  life happens.  And it seems to take an awful lot of energy some days to walk this thing out.

I joined a gym in December because the orthopedic surgeon said I need to go;  swimming and Pilates are the best exercises for Scoliosis and arthritis.  I have yet to go.  I won’t feel better until I do, but most days I don’t feel well enough to actually get in the car and drive there.  (And there are people there etc., etc.)

This isn’t at all what this verse is talking about, I don’t think, but it certainly is one way to apply it.  When Paul wrote this letter to the Hebrew Christians, he was encouraging them to lead intentional lives.  Do you know we are supposed to have followers? That people should be able to look at us and say “So that is what a normal Christian life looks like.”  We’re supposed to set an example.

As one of the women said last night “Even if we go forward crying, and still in pain, we go forward.”  So true.  God isn’t looking for a dressed up and shiny package of smiling, bubble-headed believers who have it all together.  He looks at our hearts:  our desire, and willingness to follow Him, and live life differently than the people around us.

I stopped trying to make my daughters go to youth group  when I saw the direction the group was headed.  They were only investing in the kids who looked like they had it all together;  (mostly kids whose parents were leaders in the church) and who had all the outward trappings of what the world would call “leadership potential”.  I didn’t want my kids to learn that kind of Christianity.  My kids have been through hell, and will enter Heaven triumphant, victorious, and strong.  They know how to do warfare.

One night, in the middle of the divorce years, I had a dream.  I was in a large open field, which I understood to be a battle field.  My daughters were standing in the middle of this field, and I watched as my oldest daughter helped her little sister put on her armor, and then put on her own.  Then they each picked up a sword and a shield, and slowly turned to me and said “Okay mom, we’re ready”.  And I woke up.

They struggle, as young adults, to lead lives that are holy.  To know that they are called, but some days just don’t feel like it.  So do I.  We cannot do this on our own strength;  without the help of the Holy Spirit, it just won’t happen.  Life can be just too overwhelming.  If I’m doing this, then I’m neglecting that;  between college applications, financial aid, scholarship forms and deadlines, it’s hard to remember people.  The worries and cares of this world are just that;  once this journey is over, we leave it all behind.  We enter heaven blood-stained, tear-stained, and covered with the dirt of our own personal battles.  But oh, when we get there ….. to hear “Well done, good and faithful servant”.  To be welcomed with open arms and know that we’re safe, loved, forgiven.

It will be worth it all.