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Posts Tagged ‘Corrie ten Boom’

praise

God has been faithful to teach us many, many things during our ten-year trial (see post).  There are three who share in our family business – Dana, his dad, and his brother, Larry.  It has been an unforeseen blessing that each has a vital Christian walk and each has placed himself under the teaching of God’s Word – when one of the three has been particularly harassed, one of the others seem able to draw from what God is teaching him and to bring a healing balm at the needed time.

Not all of God’s words to us have been soothing and re-assuring; more than our share have brought conviction and sorrowful repentance.  A couple of these verses, given early on in our trial, brought us face-to-face with our independence and a murmuring spirit which we know now to be dishonoring and grievous to our Maker.

One of the passages of which I speak is Deuteronomy 28:47-48 where the nation of Israel is being reprimanded.  Why? “Because you did not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart, because of the abundance of all things, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness, and lacking everything. And he will put a yoke of iron on your neck until he has destroyed you.”  The NIV translates verse 47 “…you did not serve the Lord your God joyfully and gladly in the time of prosperity…”

There’s a scene in the movie The Hiding Place where Corrie ten Boom is being dished up a thin broth in the Nazi concentration camp where she and her sister, Betsie, were imprisoned in the last year of World War II.  The film shows previous scenes, times of prosperity, flash through Corrie’s mind as she recalls the feasts and fellowship which she had known before the war.

A similar thought was mine when I encountered Deuteronomy 28:47.  Scenes of past abundance flitted across my mind, days in which I was not careful to respond to God’s lavish goodness with “joyfulness and gladness of heart.”  I’ve written of this before, probably because it is a recurring theme in Dana’s and my training, but a thankful heart honors the loving care of our sovereign Father.   The ungodly and unrighteous are accused of this very thing in Romans 1:21 “For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.”

Because of our continued temptation to despair as we wonder if there will ever be a change to our present circumstances (a.k.a. failure to trust in the goodness of God’s purposes), Dana and I are trying to remind each other to look for every small grace that we encounter. I am praying for Dana that God would be the lifter of his head and he would raise his focus to see the gifts that surround us.

It’s a bit like Brother Lawrence’s book Practicing the Presence of God, though.  I’m convinced it would be life-giving, but in my frailty I seem only to be able to sustain the practice for short periods of time.  I pray that with use and Holy Spirit reminders, I might grow my capacity to see better my Father’s hand in the world around me.

To this end, I was particularly challenged by a prayer shared by Ravi Zacharius recently.  The prayer was written by Michel Quoist, a 20th century French Catholic priest and writer, as part of his book Prayers of Life.  Oh, that I might become by God’s grace an old woman who delights in the evidences of God’s care around me and my default way to walk through this world would be that of thanksgiving and gratitude. I pray that Quoist’s prayer will inspire you this Thanksgiving 2016 to similarly pray throughout your day.

– – – – –

Thank you, Lord, for all the gifts you’ve given to me today.

Thank you for all I have seen, heard, and received.

Thank you for the water that woke me up, the soap that smells so good, the toothpaste that refreshes.

Thank you for the clothes that protect us, for their color and their style.

Thank you for the newspaper so faithfully there, for the comics, for my morning smile.

Thank you for useful meetings, for justice done, and for the big games won.

Thank you for the street cleaning truck and the men who run it, for their morning shouts and all the early morning noises.

Thank you for my work, the tools, and my efforts.

Thank you for the metal in my hands, for the whine of the steel biting into it, and for the satisfied look of the foreman for the load of finished pieces.

Thank you for Jim, my friend, who loaned me his file, for Danny who shared his lunch with me, for Charlie who held the door open for me.

Thank you for the welcoming street that led me here, for the shop windows, the cars, and the passers-by, for all the life that flowed swiftly between the windowed walls of the houses.

Thank you for the food that sustains me, for the glass of water that refreshes me.

Thank you for the car that weekly took me where I wanted to be, for the fuel that made it go, for the wind that caressed my face, for the trees that nodded to me on the way.

Thank you for the boy I watched on the foot-path opposite, thank you for his roller skates, thank you for his comical grin when he fell.

Thank you for the morning greetings I received and all the smiles.

Thank you for my mother who welcomes me at home and for her tactful affection, for her silent presence.

Thank you for the roof that shelters me, for the lamps that light me, for the radio that plays, for the news, for music, and for singing.

Thank you for the bunch of flowers so pretty on my table.

Thank you for the tranquil night.

Thank you for the stars, Lord, and thank you, too, for silence.

Thank you for the time you’ve given me, Lord, for life, for grace, and for just being there.

Thank you, now, for listening to me, and taking me seriously, for gathering my gifts in your hands to offer them to your Father.

Thank you, Lord, thank you.

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Two things happened this week which have brought a chapter in my life to a close.  The first was the death of our “big, blue bus.”  It’s not altogether un-resuscitable, but the cost is prohibitive.  This bus had come to define our family vacations and was the vehicle (pun intended) of many good and happy memories.

The second event began last night around 8:00 pm, but didn’t fully sink in until this morning when I woke up.

I probably made the wrong choice to not attend church this morning. Dana and I had been in the Cities, dropping off our youngest at school.  We got in this morning at 2:00am (thanks entirely to Dana’s ability to stay awake and God’s good sustenance).    We had gone to church last night at Bethlehem before leaving the Cities and with school workshops beginning tomorrow, I felt I could use the time to finish up some preps for the week ahead.  So in my groggy state this morning, I decided not to get up and go with Dana again to church here at home.

However, I got up to a too-quiet house and walked passed much too-empty rooms and bedrooms and I feel very lonely this morning.  You see, today my nest is empty.  I can’t help but think of this once-bustling house and recognize that from here on, life will be different.  No doubt the house will bustle again from time to time, but from here on, my job description is forever changed.

I remember my eternally optimistic mother-in-law commenting once when she was at the same spot I am, that all the stages of life are good and have something to offer us.  I’ve repeated that to others in the last month, the last week, the last day as I’ve tried to make myself believe it.  But today it doesn’t feel that way.

The foil of life is that we can be given the keys to such great truths by those who go before us, but until we actually walk through those doors ourselves, we cannot really comprehend those truths.  How often as a young mom I was told how fast the years fly.  It didn’t feel that way as the days and hours seemed to lengthen in a kinetic, exhausting (but joyful) blur.

But today there is no one who needs an early morning feeding or a shoe tied or help with their school work or lunch made or clothes ironed or a drive to an activity or papers signed or …

At the risk of sounding too depressed (I don’t think I am) or too pathetic or melodramatic, I wonder who I am now.  I’ve actually been wondering this for some time as I watched my youngest go through all of her high school “lasts” and I tried to steel myself for this day.  If I’m not a full-time mom anymore, who am I?  I definitely don’t want the new me to be defined by my career.  I do not wish to replace family and home duties with those of the job.  I am glad for my role there, but I do not want that to be what defines me.

I guess I’m finding that my roles as wife and daughter of God are those that bring me the most hope right now.  As I have watched my dad and Dana’s dad both lose spouses, I know that our self-selected futures are not promised us and that in this life we will have trouble.  To the extent that I am mortally able, I try to hold the future with an open hand, because, as Corrie ten Boom has said, “it hurts so much when God has to pry our hand open.”   But I do hope for the time ahead—that it will mean a renewal for Dana and I—a time to begin making new memories for the two of us. I don’t imagine that we will revert to those (relatively) carefree, early pre-children days because the world…and our world…has developed too much gravity for that.

But I do hope for a new picture of Dana and I to emerge in the days and weeks ahead.  I also hope that the Lord will see fit to give us a ministry we can enjoy together.  Apart from the ministry of parenting, we have not really had an opportunity to serve side by side in a mutual calling.  From my present short peak, I can imagine future work with The Voice of the Martyrs or The Center for Christian Thought (a new, proposed undertaking of our church).  I could imagine following Dana to seminary some day and can only imagine the avenues that might open.  And then there are the possibilities of what I can’t imagine.  But for now it is enough that God not only holds but actively designs our futures and we will (we must) move ahead now trusting that his Word will be a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our paths.

I’m sure there are still those ahead of me who would warn how fast these years will fly.  I pray that the older and wiser me will be mindful of the preciousness of the time I’m given and I will lift my head more often from the day-to-day of “life” to be grateful and hopeful.

 

[Photo from 2009; camping trip to the ND Badlands.]

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