Uplifted in a Broken Down World

     Almost two years ago, my daughter was in her close friend’s wedding.   Brooke’s bridesmaid’s dress arrived looking beautiful in the box but, upon trying it on, it was pretty much nonsymmetrical to her silhouette.   With the bride’s approval and my daughter’s skeptical confidence, this mom began to reconstruct the dress.   During the entire process, I kept declaring Maria, the bride, owed me BIG time.   By the time the dress fit and flowed perfectly on Brooke, I knew every seam of that gown.

     Fast forward to last April and Brooke’s wedding.   Less than three hours before the ceremony was to begin, while standing in a corner of the wedding cottage, I had the following conversation with God:  “Lord, you’ve gotten me through so many challenges leading up to this moment.  I’m grateful, but please not one more hurdle can I jump –even with You carrying me.”   Before I could utter an Amen, not a hurdle but a mountain arose.   A bridesmaid arrived without a dress.  (Seriously, you can’t make this up!!!)

     As I’m frantically trying to figure out a solution with no options in my magic bag, Maria came to the rescue.   She realized Brooke’s bridesmaids’ dresses were of the same color and material as worn in her wedding.   The big difference was Brooke’s bridesmaids, though all in the same color and material, each wore a different style gown.   In a panicked scream, Maria asked Brooke, “where is your bridesmaid’s dress from my wedding?”   To which Brooke answered, “fifty minutes away, somewhere in the stuff I moved yesterday into the condo.”   Next, was my turn to shriek, “Brooke, we need that dress.  I can make it work.”   Brooke retorted, “Mom, it won’t work.  We aren’t the same size.  My size ten dress will swim on a size four figure.”   I countered, “I know every seam in that dress.  I can sew her into it.”

     Immediately, the wedding hairdresser and her husband headed their car toward the dress that was somewhere in the move in mess at the condo.   Marie’s husband set out to purchase me a sewing kit.  Seriously, I told him to go nowhere else but the Hobby Lobby I had passed on the way to the wedding venue.  We needed God to direct us to the necessary tools for this miracle in the making!!!

     Forty minutes before the wedding was to start, the dress arrived.   God’s hands worked the miracle through my fingers sewing faster than ever before.   Last knots were being made and thread cut as the bridesmaids were lining up — hallelujah and praise God, on time, I might add!!   Of greatest testimony to God’s changing disaster to blessing, no guest could tell one bridesmaid was, literally, sewn into her dress!!   Oh, and yes, hugging Maria I reassured her, she had paid me back BIG, BIG time.

     So why do I tell you this nonfiction story?   I share it because it truly proves God provides for our needs, even before we ever know them.   As I was muttering under my breath while re-making Brooke’s bridesmaid’s dress, God was giving me the trial run solution for my daughter’s wedding day quandary.   While my eyes were opened to this at Brooke’s wedding, they were not totally focused on just the celebration of God saving that day.   Of even greater significance was it for me, and all of you, to trust that God knows all our disasters (and has their “soul”utions) long before they arrive at our doorstep.   Nothing is happenstance to God.

     The thread of God (His will and way) weaves through the tapestry of all our challenges.   The question is not if God has a “soul”ution for our challenges, but rather, if our souls trust God for all our needed answers.   As for me, my heart chuckles and my soul recognizes, and cherishes, that God’s proof is in the bridesmaid’s dress!!!  

     Ours is a society in which more people live to eat than eat to live.   Feeling full of food, for many, is the greatest gratification of all.   How many times, if we want to reward someone, get to know someone better or even say good bye to someone, do we throw a dinner party for them?   While this is a beautiful tribute, it, also, makes me see one of mankind’s short comings.

     It is so sad that we feed each other so much material food, yet forget that what is truly filling, and most needed, is to be hungry for the Lord.

     We attend Church, Sunday school, Bible Studies, small groups, etc., etc., etc.; and it is easy to walk away feeling “full” of God.   While this is all positive, wouldn’t it be even better if we walked away not “full” but “hungry” for Our Lord?   There is nothing wrong with feeling saturated with God.   None the less, just like when we feel stuffed but still crave that extra scoop of ice cream, what would happen to Christianity if after we close our Bibles for the day, we felt starved for an extra layer of God icing on its cover?

     We don’t leave our dinner tables starving for food; but I wonder if we aren’t meant to, post Communion meal with God, step away totally hungry for more of the most needed nourishment of all – God, Himself.   Thus, should our focus of satisfying our, and others, needed nourishment be on attaining a full stomach or a hungry appetite?   Better yet, can we strive to fill our physical bodies but put first our need to hunger for The Lord?

     The tank of our stomach feels contented when completely full.   The vessel of our soul was created to be satisfied only when hungry.   You decide your greatest need for today.   It is to be “full” or “hungry”?

     Philippians 4:13 is probably one of the most quoted verses in the Bible.   I mean, is there any Christian living that hasn’t, at least a time or two, needed to lean on its proclamation?    Come nose to nose with any monstrous challenge and the verse becomes not only your leaning post, but also, the sling shot thrusting you, in confidence, to slay the dragon.   However, what if it’s not a beast but a tiny bug that needs to be overcome?   Does this, any less, need the power of “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”?

     Let’s think about this.   Automatic hope and strength pours forth when we rest on Philippians 4:13.   Armed with Christ’s might we are capable of accomplishing any, and every, thing.   None the less, if you are like me, the truth is you’ve slanted the meaning of this verse to apply to huge circumstances that seem overwhelming and beyond our personal attainment.   Thus, we let God sustain us and empower us to conquer that which we alone cannot overpower.

     This week, God (probably frustrated with me) stopped cold my dreaming big and re-sized my understanding of Philippians 4:13.   In essence, our Heavenly Father informed me that nowhere in the Bible, or anywhere else for that matter, does He say Christ’s strength is available, or needed, for only major, gigantic needs.   On the contrary, often, those little pebbles tripping us up in life are in dire need of Christ’s strength, too.   Problem is not that Christ’s strength is unavailable but that we don’t avail ourselves of His strength in our everyday, common struggles.   Our incorrect mindset is, usually, why waste a cannonball on a squirt gun problem.   Well, maybe, because a squirt gun soaks a problem but might not stoke a lasting solution.

     Quite frankly, it’s time to ponder the mundane, short fallings abounding in our lives.   For example,  there’s our impatience with everyday interferences to our schedules, or our inability to stop and smell the dandelions a child offers because we’re too busy pruning the roses our grandparents planted or there’s our irritation with what others do while totally overlooking what God asks and we fail to do, etc., etc., etc.

     Long story short, what if we used the power of Philippians 4:13 to change our short comings in our everyday under the “SON” lives and not solely leave the verse in reserve for the super human “soul” obstacles that challenge us once in a blue moon?   Since Christ offers us His strength every minute of every day, shouldn’t that infuse into just that – each and every minute of each and every one of our days, we can, and should, avail ourselves to Christ’s strength?

     What’s more, let me be the first to admit those little things that so easily overpower me, and I just ignore as insignificant, do matter.   They affect my reflection, or lack of it, of not only who I am but, more importantly, WHOSE I am – or unfortunately, WHOSE I am not.      Bottom line translates into, it’s time to open my eyes, and prayers, to the small, yet giant, side of Philippians 4:13.  Hopefully, you’ll think about doing the same.   The result just might be a more Christ like common, everyday world.

     Quite possibly, no two words are as dreaded or cause as big a panic as the announcement of a “Gas Shortage”.   Immediately, everyone races to their cars and gets in line to fill their gas tank before station pumps run dry.   It’s the norm for the wait in line to be hours long.   However, the length of wasted time doesn’t matter, if one can drive away feeling they stand a chance of surviving the shortage because their tank is filled with fuel. 

     Just a few weeks ago, one such shortage hit the East Coast and my very own garage.   For once, God’s grace, and insight, (through His whisper of a question) influenced my eyes, and soul, to view the pending disaster very differently.   This time I heard God’s question instead of my prayers for the answer of where to find fuel for my car tank.   What was God’s question?   It was: My child, are you as concerned for a supply of fuel for your soul as you are for your car? 

     Upon reflection, I realized God was not reprimanding me but reminding me.   He was opening up new meaning and understanding for a years old custom of mine.   With God’s better viewpoint offered me, my calling now is to gift others with the message of “my Fueling Station”.

     We, children of God, often fall short of the encouraging energy needed to drive through many of the trials and tribulations populating the roads on our journey to heaven.   We fail to even realize if a car needs fuel to complete a route, so, also, do our souls.   Signs along the highways point all travelers to fueling stations for their autos.   Yet, it is anything but automatic for our souls to be navigated to a fueling station.   Is not their journey even more important than any, and all, of our cars’ road trips?  

     In honesty, out of need, I personally do have a designated “fueling station” for my soul; but till this week, and God’s question, I never recognized it as such.   Now, my hope is, not only, to share mine with you, but also, to encourage you to build your own.

     Many years ago, I found myself jotting down on post-it notes cherished Scripture verses and my own spiritual thoughts.   These fragments began to adorn the inside wall of my desk’s hutch.   As you most likely can imagine, I spend many hours sitting at my desk.   What I’ve come to realize (via God’s recent whisper of a question) is that all my hutch’s notes have become “my Fueling Station”.   When my soul is worn, torn and running out of energy, I customarily plop down in my desk chair and let the messages of the notes stuck to my hutch flow into my soul.   By the time I move on from being parked at my desk, my soul is re-fueled with God’s faith, hope and love – the energy needed to fuel the next leg of my journey to heaven. 

     What about you?   Do you have your own “Fueling Station”?   Sunday Church is more of an oil change and re-alignment for our souls.   Too often, mid-week we run out of “soul fuel” and even chugging our way to Sunday Church is beyond our reach.   The haven of a “Fueling Station” is within each and every one of our grasps.   My hope and prayer is that any, and all, who do not yet have a “Fueling Station” for their souls make time this week and begin to build one.   Find a corner (somewhere, anywhere) that you can frame in a representation of anything that comforts, inspires and energizes your soul. Then when your soul seems empty, there will be no fear or doubt that re-fueling might run dry.   24/7/365, your “Fueling Station” awaits your soul’s need.

     “I pray that the God who gives hope will FILL you with much joy and peace as you trust in Him.   Then you will have more and more hope, and it will flow out of you by the power of the Holy Spirit.”  Romans 15:13 (ERV)

     Back almost ten years ago, the summer post her Daddy’s death, Brooke, our then rising Junior in College, was an assistant counselor/attendee for a children’s grief camp.   Her life, devoted to helping two elementary school boys journey beyond their mother’s death, the camp director felt Brooke’s presence would add loving encouragement for this duo’s quest.   Little did Brooke imagine the camp time would, also, bring guidance to her own grief stricken voyage.

     A major camp endeavor was to allow its participants to uncage the hurt and anger stored within their fragile, young hearts.   Why had God allowed/not prevented their loved one from dying???   Death had also buried their own life and cut off love from flowing through their young hearts.   Or had it???

     The implements presented each young camper, and my on staff daughter, were a clay jar and a hammer.   The children, and my daughter, were reminded that the Bible speaks of all of us, mere humans, as God’s clay jars.   No matter how weak we, humans, are, God has chosen us, frail clay jars, in which to store the treasures of His life and love.   The hammer represented the hurt and anger (be it acknowledged or silent) stored within each attendee’s heart.   And yes, this anger, in part, was against God, too; and not only directed at the world and one whose death felt like desertion and abandonment.

     Instruction was to take hammer in hand and pound the outside of the jar with all the wrath boiling over inside their head, heart and soul.   The young camper’s clay jars ended up cracked, split or fractured.   My daughter’s ended up demolished!!!

     Next, each mourner was told to glue the pieces of the jar back together.   It was a simple task for the younger ones.   My daughter’s attempt at restoration took hours.  

     In examining their clay jars glued back together, it was clear the more pieces needing to be restored, the less one’s clay vessel looked like the original jar; but this was a blessing not a reproach.   For you see, all grieving hearts were wisely enlightened that the more cracks and holes in the jar representing themselves, the more God’s life and love could flow through them and reach others.  

     We all, no matter how young or old our birthdays mark us, are God’s clay jars.   Be it mourning death or beaten up by any of life’s woes, our struggles dent, damage and nearly destroy the “us” symbolized in our very own clay jars.   From this, it can be wondered, if when we are most bruised and battered, might not we also be God’s greatest vessel through whom the world can see His life and love flowing from our wounds?   When we feel most defeated, weak and worthless, might not God be using us the most for shedding light on His strength and mercy.   However, let us not forget, for God to flow through us, we must not let the clay jar of our being lie in splintered pieces.   Our faith and our hope must re-glue the clay jar of our being by means of sticking with, and standing for, the epoxy of God’s promise.   “Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be saved, for You are my praise.”  Jeremiah 17:14 (ESV)   

     In straight forward, elementary language, I calculate a very large problem with the world, education and families is that the point from which all evolves, and revolves, is addition and multiplication.   It should be subtraction and division.   Think about it.   What factors are indelibly embedded as the crux of education?   Sadly, the correct guess is addition and multiplication.    No student is ever introduced to subtraction or division before first learning addition and multiplication.   Scholastic theory is if students master addition and multiplication, they’ll naturally be able to understand subtraction and division.   In my view, this perspective is backward. 

     If life adds up to being wrapped up in multiplying MORE, TIMES MORE, TIMES MORE, the product is never being happy or fulfilled just because we are God’s very special ONE.   Shouldn’t the oneness of each of us be the greatest of all our worth and wealth?   Our lives are being destroyed by needing to have more.   This leads to the lump sum of even if we have everything, no matter how great it is, it isn’t enough. In the world, no accomplishment, amount of credit cards or, pathetically speaking, number of bills seem to be enough – let alone too much.   In American education even 100% isn’t good enough anymore.   We indoctrinate our children that extra credit is the only way to score.   In the family, 2 cars, 3 square meals, 4 bedrooms and a 5 day work week don’t even add up to self-esteem and happiness.   The world, education and families are ruled by the uncontrollable need to add, add, add followed by multiply, multiply, multiply.

     Forget addition; forget multiplication.   Let’s start subtracting.   Let’s start dividing.   After all, what have we to lose except astronomical stress, inflated egos, overrated materialism and no time to enjoy what we already possess.

     Since I’ve been brazen enough to criticize the add ‘em up and multiply principle, I guess I should, also, put forth mathematical theories in defense of my subtract and divide postulate.   So be it; here are my equations for “Figuring Out What Really Counts”.

     The world minus social status equals contentment.   Education minus the urge to over push equals wisdom.   Families minus materialism equals togetherness.   Self-respect and self-esteem divided amongst all in the world equals peace.   Knowledge divided into basics equals intelligence.   People divided into families equals Faith, Hope and Love.

     My bottom line equals I choose that subtract and divide will now rule my life.   I’m subtracting the stress of trying to accomplish the extreme of too much.   I’m dividing each day into a time to feel blessed, a time to play, a time to laugh, a time to do NOTHING, and, most importantly, time to pray.   Could anyone really want more or settle for less??? 

“From where the caring comes” – so many gazed upon my Father’s life and remarked how deeply he was cared for.  Even my Father would often reflect on how deeply he was cared for.  And so, today, my heart, and soul, wishes to share the source of “From where the caring comes”.  Let’s journey back, together, and discover the roots of “From where the caring comes”.

When I was 8 years old – My Dad was working 1 full time job and 2 part time jobs each week.   Dad was the epitome of whom heaven declares a child of God should be and whom the world proclaims a self-made man truly is.  Dad’s soul sewed my life in the fabric of God; and his heart, lovingly, provided me educational opportunities the Depression aftermath and WWII had denied his grasp.  A Christian private school education was Dad’s gift to all his children, no matter how long and hard he had to work so we could learn the way to becoming who, and WHOSE, God created each of us to be.   Irony is, I learned more from my Father than from any, and all, educational institutions I attended.

       Back to when I was 8 —  It was predawn one Saturday morn, and Dad having just gotten home from working all night, excitedly woke me up.   He placed my longed for “first watch” around my wrist.   Through that child’s watch, my Father taught me a grown-up lesson – Because of my Dad’s caring, my life would never be clocked by the tick of a watch, but rather, by the beats of his loving heart. 

     And so begins the story of “From where the caring comes”.

      When I was 9 years old —  Midmorning one day Dad came and checked me out of school.  Totally unexpected, I was thrilled.   Once inside his truck, Dad said he was taking me to a construction site.   Long story short, in an already sheet rocked wall, an electrical wire had gotten stuck.   Dad told me someone small, like me, had to crawl through the duct work, find the wire and pull it back to him.   With a rope tied around my waist (in case I got stuck too), that’s exactly what I did.

     My feet back on stable ground, Dad hugged me and shared a lifelong “caring” lesson.  Dad explained that all the big people working that job needed a small person, ME, to bring power to that great big Chicago landmark building.  He told me never to forget it’s the little people in life that are most needed and often hold the greatest power to give the most, and do the most – just like I had that day.

     On the way back to school, Daddy taught me a second lesson.  He told me about being humble and not bragging about what I had or did.   In fact, he outright told me that even though I had just saved the day in a big way, I could top it off by being humble.  His exact words, and I quote:

“Don’t tell Mommy what you did today!”

     Side bar:   Each and every day my mom sent me to school in a spotless, starched white uniform blouse.  After my saving that day, I looked like an overworked chimney sweeper.  That duct was filthy!!!  “Don’t tell mommy”???  Really, Dad!!!

     When I was 13 years old —   God, my Father in heaven, opened up a huge door for me to begin my life’s journey of reaching hearts through the world of professional figure skating.   But, it was my earthly father who charted my course.   For me to sign my first professional contract, my Dad demanded 3 things.

     1^st — Dad cut the word can’t out of my dictionary.  He told me from that moment on, I could not say the word “can’t”.   The word no longer existed for me as the meaning of “can’t was “I don’t want to”.  In my life, from that day forward, the word “can’t” was to be replaced by Matthew 17:20.   “If you have faith like unto a tiny mustard seed, nothing shall be impossible unto you.” 

     Dad added that on my most challenging of nights, I was never to forget there’s no shame in life in falling down.  It was only shameful if I failed to pick myself up and keep reaching for the dreams born within my heart and soul.

     2^nd – Dad insisted a clause had to be inserted into my contract stating that if I needed help to maintain honor roll grades, a tutor must be given me.   My Dad strongly clarified to me that worldly applause could, and would, never replace hard work, a Christian education and striving to reach the stars and carry them back down to grass roots’ level and then sharing them with all God’s children.

     3^rd —  No if, ands or buts about it, my Dad demanded a second clause must be contract added.   It stipulated that every, single Sunday, the show had to make sure I was taken to Church.  After all, first things first.  I was always to start my week on my knees, if ever I was to stand tall.

The principle of Dad’s “caring” simply stated: Life is not about reaching the stars.   It’s about going beyond the stars and reaching heaven.  Dad knew and believed that if your heart is tied to your soul, your life possesses a happiness the world can neither offer nor take away.

     When I was 17 years old and a High School Senior —  On the way to driving me to school, Dad had to make a stop at Northwestern University’s campus, where he was overseeing the electrical contracting of a new academic building.   He told me he needed a brief meeting with some men.   One of those men left the group and walked over to me.   He introduced himself as Roscoe Miller, President of Northwestern University.   He continued that he knew I had just applied for admission to Northwestern University, and that it was not only my first choice but my ONLY choice!!   He then shared words that to this day reverberate in my heart and soul.  Roscoe Miller, President of Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois, told me that even if I attended Northwestern University from undergraduate through PHD graduation, all the knowledge and learning I would have accumulated would be nothing compared to the wisdom my Dad had already, and would continue to, instill in me.   Proudly, I answered, “I Know”.

     Post Northwestern University and back on the road –

My Dad never missed my Opening Nights.   His yellow roses, also, always adorned my dressing room.  But, then came one never to be forgotten Opening Night.   I was covered in poison ivy; and, a week before Opening Night, the home office made the call.  Until I was completely free of poison ivy, I could not wear any of my costumes.  I was devastated.  I was out of the show for Opening Night. 

   In tears, I called home and announced there would be no Opening Night for me; and, while I’d miss my Mom and Dad, there was no reason to waste plane fare.  We decided, instead, they’d wait to fly cross country till I could don a costume. 

     Come that Opening Night, and shortly before leaving the hotel to sit alone in the audience, there was a knock on my door.  Upon opening it, there stood my Father, with yellow roses in his hands.  Shocked I asked, “Dad, what are you doing here?”  He answered, “It’s Opening Night, isn’t it?”  “Yes”, I said, but the show is going on without me”.  My Dad’s declaration:  “I didn’t come to see you in the spotlight.  I came to be by your side as you walk through the darkness.”

     Is there any question of “From Where the Caring Comes”?????

     The Day I Hit the Wall —  Mobile, Alabama – I felt like I had nothing left to give.  Naturally, I called home to Chicago.  I needed my Dad.  Crying, I shared I felt too exhausted to keep going.  Demands were too much.  I was wearing too many hats and all at the same time – as well as skating in the show, I was tutor on tour, show publicist and their inspirational guest speaker.  I concluded by adding I was so busy I didn’t even have time to do my laundry and was re-wearing dirty clothes.

     My Dad’s “caring” advice was the directional wisdom I needed.  His words – “If it’s God’s work you are doing (and it is), then God can, and will, be your strength; and His strength NEVER fails.   Drop from your list whatever is not God’s calling and allow another servant of God to take that up.”

     Very next day, as I was changing from my tutor garb to guest speaker apparel, there was a knock on my door. Opening the door, there stood my Mother.  Totally surprised and bewildered, I inquired, “Mom, what are you doing here?”  Her answer?  “Your Father sent me to do your laundry.”

     Grand Ballroom, Hyatt Regency Hotel, Downtown Chicago —   Night before the show, my Dad was helping engineers freeze the ice.  There were problems with the tank and only way I’d have ice to skate on was if crushed ice was packed between the pipes.  That would be an all night process. 

     Post Midnight, Dad and I were side by side packing ice, when he ordered me up to my hotel room for sleep.  Told him, NO.  There was no way I was going to sleep while he was on hands and knees packing ice for me to skate on.  We were a team, and I wasn’t leaving.  It was then that he personified the deepest of love and “caring”.  His words – “Your calling is reaching hearts, tomorrow.  To do so, you need sleep.  My heart’s call is making sure you have the means to do this.  I’m called to stay awake.”

     Before exiting the ballroom, I turned back and forever my eyes and heart remember the picture of my Dad – the most loving, selfless and giving vision of a Father “caring” for his daughter.   

     And so, no longer is there any wonder “From Where the Caring Comes”.   

     In my Father’s latter years, “caring” for my Dad was not a chore but an honor, not a misfortune but a blessing, not an uncharted course but a repeated lesson learned; not a mirror of myself but a reflection of my father.

     Whatever any of us, especially me, were blessed enough to be able to do for my Dad, it was first given by, and learned from, my Dad, himself.  Be we, YOU and me, blood line or adopted family, Dad believed in, and deeply “cared” for each and every one of us.  NEVER FORGET THIS.

     Our world, today, so often seems so dark and uncaring; but Dad saw and cherished God’s light and the strength that flows from “caring”.  With tears, my heart faces that Dad’s gone home to heaven; but with joy and hope in my soul, I know Dad’s “caring” remains here on earth – inside of me, and all of you.

     “Simply put, it is not about do I believe in Christian doctrine concerning eternal life; but rather, am I going to live it.   There is a huge difference between believing a truth in its absence and living a truth in its presence.  Believing in eternity, when it is a million heartbeats away, and living the reality that eternity, for my loved one, began today are not one and the same.   Giving a loved one to God may only be possible to survive if we allow God to be closer to us than ever before.   I repeat, God, and God alone, can pull a grieving human heart out of grief’s quicksand pit.”

     Years ago, I penned these words when my Hubby went home to heaven.   Once more, I cling to them.  The greatest Father on earth, my Dad, has joined my Hubby in heaven.

     I’m not really prone to questioning God; but, on rare occasions, I have pathetically uttered, “are you sure I’m up to the challenge!!??”   Grief is one such tribulation.   No doubt about it, living through a loved one’s physical death tears our human hearts into pieces.   However, we, as Christians, are called to reveal our souls are clothed in the fabric of faith, unable to be torn, shredded or ripped apart – even by physical death.

     There is no greater time, than in worldly death, that a child of God can testify to the promise of eternal life.   Though our hearts are filled with loss, our souls must outcry our human sobs with choruses of heavenly gain.

     “Let go and let God” is a phrase we associate with challenges, dreams and situations – not with our loved ones.   None the less, is not the comfort of this utterance most needed in human death?   Christians are called to physically, and with hope, let go of loved ones’ bodily presence, knowing God, as promised, holds onto them forever in heaven.   We believe this, and the greatest way we can lead non-believers to Christ is to let go of being unable to move beyond worldly good byes and to faithfully and joyfully let God welcome our loved ones home to eternity – where they faithfully wait for us to someday joyfully join them for the happiest ever after.

     And so, my worldly days of walking next to the best Father God ever created have temporarily ended; but may my life, every day, testify that I completely know, believe and rejoice that when I, too, am called home to heaven, once more we will be side by side.   “Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.”  1Thessalonians 4:17 (ESV)     

     Till then, with tears in my heart and hope in my soul, Dad, I love you and miss you…

     Personally, I believe understanding and comprehending trust begins with acknowledging that trust is not a dare devil defiance bound in human expertise but calm, level headed (and hearted) surrender into God’s supreme boundless power.   Trust is not turning an outcome over to another’s skilled ability but relinquishing human inability into the only hands capable of controlling all end results – God’s hands.

     Without any if, ands or buts, Trusting God is a blanket statement for me.   However, this week while walking with Hospice, as my Dad rebirths into heaven, the demands, and commands, of trust hit home with me.

     For almost two decades, the world’s greatest Dad has lived under our family roof.   Soon, heaven’s steeple will mark his home.   Dad’s spiritual heart 24/7/365 has God’s strongest love pulsing through it.   His physical heart, weak and worn, needs state of the art medical management to hold even a faint beat.   Coordinating this care has been my charge.   This responsibility has now reached a finale bow, and, in so doing, this God shared story defining trust originated.

     In all introductory meetings with Hospice nurse/angles, gentle words described the new mindset guiding my Dad’s journey.   I was informed ways and things that were absolutely mandatory for yesterday’s existence would, today, change and look different so Dad could compassionately be welcomed into heaven.  

     Having held all the cards in the deck of my Dad’s care, this was huge change for me.   My calling for so long was to give him the best possible life on earth.   I, more than anything, want him to see and be with Jesus and my Mother; but the thought of me not being the leader and directing his course was frightening and absolutely foreign to my instinct.   I wondered, if and when Hospice decisions seemed counter intuitive to me, could I refrain from the director’s chair and accept and follow the lead of those I did not deeply know?   Not without trust, I couldn’t.  

     Up to that moment, I fully only trusted God, my family and the friends I have adopted as family.   Now, I needed to trust whom I did not know.   My resolve that I needed to, and could, do this flowed only from believing Dad’s hospice team was both God’s angels and God’s chariot ride to the gates of heaven. 

      Deep belief in God was always the foundation of my trust.   However, I learned while believing in God is a huge part of trust, it is not the entirety.   I fast realized giving up control is the second half of trust. Upon hearing some of Dad’s meds would be switched, or discontinued, my feathers ruffled a little.   The best Congestive Heart Failure Specialist in the area had fine-tuned the choice, quantity and frequency of each of Dad’s drugs.   “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” was my outlook.   Then God whispered that Dr. Rommel was in charge of keeping Dad’s body alive on earth, but Dad was no longer meant to be stalled in the journey to keep parked on earth.   He was now being escorted into heaven.   God having put me in the proper gear, I now needed to trust, and entrust, my Dad to whom God had commissioned to help deliver him to his eternal destination.

     Over and over again, I found myself, in so many ways, having to trust to another’s lead the course and tools needed to finish paving Dad’s life long road to heaven.   I had to keep reminding myself my past management was about keeping Dad from dying; but, now, not dying was over.   Eternal living was his new direction and soon to be arrived at destination.   Additionally, it would take both new and renewed trust to get him there – my trust in God and in Dad’s heaven bound escorts.  

     Trust means total letting go and letting God.   My life has proclaimed this since entering my teen years.   None the less, only this week have I truly realized and understood what ingredients must be had for trust to truly reign in your soul when your heart is raining tears.

     God, having broken down the elements of trust for me, enabled me to see the building blocks of trust intertwine into, not only, fuller understanding of trust, but also, complete reliance on God’s assurances.   “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

     Most of us try to keep our earthly path free of mountains.   However, one of life’s realities is a mountain is synonymous with life’s challenging existence.   Though peril-filled, the ascent to a mountain peak is a journey never to be forsaken for a level ride.   No dream rests on flat terrain.   All are found at the top of a mountain.

     A life lacking a mountain is deprived of adventure, accomplishment and a goal for outstretched fingertips to scratch.   Climbing a mountain isn’t easy, but what accomplishment of merit it?   A life ascending a mountain will make one dedicated, persevering and, most beautifully of all, capable of hearing God’s call to one’s own heart.

     Though God loves us, He doesn’t take hardship out of our climb.   Only through its presence will we realize the reward of believing sufficiently in God and His will for us to overcome all obstacles.   If hardship isn’t outwardly present, we will fear it innerly.   Encounter a hardship and we will know God is capable of helping us overcome any, and all, mountains.

     God knows it would be a great misfortune to shield any of us from the existence of a mountain.   Just remember, climbing mountains is but a door opening to the reward of both dreams coming true on earth and God’s promises, for us, fulfilled in heaven.

     A life that includes a mountain also contains tears.   Tears reflect feeling.   Pity only ones who cannot feel.   Don’t fear crying even a river of tears.   Never forget, Christ shed tears of blood before climbing the hardest mountain of all – Mount Calvary, where you and I were forgiven and redeemed.

     God did not ask us, His human children, to climb the mountain of Calvary.   He does, however, call us to trust and believe that with, through and for Him, “…if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.  Nothing will be impossible for you.” Matthew 17:20 (NIV)