Uplifted in a Broken Down World

     At this moment, I’m waiting in my car for Jenny to text and say, “Come In”.   I’m ready, and Jenny’s going to lead me. I’m beginning a symbolic physical return to mirroring the true reflection of myself that I garnered while, once again, walking around my backyard lake.   This time, circling the lake evolved into my examining the inner misconceptions around which my life revolves — Who am I?  Who have I been? Who do I want to be? Above and beyond all, WHOSE am I?   Let me only say, the raft upon which I’ve been floating through life needed tug boat towing out of some mud traps.

     The lake circling journey that initiated this voyage began weeks ago – a pittance of time compared to the duration most likely required to attain the fulfillment of this expedition.   This is one finish line that can only be crossed if I’m dedicated to going back to the starting line, unpack my weighty suitcase, recalculate my course and unapologetically arrive at the finish line not in perfect, prime illusion but in imperfect physical appearance from the wear and tear of the journey. 

     Let me cut to the chase and announce I’m not referring to awarded trophies but rewarding roots.   I’m not talking about golden crowns covering my locks but unlocking, and not covering, the worthiness of my silvery white roots.   Confused???   To understand, let’s continue going back to the starting line.

     I’ve never been one to care what others think of me, my dreams, or how uniquely I see God’s hand and hear His voice.   But, wow, I did a 180 degree turn when it came to appearing exactly as my Hubby envisioned his wife needed to be.   Thus, from the moment we started dating, my premature, nearly invisible, few white strands of hair had to be dyed.   Being seven years older than Hubby, I labored under the horror that one might ever think he had married an older lady!!!   Didn’t matter that at 40, Hubby went completely bald; my full head of hair continued as the benchmark for appearance.  Even more sadly, after Hubby went home to heaven, I was still enslaved to others’ opinion in this regard.

     Fast forward to the slowdown of the past few months.   For me, so much of what was automatic in my life found time to be re-examined and, praise God, re-evaluated.   In honesty, God convicted me of much vanity I’d never recognized as such.   So, let’s talk about white roots!!!

     Roots are defined as: a) the basic cause, source or origin of something, b) the essential substance or nature of something, c) a scion or descendant.   From this, my basic deduction sees my roots as both who I am and WHOSE I am.   Who I am (or you are, too) is never to be thought of as not good enough or unworthy.   God creates each of us different, yet individually special.   If we fail to believe (or let ourselves be blinded to) the real beauty God instilled in each of us, then, more than likely, we will also fail to know God forgives our sins and does not judge our worth through impossible perfection.   If I (or you) fall victim to measuring our worth through attaining physical perfection on this earth, then my (and your) existence will be rhinestone studded and worldly, not Bethlehem starred and heaven bound.  

     Should I ever be rooted in the color of my hair over my root as God’s heir?   Absolutely not.   Ouch!!!   Sure felt convicted of being so concerned about my outward looks that for eons I overlooked the message of my inner roots. 

     The years of life, or so we are told, bring forth wisdom.   I’m currently chuckling a little as I can’t help but wonder if those initial few stands of almost invisible white hair were a message from God that His wisdom was from what my roots were meant to both grow and SHOW.   And there I was working hard to hide them!!!    

     Why does age turn hair white?   Maybe, science has an explanation; but, as for me, I’ll deduce a God centered theory.   Could it be that as God leads us through life, we exchange the abundance of superficial colors of the world for the absence of all worldly colors and the pure reflection of God’s light?   Brain thinking is transformed into soul wisdom.

     Subsequent to this line of thinking, I found myself becoming sensitive to so many being obsessed with their hairstylists being shuttered for the moment.   Maybe, I saw too much of the old me in others’ appearance focus.   Granted, I was no longer worried I needed to camouflage my roots, but seeing others repeat my mistake felt a little like the sting of salt in my old wound.  How many of you, too, are wounded by others’ judgment and try to, not only, color over what others dislike in us, but also, our being wounded and feeling unworthy?   Why is it so hard for us to see ourselves as God views us and not how other humans surface paint us to be?

     Back to the moment of me sitting in my car, waiting for this journey to begin.   Like most women, I love my hairstylist.   Yep, Jenny is the gifted artist who works magic on my locks, but that’s not why she holds a special spot in my heart.   Jenny is, first and foremost, a daughter of God whose fingers might color and cut the perfect hair style, but her greatest (and God given) talent is the caring love that flows from her soul.   Thus, Jenny wasn’t surprised when I declared my resolve to dissolve the dye and start growing the roots with which God graced my life.   Instead, side by side, she will lead me through this journey.  

     Not all, however, are as wise as Jenny.   Upon learning the roots of my new journey, others declare me crazy.   Shocked, some even inquire have I even thought how I will look?   My reply —  Like who I really am….

     As vivid as if it happened just this morning, I remember, well over 55 years ago, when the monthly “cleaning lady Saturdays” dawned.   Today, I laugh.   Eons ago, neither my sister, JoJo, nor I were even cracking a smile.  Let’s say the least, and merely state, my Mother was unique.   Re-enacting the scene would sketch the picture of my Mother scurrying throughout the house dusting and sweeping while shouting instructions over the vacuum noise to JoJo and me.   JoJo’s toilet duty had to make sure she scoured under the rim.   My instructions were to take the burners off the stove, so I could both see and vanish every speck of grease.   After all, we couldn’t have Mary, our cleaning lady, come into the house and judge us a “dirty” family.   Our reputation would be ruined!!!   Truth be told, if our monthly routine had been known, we would have been declared CRAZY!!!

     So what has this reflection to do with anything???   My response is maybe more than we think, or so, it weighed in on today’s walk around the lake.  

     We, Christians, are created to be people dependent on God.   Especially when life buries us in clutter, untidiness, and the grime of worldly existence, we are to put all in God’s hands and trust.   A large percentage of the time, we mostly do this.   However, a huge percentage of the time we fail to let go of, and step away from, what we place in God’s hands.   We foolishly act as if we first need to clean up a mess before we completely turn it over to God’s spotless ability – flashback to my Mother’s summoning the troops to swab the deck in preparation for the clean-up crew’s arrival.    As ludicrous as it was for my Mother to scrub before the cleaning lady’s arrival, it is even more absurd for us to think we must tidy up our messes before placing them in God’s cleansing palm. Seriously, if we wait till we’ve got it all under control to place our messes in God’s hands, then one likelihood will prevail.   Our messes will never be gotten around, over or beyond.   I’ll admit messes on our own are easy to make.   However, more oft than not, God’s mercy, forgiveness and love are needed for our messy disarray to be renewed to the state of our lives’ messiness being straightened out.

     How often do we overlook that no mess is too big for God to make clean?   And no, we do not have to whitewash the dirt of our lives before sincerely, and remorsefully, asking God to purify our mess.   We need to be sorry, not spic and span clean, when we ask God to renovate our messy today into His cleansing power for our tomorrow.  

     Biblically, I see Christ telling us not our cleaning, but our gleaning of His washing our sins away, is on what we need to focus.   Let’s reflect on Jesus’s response to Martha when she asked Jesus to reproach Mary for seeking Him instead of helping her ready the table and food to be worthy of Christ’s presence.  “But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary.   Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her’.”   Luke 10:41-42 (ESV)   In other words, Martha had prioritized preparing the home to be worthy of Jesus.   Mary chose to forego making things “good enough” for Jesus and instead sought to go as imperfect as she was to Jesus and let His words and wisdom transform her unworthiness into His divine bestowal of enlightened purification.      

No matter how much we try and scrub clean our imperfections before opening the doors of our heart to God, only His loving power and forgiveness makes us worthy of being at home with God.   Bottom line, we don’t have to (and in most cases can’t) clean-up our messes before we turn them over to God.  However, what we need to do is turn them over to God with remorse and resolution not to repeat them.   Equally important, let us not forget, while our hands can’t scrub away the sinful stains of our lives, they can, and should, fold in thankful prayer.   For, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” 1John 1: (ESV)

     But, God, if I only had MORE (money, home square footage, respect from others, time to accomplish my abilities) I would be happy, fulfilled and able to be a better disciple of your steadfast help and strength throughout life’s realities.  

     But, God, if I only had LESS (bills, responsibilities, expectations from others, demands on my time and energy) I would be happy, not overwhelmed, and able to dedicate my life more to the mission of sharing your will and way to family, friends and foreigners.

     In truth, God’s place in both our inner being and outreach should NOT depend on MORE or LESS.   God desires, and deserves, to be first and foremost in where we are, not in what we have or have not.   If we can’t, don’t or won’t find God in where we are, then bottom line is we aren’t looking for, recognizing or seeing the priceless gift of God’s “everywhere” presence.   God does not exclude His presence from His children, be they living in environments deemed too lowly or too lofty by judgmental man.   “For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: ‘I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite’.”  Isaiah 57:15 (ESV)

     Simply stated, no matter who we are or where we are, God is with us and calls us to joyful sharing of HIS existence, HIS word and HIS never ending comfort and love.   Thus, neither our jammed schedules nor isolated moments are an excused absence from living close to God.   Busy or bored, each of our lives should consciously reflect God being behind, beside and before us.   God is not meant to be a raincoat we put on and take off depending on our needs but rather the flesh and blood upon which our very lives depend.

     What MORE we long for, or LESS we yearn for, has no bearing on our being called as witnesses who take comfort in God as our strength and refuge.   We, Christians, are summoned to be firmly rooted not in the fruits of life but in the seed of God sustaining our lives.

     More often than naught, we are convinced if we could just get above our present circumstances, then we could, and would, be happy.   However, happiness is most ours when we get beneath our circumstances and lift them up to God.   God’s light, love and inspiration carries and shines forth from all who raise, and place, their imperfect lives into His perfect, guiding and guarding hands.   We can be in a utopia, but if God is not our substance, outer glee might surround us but inner happiness will evade our grasp.

     We need to trust God with where we are for Him to deliver us to a better place – be it on earth or in heaven.   To do this, we need to not be delighted in where we are but to delight in the Lord everywhere we are.   Best tactic about this is it keeps our minds from being submerged in our negative woes and our hearts and souls uplifted by our positive blessings.

     So wherever we are, we are never alone or on our own.  God stands watch over us.   Whether we like where we are, or not, God is with us.   Be we earthly succeeding or failing, God labels us His beloved children.   No matter if the world decries our Christian lives as right or wrong, God declares us His righteous heirs.   Thus, the real question we need to ask ourselves is could we possibly ask for MORE and would we ever desire LESS ???

     Post dinner, Joyce, my self-adopted sister, and I meet up to enjoy the routine of our social distancing walk.   The best of jaunts serves up the finest of dessert for both of us.   This special treat is not filled with calories but the core value of “care-by-he’s” – namely the he’s, Mr. BoGo and Master Mark.

     Yesteryear’s musical was “Stop The World, I Want To Get Off”.   Today’s lament is “Start The World, I Want To Get On With My Life”.   Mr. BoGo and Master Mark are the combining refrain of both – “Whatever The World Starts, I Want To Resound That Nothing Stops My Life”!!!

     Joyce and I always meet this duo along the same stretch of road.   Before even hitting the spot, we wonder if we’ll be blessed with the delicacy of their spirit.   In this, often, woe is me, grumpy world, Mr. Bogo and Master Mark are the rare chorus of “Give Thanks and Praise”.

     Mr. BoGo and Master Mark always pause their evening excursion to inquire how we are doing.   It’s not a “how’s life treating you” chat.   It’s a “isn’t life a beautiful bestowal of blessings, even if they’re sprinkled amongst some weeds” conversation.   Each and every meeting, Mr. BoGo’s tail and Master Mark’s joyous eyes relay the message that they are sincerely excited to cross our path and lives.  

     Appreciation, gratitude and thanksgiving are meant to be shared, not hoarded; and during each brief encounter, Mr. BoGo and Master Mark somehow sow these seeds.   Wisdom delivered, they run and ride full steam ahead.   Never do they longingly look behind at who (or what) is past.   Rather, with glorious expectation they look forward to the blessing of who (or what) tomorrow will bring.

     Oh, in case you haven’t guessed, Mr. BoGo is a four pawed chocolate labradoodle.   Master Mark, with his two prosthetic legs, is the champion of life who races his scooter by Mr. BoGo’s side.     

     Three almost finished blogs linger in my legal pad.   Each falls short of originating from a “talk time” with God.   Thus, each lacks what I sense as a “call to post” message.   As I’ve declared before, this blog is not about me or anything I have to say.   On the contrary, its purpose and substance is sharing the “God incidence” messages which cross my life’s journey.   I do so with the repeated disclaimer:  I am not chosen above any of us, possess any ability beyond the least of us, and definitely am as human and sinful as every one of us.   I, simply stated, am just a child of God who sees and hears what I call “God’s sign language”.   My choice is to be tone deaf to much of the world’s sighs, and tune in to what I hear as God’s cries.   This morning, amidst the mist of sprinkling rain drops, “God’s sign language” once more spoke to me.

     My course was, as usual, walking the lake path outside my door.   Yes, my ear buds were echoing the praise and power of God, His faith, His Hope and His Love.  In the distance, a bicycle was headed my direction.  I knew the rider, my neighbor Bill, would hit the brakes to comment on the CD I had given back to Joyce, his wife, last night.   I also instinctively sensed that maybe not a simple “Good morning, how’s your day?” conversation was heading my way.  

     A few days ago, Bill had, also, crossed my lake path and handed me a CD of his past church choir performing “One Set of Footprints”.   Excitement immediately energized my walk as treasured memories filled my heart.   I knew this music well, and a rush of inspiration swells within me whenever I re-live its choruses.  “One Set of Footprints” is the story of God carrying us when we are too fearful, weary or worldly defeated to even crawl forward.

      I couldn’t wait to transfer the CD to my phone playlists; but as technologically impaired as I am, I knew I had to wait till my, states away, daughter could, over the phone, guide her incompetent mother through the process.   Yesterday, Britt played preschool teacher to her mom.   My daughter’s clear and basic instructions were understood much easier than I had anticipated.   Hanging up, I actually felt semi confident for the task at hand.   Having loaded the CD into the external hard drive, I awaited the prompt asking if I wanted  to import the disc.   It never appeared.   My confidence was waning.   I started over.   Again, no recognition of a CD in place to be imported.   Had I somehow ruined the CD?   I grabbed one of my own CDs and placed it in the external hard drive.   As Britt had indicated, my computer responded with the “do you want to import” prompt.  

     With trepidation, I decided to try playing the disc in an old portable CD player.   Took me a while to even find my out of date listening device.   However, the minute my mitts were on it, I placed “One Set of Footprints” into it.   I waited with bated breath.   Nothing, not even one note, sang forth.   The CD was empty – completely blank.   How could this be?  Even worse, was my stupidity to blame?  

     Last night, as Joyce and I finished our social distancing walk, I handed her back Bill’s CD and told her it was blank.   I had no explanation or understanding of what caused this, but it was most certainly as silent as a bell without a clapper.   Having given Joyce the blank CD 13 hours ago, I knew Bill was not only heading my way, but also, stopping!!!   In his “always put others’ needs first and foremost” manner, I was expecting him to tell me that it was perfectly fine I had somehow totally managed to wipe out the saved memory of his choir performing the awe inspiring “One Set of Footprints”.   That was not at all what happened.

     Bill did stop, and that was all that I had correctly surmised.   With a quizzical expression on his face, he inquired into what device I had put the disc.   To which I explained both the external drive plugged into my computer and a totally separate old portable CD player.   I continued that nope, nada, nothing was heard.   The CD was blank.   How that happened, I hadn’t a clue.   Calm, compassionate Bill looked me straight in the eye and spoke, “Bonnie, there’s nothing wrong with the CD.   I listened to it this morning”.  

     Knowing me, Bill wasn’t surprised by my automatic response that God must, once more, be speaking to me in “sign language”.   At that moment, I admitted I was taken aback and clueless; but I knew by the end of my walk I’d understand God’s exact message.   Smiling, Bill rode off.   Before he’d gotten ten feet away, I understood “God’s sign language”.   As my neighbor had started pedaling, I placed my sound buds back into my ears.   A chorus of inspiration sang loud and clear.   Bingo!!!   In my usual manner when I hear God’s message, I tilted my head up to the heavens, and with a smiling face and head shaking, I uttered, “Got it, Lord!!!”

    My playlists of inspirational music are, so to speak, the petro in this CARR.   No matter what challenges await me, my music uplifts me.   I’ve even been known to tailor a playlist for specific challenges.  

     Music makes me 100% know God’s presence and power.  However, in 100% knowledge, trust can become inconsequential or forgotten.   For me to be reminded how my (and your) life needs to be seeded and rooted in trust, not knowledge, God, literally, silenced the music.  

     Life is a chronicle of times when evil surrounds us – like COVID19.  God will carry us, each and every one of us, through all evil.   God calls us to trust, not knowledge, for Him to do this.  

     For me, listening to inspirational music celebrates my knowledge of God.   Times of silence percolate my trust in God.   Indeed, the silence of a CD album, permeated in trust, was not a co-incidence but a God incidence.   It was a Godsend reminder of the trust we all need to survive the evils of our world.      

     So, after a couple weeks of blog silence, I deliver this message.   Trust is what we need to rely on when we don’t know what is, or will, happen.   Trust is not heard fact but silent conviction.   With ear buds in and inspirational music filling our souls, God’s uplifting power is so easy to know and believe.   However, when isolated in silence, only trust assures us that God is carrying us.      Bottom line and God’s current wake up call for me: My God, whom I know, uplifts me.   My God, whom I trust, carries me. Praying you proclaim the same.

     The family of man, fearfully, awaits being able to avoid the death of a present day pandemic.   Their “tomorrow solution” hangs around blood with antibodies being transferred from an earthly stranger, who was infected with the virus and physically lived.

     The family of God, filled full of Hope, never needs to wait to avoid a timeless pandemic death.   Their “today SOULution” hangs in blood, infused with forgiveness, from Christ their heavenly Brother.  This Life Saver suffered physical death so that we, each and every one of us, could be transfused, and transformed, with the spiritual blood of eternal life.

     Today dawns Good Friday.   Will we, as the family of man, choose to tremble under the cloud of no current transfusion to thwart the worldly executioner of COVID19 death?   Or, will we, as the family of God, choose to live in the SONlight of Christ’s blood, already transfused and curing us from the deadliest disease of all – sin?

     Either way, as the solemnity of today embraces us, may we take shelter in the healing arms of Christ.   God’s mercy to us all !!!

     Zachariah was hopping like a bunny round his Grammy’s kitchen.   Full of energy and excitement, he could hardly wait for Grammy to finish boiling the Easter eggs.   Like Zachariah, the table had been ready and waiting to have fun for what seemed like hours.   Newspaper protected the wooden top.   Cups were spaced across last week’s comics.   A teapot, ready to turn colorful tablets into magic dye, was whistling on a burner next to the cooking eggs, signaling it, too, was not patiently waiting for the Easter egg adventure to begin.

     Finally, Grammy lifted the pot of eggs from the stove and set it down under the kitchen faucet.   As cold water replaced the bubbling hot liquid in the pot, Grammy carefully lifted each egg out of its swimming pool, paper toweled it off and placed it in an egg crate holder.   Kneeling on a chair, Zachariah watched each and every move his Grammy made.

     As Grammy lifted one egg up from the water, she sorrowfully sighed and placed this egg not with the others but on an isolated, corner counter spot.   Zachariah noticed what Grammy had done and nodded approval while stating, matter-of-factly, “That egg cannot be brightly colored”.   Grammy was surprised young Zachariah already understood that dye penetrating through the cracks and into the egg was not healthy for humans to eat.   Zachariah took for granted his Grammy comprehended why this egg was not to be colored like all the others.   Truth be told, Grammy didn’t.

     Time was not to be clocked, but enjoyed, as Grammy and Zachariah sank each egg into the deeply colored waters.   Grammy, thinking she was the teacher, explained to Zachariah the “message” of each egg color.   In retrospect, Grammy would discover it was she who needed to be the learner of Zachariah’s Easter “meaning”.   

     Shouts of glee rang out round the kitchen table as Grammy told her Easter tale.   Bright green was the color of Hope.   Easter delivered Hope to all mankind.   Golden yellow was the color of spring’s warm Easter sun.   Easter brought the warmth of God’s light, once more, shining upon His earthly children.   Neon pink best symbolized the glowing color of God’s radiating Love.   Easter was, and still is today, born out of the greatest Love of all.

     Grammy’s lesson on Easter’s “message” was complete; or so she thought, as Zachariah placed the last brightly colored egg into the Easter basket.   However, Zachariah was anything but finished.   Springing off his table chair, he pushed it over to the counter, then perched upon its cushion.   With his tiny arms, and half his body, sliding cross the counter, he stretched to reach inside the shadowed corner where Grammy had isolated that one imperfect egg.   Gently, his petite fingers wrapped round its shell, as if it were a cherished treasure.   Being very careful, Zachariah wiggled, tummy down, off the four legged chair.   Then, oh so proudly, he cautiously, one slow step at a time, returned to the table.   Grinning from ear to ear, and head to toe, Zachariah gently placed the undyed, shell broken egg on top of all the brightly colored others.  

     Grammy sensed, within Zachariahs’s endeavor, there had, not just, to be a “message”, but also, a “meaning”.   And so, now adult teacher turned novice student, Grammy asked Zachariah to be the wisdom sharer.  

     “Oh, Grammy,” counseled Zachariah, “have you forgotten what Easter really means?   Easter is decorated with the ‘message’ of brightly colored eggs, just like you said.   But, that’s not Easter’s ‘meaning’.   Easter really means the discoloring stain of our sins was, once and for all, removed.   We are white as snow again!!!   And, Grammy, all of us are broken.   Sin has made us so.   Broken or not, though, Easter brings us baskets full of forgiveness.   The broken white egg, on top of all the decorated others, is us, Grammy – not perfect but broken people, yet washed clean in God’s forgiveness.   Grammy, cause of Easter, we all, though still broken, once more are white as snow!!!”

     To all the Mommies, Daddies, Grammys and Grampys this posting might reach, know the hope and prayer of this story rests in your hands and hearts.   Please, take the time to purpose your Easter egg coloring into the “meaning” of Jesus Christ loving us broken people enough to turn us, each and every  one, white as snow   In fact, how about we take our cue from Zachariah and start a new tradition.   That broken, uncolored egg we, up to now, have excluded from the exquisite setting of our brightly colored Easter eggs, let’s put it (and its “meaning”) in a place of honor atop our baskets full of perfectly decorated eggs.  

     “At the time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’   And calling to Him a child, He put him in the midst of them and said, ‘Truly, I say to you unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven’.”   Matthew 18: 1-3 (ESV)

     As mentioned before, God endowed me with the gift to gab.   Not His shortcoming but mine, I have not so readily accepted His gift of listening.   This week proved this lack on my part.   Most every thought I write comes from my conversations with God.   My solo walks around my backdoor lake provide many hours of God and me talking time.

     Three days ago, while rounding the lake path and wondering what my next “God think” might be, the answer crossed my path.   In most situations, I would have smiled, cocked my head up to heaven and uttered, “Got it God!!!”   Not this time.  

     Those who know me, generally speaking, see me as a pig headed, strong-willed, up to any challenge lady.   Those who intricately know me would, also, tell you while my head, heart and soul are strong, my gut is crumbling putty when it comes to my Achilles heel – snakes.   My Mother is to credit, or rather blame, for this.   I thank my Mom for all the dreams she helped instill in me.  However, I lack appreciation for the fear her sharing her childhood snake nightmare cemented in me.

     Let’s travel back to my walk three days ago.   As I rounded a curve in the lake path, a good ten feet ahead of me, my eyes caught hold of a small snake slithering out of the tall grasses, across the path, down the slope of the shoreline and into the water.   I saw the entire serpent journey only because I, literally, froze in place.   Miracle of all, my vocal cords were iced solid in silence, too.    Of course, soon as the snake disappeared under the surface, my vanity began peering around making sure no fellow walker observed my wimpy panic.  Nope, I was the sole person witnessing the scene.  My next thought was another shocking statistic.  I’d walked this path for five years and never seen a snake.  What happened to the safety of my home environment?   My overly optimistic brain responded that this had to be a once in five year happening.   I sighed with non-convincing relief. 

     From fear filled imagination to reality, I next ventured.   No one around meant I had to be the first set of feet to cross the path the snake had contaminated.   Seriously, for me, this was a huge challenge.   That was the moment I felt God’s nudge to write about the serpent, Satan.    My automatic knee jerk reaction was, “Nope, no way, not a chance.”   So shaken by the physical encounter with the object of my greatest fear, I couldn’t (more honestly, wouldn’t) hear or heed the Lord’s confrontation of both my fear and His message.   As I RAN across the spot the serpent had slithered over, I closed the book on both my physical fear and any chance of a spiritual message rising from this happenstance.   That was until this morn’s lake walk, when God’s message went from a nudging whisper to a rip-roaring, whacking proclamation.  

     My usual six lap workout was two thirds done, and I was totally in the zone.   My ear buds were echoing “YOU Raise Me Up”.   Feeling the inspiration of skating to this piece years ago, my arms and legs could have been skimming the ice.   Oblivious to all people, places and THINGS, I had floated back to the past when a sheet of ice provided my deepest source for praising God.

     Then the tsunami hit.   Not ten feet away, but not even ten inches away, the object of my being’s irrational fear was slithering.   Worse yet, not a baby like three days ago, this moment’s nemesis was huge, fat, full grown and dead set in collision path with me.   My momentum was too fast to brake.   Both my unreasonable fear and natural instinct took over.   My unreasonable fear produced blood curling screams emitting from my mouth.   My natural instinct catapulted my body high into the air and a jump that surpassed even the best distance I ever completed in my old professional days.  

    As if my total panic performance needed any more embarrassment, this time I was not alone on the path.   Don’t know what shocked the spectators of my fiasco more – my over the top screaming fear of a snake or my somehow managing a standing up, safe landing.   Truth be told, I surprised myself, too.   A total knee and two total hips later, I didn’t think I had it me either!!! 

     Once more, I felt God’s calling direction.   This time I didn’t turn away.   Nope.   Instead, with clear vision I saw not my life’s fear of a physical worldly snake but the blame owed the serpent of physical and spiritual death.   I was brought back to an incident I shared in a manuscript I wrote dealing with grief and Jim’s (my hubby’s) death.   I feel it is this writing, not newly scripted words, I am called to share.   Doesn’t matter if it is COVID19 or my husband’s death, the slithering snake must take the spotlight of blame.   From my manuscript, “NOT A MANUAL BUT EMMANUEL”, I share…..

     “Months before even thinking seriously about putting our home on the market, something happened that made me realize grief’s journey has an additional player whom I had overlooked.   It had been so natural for me to narrow grief down to six players: Hubby, me, our 3B’s and God.   I had completely forgotten the snake!!!   That all changed the night I came home from my church small group, and Granddaddy (my father who lives with me) summoned me to his room.

     In a serious and authoritative voice, Granddaddy ordered me to take a seat.  Next he informed me it was a good thing I had been gone for a couple of hours, because if I had been home, there would be a FOR SALE sign in our yard.   Granddaddy continued that since Hubby’s death, I had learned out of necessity to handle spiders and even did a pathetic, but somewhat trying, attempt in regards to the field mouse that found my pantry.   However, the three foot snake he discovered in my kitchen earlier that night would have done me in. 

     Trying to drown my spontaneous hysteria, Granddaddy blared, “It’s gone.”   Our neighbor had taken care of it.   Staring Granddaddy straight in the eyes, I declared he was only half right.   Had I been home, indeed, there would be a FOR SALE sign in our yard, but it also would read VACANT!!!

     Actually in the time it took our neighbor to get to our home and Granddaddy to get our dogs outside, that three foot snake had slithered downstairs.   Our neighbor found it at the threshold of the room where Hubby died.

   As the petrifying picture flashed through my mind, an even bigger reality registered with me.  I had failed to realize Satan, the snake, was a significant villain player in grief’s journey.   Till that moment, I had failed to associate him as death’s perpetrator.   As long as Satan goes unidentified and unbeknown as death’s true cause, one deadly enemy needing to be recognized, and defeated, will continue to wield his sword, striking down the hope of heaven and replacing it with the hell of despair.

     Grief is definitely one of the weapons the devil uses to turn us from God and toward him.   Satan’s goal is wrongfully putting the responsibility for death in God’s hands, not under his own slithering body, where it truly belongs.   Man was not created to die.   Man’s first sin in the Garden of Eden introduced death, and Satan choreographed the event.   ‘By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.’ (Genesis 3:19)

     After Hubby died, I was so caught up in not laying the blame at anyone’s door that I overlooked the devil who hides in the shadow of every threshold of death.   I believe it is wrong to allow Satan to hide in the shadow.   Quite the opposite, a high powered spotlight needs to illuminate not only his responsibility for all deaths but also his delight in influencing our looking toward God with unsettling questions instead of glaring down him, the evil one, as the ultimate answer of why everyone, including our loved ones, must die.  

     The devil takes aim and targets a loved one’s death attempting to turn it into a weapon inflicting deep wounds on family left behind.   He celebrates when he succeeds in bringing the spiritual and emotional lives of those grieving into a death of their own.   Bingo!!!   He has killed many birds with one stone, so to speak.

     The night that snake tried to slither his way into Hubby’s and my bedroom, I realized my laying the blame for Hubby’s death at no one’s door was a band aid not a cure.   From that moment on, I understood one vital phase of the journey through grief is not so much as letting God (and humans too) off the hook but rather as putting the devil on the hook.   Blaming no one is a passive band aid.   It helps cover the wound but not much more.   Blaming Satan is more of an antibiotic leading to a cure.   Just as it takes a high powered microscope to discover and pinpoint the cause of many deadly viruses; I repeat, it takes getting Satan out his veiled shadow and into the spotlight to truly fathom that we must lay death’s blame at his belly, not in God’s hands.

     Satan slithered in Hubby’s and my bedroom suite the morning Hubby was physically taken from our family, but no way would he take up residence again in my midst.   He would not halt my journey through grief.   He was the cause the 3B’s and I were forced to begin grief’s journey; but he would not keep me caught in death’s hell-filled snare.   Satan is now out of the shadow, revealed and illuminated for the player he is in death.”….

     From the then of my grief manuscript to the now of COVID19, not God, but the serpent devil is to blame.   My walk three days ago found me too afraid and wanting to blot out my fears to share this message.   But God’s call today was, for both me and you, a “not to be silenced” reminder of from where true evil comes and under whose belly rests the blame.  When people wonder why God would let such fear and death of this pandemic befall us, may we answer back.   The powers of evil might surround us, but God stands ready to uplift and carry us either safely through this worldly virus or beyond it to the reward of our heavenly home.  

     Two boats beckon us to jump aboard and travel through this deadly storm.   One’s captain is a serpent and its sails are set for the death of hades.   The other’s Captain is our Savior and His sails are set for either continual life on earth or eternal life in heaven.   Which boat will you choose as the Captain of your soul???

As years turn us from growing children into adolescents lauding how grown up we are, one scene is often forgotten. I speak of the tangible, and symbolic, process of learning how to ride our two wheeler bikes. Join me in a flashback to that precarious experience; and, together, let’s unwrap a deeper lesson than riding around the block. Be it eons ago or present day, to everyone, but those involved in this learning process, the scene is actually almost humorous.

The training wheels have been raised. The child is timid, yet yearning to master this longed for rite of passage. Mom stands in the grass beside the sidewalk with panic on her face and shouting cries of encouragement and confidence. Dad, with pride and certainty, grasps the back of the bike and runs behind to help balance his child and prevent a crash. Over and over, the scene repeats until practice makes not perfect, but sustainable, and the child, on their own, zooms off to complete their solo round the block venture.

In a nutshell, that’s the tangible. What about the symbolic? Its midst revolves around the message of control. Mankind, plain and simple, is fearful when sensing inability to control any force that might result in harm to them, their loved ones or the backyard of the world in which they live. For things to be well, we feel we must control any, and all, that brings the opposite. This might be human nature, but God calls us to rest in His Divine Nature. Every way you slice it, man can’t control anything. Only God has this power. Man was not created to control but to be able to handle, through God’s grace, what is out of our control. This is God’s powerful gift to mankind, if only we recognize and use it.

Every year, humans face flu season. We don’t panic. Why? Largely, because we have vaccines and medicines. How many of us have ever given thought to the fact that this is not controlling the yearly disease but, at best, only handling it? Our flu season security has falsely propped up the myth that within our hands lies the power of control. However, if we could control, then man would eliminate the flu. Instead, mankind handles this health disease relying on tools of medical science, overlooking the blessing, and necessity, of leaning on God to control assailants to our health — both physical and spiritual.

Total panic engulfs our Nation as we endure COVID-19. Why? Largely, because we have no vaccines or medicines to stop its deadly path. Tragically, we are fast running out of protective gear and machines to protect and keep our bodies breathing. I wish it were in my power to humanly produce these physical, life saving needs for everyone facing down this urgency. It isn’t. It is, none the less, within the power of my pencil to sound the reminder that the protective armor of God is at no shortage and waits for each and every one of us to put it on.

“Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.” Ephesians 6:11-13 (ESV)

What we cannot control, the armor of God will enable us to handle. The way towards handling is to release the need to control into the Hands of God. Like the father who ran behind his child’s bike to keep it from going out of control until his child could handle the bike, God’s hands are on us and won’t let go whenever life’s challenges threaten to topple us. Continually, and no matter our specific needs, God clothes us in His protective care. Thus, as we search for, and ultimately discover, the ability to handle this pandemic, my prayer is that we each don our own personal protective gear — the armor of God.

“Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints.” Ephesians 6:14-18 (ESV)

It bears keeping in mind that the best way to keep God’s armor around us is to take time to center ourselves in the Word of God, the Bible. When anxiety and fear encircles us, our strongest weapon is a straight line to the Bible and concentrated focus not on life’s triangles but on the Triangle of God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

As a last, but not least, reflection, I leave you with this thought to always remember. When I, and you, handled our bicycles for that very first time, our Dads let go as we rode away and stood behind us with great pride and love. Before, during and after we learn to handle our ride through our earthly journey, (from childhood through Senior Citizen) God, our Father, steadfastly stands with the greatest of pride and love for us. However, God does not let go and stay behind. His hand remains on us, even when we ride away.

     Being the eternal optimist God created me to be, I firmly believe a phoenix rising from the ashes is materializing from the current pandemic.   What’s more, every single one of us Christians has to help give this phoenix flight.   We owe this to God, and my hope is we don’t let God down.

     Our earthly Commander in Chief consistently calls COVID 19 the “INVISIBLE” enemy.   His continual verbiage of “INVISIBLE” enemy has even become a common term many other officials and ordinary citizens now use.   So be it intentional or unintentional by our President, I see God’s hand intentionally using this virus to prove to all 21^st Century, doubting Thomas strugglers that the “INVISIBLE” does exist.   “INVISIBLE” is not only possible, it is real.  We cannot see the COVID 19 “INVISIBLE” enemy, but its presence is undeniably proven. 

     The number of people who, before this virus, rejected, and even scorned, the presence of the “INVISIBLE” is massive.   To this multitude, the thought of anything “INVISIBLE” actually living was absurd.   Well, maybe now their minds might not be so closed and their souls might open.    

     Since COVID 19 has proven there is an “INVISIBLE” enemy, it is equally dependable to proclaim that there is an “INVISIBLE” God.   Currently, we are seeing that the world’s population doesn’t have to see its deadly enemy to believe it exists.   This being so, it is parallel to proclaim that neither does all of creation have to see their life giving God for Him to exist.

     To the argument that the virus can be visibly captured in a petri dish under a microscope, I counter that God’s presence can be observed without the containment of a petri dish or magnification of a microscope.   For, even amidst the death brought by the “INVISIBLE” enemy bursts forth the spring time life created by our “INVISIBLE” God. Every being can look and visibly see this.

     God never allows a disaster to strike to drive us away from Him.   The wake-up calls He allows are always to bring us back to Him.   From Old Testament to present day, mankind can be stiff necked and back turning to both God and our neighbor.   Over and over, we currently see the best of humanity reaching out to help each other through this pandemic.   We also need to, more directly and more universally, bring ourselves and our fellow mankind back to God.   A society now believing the reality of the “INVISIBLE” cracks open the door for Christians to share the reality of not just our, but also their, “INVISIBLE” God.      

At the onset of my first post, I expressed this blog is yours and my side by side stroll to the destination of being UPLIFTED IN A BROKEN DOWN WORLD.   My pencil may have brought this thought to you, but my prayer is that your voice will bring this message to those who cross your path and are also in need of the Cross of Christianity.   The door to belief in the “INVISIBLE” has been unlocked.   Let us, as Christians, open it wide.