Uplifted in a Broken Down World

One day while in school a child inquired what is a mountain? His teacher described it to him as a mass of earth and rock which extends into the sky. She showed the young student a picture to satisfy his curiosity.

That night, like all children do, he ran home to tell his mother and father he had learned about the mountains. He had even seen a picture of one.

Being very wise parents, they told their child about a second type of mountain that sometimes you couldn’t visually see but that you had to climb during life.

Too young to understand, the child eagerly inquired if someday he would be able to climb such mountains as his parents described.

The father answered his son that he would, most likely, be given the opportunity. His hope, however, was that the boy would possess the necessary fundamentals to climb his many mountains of life.

What fundamentals are needed to climb the mountains of life?

The first one is the desire not to give in or up. You can’t purchase this as the other type of mountain climbers can buy rope and picks, etc… Desire not to give in or up has to be instilled and come from within a person. Whose responsibility is it to do the instilling? Maybe, this is a worthwhile question about which we all should ponder.

The top of a mountain is generally not reached by climbing straight up. In most instances, you reach the top by making circles, each higher than the last, around a mountain. However, this often makes you unable to see the peak of your destination.

Might it not be said that the second fundamental for climbing the mountains of life is the capacity to believe there is a peak, even if you cannot see it. As an offshoot of this, you must have faith that you will, if you keep going, reach the peak; and once you do, you will receive the gratification of knowing difficulties withstood, you climbed to the top of a mountain of life.

What I personally label the third fundamental in climbing the mountains of life is, probably, the most difficult one for anyone to achieve. It is the ability to climb alone. God leads you, and others might be right behind you; but you must physically climb alone. No one, not even those who love you deeply and dearly, can, in your place, climb “your” mountain. “Your” face must break the wind. “Your” hands must reach for the rocks above; and, most important of all, the desire of “your” heart and soul must enable you to climb upward.

Thus, when life sends you a mountain to climb, don’t back your bag with purchased tools. Pack your heart and soul with Faith, Hope, Love and the compass of your true North – God!!!

Upon entering the Red Wing of the Cancer Center, it was obvious we hadn’t a clue where we were going. Sensing our lack of compass, security approached to guide us. I met this assistance declaring our trio knew where our true North, our Heavenly Father, was; but unfortunately, we were treading South in search of Urgent Care. With a nod of her head, a smile of understanding and a heart for helping others, the agent led us to the over-populated place we were anything but grateful to enter.

Wanting to protect her better half from possible germ proximity, my sister-in-love fearfully declared she wasn’t letting my brother sit in a petri dish. I agreed. She and my brother would shelter in a non-occupied hall corner, and I’d enter the clinic, register, stand guard and signal them inside when my brother’s turn arrived and a clear path to an unoccupied exam room was had. Once registration was finished, I scouted out an uninhabited corner to stay my watch.

Having settled into my outpost, a lump of emotion clogged my throat and eyes. It was not the wheelchair in the way of all entering the unit that seemed to barricade me into a place no one would want to be. It was the man, squirming with pain, inside the wheelchair who chained me into the realization many, who most need a helping hand, have no one by their side. My heart ached. My soul shed tears.

From the back of his chair hung, I thought, a small thermal cooler. A closer glance recognized an oxygen bag. As colorless as his gray hair was his face. His torso twitched in pain. Surely, someone must be parking their car and would show up soon. Minutes ticked by. No one came. Ironically, to the world it was “happy hour”. To the unescorted child of God in the wheelchair, each gut-wrenching moment must have seemed like the hands of the clock had rotated sixty times.

Finally, a hospital personnel stood by the beleaguered man – not to assist but rather to add more paperwork to his plight. The gent’s hands could barely hold the clipboard. Filling out the forms was obviously beyond his strength. Appraoching this brother-in Christ, I asked if he desired a helping hand. Surprised and overwhelmed, he inquired who I was and if I worked there. My reply was simply, no, I was just a child of God sent by his Heavenly Father to help him. He cried.

In truth, that man did more for me than I for him. Just filling out paperwork for him and standing by his side so he wasn’t alone was a blessing to my soul.

Eventually, the MRI tech came to fetch him. As he was transported away, my heart broke. I cried. I knew God would keep sending His servants to care for this child of His; but I, also, knew his journey would be filled with strangers, not family.

Why do I share this story? My hope is that each and every one of us not only hug our loved ones more tightly, but also, open our hearts to see where God might be calling us to be His family for a circle most needing a brother or sister in Christ. Additionally, we the blessed ones, so often, complain about the pebble in our shoe. Instead, it is past time that our eyes, hearts and souls see those who walk barefoot over sharp rocks of undeserved adversity and, shamefully, let us turn grateful for only pebbles befalling us.

The silhouette of an old man in a wheelchair will forever linger in my life. However, this portrait is not of a stranger. I saw, and into eternity will see, the picture of God.

“Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’.” Matthew 25: 34-40 (ESV)

Nonstop, torrential rain poured down on Florida today. Come afternoon, if dinner was to be served, getting food won out over getting wet. My family was enjoying the week together, but more than empty tummies would be growling if dinner wasn’t served. Out into the deluge I ventured.

My second stop, crammed within my route, was not for food but rather for my paperwork supplies. Little did I suspect that would be the store serving me my most needed nourishment — food for my soul.

Scurrying to gather my list of items, I was delighted to see no line to check out. T’was my lucky day. I’d get checked out in a hurry and be on schedule to get home in plenty of time for the salmon to marinate. Reaching the checkout lady, with joy, I thanked her for being open and ready to whisk me back out into the downpour. Surprised at my spirit, she expressed that I was the only person of the day speaking happy appreciation over complaining irritation. My response was that the drought, now over, would bring nature the ability to re-color our gardens. My new friend added that so many today admire the paint of bright flowers but fail to recognize the glory of the Painter. Wow! Immediately, my newfound friend became my age-old sister. However, it was this rare heart’s next two sentences that totally stopped me. Boldly she declared, “I’m losing my sight, so I thank God I can still see the rain. Praise the Lord, my God reigns!”

My life right now is “Blessed Chaos”. My mantra has become “Let me see you, Lord, for the storm is so dense I feel lost, and drowning in worry, fear and exhaustion”. As always, God hears and answers; but I must admit awe fills me over the way God chose to let me see Him today — through the eyes of a woman who is losing her physical sight but whose soul deeply sees and perceives His rain and His reign.

Thus, tonight, the thirst of my heart and soul are quenched by seeing and believing the rains of life may come, but My God Reigns.

Since I was a preteen, my most spoken (and clung to) four-word phrase has been “I believe in miracles”. That was until the past few weeks when God has blessed me with an abundance of time caring for my five-year-old, three-and-a-half-year-old and three-year-old grandchildren. It dawned on me this evening, as this old grammy was corralling my two eldest grandbabies, that a new four-word phrase was challenging the mainstay phrase of my life’s journey.

The lightbulb went on as I spoke for the millionth time this week, “Clean up your mess”!! No more had I realized the magnitude of this repetition, when my soul heard God chuckle. Most all who have ever met me know my soul firmly believes God has a message in every single happening. We humans just get so preoccupied with the incident that we never look for its meaning. Not I. When I sensed God’s humor, I cut straight to the chase.

O.K. Lord, you’ve got my attention. So, could you please just enlighten me. He did. God’s perceived wisdom was this. The only thing a parent/grandparent does more than change a dirty diaper is to often advocate (O.K., more accurately dictate) that a child must clean up the mess of a dirty room. Seriously, think about it. All kids make one mess after the other, and we adults are continually requesting them to “clean up your mess”.

Soon as this thought crossed my mind, God shared His mind. Nothing changes with God’s kids – no matter what age they are. Yep, I’m speaking of me, you and everyone else, regardless of how young, old or in between we are. Left on our own, (just like my and your grandchildren) our lives make one mess after another. Sad thing is we no more want to clean up our messes than our youngsters do. Like little children, our instinct is to walk away from our messes and proceed on to the next mess of our making. Not a doubt in my mind, God is in the background asking us to “clean up our mess”; and we are as oblivious to His voice as our grandchildren are to ours. Ouch!! I was convicted.

God then took me from realization to revelation. My Heavenly Father sent His Son (my brother) to clean up the messes of my life. God didn’t tell Jesus to clean up HIS mess. He asked Him to clean up MY mess, and Christ didn’t ignore or argue with God. He did as asked. Why then am I unmindful that as a human being I mess up, but as a child of God I am called to clean up my mess. Just as I was asking my grandchildren to bend over, pick up and put back in its proper place the scattered pieces of their messes, shouldn’t I do the same for the messes in life I make?

Before ending His “clean up your mess” tutorial, God imparted one more piece of wisdom. It’s time for me to stop solely asking my grandbabies to “clean up your mess” and start “soul”y teaching them how Christ cleaned up the messes of mine, theirs and everyone’s sins; and God calls each and every one of us to imitate Christ as we journey through life. Simply and Biblically speaking, our messes are not to be ignored but restored.

The day’s overwhelming schedule was a labyrinth of trying to navigate floors of winding paths, random elevators and unsettling realizations. My instinctive optimism was totally depleted. I needed reinforcement. I sought my only tried and true refueling station. Where is the Chapel? The security staff member responded, “Across from the Pharmacy”. I countered, “the Chapel IS the pharmacy – best medicine to cure all mankind’s ailments”. He laughed and shook his head accordingly.

Once located, the Cancer Center’s pharmacy had wide open, triple sliding glass doors. Eight people, side by side, could easily stroll inside. It was not so for the Chapel. Its opening was a tiny, heavy, solid dark door. Instantaneously, my dander was up. Why was worldly medicine an open storefront for the masses to enter; and the door, for seeking a dose of God’s antibiotic healing, a closed off cranny?

My need at that moment was to rest in the uplifting space of the outstretched, unobstructed arms of our Heavenly Father. Of even greater importance, I yearned to show my ailing brother God’s powerful, healing presence within the walls of the medical infirmary administering his Bone Marrow Transplant.

With hope that what was displayed on the outside wouldn’t be portrayed on the inside, I opened the cumbersome door for the Chapel. Stepping inside, I was both shocked and angry. Accurate description would be a small, dark closet. The Cancer Center covered acres and acres of land. A pinhead of claustrophobic space was set aside for God. A few token vigil lights were stuck in a lonely corner. Would have missed their presence completely had not one been a miniature speck of light in the darkness. Taking a three-point turn to exit, God’s presence (though I didn’t at the moment recognize it) caught my glance. On the wall beside the door, was a hanging Mosiac lit from behind.

To tell the truth, I walked away from the Chapel, but I didn’t take even a baby step from disappointment, dismay and anger that grandiose medicine failed to offer its critical patients a shining haven for spiritual healing. However, two nights later, God spread the balm of His wisdom and purpose over my open, irritated wounds.

I woke post-midnight to God’s explanation. My child you overlooked the meaning and message. Sometimes, my children cannot escape the darkness of disease. They feel imprisoned in a tiny isolation cell. There is no escape. I did not sentence them to their jail. Satan did. But they do not sit alone in darkness. I am with them always. I AM THE MOSAIC OF LOVE AND LIGHT, even in their darkest dungeon. Yes, you and the sick long for the expanse and freedom of my breath of life. What you must recognize, know and trust is that, though the jaws of suffering outwardly seem suffocating, My breath of eternal life ever expands your souls. My glory does not need monumental space to manifest its power. It shines greatest (and is most needed) in the peepholes of My children’s pain and suffering. You, your brother and each and every one of My children do not have to meet Me only in brilliant, grandiose space set aside for worship. I promise to always meet you in the places and hours of your greatest needs — especially in the cut off, life threatening closets of your darkest trials and tribulations. This is the meaning and message of the tiny, dark, closet Chapel. May it light your brother’s cancer journey.

“In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1: 4-5 (ESV)

Since last Fall, it seems as if I’m constantly (like every day) going to God for strength, direction and even transportation — i.e.., being carried through one challenge after another. Probably out of His wisdom and love (not tiring of my continually popping into His day) God enlightened me today that if I didn’t leave His side, I wouldn’t have to implore Him to be near and accompany me over my mountains. God never leaves me. I am the one to take a step away.

Oops, I do believe it is time for me to stop insecurely asking God to be near and to start confidently thanking God for never distancing Himself from me. In short, I need to stand on His promises, as opposed to praying for His promises. “It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31: 8 (ESV)

Like me, are there times when you cry out to God to come rescue you, forgetting God’s hands, 24/7/365, already hold you within the safety of His palm. I need to cease asking God to answer that He will remember me. I need to start proclaiming God’s assurance that “… I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palm of My hands, your walls are continually before Me.” Isaiah 49: 15-16 (ESV) What about you? Do you, too, need to stop requesting answers to your insecurities and begin proclaiming the security of God’s Biblically written assurances?

As fallen humans living in an evil world, we seek answers to our fears that harm and destruction will befall us and ours. May we change our focus to as children of God, with complete certainty, we have God’s assurance that “The Lord will keep you from all harm — He will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” Psalm 121: 7-8 (NIV)

Answers can only, at best, add knowledge to the anxious human mind. Only God’s assurance is the cornerstone that fills one’s heart and soul with the armor of courage, conviction and confidence that God, and God alone, is the source of all power, protection perseverance and peace.

God changed my perspective this week. No longer do I have to reach out for Him. He is already holding me and isn’t letting go. It’s redundant for me to keep asking Him to answer, again and again, if He’s going to carry me. His Biblical assurances are eternal and outspeak and out answer 21st Century perils.

In case anyone is wondering, today’s enlightenment was not God, now, closing the door on unneeded conversations. It was His opening the door for even deeper and more numerous chats. However, I felt God chuckling as He interjected that the best way for me to absorb His wisdom is for me to let Him get a word in edgewise. Do you think maybe God was trying to tell me that I talk too much and need to listen more???

Be it in tears, fears, calm prayer or passionate screams, we send our needs to God in heaven. Prayer is the carrier. Our expectations are often for immediate answers to our pleas. Yet, God often takes our needs and transfigures them into seeds. Seeds are not instant buds of rainbows after storms. Much the opposite, these seeds become kernels to be planted deep within the soil of our souls. From there roots of Faith, stems of Hope and flowers of blessings miraculously grow from the needs we placed in God’s Hands.

So easily, we forget God’s first chosen land for us was a garden. Even in Eden, a garden, to be landscaped in peace and harmony, had to be tilled, planted, watered and weeded. So also, must our needs (turned into seeds) undergo the same process. For only then, transformation into blessings will blossom from our worldly misfortunes.

Next time we think God is too slow in handling our needs, may we instead see His Hands changing needs into seeds. With grateful hearts and patient minds, let us remember God cares about our each and every need, transforms one and all into redeemed seeds and transplants them into a bouquet of blessings — handpicked for our individual good, protection and reward. In God’s Hands, our greatest of needs become the seeds for our most valuable and cherished triumphs. Herein lies man’s strength and way to trust God with all our needs.

No matter what your vision is today, the picture sees man pitted against man. Life is a videotape replay of you don’t look, believe, feel or act as I do; therefore, you are wrong. Not only are you wrong, but you must also be smeared, replaced and annihilated. But, is this God’s calling to us, His children? Unquestionably, we are commanded to stand up and defeat evil of every genre. However, of equal importance, we are christened to see reflections of God’s goodness and love.

This week I’ve heard God whispering: Looks are not a reflection of beliefs. So, stop focusing on the negative worldly war of judgmental confrontational uprisings. Instead, seek and find My children – your brothers and sisters, who reflect Me, Your Creator Father. This will bring you hope and surround you in My army, that nothing nor no one can defeat. And so, I went shopping for just this.

“Ruby” assisted my three-year-old grandson and me in the Wal Mart fabric section. My family cat had decided to recline on the fabric base of cube shelves, housing JB’s toys at Grammy’s home. Let me just say, it was a downward, spiraling fall for the Kitty. By the time he hit the floor, Meatloaf had ripped and tumbled through every level of the fabric framework. As JB shouted, “Bad Kitty”, I ran for my car keys. While fastening him into his car seat, JB’s litany was up to many “bads” before he voiced “kitty”.

JB, with his chosen replacement fabric in tow, handed it to sales associate, “Ruby” to measure and cut the needed length. Ruby’s eyes sparkled “motherly love” as JB entrusted the bolt of material into her calloused, yet tender, hands. Her blue work vest was adorned with a “25 years” patch. As I thanked Ruby for not only helping us but, also, for the gentle care she shared with JB, I questioned if the “25 years” patch was hers. With pride and gratitude in her voice, Ruby affirmed that for a quarter of a century she thanked the Lord she could support and serve hers, her family’s, her God’s and her customers’ needs. She added she only wished she could have started her job before she was sixteen years old so that, even sooner, she would have realized the self-esteem of being responsible and able to bless her God by helping others’ needs.

My newly discovered sister in Christ and I immediately felt a bond and rejoiced together over our God, our blessings and our hearts’ and souls’ similarity. In a mirror’s reflection, we, physically, looked totally different. It didn’t matter. We were Siamese twins when it came to faith, hope, love and joy for God, His blessings bestowed on us and His unifying power in our hearts and souls. Absolutely, this shopping trip had found me a new sister in Christ, who looked like me on the side that matters most – the inside.

My search for people who look like me was not over, but just beginning. A few days later found me in a ritzy Macy’s department store. Crowded and short staffed, most employees and customers were agitated. However, I couldn’t help but notice one sales associate. She was a radiant light of kindness, reaching out to all, offering her physical helping hand and appreciative loving heart.

Shamefully, till God challenged me to seek and find His children who looked like me, I would have never seen this employee as a family of God sister resembling me. Her mouth, nose and tongue piercings would have separated us from sharing the same appearance. Skin shallow would have stopped my heart and soul deep recognition of our child of God resemblance.

From a distance, I observed her place shoes at the feet of others; and, in the process, shoe away their worldly agitation, replacing it with laughter and a scent of God’s peace. Though she hadn’t physically assisted me, she had touched my spirit. I wanted to thank her, so I walked up to her “anything but like me” outside silhouette. As I expressed what a needed breath of God’s caring and sharing she was, I noticed her eyes were becoming misty. She responded by telling me her daddy had named her “Gem” and that my words affirmed her self-worth. Her momma had tossed her aside and abandoned her when she was a little child because she was worthless. Her piercing hurt had fueled her desire to do the opposite to every other person who ever crossed her path. Thus, there Gem was, in a crowded Mother’s Day shopping multitude, giving to those she did not even know the exact opposite of what her own worldly mother had inflicted on her. Beyond words, as I hugged my newly found sister in Christ, I thanked God for challenging me to open my eyes and see His children, who even in this evil world, none the less, beautifully reflect His image and likeness.

It’s more than time for all of us to stop letting today’s evil blind us. We see and talk about all that is wrong. Let’s cease this and replace it with scanning the scenes we are in to look for good people reflecting their Creator. Believe me, they are there. Once discovered, let us be bold enough to thank them, expressing gratitude for them mirroring the way God created us to be. This just might change our world from focus on evil to awareness of God’s goodness.

We need to not be captives of all the negativity the world serves us. Even tiny crumbs of God’s reflection, sighted in His children, will free us from overhanging clouds of worldly evil and despair. All we need to do is open our eyes and heart and be brave enough to reach out to those who, deep down, truly look like us.

Best thing I’ve done in a month of Sundays was following God’s nudge to take some shopping trips. I’m hoping and praying you are spurred on to do the same. Like me, you’ll come home in possession of the greatest of treasures, “Rubys” and “Gems”, that money can’t buy but God wants to give you.

My soul remembers all, so very well. My heart still loves you and sheds tears for your strength and all your sacrificing sewed into my hope and dreams.

My Grammar School days witnessed you defining mommy-hood at its strongest. Though crippled by the extreme nausea of migraines, you walked by my side the mile long path to the doors of my Christian elementary education. Once I was safe inside, you somehow trudged on to the doors of your workplace. As a bank teller, you then served costumers’ needs. Routinely, as the migraine overcame your stamina, you excused yourself for a brief moment but never called it a day. You stayed working so I could stay dreaming. Mommy, to this day I love you.

As a preteen, again you stood pace beside me. It was Labor Day weekend, and I was chosen to perform on the last float in Chicago’s Riverview Parade. My head was choreographing how my heart could spin, jump and dance on a tiny patch of ice on top a finale float. Your Momma love was figuring out how to both allow me to fulfill my dream and protect my life in the process. It was Chicago in the Sixties, and this night was substantially rumored to have the parade become the target of a racial riot. The police were out in force but choosing not to back down and abandon the event. You wouldn’t take my dream from me, yet you couldn’t let me go it alone. A camouflaged car, with horsepower, pulled my float. You, my Momma, jogged every step of that miles long parade beside my float, ready to cover me in protection if needed. Momma, to this day I love you.

As a teenager, I was away in Canada, once more skating my dream. Back home in Chicago, a deranged person discovered where I lived and tried to find me. Once knowing I was closely protected where I was, you agreed to try and lure my stalker into the open. My dreams and my safety, not yours, was all that mattered to you. Mom, to this day I love you.

As a mommy myself, when my newborn son laid in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, closer to death than life, you, once more, were the stand tall strength by my side and the knee who best knew how to bend and pray. Mother, to this day I love you.

Seventeen years ago, God called you home to Heaven; and many more times have I needed you. My eyes do, so often, cry but you left me your Mother’s love and strength to see beyond my tears and keep going. I pale in your shadow, but your light still always penetrates the darkness. A million times I’ve reached for your hand. Though I can’t hold yours, I forever feel you holding mine. Mother, to this day I love you and I miss you.

Out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom — so the saying goes. Last week, my five-year-old grandson confirmed this truth. His initial verification flooded his mother and me with uproarious laughter and a reminder, as if I ever forget, this Grammy is not a spring chicken. However, later reflection revealed being ancient just might be a treasured blessing.

Let’s revisit the scene of which I am referring. As my daughter, grandson and I were riding home from preschool, Zachariah remarked he’d learned about the 90’s. He followed up by asking his Mommy if she was born in the 90’s. Britt replied no; she was born in the late 80’s. My daughter seeking to deepen her child’s reasoning inquired when he thought GaGa was born. Without taking even a split second for wondering, Zachariah enthusiastically burst out that GaGa was born in the “1’s”, when Jesus was born!! Yep, kids tell it like it is!!

Later that night, as I was still chuckling over my grandson’s deduction, I realized there is a silver lining in the cloud of belonging to the “ancient” generation of Jesus’s birth. What’s more, shouldn’t each and every child of God long for this distinction? Most significantly, shouldn’t this characteristic be proudly borne, and worn, by all who claim to be of the family of God?

In honesty, my grandson attached me to Jesus because of my years. My heart longs for more. As he grows and discovers greater understanding of both Jesus and his GaGa, my hope is that he sees a family resemblance between Jesus and me. Would that my words, actions, heart and soul reflect to him the way Jesus spoke, acted, loved and believed. Even more than this, I wish for Zachariah, in the future, to see himself as belonging to the “1’s”, just like his GaGa and Jesus. Could a Grammy long for anything more? I don’t think so!!