The Color of September::It's not about me...

{Introduction - Although you are welcome to use my living in yellow list, please know that I wrote it for me. I share a few truths and thoughts not that I think you need them, but that I need them, and writing about them helps me do just that.}

Rick Warren's Purpose Driven Life has been a point of discussion and disagreement among Christians since its publication nearly a decade ago, and though I don't agree with him on every matter, he begins the first chapter by supporting my number one belief about how I'm to live this mist of a life I've been given.

It’s not about you. 

The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It’s far greater than your family, your career, or even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.

Whether or not I understood years ago that my life was hidden in Christ and that the purpose of my life was to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, the constant demands of raising and homeschooling children and caring for my bedridden mother in our home made it crystal clear that life was not about me. But I also thought that if I lived long enough, those demands would likely give way to the opportunity to be self-indulgent - free to go and do as I pleased, though I didn't give much thought to where I would go or what I would do.

Now that I'm here - how easy it would be in this season - my children grown with families of their own - for me to cater to selfish me and do just that - but  I know better. It's not the purpose for which I was created.

John Piper's Don't Waste Your Life has been a profound influence on shaping my beliefs about how I am to live this life hidden in Christ.  

We waste our lives when we do not pray and think and dream and plan and work toward magnifying God in all spheres of life. God created us for this: to live our lives in a way that makes him look more like the greatness and the beauty and the infinite worth that he really is. 

It goes back to what I wrote about being an image-bearer - to be who I am where ever God takes me today that I can pray and think and dream and plan  and work toward magnifying God - because it's not about me.

Every other living in yellow point must hinge on this one belief....I'll waste my time and my life if I try to make it about me. 

This past Sunday, Louis and I, along with the other life group leaders at our church, were asked to be available during both worship services. We attended the first service and then hung out in the coffee shop outside the sanctuary until we were needed during the second service. While we were in the coffee shop, a young man came in after leaving worship with his fussy baby. I considered offering to watch his baby so he could go back into the service, too, but he explained that it was his wife that usually had to leave with the baby and he wanted to do it for her this time. I thought that was a sweet gesture, so I let it go, and told him that I remember those days with babies and how discouraging it was for me to get all dressed up for church only to have to leave with a fussy baby. It's one of the reasons I think churches (thankfully ours is not one of them) that require young mothers to help out in the church nursery have it all wrong - it's an attitude that comes from the older women who think they did their time while they were young mothers and they now deserve to not be bothered. They may as well be saying, it's all about me.

When the baby's fussing turned into inconsolable crying that only a mother could soothe, the young man did let me hold his baby long enough for him to go back into the sanctuary to get his wife, but that was such a little thing. I love babies, but to be honest, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed watching that baby for the entire worship service. He was fussy and heavy and it was hard on me physically to hold and try to comfort him. I was happy to give him to his mother when she came in the coffee shop, but I also knew that I should be willing to watch him longer (anyone can do anything for just an hour, right?) if I'm going to live like it's not about me - because my strength to do anything when I'm weak doesn't point to me but to the Lord who gives me strength.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and hope you will share them here.

   

One more chance...

We knew our friend's suffering was nearly over when labored and shallow breathing greeted us at the door. For thirty bittersweet moments we said goodbye and grieved the tragic loss of a friend and the pain of those who've loved him long and well, yet we rejoiced that he'd soon be free of disease (and decades-old addictions) that had inflicted without mercy.

Only one week earlier - tethered to a respirator, IV's, tubes and catheters - he was in a moment-by-moment fight against the consequences of those addictions he'd been told were inevitable, and in waking from the drug-induced sedation, he flailed in battle against the demons that demanded what he was no longer able to give. We could only watch and pray and cry and hope. "Please give him one more chance," his family begged.

He said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live?" ~ Ezekiel 33:3

Can a sinner be turned into a saint? Can a twisted life be made right? There is only one appropriate answer - "O God, You know."

The degree of hopelessness I have for others comes from never realizing that God has done anything for me. Is my own personal experience such a wonderful realization of God's power and might that I can never have a sense of hopelessness for anyone else I see?

If the Spirit of God has ever given you a vision of what you are apart from the grace of God...then you know that in reality there is no criminal half as bad as you yourself could be without His grace. 

~ Oswald Chambers (My utmost for His highest June 1)

And one more chance was graciously given - the gift of two full lucid and peaceful days - to breathe the outside air untethered and pet his dog, to eat McDonald's fries and drink mountain dew, and to admit, "I did this to myself." Two more days for "I'm sorry. I love you" and to repair what had been broken. Two more days to secure a place in eternity - the only thing that really matters in life and death moments like this.

As we drove back through the gate here on Pollywog Creek, three hours after those last goodbyes and "Go with God in peace" were whispered, we received the call that our friend had passed through the dark valley of suffering, bondage and death and into eternity with the God of Grace and Mercy and one more chance.

Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of his saints.
~ Psalm 116:15

Over the river and through the woods...

....from here to the east coast


...graduation day (my beautiful granddaughter Tabitha and my handsome nephew Ryan)


...the pasture


...downtown Ft. Myers


...playing with color 


...another drive from here to the east coast


...the VA hospital - our east coast destination

We've spent much time between here and somewhere else the last couple of weeks. Two trips east to the coast, one drive up to central Florida, and numerous excursions into "the city" have done serious damage to our gasoline and eating-out budgets.

These comings and goings have been a mixed bag of activity - loving on a dying friend and celebrating the joys of high school graduations - interspersed with the ordinary stuff of life.

The days ahead promise more of the same - doctor appointments in one direction, trips to love on our friend in another, a golden anniversary celebration with friends and five full-of-fun days with two grandlittles - two year old Austin and almost-five year old Mason.

Our bittersweet visits with a friend now in hospice have been a harsh reminder of life's brevity and an encouragement to not waste (or take for granted) whatever time we have been given with those we hold dear.

Photos: A gallery of collages from our first drive to the east coast to the last. Don't you love how it begins and ends with a side mirror view? Serendipity - honest. Totally unplanned.

My turn...

Though I should have been more intuitive and discerning weeks ago, when my doctor called to give me the results of my lab work, I wasn't all that surprised. "It certainly explains much," I told her, and she agreed.

I'd felt awful for months, but the last three or four had been particularly difficult. When you live with chronic pain, it can be difficult to recognize or assess new pain. I think that's part of what happened to me. Because I had learned to push past pain and couldn't bear the thought of disappointing loved ones who needed me, I minimized my current struggles. I was determined to endure. "My knees always hurt," I explained - limping out of the car, stiff and unsteady. "I just need to work out the kinks."

But the days passed and the kinks only worsened. A flight of stairs loomed before me like Mt. Everest every day, I coughed constantly, my hands and feet were swollen and painful, and I struggled to muster enough energy to drive to the store. I could barely write, even typing on the laptop was painful, and I couldn't lift my right arm high enough to dress without excruciating pain.

Worst of all, mornings - those first delightful moments of every day I'd always greeted with joy when the house was still and quiet and sunlight blew out the darkness - became my daily dread.  Getting out of bed and down the stairs was an overwhelming obstacle that followed a less-than-restful sleep.

Though I tried to hide my discomfort, my stiff and gimpy gait betrayed me. I promised Louis that as soon as I was released from "mimi duty" I'd see the doctor, but one weekend when I was home, he caught me struggling to stand and unable to walk after getting out of bed. That's when he said, "No more."

The days following Thanksgiving were clearly the worst. It was all I could do to move from the bed to the bathroom or a chair in the living room - a triangle of space within which I lived for days. For a few years, I have been delighted to be able to help an elderly disabled friend once a week with a few small chores, errands and other tasks she cannot safely accomplish alone or at all. Though she still needs help, she has improved considerably and no longer uses some of the handicap equipment she once needed. It was truly humbling for me to need to borrow some of that equipment now stored in her garage. 

For a variety of reasons, I decided to change primary doctors, and though it meant waiting until the first of December before I could see her, it was most likely one of the best decisions I could have made. She was very thorough, and though she carefully considered my past history, she examined me with a fresh perspective.

When she called to tell me the results of my lab work, I was not surprised. I had seen my orthopedic surgeon about my knees the same day I had blood work drawn, and I told him I suspected there was something systemic going on that was causing me such distress. We discussed at length the various options for treating my knees, but he agreed that I needed to be healthier before proceeding with anything more than a cortisone injection.

 

"It's a bad disease, you know." The rheumatologist was kind, but honest. "The good news is that we know much more about how to treat rheumatoid arthritis today than when your mother was living."

My mother. Yes, my mother. I see my mother's face in mine when I look in the mirror, and for a moment it takes my breath away. The same hairline, brown eyes and pink cheeks.

"It's my turn," I tell myself and the image in the mirror, as if it really was my mother. "You always did tell me growing older wasn't for sissies."

It was no coincidence that I wrote this toward the end of summer. I believe it was prevenient grace - that it would soon be my turn to honor my mother's legacy and face the trials ahead of me with a merry heart and the grace and humor she sweetly displayed.

Pollywog Creek is not going to become a journal for my ongoing health issues.* Lord willing, I'll soon be back to those leisurely walks around the pond and down by the creek and through the pasture with my camera. After all, this life is not about me.

In fact, inspired by the penny royal I spotted growing along my neighbor's pasture, I felt well enough to slowly make my way through our pasture this weekend - where I delighted in warblers and rusty lyonia and the green that was sprouting through the frost-bitten grass. It was a sweet taste of God's goodness and grace.

For the LORD is good;
his steadfast love endures forever,
and his faithfulness to all generations.
~ Psalm 100:5 ESV




Six day old Addisyn...



...and a grand afternoon.

*I'm going to chronicle this RA journey of mine in an invitation-only blog. If it is something you sincerely care to read or follow, just drop me an email at pollywogcreekporch(at)gmail(dot)com and I'll be more than happy to send you an invitation.

Lyrical theology and Keith Green...

from Desiring God Blog "Holy Hip Hop"

A few days ago I was thrilled to read a JD Walt's post on Keith Green. Almost two years ago, I wrote about the influence of Keith Green's music on my walk with Christ in "...first help me to just live it Lord".

My tastes in music styles is about as diverse as they come. I can appreciate almost everything from Toby Mac and Hillsong United to the Gaithers and the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. In the world of secular music, the lyrics tend to narrow that range of diversity, but I still enjoy a wide variety of musical styles and so do our children.

As well as posting a video of Keith Green when he was only 11 years old and another leading worship years later, JD Walt links to a very informative documentary on the life of Keith Green. I am anxious for Emily to watch all of them. I'm interested to see if she sees the same parallels that I do in Keith Green and popular worship leaders and ministries to young people today.

Start a pot of coffee or put the kettle on for tea. The documentary is an hour long, but well worth your time. I'd love to know what y'all think. You, too, MJ.

UPDATE: A Great Musical Moment from Vitamin Z