20/20

In hindsight, I could kick myself.  In fact, upon chatting with my old friend, I asked him to go ahead and kick me now.  Sigh.  Why is hindsight so vivid?  And why could I not have had it to begin with?

There’s a fine line between being a busybody and a concerned soul. The trick is knowing which side of that line to cross.

A discerning heart and spirit are required to be effective soldiers in the army of God.  And also, a willing attitude is crucial if one is to be successful in warring against the flesh.  

Here’s what went on in summation.  Many months ago I attended the visitation of a young man who died because of a drug overdose.  While waiting in the lobby to go into the receiving line--which I really dreaded because I did not personally know this fella and was only there to pay my respects to his grandmother--a former neighbor of mine came in.  After the initial greetings and small talk, we got a little more personal.  She told me of some of her regrets about not living in our ’hood anymore and there was...something. Something more than just the wistful reminisces about simpler times. Something more than the way her eyes clouded up as she began to explain how her life was before...before...before him.

Looking back, I wish I had asked.  Wish I had skipped the receiving line and asked her if she’d like to go sit and chat further.  Wish I had followed up with her because yes, I do have a discerning spirit often but...but this woman was not a friend of mine.  Former neighbor, sure, but our paths rarely crossed.  I knew her child to an extent but really:  I had no clues about this lady and who she was.  And sure, we had some mutual acquaintances that we conversed about.  But really, what business of mine was it to delve deeper and become potentially involved in something that didn’t concern me?  After all, I was already in an uncomfortable spot, trying to figure out what words of sympathy I could offer to my friend about the tragedy she was going through.  If I reached out to this woman with more than the casual hug we had exchanged, what might I be opening myself up to?  Maybe I was just being overdramatic.  Right? Maybe that look in her eye was just the sorrow for the young man lying inside. Besides, if she needed me, she knew where I lived.  I wasn't the one who moved. Right?

So, about that kick.  I’ll bet you’d like to give me one too about now, huh?

To wrap this story up, it turns out that that woman, that lady, that neighbor was indeed in a mess.  Her life was more troubled than the world knew because she had to keep up appearances.  Her soul was tortured on a daily basis and she literally had to flee for her life, for her sanity, for her self.  

What if I had taken just a little more time with her those months ago?  Could I have made a difference?  Would her circumstances have had a happier ending?  Or would I just have been labeled as a nosy bat, someone whose nose would be better placed anywhere other than in her business?  

I won’t know those answers.  My bifocals don’t allow me to go back in time and change those moments when something is off but I wasn’t in tune enough to hear the sad melody being played.  

Sigh.

Let’s pray.

Dear Lord, my soul is troubled.  My heart is aching in places that I didn’t even realize were active for this woman who has been and is still going through so much tragedy.  

Is it too late, Lord?  Is it too late to extend my offer of help?  To let my arms reach out, to lend her my ears, to cry with her through eyes that were blinded?  

Jesus, You went to Mary and Martha after the loss of their brother.  Not before but after.  The comfort You gave to them; the hearing of their words of reprimand and sorrow as they mourned the loss of Lazarus; and the recriminations of if had You been there things would have been different rang loudly.  The difference is Lord, they sent for You.  This woman has not asked for me but...but maybe she doesn’t know how.  Maybe she is too alone in her grief or perhaps she has others to assist her?  I don’t know and I won’t until I ask.  Will You help me to be You to her?  To offer comfort, to let her pain out, to be her friend?  

I don’t even know if I should try, Lord!  If the situations were reversed, how would I feel about someone like me intruding in my time of sorrow?  Would I welcome it or would I shun it?  Oh Father!  This is so hard!  Meddler or helper?  Busybody or somebody:  somebody who knows what it’s like to hurt, to be victimized, to be considered as the bad one?  Sigh.  

I lift my eyes to You, Lord.  Help me, please, in the name of Christ I pray.  Amen.

For Shirley

My friend lost her grandson.  He was still young, early 30s, and her heart is broken.  When he was a baby, she cared for him, took him to church, and poured so much love into him.  His name was Kelly and as I agonized last night over this situation, wondering what words I could use to comfort her when his final breath was taken, I realized I had none.  

Sigh.

I tried to think up ways to say "I know how you feel" but I don't.  I haven't lost one of my grandchildren.  I thought maybe I could say something to the effect of "The lessons you taught him as a child will not return void."  But, I didn't know him so how can I vouch for this Biblical truth when I wasn't a part of the village that raised him?  

I thought I could just go to her and hold her and let her lead into the next part.  Maybe she'd cry.  Maybe she'd share some more stories with me.  Just the other day she showed me his high school picture and I must say, he sure was a looker!  Maybe she'd have more photos and tales to go with them that would help to heal her heart as it aches for the little boy that she used to hold in her arms.

Lastly, I thought to myself what would I want at a time like this?  What could my new friends offer who really don't know my past, my family, and what made us function and dysfunction?  What would I want from folks who are trying to help when I could barely stand, much less carry on a conversation, trying to introduce them to my beloved when my soul felt like it was being ripped apart?  Certainly not platitudes and Bible verses taken out of context.  I would not want my grief to be contained because of fear that they would think I really have lost it.  I would not want sympathetic smiles when they could not possibly know the extent of the anguish I was feeling.

So, for now, I will do nothing.  For this day, I will pray for my friend's heartache and I will plan something for another day when she has had time to process this loss.  And then, one day soon, I'll give her that hug.  Hopefully I will get to listen to those stories of Kelly and see more images of this young man who is no longer with us.  I will learn from this experienced woman more about grief than I have been exposed to and how she loved through it all.  For you see, love is the greatest and Shirley has that so deeply engrained in her that I just know that she will stand tall along this pathway that she never wanted to walk down.  Though I cannot go the whole way with her, I will meet her on down the road to let her know she's not on this journey alone.  And until then I shall leave her in our Father's care and comfort.  After all, He does know what it's like to lose a child.  Who better to commiserate with and to cry with than God Himself?  May He bring peace through the turmoil is my earnest prayer, asked in the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

I Hate You, Death

I hate you, Death.  You thief.  Robber.  Destroyer.  You take our loved ones from us but can you take them quietly and peacefully?  Oh no:  that wouldn't satisfy the likes of you.  You have to demean, wreak havoc, and steal joy before that last breath has been breathed.

I hate you, Death.  You take away dignity.  Instead of leaving us with pretty moments and memories, you choose instead to make life ugly, disgusting, and replace those good feelings with ones of debility.

I hate you, Death.  Often you come with warning--too much perhaps?  For when you prolong your visit, you tend to create chaos, allowing greed and angst to flow fervently whereas when you come silently, those emotions are often delayed and the loved one passes somewhat peaceably.

I hate you, Death.  You take away but you don't leave us empty-handed.  In your endeavor to take what is good, right, holy, pure, lovely, and admirable you seek to replace the good with ugly words, selfish desires, and wounds that may never heal.

How Can I Help You To Say Goodbye?

Dread.  Fear.  Excitement.  Anxious.  Scared.  Sad.

These are the feelings coursing through me as I contemplate going to see a dear friend tomorrow--a friend who is dying from cancer.  Oh, there's no use pretending she's not near the end and there's no false hope that her days will be prolonged for much longer.  She's nearly had enough and has made her peace.

But me?  Have I had enough of Betty?  Have I the desire for her to stay here so I can selfishly enjoy her company, her words of wisdom, her notes of encouragement, her constant and steady love for me regardless of how often we actually meet face-to-face?  Can there ever be enough time to bask in the warmth she has freely given to me since our first meeting?

There have been two times in my life when I knew I wouldn't see my loved one ever again.  One, there just wasn't time for because, like Betty, the cancer had ravaged her body and she just didn't have the strength to continue.  The other?  There was time and some would say opportunity but it just didn't work out that way and I knew the last moments we shared in each other's presence would be it.  However, the prospect of seeing Betty tomorrow is different in so many ways.  Like all of us, I cannot predict the future nor say when one's last breath will be the final sigh.

Years ago, Patty Loveless sang a haunting melody called "How Can I Help You To Say Goodbye."  It dealt with last times:  a move that took a girl's best friend away from her; the end of her marriage; and lastly, the death of the woman's mother.  It's a real tearjerker and can really tug at those heartstrings as she croons the words that "it's okay to hurt and it's okay to cry."

I don't want to write anymore about this right now.

Could you please pass the salt?

'Morning!  Are you up and at it, ready to begin another day in the Lord?  Me too!  Though my eyes are still a little bleary and my fingers not as cooperative as they should be, I am excited for another opportunity to be better than I was yesterday.

Yesterday I wasn't so good.  Steve and I had made a quick trip to Walmart for those last minute gifts that never seem to be the last ones.  Know what I mean?  Seems like there is always just one more that needs a little something else so that s/he doesn't feel left out or slighted.  The present I had in mind required for me to have some prints made from the photo department.  I had just gotten settled and my camera card in the machine when I heard an excited voice call out "Stefanie!  Steve!"

I looked up, saw who it was, and quickly discarded any real attempt at returning the enthusiastic greeting.  I let Steve handle my visitor because I really wanted to get these pictures printed and get back home soon.  Oh sure:  I acknowledged this soul but I didn't stop what I was doing, give her the hug she was waiting for, nor did I really make too much eye contact 'cause I knew this gal would take the next several minutes of my oh-so-valuable time if I did.  Nope, I was in my zone and focused on my task, as I haphazardly listened and occasionally participated in the conversation, mumbling something first about how I really needed to get this done.  Until...

Until she mentioned her father-in-law had passed just about a week ago.  Stunned I was because I had just seen her mother-in-law two days earlier and she hadn't mentioned it.  But that's a whole other story.  Chagrin filled my heart as I finally looked at my old friend and her husband, whose head was down near his chest as he listened to her tell of his daddy's passing.  His grief was the kind where one wanted to give a condolence hug that held on a while because of the depth of sorrow radiating from him.  But I'm not that kind of girl.  I don't just hug other women's husbands so instead I tried to convey my sympathy with my words and my eyes.  The gal kept talking (which she has always been prone to do, regardless of one's time frame) and went on to tell me how her family was so far apart this season.  It wasn't a new story and did I mention this woman can drone on and on if she has an audience?  I don't mean that to sound crass or mean but...there are just certain types of folks we avoid for reasons like this.

"Just what kind of mean-spirited person are you, Ms. Wandering Through The Bible?!"  

I can feel your outrage through the unseen internet wires.  I can hear your words of disgust towards me as I write.  I can feel the contempt I hold myself in as I am reprimanded by the truths I so valiantly write and expect you to believe I live by.  My head is hung in shame and my eyes are filled with humiliation.

Do you--do I??-- think it was a random coincidence that God allowed these two souls to cross my path yesterday?  The world has not been kind to them--on many levels.  As I reflect back on their lives and truly consider what they have consisted of, I say to myself "Shame on you!  Shame on you, Stefanie, for not being the salt and light that a dear friend wrote that Steve and I were in a Christmas card we received yesterday!  Woe is me.  I have lost my savor!"

Oh Lord, what a hypocrite I was.  You allowed these kids of Yours to cross my path and look how shoddily I treated them.  Oh sure, after I completed my oh-so- important task, I gave them my undivided attention for the next ten minutes as I listened to their plight.  I finally gave the hug that should have been immediate rather than delayed.  I sympathized, emphasized, and criticized the unfairness of it all as we communed there in the photo department.  Merry Christmas wishes were finally exchanged as the conversation came to a conclusion and I walked one way and they another as we continued on to our shopping excursions.

Lord, today You are giving me another opportunity to do better, to not value one person or deed as more important than another.  You are opening my eyes and my heart as I prepare for my day where many more of Your children just may be needing some extra attention today and You may select me as the one to give it to them.  I want to be ready, Lord.  I want to be watching.  I want to see these people through Your eyes and have You be reflected out of my own.  

As I humbly ask You to forgive my selfishness from yesterday, I also boldly ask You for more grace and love so that I can be better today.  Will You grant it to me, Father?  Remind me I am here for You and not for myself.  Whatever good deeds may be accomplished through me I want to give 100% from start to finish.  Help me I pray, in the sweet name of Jesus.  Amen.

Saying Goodbye Is Never An Easy Thing

I'm going to die.  Oh no:  not today and probably not tomorrow but then again, who knows?  Not me.  

I thought I was ready for this day and was even looking forward to it.  Then, I got this report that made me wonder if my time to leave here could potentially be sooner than I expected.  So I began to wonder, to ponder, and to reconcile within myself all the things I've done, want to do, and hope to do before the moment of death takes me from this life onto the next.

I used to think I didn't want a funeral because I honestly didn't think anyone would show up.  But now, as I think about my final… performance?  No, that's not the right word.  Hmn.  My last words?  No, that doesn't work either since I will already be gone.  Although others may have a few words (hopefully nice ones) to say on my behalf to tell of all of my wonders and what a great person I was (cough!), that's still not quite the right thing I want to express.  I've got it!  My final farewell.  All the things others want to remember about me and all the things I hope that they will reminisce over when my days on this earth come to their end are what have been running through my mind.

You know that Tim McGraw song "Live Like You Were Dying" and the things his dad wanted to do before death knocked on his door?  Well, I have always wanted to fly so I guess skydiving would be on my bucket list too.  Rocky Mountain climbing?  No, but I wouldn't mind seeing the coast of Maine in the fall.  I most certainly have no desire to ride ol' Foo Man Choo!  Yeah, I'd love to love deeper, speak sweeter, but forgiveness I've been denying?  I honestly think I am good with that.  Oh sure, there are some wrongs done to me that I'd love to talk over with the ones who hurt me but I don't hold that against them anymore.  It was another power at work, seeking to steal, kill, and destroy and it was successful on too many occasions but I see it now for what it really was.

I started this blog off with the words "I'm going to die" and that may cause some of you to wonder what's wrong with me.  Well, I'll tell you.  It's that dreaded "c" word:  cancer.  Basal and Squamous Cell cancers have once again penetrated my skin and in less than two weeks, I get to have Mohs Surgery on three places on my face.  Again.  For you see, I've already had one of these types of surgery before on my left side of my face.  I joke with people about my scar, telling them I was in a knife fight but that I won.  But now I'm not laughing.  I'm scared.  I fear that the two places on my forehead are really just a part of a series of cancers that are connected and will need radical treatment.  I fear that because they are closer to my tiny little brain that they may have already started their descent into it and prepared to take over. The one on my nose?  Well, it's been treated many times before as well.  For about as long as I can remember, I was dubbed "Rudolph" because I too had a very shiny, red nose that was constantly sunburnt and blistered.

Many will tell me that this surgery is no big deal and that it is quite successful in removing these hateful beasts--and they would be right.  I've done my homework and researched the facts.  But that doesn't still the fatalist spirit in my heart that this time it's gonna be worse than the first Mohs done, that these scars will run deeper than the superficial.  I know that most of this attitude comes from the whispers of the devil and how he's just trying to get me to focus on the lies rather than the knowledge of how far medical science has come.  For when he does that, my eyes aren't on Christ, the Great Physician.  My heart isn't comforted by His Words and Promises when I let the fears take over.  My peace is shattered when I allow the thoughts of my dear sister dying from melanoma seven years ago to permeate into my mind and though I know this cancer isn't as severe, it all starts somewhere, right?  

Sigh.  There's a song I love called "In The Light" by dc Talk.  My favorite lines in it go like this:

The disease of self runs through my blood

It's a cancer fatal to my soul

Every attempt on my behalf has failed

To bring this sickness under control

I wanna be in the Light

As You are in the Light

I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens

Oh, Lord be my Light and be my salvation

'Cause all I want is to be in the Light

All I want is to be in the Light

Friends, I don't know the future and what will be the deciding factor that takes my life from me.  I know that I am saved, that I have a better home awaiting, and that without Jesus Christ I have no hope.  With Him, though, I have so many wondrous hopes, so much love, and a confidence that I am a winner either way and when He calls me home, it will be for good.  So, when you pray for me--and I am expecting that you will!!--don't pray for healing or for divine intervention.  The path has already been planned out for me so what I ask is this:  when you do pray for me--and again, I expect you to!!--pray that whatever time I have on this earth is spent bring glory and honor to God.  My life is to be about Him, not about Stef.  Whether that's a couple of months or years on down the road (personally, my preference is to go in the Rapture with the rest of you and be done with this hurtful world), my sincere desire is that through my life you will see Jesus shining.

So, in conclusion, what do I want on my tombstone?  Loosed.  Freed. Redeemed. Completed.

Let's pray!

Dear God, I feel better already!  When I take the time to work through my fears, I see that You have me.  You have already loosened me from the grip of sin.  You have freed my soul from the condemnation of the wicked one.  You have through Your precious Son Jesus redeemed me and claimed me as Your child.  And when my last breath is breathed, I will be completed, my race over, the victory mine.  Through Jesus You have made this all possible and Lord God?  I thank You with all of my heart.

Now, Father, we both know I am going to relapse and the darkness of the night will try to let the demons of the fear of the unknown attack me.  When I am afraid, Lord, may I trust in You?  When I am scared, will You hold my hand?  And when the emotions tumble out as I fret over what all I have left to do and is there time, remind me that regardless of cancers or any other life-stealing device, I am Yours and my life here is only over when You say so.   And while I have breath, I am going to praise You, Lord!  Hallelujah!