The Dog-Shaped Hole in my Life

There's a dog-shaped hole in my life today.  Our old dog Lily had been declining for the last two years, more markedly in the last few months.  Then last Friday when I came home from work, she was lying and sleeping in such a way that I thought she was dead - was relieved she had had the good grace to let go and not make us have to do "the hard thing" that all pet owners dread.  Alas, she was just sleeping, but something had changed and clearly her health had leveled down yet another notch.  

I started the conversation with my husband that evening - when would it be time?  We thought we'd have more time - we just started a week of stay-cation, and he didn't want to make the call until after that.  But by Saturday evening, not only would she eat nothing but treats, but her lips were weirdly swollen.  Sadly, we decided Sunday would probably have to be the day, and with no miraculous rebound on Sunday morning, we made the arrangements and let our kids know what was coming.

Because our now-adult kids are the only reason we had Lily in the first place!  My husband and I had always been happy to be a cat household.  I had never really wanted a dog - they take so much more care and attention than cats!  You can't just leave your dog home by itself while you go away for a weekend...  But our two kids had wanted a dog, and we finally couldn't put them off any longer.  So in 2004, when our kids were 11 & 13 and right after we got back from an early-summer vacation, we went puppy shopping and became dog people.  

 

 Like all of our pets, Lily was a rescue, an adorable little boxer-spaniel mix.  We had plenty of space for her in our hearts, but I'm finding it surprising just how much space we made for her in our lives.  There's the place in the kitchen where we put her kennel and food bowls.  The space in our bedroom where her night bed was located.  The rug I kept at the entry to the living room so her dirty dog feet wouldn't leave too much grime on the carpet when she came inside.  The collection of dog throw-toys permanently residing on our front porch.  Changing what sort of trashcans we used inside.  Getting so used to layers of dog-nose slime on all the windows that it was barely noticeable to us.  

We rearranged our home and our lives so very much to accommodate Lily.  But, we all loved her and (except after her most disgusting doggie escapades) enjoyed her presence and her antics.  Dogs just require so much more care and attention than cats that they really are quite a different experience.  

And this dog, this Lily, was the only one my husband and I will have.  She was the dog of our kids, the dog who saw our family through middle and high school.  The dog who was such a big part of what was missed about home by our kids when they went off to college and then out on their own.  She was the one who still lived "at home" even after our nest was otherwise emptied of our kids.  And now she's gone, too.  

It truly is the end of an era for us.  And I had no idea it would quite so painful.

We've known for close to two years that Lily's time was getting short.  She started having seizures, and I never in my wildest dreams expected to still be filling her prescriptions almost two years later.  But she just kept on ticking.... She had reached the point where we couldn't in good conscience consider taking her to a boarding kennel if we wanted to take a vacation.  And none of our kids were available any more to just stay with her.  I grieved some after that first seizure, and as the time since then lengthened, I started making (surely crass-sounding) comments about wishing Lily would not wake up some day soon so we'd be able to go on vacation.  Month by month she was becoming, both mentally and physically, so much less than the dog she had been in her prime.  Surely two years of watching her waste away would make her final departure more bearable.  

I was wrong.

I expected the trip to the vet to be awful.  It was.  Just making the decision is gut wrenching enough (we've been through this a number of times before with cats), but taking her there - walking her in - watching her sniffing everything as she doddered around the office made it that much harder to be confident that we really truly had made the right choice.  (We really truly did.)  

I didn't expect coming home to be quite so bad, though.  Because overt reminders of Lily were still everywhere: her kennel, her bed, her toys, her food.  There won't be another dog to fill her pawprints - we're back to being just cat people - so all those things needed to be tossed or gotten rid of.  The crate collapsed. The bed discarded. Areas cleaned.  Open areas appeared that Lily had occupied until an hour ago.  Cleaning, discarding, and crying is mostly what we did that terrible Sunday. 

 

Now it's a day later.  The tears aren't quite so ready or quite so copious.  The overt reminders aren't so noticeable.  But I did open the fridge to find a partly used can of dog food we'd overlooked.  And I realized I hadn't noticed the state of the windows yesterday, so spent some time with the Windex.  But mostly today I notice the absence of her presence.  She was always doggie on the spot - always trailing after me whenever I moved from one place to another in the house.  This morning I missed hearing her collar jangle as she came back upstairs after her morning pottie call. I missed her laying nearby when I got on the treadmill this morning.  I missed seeing her dog bed on our bedroom floor.  Unexpectedly, my husband was up and out of bed earlier than I would have expected on vacation - but he had been doing most all of the doggie-duties of late and was feeling too sad and uneasy to just lay in bed. 

There's a dog-shaped hole in our lives these days.  Right now the edges of that hole are jagged and bleeding, painful and easily aggravated.  I know that in time those edges will heal, we'll recollect Lily fondly and without the tears.  But that dog-shaped hole will remain in our hearts forever - a well-loved and treasured "scar," a token of Lily's 16 years with us.     

Cocooned

Cocooned

I float in my cocoon, supported above the fray.

In softness and whiteness and comfort, as in a cloud.

In ease and comfort…

I hear the chaos below me – faintly…

I hear the chaos below me – distant and far away…

The chaos rages but affects me not.

I remain above, beyond, aloof, unaffected.

The soft wool of my comfortable position mutes the voices.

The soft wool of my comfortable position restricts my view.

The soft wool of my comfortable position keeps most things out.

But the soft wool of my comfortable position can’t keep out the smell of burning!

Burning! Fire! I rouse, alarmed, from my comfort.

Burning, fire - but where?

Burning, fire - am I in danger?

No.

The burning and fire are far below, remote.

I subside back into my comfort, reassured.

I subside back into my comfort, into blissful uncaring.

I subside back into my comfort, sure that the burning and fire are not my problem...

…and suffocate in the smoke.

Fragrant Offering

I was inspired during the Prayers of the People in worship a few weeks ago.  Is this a poem or merely poetic? I'll let you decide for yourself, but in any case I hope it feeds something in your hungry soul.  Merry Christmas!

Fragrant Offering

The leader stands and reads
the words of prayer.

Prayer from us, for us,
prayer to Holy God in heaven,
far yet near, here but not.

The words flow forth,
old words, new words,
ancient petitions in modern phrase.

We listen, we hear.

Those with softened heart
can sense the change:
change in the air,
change in the mood.

The leader reads
but more than words flow forth. 

The barest curl of smoke,
translucent, glimmering,
accompanies the words.

The faint tendril curls lazily,
moving gently in the light-filled air.

It extends and reaches,
out, out, and outward still.

Out over the people, among the people,
wreathing and enveloping
as it flows, grows.

The leader reads
and billows form!

Clouds of prayer hang in the air,
now rising also from the pews,
from those who’ve joined the leader’s words
though silently, silently.

The leader reads,
but wait!

What’s that sweet smell?
That delicious aroma in the air?
Incense!

Not merely smoke but fragrance, too,
the cloud of prayer has sweetened,
somehow thickened.

The soul delights in this new atmosphere
of prayer made real, tangible.

A taste of heaven,
our words are now incarnate, too.

The leader reads
and God receives our fragrant offering.

He smiles.

Photo by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-SA-NC

A Tiny Box of Pain

I recently was called upon to conduct the graveside funeral service for a six-month-old baby, a relation I had never met. I was particularly moved by the small size of the child's coffin - little bigger than a shoebox - such a tiny box, and filled with pain.  There is so much pain and sorrow and hurt floating around in this child's family, and I've been thinking about the nature of pain. 

The following paragraphs are from the homily I shared at the funeral.  Ultimately, our pain and sorrow in the midst of death and tragedy can remind us of the reason for our hope and faith, and might be the impetus for others to claim faith in Jesus for themselves.  A tiny box of pain can inspire the faith that leads to eternal life, and joy.
-----------------
As I’ve been praying and reflecting on the events that have brought us together today, my heart keeps crying out: “why are we here?!”  Six months old babies are not supposed to die, so why are we here?  If God is so good, then why are we here, with all this sorrow and grief ?   Why must we be here and live through this hard thing? WHY?!

Why, indeed…. 

Since there have been people, “Why” has been the cry of the human heart in the face of tragedy and suffering and death.  Christians proclaim to the world that God is good, God is love.  But the world answers back and says “oh yeah? How good is a God who lets little babies die?”  That’s a tough charge to answer because Christian hearts, too, are wrestling with the cry of “why”? 

But the plain fact is that suffering of all sorts exists in the world and our good God allows it.  In the beginning, Adam and Eve would not trust God’s good intentions for them and so they chose to eat the one fruit that God had forbidden.  And ever since, suffering and sorrow has been part and parcel of the human experience. 

We suffer because sin has been released into the world, and the effects of sin are evil and death and suffering and sorrow and pain.  So why are we here? Why are we here to bury a baby? Because sin is loose in the world.

But God didn’t leave us here, living in a world of suffering and without hope.  God loves us, and ever since Adam and Eve, God has been working to get his children back – to get us back.  And to make a way for us, he sent his own son, Jesus.  Jesus, who was fully and completely God, but he was also fully human.  He felt all the things we feel.  He felt joy, but he also felt grief; he felt pain. 

When his friend Lazarus died, Jesus wept in sorrow for him even though he knew he would raise Lazarus from death, bring him back to life, in just a few minutes.  And before he was crucified, Jesus prayed to God his Father and begged him to take away the betrayal and the horrible death he would die.  But in obedience to his Father, and for the love of humankind, he suffered and he died. 

Friends, we are in good company in our sorrow – God knows what we’re feeling because he has felt what we have felt and more.

So I say again why are we here?  Our hearts are already breaking and broken for this child and her parents, but in the middle of this sorrow and pain, our hearts might also be broken for God, for Jesus, who went through so much for our sakes. 

For those of us who have already put our trust in Jesus, we can be reminded today of the reasons for our hope and faith in the loving goodness of God.  We can hope to experience the great mystery of knowing joy even in the face of overwhelming sorrow. 

And for any who don’t believe, well, today might be the day your broken heart begins to soften toward God and the great love he has for each and every one of us.

And now I’ll circle back one last time to the question of the day: why are we here?  We are here to bring this little child to Jesus.  The Gospel contains a story of people who were bringing little children to Jesus.  These were little children, too young to bring themselves, too young to know why they might want to be with Jesus.  Little children like the one we remember today. 

People brought these little children to Jesus and he welcomed them!  “He took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.”  Today we lower this child's tiny body into the earth, …for now.  But we are also here to lift her soul to the arms of Jesus, where he will bless her and love her while she, and we, await his final coming.

Sanctuary

(A little something I wrote back in October 2014 and forgot to share here!)

Art and architecture in the presence of God’s praying and worshipping people take on a special quality, and a thinness develops where some of God’s transcendence can be detected.  Even a humble school auditorium, when used for worship long enough, can become imbued with holiness.  And with ears to hear and eyes to see and souls open to notice, you can sense the properties of heaven – the unseen that overlaps the seen – wherever the Church worships.  As though the building itself takes delight in this special service, and finds some way to show forth its joy in serving.

The worship space of my own church community is an airy, high-ceilinged space, with large clear windows to let in light, and a stained glass behind the altar that does amazing things to the light that enters.  And that is where I usually feel I can detect God’s presence alive in this space.  But other worship spaces have other qualities – different ways of transmitting light – or sound – or texture – or fragrance – or mood.  What qualities of your worship place convey for you God’s unseen presence?

“Sanctuary…”

How delightful to wait in the quiet nave,
to settle… then to simply be. 

Alone - does no one long to share this quiet pause? 
The world, it seems, is all awash in sound and fury,
even “the country” succumbing to the din!

Ah, but here, this blessed place - 
space -
capturing and marking out a quiet void, 
filling it with light and Peace. 

Such a lovely quality to this light,
made heavy by its delicate lack,
absence lending weight to light.

Light enlivened by colored glass, 
reflections,  
refractions,
and unheard echoes of other worlds....

Air that is alive with stillness! 
In a world gone mad with sound,
a gentle balm for the soul,
and sanctuary…. 

Sermon: A Debt Like No Other

(a sermon for St. Peter’s Church, Purcellville, VA, July 20, 2014)
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost:  Romans 8:12-25

Let's start with a show of hands (once your hand is up, just keep it up there!) Who here has now or has ever had: a mortgage?  a car loan? a student loan?  made a purchase on store credit? gotten a payday loan? a personal loan?  or carried a balance on a credit card?  Look around and see that this list covers just about everyone except for kids!

The hands prove that we all know what it's like to be in debt, to be debtors.  Household debt in America is high and growing every year.  We have a LOT of debt, and how do we FEEL about all this debt?  Or rather, how do we feel about our various creditors?

Surely not like this:  "how compassionate of Bank of America that they loaned us this giant pile of cash so we could enjoy this great house!"  "I am just so GRATEFUL to Capital One Auto Finance for helping me buy a newer safer car."  "I can never thank Great Lakes Financial enough for loaning my kids money so they could go to college."

No!  Nobody feels that way about their creditors!  Most of us are ambivalent at best, or fearful, angry or resentful at worst.  That's because financial debt is kind of slavery - we sell a big chunk of our time and freedom in order to have a house or a car or an education.  Or frivolities we can barely recall.  Or food, medicine, or clothing when times are tight.  

We are all debtors - we all owe something to somebody else - and it's not an uplifting experience.  And our experience of financial debt colors our experience of other debts as well, which is where we're starting in our passage from Romans.

"So then, brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh - for if you live according to the flesh you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live."  So there it is - debt.  We're debtors.  We owe someone.  But what do we owe? to whom do we owe it?

The "So Then" that opens this passage tells us that what follows it,  is the result of what came just before it.   We are debtors because of the promise given in Romans8:11: "If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Jesus Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you."

It's that promise of resurrection life that puts us in the position of being debtors - and although Paul doesn't say it in so many words, it is clear from the context that the debt we owe is owed to the Holy Spirit.  

So here we are:  debtors.  people under an obligation.  We OWE......

And as a society of debtors, we know how we feel about our creditors, and it is not good.  We pay our debts because we said we would.  We pay because we made a deal.  We pay because our creditor is going to take something from us if we don't pay.  We don't pay as a free offering from our love or gratitude.

And because we, and all the people around us, are so steeped in this sort of attitude to our other creditors, it can easily creep into our spiritual lives as well, and we wind up living a faith-life of drudging obligation.

The thought process might go something like this:  "I believe in Jesus as my savior who paid the debt for my sins, so I shall go to heaven when I die.  Therefore, I owe God for that.  What I think I owe is to go to church and give some money, and maybe take my kids to Sunday School.  And I'm going to do "just enough" to keep this creditor satisfied; just enough to meet the minimum required payments.  Because unlike my car loan I can't actually pay off this debt, let alone pay it off early - it continues until the day I die.  In fact, I wouldn't pay this debt at all if I didn't feel a little nervous about losing that promise of "heaven when I die." "

Certainly, we all probably know people who seem to view God and their faith this way.  Perhaps  you yourself are someone who views God and faith this way.  And certainly, any of us, at one time or another, might find that we've slipped, unwittingly, into this view of God and faith for a time.

So there's the problem - we treat our legitimate debt to God as a balance due, and consider God as just another account we keep paid up by means of our religious observances.....

How, then, do we get right with God?

Paul goes on in verse 15 to remind us that "you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption."  So the Spirit - who's presence in us creates the debt we're talking about - this Spirit also makes us adopted children of God.  Children of God!  Oh, wait... but that's just one more thing we "owe" God for, right?  Wrong!

You see, adoption in Paul's time and in Roman culture was a serious thing.  An adopted son became heir to the father, and co-heir with the father's natural-born sons.  And.. any debts or obligations the adopted person may have had to his family of birth were wiped away as if they never existed.  As if he had always and only been a member of the adopted family!

This idea of severing all ties with the past can be difficult grasp in our society where adopted children often feel they need to seek out their birth parents to understand who they really are; in our society full of divorce and reblended families where both parents, and step-parents, hold sway over the children involved.  In our time, being adopted, or being made part of a new family, is rarely the complete and radical transformation of identity that Paul is talking about when he speaks of adoption.

So the notion of just settling into a new family position as "child of God" with all the rights, duties, and privileges thereof,  can be hard to comprehend and accept, because we have no good model of what this sort of transition might look like.

The best we can do, I think, is to look to the example of young children.  Young children just know that they have a special relationship to their parents.  Parents are the people they live with, who are there all the time.  Children presume upon their parents, show both their best and their worst to their parents, make spontaneous gifts to their parents, rail and wail at their parents, ask of their parents  -  and all without any self-conscious notion of being in debt to their parents for their very life and well-being!  Little children do not approach their parents as slaves or servants, begging an indulgence.  They don't ask with any sense that they must repay for what they receive.  They walk right up and say "I want a cookie!"

Simply put, the parent-child relationship is NOT a debt-based transaction!  It is NOT like a mortgage or a loan.  We don't have an obligation to give to God any particular service.  There is no contract, no fulfillment terms.  Once we proclaim our faith and accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior, we become (like him) children of God, and we enter a new relationship, not a new contract.

Any sense of duty-bound obligation we may feel, is our own - it springs from our desire to remain our own person, beholden to no one except by our explicit request and agreement - to keep God at arm's length and subject to our will instead of the other way around.  It comse from our desire to limit what we "owe" to God, to boundaries of our own choosing, rather than accepting and enjoying that we owe every fiber of our existence to an Almighty Creator who loves and cares for us and has adopted us as his very own children.

And what, then,  shall we do when our relationship to God has been overwhelmed by duty and obligation, by a sense of debt and payments owed?  We must remember that the "debt" we owe to God is a debt like no other:  we must simply "be" as young children in relation to God - confident in his love and patience, asking anything, sharing everything, with no fear, no doubt, and offering ourselves to him in love.      Amen

Tokens

Recently, I was quite delighted to receive a token.  It was an actual token: a metal disk about the size of a poker chip, stamped and enameled with the organization's logo on one side, and motto on the other.  It was given, unexpectedly, as an acknowledgement of service.

Receiving this particular token was a highlight of my week, because of both the recognition (especially because it was completely unexpected!), and because of the nature of the token itself.  It's pretty, it's weighty and feels heavy in my palm, it's marked with words and symbols to evoke the essence of the organization, and it's small enough to keep among my possessions for as long as I am in this world to have such things: practically perfect in every way!

This delightful token got me to thinking about other tokens we receive, and I got to thinking about the ultimate token in Christian faith: the sacrament of Holy Communion.  Christians of different denominations believe different things about what the bread and wine (or grape juice) actually "are" after they have been consecrated during the Eucharist. Here is what Wikipedia has to say:

"While all agree that there is no perceptible change in the elements, some believe that they actually become the body and blood of Christ, others believe the true Body and Blood of Christ are really present in, with, and under the bread and wine (whose reality remains unchanged), others believe in a "real" but merely spiritual presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and still others take the act to be only a symbolic reenactment of the Last Supper." 

That is a wide range of belief, but at heart, Communion serves a similar function as the token I received.  My metal token is a tangible reminder and symbol of the reality of my part in a group, and that I have served.  Even if I were to forget about the organization, my part in it remains as real as the token I received.

And all that is also true of the elements of Communion, wherever you may fall on the range of Christian belief.  You receive real bread and real wine, elements that you can taste, smell, see, and feel.  Those elements are taken into yourself, and become part of you.  The reality of bread and wine doesn't disappear at times when you forget about God or are struggling with faith.  The reality of bread and wine remains a "real" physical thing, a thing that can help draw you back when you wander.  A thing that can strengthen you when you feel weak.  A thing whose taste will remind you of the love of God and the power of Jesus to heal and save.  A physical thing that is food for your intangible soul.  God's unique and mysterious token of eternal life.

"Pens with Name Tags," or "Different Ways to Love Your Neighbor"

I work in a church office, which makes my desk a very public space.  There are always people coming in and wanting something from it: a pen, scissors, some tape, and such.  And since people also look for these things when I am not here, I long ago got in the habit of putting my personal supplies away each day.  But people still need pens, right?  And they are the people who pay my salary and those whom I am here to serve - so I keep on the corner of my desk supplies for others, always there and ready for use.  Except… when the users carry them off and don’t bring them back!  Arghh!

And so, prolific labeling has ensued.  The pens have name badges, the scissors are adorned with little flags, and the tape and staple dispensers are tattooed – all in the hopes of reminding the users to bring these items back to the office.  On the surface it may seem the silly antics of a control freak.  But at heart, this labeling is not about some compulsive need I have to control the whereabouts of the office supplies, but rather an attempt to love my “neighbors” as myself:  I want them to have readily at hand the things they need, and to do that things need to come back to their proper places.

The dark side, though,  is to judge those who take and abandon and inconvenience the next person as careless individuals, unconcerned for anyone’s welfare but their own.  But if you think about it, you’ll realize as I have that that is not necessarily true.  We are all wired differently – fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together by our Maker in our mothers’ wombs.  And knit together as the Body of Christ, we all serve different functions.  All cannot be an eye.  All cannot be trackers-of-pens.  For some, it is that very ability to freely abandon an office pen any-old-where that allows them to serve others in ways that someone with different gifts and passions cannot. 

So be of good cheer!  We are all different and we all have different gifts and different ways we serve.

"For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."  Psalm 139:13-14a

Sometimes, however, we deceive ourselves.  Sometimes the “pen nametags” in our lives are not really for the benefit of others (even though we tell ourselves they are!), but rather to satisfy our own preferences and desires.  Sometimes labeling supplies becomes my passive aggressive attempt to shame others into complying with my sense of order and what is right and good.  Sometimes leaving things lie is merely carelessness, or thoughtlessness, or preferring to move on to the next thing rather than finishing up the last one first. 

As long as we do our best to use our gifts for God, though, it’s all good.  The key is to be attentive to what we do, and why we do it, and make changes as necessary.  And when considering the actions of others, it is imperative to give their motives and intentions the benefit of the doubt, assume they are actively intending for good (unless proven otherwise), and remember that they, too, are fearfully and wonderfully made - just different!.

What irritations do you experience from others that you need to re-evaluate?  Which ones may actually be caused by another person’s unique or different way of loving their neighbor, rather than just being an irritating habit? What actions of yours might others misconstrue as thoughtless instead of servanthood? or vice versa?)

Do All Dogs (and Cats!) Go to Heaven?

Last month, my dear little cat, Brownie, reached the end of her life.  She was always a very friendly little girl, and in her old-lady-hood (she made it to 17 years old) sometimes was downright pushy in indulging her affectionate nature.  It was Brownie and her affections who primarily inspired the notion of "cat gravity" in my household.  (You can read my post on that topic here.)

Not real, but still amusing!

Needless to say, her absence has been very noticeable.  And since Brownie is the first pet I've lost since coming to faith in Jesus, I've been thinking about what has happened to her, now that she has died.  Is she simply gone from existence or is her cat-soul in some sort of "kitty heaven" awaiting the new heavens and the new earth at the end of the age?  In a quickie survey of the internet for the opinions of Christians on this question, I found two principal positions: 1) pets don't have souls (or don't have souls of the kind that need to be saved) and so clearly won't  go to heaven; and  2) maybe... it's hard to say based on what is attested in the Bible.

I don't know about you, but as a person who has loved a pet, I find both of those answers inadequate.  The love and affection we feel for our beloved pets makes position (1) feel cold and heartless.  The love and affection we feel for our beloved pets makes position (2) feel simply not a good enough answer.  But why?  Why are those answers so unsatisfactory to us?  Why do I hope I might be reunited with Brownie one day, but I don't care whether I'll ever see again the computer or car or refrigerator or furnace or water-heater that just "died"?

It comes down to relationship.  Human beings are creatures created in God's image in a way that makes us intrinsically different from everything else God created.  We are created for relationship.  Mostly we find those relationships with God and with other people, but our relational nature also draws us to our pets, and we create relationships with them.  And because there is positive, loving relationship, we desire that relationship to be eternal.  It's only natural for us to desire that "all pets go to heaven," so that we can continue the relationship.

But what about you?  What about your family members? What about your friends and colleagues?  Will they (and you!) be in heaven?  For people, at least, we know that they might go to heaven.  There is no question as to whether it is possible - when people die, they "go to sleep" until the final day of judgement, at which time they are judged and either live out eternity in the presence of God (Heaven), or separated from God (Hell)..  The only question is whether a particular person has confessed Jesus Christ as  their Savior - that is the only thing that determines whether a person goes to Heaven.

Despite my short-comings and sins, I am confident that I have confessed Jesus as Lord and will spend eternity in the presence of God.  If, while living in the awe and splendor of God's presence, I have any capacity left to remember and long for my lost pets, then I trust that God will have preserved them and will restore them to me.

It is, however, much more worrisome to think about certain friends or family members or even acquaintances who may be choosing to live eternity separated from God.  My remembrance and longing for their presence in Heaven will not restore them to me then.  God will not override a person's free choice to live separated from God.

God will do what is right for Brownie (and Terra and Rosie and Blackjack and Barney and Angus and Bear and Kojack and Missy and Mikey and Cindy and Bessie and King and Nellie all the other pets that any person has ever loved....).

You and I need to do what is right for the people in our lives: pray for those you know who may not be saved, let your words and deeds and lifestyle show forth as a model worthy of imitating, and talk to them about your faith when God gives you the chance.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."  (John 3:16-17 ESV)

A Perfect Tulip?

 For Valentine's Day, my husband got me a pot of beautiful red tulips.  Because they are potted, and were in full bloom when he bought them, they are already "overblown:" the blooms are no longer the classic tulip shape, but have spread open into a sort of starburst shape.  As I was admiring those overblown blooms this morning, I realized that even though flower professionals would consider them past their prime, nevertheless they were not wilted and were quite beautiful in their own way.

"Perfect" Tulip?  Maybe not...

It occurred to me that this state, considered overblown and past its prime by most observers of tulips, is actually what these flowers are supposed to become.  It is the ultimate destination they are meant to reach, just before they begin to droop and wither: wide open, fully mature, doing everything in their power to attract pollinators to perpetuate their kind.  That is the ultimate purpose of a flower bloom.

Our culture has done a similar thing with people - holding up as the most beautiful, the ultimate, and the best, an "immature" state of being.  Young and dewy, tight-skinned, well-muscled, with a full head of (not in the least bit gray) hair: these are the characteristics to be maintained at all costs, an artificial definition of handsomeness and beauty chosen (rather arbitrarily  in my opinion)  from a narrow range along the path  of what God has meant us to become.

But I contend that so long as the spirit is lively and bright, it gives light to the whole person, and makes beautiful and handsome those badges of living that worldly standards may consider merely old and ugly, imperfect, undesirable  -  overblown.   Silvering and thinning hair, sagging and bagging, lines and wrinkles, stretch marks, scars, and everything of that sort serve as badges of honor - proof that the person sporting them has LIVED!

As creatures of God, what then is our ultimate purpose?  To live our lives from seed to bud to bloom and yes, even to overblown, as flowers in His garden, rejoicing in each and every stage of our being, not yearning either forward or backward to live in just one brief stage.  Ultimately, we each shall be cut, and gathered in God's arms, a riot of color and beauty to decorate God's throne room until the final coming of His kingdom.

"There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens" (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

Until my gathering, I shall strive to keep my face turned to Jesus to reflect God's glory, so that I go to him a beautiful flower, mature and fulfilling my intended purpose (no matter if I appear overblown or past my prime to the world at large).  And that is my prayer for you also, my friend!

Some beautiful blooms  (Happy 50th Anniversary, parents!)

A little something to chew on:  what aspect of yourself do you consider less than perfect, but which may, in fact, be a beautiful aspect of the particular life journey God has given to you?  Try to make peace with that something; try to see it as God may see it!