Tired....but not Miserable

Today as I was out running some errands, I was thinking of difficult situations we currently are facing….family issues that I don’t wish to air here.  But of course, family issues are those which can be most painful and cause sleepless nights.  Last night, I was still staring at the ceiling at 2:20 AM.  I stirred long enough to see the clock at 4:30 and then woke up at 7:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep.  Lots on my mind.

I was discussing things with the Lord while I was driving this morning, and I thought of the statement by Paul in I Corinthians 15:19...If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.

I do understand what he means, but I also think the reverse is true.  If I only have hope of heaven, what am I to do now in order to get through the difficulties of life?  If I don’t have the presence of Christ now, I am also quite miserable.

I did not accept Christ as my personal Savior and the Lord of my life just to escape hell and have assurance of eternity with Him.  I expected His presence to begin immediately, and of course, it did.  With each troublesome situation in life, there is an assurance of His love and care for me.  I believe He intends all things for my ultimate good….even when they may seem in the moment to be “bad.”

Two days ago, I read II Chronicles 16:9   For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.

Now there is a wonderful promise.  God’s eyes are constantly scanning the earth purposefully looking for those who desire to serve Him and providing them with strength.  I have hope both now and for eternity and no reason to be miserable.  I may be tired, but I’m not miserable.

How many old ladies still have their favorite stuffed animal?

I wonder how many old ladies still have their favorite stuffed animal from their toddler years.  I still have my Scotty dog….he is an awful old mess, but I still have him.

When he was new, he was fuzzy and white.  Because he was a Scotty, he wore a plaid tam on his head.  I don’t remember if his collar was plaid or solid red.  Best of all, he had a music box that played “Oh, where, oh, where, has my little dog gone?” 

I had other stuffed animals, but Scotty was my favorite.  He was hugged and loved throughout my childhood.  After suffering that abuse, he held the place of honor on my bed each day throughout my teen years.  Eventually, the metal edge of his music box wore a hole in his side.  Since the music box no longer worked, I decided to take it out.  I carefully made the slit large enough to remove the box, stuffed the hole with cotton and sewed him back up.

Scotty went off to nursing school and college with me and always sat on my bed during the day.  I actually think I slept with him until I got married.  Our first bed had a bookcase headboard, and he sat there for years.

For some reason, I thought about him when I woke up this morning.  Where did I put him?  As soon as I rolled out, I went looking and remembered he was now on the bed in the guest room.

So here he is…..70 years old, no fuzz left, scarred from his music box surgery, hat long gone, but he still has both of his red button eyes.  

I’m chuckling over the thought of taking him with me to the nursing home someday.

My Favorite Holiday

One evening this past week, I was feeling lazy and uninspired at supper time, so my husband suggested we go to the sub shop in the neighborhood.  We had just settled into a booth with our subs, when a young couple passed on the way to their table.  I heard only a snatch of conversation which went something like this:

Guy:  My favorite holiday is Halloween.

Girl:  I like Christmas.

Guy:  Christmas sucks.  I like Halloween and you have to go along with me on that, because it’s my favorite.

I had a pang of sadness.  It didn’t spoil my appetite for the sub, but it did make me sad for a couple of reasons.

One….it sounded like she was supposed to participate in his excitement over Halloween, but he might not reciprocate at Christmas.

Two…he clearly doesn’t understand the significance of Christmas.  I guess the commercialization of Christmas “sucks.”  Maybe Santa was never good to him, and he never got what he wanted for Christmas as a kid.  Maybe he doesn’t like all the twinkling lights and good cheer, or maybe he’s been trampled in Walmart.

I, on the other hand, love Christmas and everything about it.  The idea that the eternal God stepped into time with a plan to redeem me is beyond my understanding.  I delight in every possible way to celebrate that.  I enjoy the decorations and the special foods.  I absolutely love buying gifts for my family.  I put a lot of time and effort into picking things I think they will enjoy.  If they want money, that’s OK.  I still give them homemade cookies too.  I eagerly anticipate getting cards…especially those with letters catching me up on the lives of friends I don’t see often.

AND

I love the music.  I am sad that I can’t sing anymore.  For decades one of my main joys at Christmas was to go caroling.  If there was no group going, I coerced a few family members and friends into going with me to sing to someone.  My heart was singing…..Oh, let’s be joyful and express it.  Jesus came!

Now as to Halloween, I know there are Christians who think it is evil and pagan and no Christian should celebrate it.  I have no problem with kids dressing up and having an excuse to get candy.  I still enjoy carving a pumpkin.

But, I am so sad for anyone whose heart isn’t just filled to overflowing at Christmas.  I don’t even mind the crowds in stores and all the hustle and bustle.  All I care about is that Jesus came.  If the angels were excited and joyful, I can be too.

No bah humbugs here.

Is There a Reason for Being?

I don’t typically read the column in Parade magazine written by Marilyn vos Savant.  I confess to feeling a bit put off by claims that she has the highest IQ ever recorded, or that, at least at one time, she did.  I don’t think knowing ones IQ is particularly helpful, or that IQ is a good measure of success in life.

In any event, I happened to read her column on May 29, 2016.  A man who made a point of being a Mensa member said that he and other members had been debating a certain question for years. 

“What is the reason we are here?”

I did like her response in this case.  She pointed out that whether there is a reason for ones existence is dependent on ones spiritual beliefs. 

“If you don’t believe in a god, the question contradicts your thinking.  Having a reason implies having a purpose, which indicates an intelligent being (or cognitive power), with intent.  That’s what people call a god.  So if you don’t believe a god exists, you can’t believe a reason exists.  You must settle for assuming we got here through some natural process, and that’s that.”

In other words, you are a purposeless accident.  Perhaps, you are a happy accident, but none-the-less, an accident.

It seems to me that anyone who is smart enough for Mensa should have figured this out himself/herself.  If this was a group discussion, it seems someone in the group should have happened on this viewpoint without writing to a “savant.”  I suspect that many intelligent people actually do know this, but don’t want to accept it. 

Answering this question has little to do with intelligence.  We would all like to believe that there is a reason for our existence.  If we don’t believe it, suicide seems to be an attractive option.  I remember struggling with this as a teenager and deciding that I could only find a purpose for being through my faith…..not through my intellect.

 But for many, faith is not an attractive option.  If there is a god, he might expect something of me.  He might have some claim on my life.  His reason for my existence might not line up with my plans, and I do want to have my own way.

I am convinced that most atheists don’t arrive at that belief by rational, logical decision.  They arrive at that point because the possibility of a god doesn’t line up well with their desire for self-determination.  Since the existence of a god cannot be proven or disproven logically, something else comes into play in determining whether or not one believes.  I think that something is our own desire to be in charge.

Personally, I have no desire to be in charge of my life.  I cannot know the future.  I cannot see where my decisions will lead me.  I would much prefer to trust my life to an all-knowing God.  He has a reason for my being here and knows how I fit into His plan.

To quote King Solomon, one of the most intelligent and wisest of men, whose IQ isn’t recorded for us:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.  Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil.  Proverb 3: 5-7

Entangled

Stirring in the night,

Our arms and legs entwined.

My leg between yours.

Yours over mine.

Entangled.

Thinking the others thoughts,

You say what I am thinking.

You laugh as I begin to speak,

Knowing what I will say.

Entangled.

You haven’t done the taxes,

I am upset and threaten,

“I will file on my own.”

The accountant says, “Not possible.”

Entangled.

Strange to see in our children,

Strands of our DNA combined,

Each looks and acts like you.

Each looks and acts like me.

Entangled.

What if one of the threads,

In the tapestry dies.

Loses the ability to interact,

Withers away or disengages?

Untangled.

What if the warp and woof,

No longer cross over.

Will the fabric fall apart?

Will one of us be left in strings?

Entangled with memories.