When?

Through a glass darkly,

I long to see your face.

With the finger of my faith,

I can only trace,

A shadow of reality,

A sliver of your grace.

 

Trapped in my humanity,

Imprisoned by my flesh,

The longing to break free,

Swells within my breast.

I groan with all creation,

To stand among the blessed.

 

The final consummation

That banishes the sin,

That so easily besets me

And tortures me within.

I long for your appearing.

When, my Savior, when?

Concern for my "Reputation"

Sometimes I think I am back in junior high school, even though I am at a retirement community.

It has been pointed out to me by multiple people that they have seen me sitting with a man in church.  I have, in fact, sat with this man and his girlfriend for most of the past three years, which no one seems to have noticed.  When I lost Bill, my neighbor B.H. noticed me sitting alone in church.  He told me that he and his girlfriend J.V. would be happy to have me sit with them.  This was a great kindness to me.  But, J.V. died this summer.  Should I abandon B.H. when he has just lost the person he loved?  He was kind to me when I lost the person I loved.  I think it would be unkind and rude to sit elsewhere…so…I guess people can continue to talk.

I can give them plenty more tidbits, if they need them.  I have recently accepted rides home on the golf cart of B.B.  This has resulted in some meaningful conversation.  I sometimes email P.D., often with prayer requests.  I go out of my way to check and see if G.G. is at his garden.  When I switched gardens, he expressed sadness that I was no longer in the garden adjacent to his and, therefore, no longer available to talk to him.  So, I now look for him.  At Christmas time, I take cookies to W.S. and B.L. and J.I. if he is not out of town. This is a tradition that began when their wives and my Bill were alive.  I see no reason to quit. 

 When interacting with another widow, I can hug her, hold her hand while praying with her, invite her to my apartment for a meal, suggest we get together at the Café or one of the onsite restaurants.  I would not do any of these things with an unattached man.  But, I can offer kindness and conversation.

I am not now and never have been a flirt.  I am not “on the prowl” trying to add some man to my life.  Do I enjoy the company of men?  Yes…I always have.  I had brothers, no sisters.  My only girl cousin died in childhood, so I had all boy cousins.  When the family gathered at my maternal grandparents’ home, the women sat in the kitchen talking, while the men sat in the living room.  Little Ruthie sat in the living room with the men.  The conversation there was much more interesting. 

I had lots of “brothers” in both high school and college.  Sometimes, I thought I knew them better than their girlfriends did.  They didn’t need to project a certain image with me.  I majored in chemistry in college, and at that time, it was dominated by males.  I had no problem being the only female in the room.

At my last full-time job, I coordinated our hospital’s participation in an NCI funded prostate cancer research project.  I had 34 men enrolled and saw them twice a year for 8 years. I was careful to maintain a professional approach.  At the beginning, the men were sometimes accompanied by their wives or girlfriends.  When that no longer happened, I figured the women knew they could trust me.

I always believed flirtation was manipulative and dishonest.  I didn’t even engage in it with Bill.  After we had dated several months, he said, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you flirted with me.”   After we were married, it was a different story.   I loved to flirt with him.  One of my daughters recently remarked that when we washed windows, he would wash the outside, and I would wash the inside, and we would flirt with each other through the glass.  I do not flirt with any other window washers.

So, men are absolutely safe with me.   I am 80 years old, and it is too late to alter my behavior.   I will continue to enjoy conversation with men and even sit with them if it seems like the right thing to do.

It’s actually pretty amusing that this could even be a concern at my age.  Ha!

Charlie Kirk

Before Charlie Kirk was killed, I had no knowledge about him.  I had never even heard of him, but I am not a young person on a college campus.  I am an eighty-year-old living in a retirement community most of the year.  Over the past 2 days, I have read about and seen news segments about Charlie Kirk.  I recognize that he is a polarizing figure.

It is interesting to me that people can look at the same individual and see two very different people.  One group sees him as a kind, thoughtful, intelligent man who had the ability to speak truth and engage in discussion.  The opposite camp sees him as mean and hateful.  How can this be the same person?

It appears to me that those who were in close personal relationships are the ones who see him as kind and thoughtful.  It is those who disagree with what he boldly proclaimed that see him as hateful.

I am not a MAGA person, although I do tend toward conservative viewpoints.  I agree with some Trump policies and not others.  I could refer you to a blog I wrote years ago in which I expressed horror that Trump was to be the Republican candidate, so obviously I would not be in total agreement with Kirk’s support of Trump, but I do believe that Kirk was a truth-teller.

When a person hears someone express that their lifestyle is wrong, sinful or immoral, they don’t want to hear it.  If they defiantly hold to their position, they become angry.  They perceive the truthteller as hateful.  Over the course of my life, I have had some experience with this.  I have at times been hated for telling the truth.  However, I can also think of someone who later thanked me for speaking the truth when no one else would.  It had made a difference in her life.

At the point where Kirk was shot, he had just been questioned about how many transgender individuals had been involved in mass shootings.  Someone has viewed his response as “flippant.”  That is not what I hear when I listen to the video.  He obviously could not have answered the question he was asked with a specific number.  After the follow-up question, he asked a question for clarification.  If this is what triggered the shot, the individual was just looking for an excuse to fire…which given the amount of preparation required was almost certainly the case.

I believe all human beings deserve compassion, and that includes transgender people.  But we need to be honest, that transgenderism is harmful to the people who are practicing this lifestyle.  Promoting it and normalizing it is not helpful to anyone.  I do not believe that suicide rates are higher among transgenders because they are not accepted by society.  I believe they cannot accept themselves.  When we hate ourselves, the hatred bubbles over to others.

Our nation is being torn in two by opposing viewpoints.  The answer to this is not violence.  I am appalled by calls for civil war.  We cannot answer violence with violence, but I do fear for what may happen.  Our society is on a wrong path.  Things I believe to be truth are being called “hate speech.”   Most conservatives have tolerated angry rhetoric, because we live in a country where we are supposed to have free speech.  Apparently, conservatives are not granted the same privilege.

“For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine.  Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.  They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths.  But you, keep your head in all situations…”  II Timothy 4:3-5

What Am I?

What am I that you are mindful of me?

            You count the hairs on my head,

            You care if I’m clothed and I’m fed,

            You were willing to die in my stead.

            What am I?

 

            You count me as one of your sheep,

            You watch over me while I sleep,

            You bottle my tears when I weep.

            What am I?

           

            A recipient of your grace,

            Though unworthy to look on your face,

            In heaven, you’ve saved me a place.

            What am I?

 

            Though no worthy offering I bring,

            Yet to this precious promise I cling,

            What am I?

            I am a child of the King.

The Trees of Genesis and Revelation

Every day before us lies,

The knowledge of that tree,

Good and evil, right and wrong,

A haunting enemy.

 

Dogging now our every step,

Standing in our way,

For that knowledge there is now,

A price we all must pay.

 

Gone the life of innocence,

Swallowed up by pride,

Steeped in adversity,

No place for us to hide.

 

Adam ate the bitter fruit,

It now is in our bowl,

A pleasure to our eyes,

But bitter to the soul.

 

Yet leaves from the Tree of Life,

Are there to heal our nation,

Life-giving branches,

A means of our salvation.

Adventures with Batman

I always smile when I think of an incident that happened in the summer of 1967.  I was between my junior and senior years of college, having already finished nursing school.  I had come home to live with my parents for the summer, and I was working as an RN at the local hospital, which still had a diploma nursing school program, so they had a nurses’ dorm.

Bill, my then boyfriend (later my husband), and I had begun dating the prior summer.  It was our habit to attend the Sunday evening church service together, and then go to his parents’ home for something to eat after church.  Typically, we had a big dinner and weren’t hungry for supper until late in the evening.  His mother had often served roast beef for Sunday dinner, so there was beef left over for sandwiches.

One evening, Bill had fixed roast beef sandwiches with lettuce, tomato and mayo, and we were enjoying those when the phone rang.  The call was for Bill, and the caller was a student nurse who we knew from church.  She was calling from the nurses’ dorm in an agitated state.  It seems that there was a bat flying around in a suite of bedrooms in the dorm, and there was no one available in hospital maintenance to get rid of it.  The girls were damsels in distress, and for some reason, they decided Bill was the person to call.

Whether this was flirtation on the part of the caller, I was not sure.  One thing I was sure of was that my boyfriend was not going to go into the nurses’ dorm by himself! 

I rode along to the nurses’ dorm and went in with Bill.  The housemother and several girls were milling about in the lobby of the residence, afraid to enter the suite where the bat had been seen.  One of the girls handed Bill a badminton racquet.  I chuckled to myself that it was a BAT-minton racquet.  The girls pointed to a door into the suite, and off Bill went.  We could hear the sound of him moving about and the swish of the racquet.  I think it was less than 5 minutes when he returned with the bat wrapped in a paper towel.

The girls were grateful.  He disposed of the bat.  I felt tagging along with him had made it clear he was mine!

Afterward, I sometimes laughingly called him Batman.

The Dawn

If I had stood at Calvary and viewed the darkness there,

Looked up and seen my dying friend, and felt the deep despair,

Of seeing helpless him on whom I thought I could depend,

I think I might have cried out, “Oh, God…this is the end.”

 

If I had stood outside the tomb and seen the awful stone,

That sealed in the kindest man that I had ever known,

I might have thought, “He wasn’t God, he was only just at friend.”

And in my grief, I would have sobbed, “Oh, God…this is the end!”

 

But a new day was coming.  There was sunrise near at hand.

There would be a brand new morning.  New life was in the plan,

For Christ conquered death and rose again upon that Easter morn,

And just as surely as He lives, we too will see the dawn.

 

So if today you stand here, so overwhelmed by life,

If you cannot make sense of the confusion and the strife,

Put your faith in Him who conquered death, eternity you’ll spend,

In lifting up your praise to Him, this life is not the end!

 

For a new day is coming.  There is sunrise near at hand.

There will be a brand new morning.  New life is in the plan,

For Christ conquered death and rose again upon an Easter morn,

And just as surely as He lives, we too will see the dawn.

Lost Mate

She sits alone in the nest,

Scanning the sky,

With a plaintive cry.

 

She hasn’t repaired her nest.

She sits motionless, still,

Not using her skill.

 

Quietly with a heart needing repair,

Am I, scanning the sky,

Wondering “why?”

 

I understand her loneliness and grief.

Letting time slip by,

The osprey and I.

 

At least, she can fly.

Dream or Vision

I fell asleep one afternoon,

Was it a dream or vision?

A tunnel gray and long,

Raised an intriguing decision.

 

Should I enter quickly?

Carefully tiptoe inside?

Or race ahead recklessly,

Caution thrown aside?

 

The light at the end

Was not white, as expected.

A warm yellow glow

Towards me was directed.

 

Wispy cloud-like beings

Drifted across the light,

Not wraiths, but angels,

A tantalizing sight.

 

But as I stood and pondered,

“Has my time come?”

The tunnel walls collapsed.

And the dream was gone.

 

I woke up disappointed.

“I am still here,” I thought.

Perhaps, the next time will bring,

The heavenly peace I’ve sought.

Dining at the Table

 

 

Dining at the Table

 

We sat at a table on our first date.

It was in a restaurant.

I don’t remember what we ate,

But the conversation was appetizing.

 

For decades we sat at a dinner table,

Sharing the important and the trivial,

Talking through the chatter of children,

Nourished by both food and conversation.

 

We sat at a table one Saturday evening,

Not knowing it was the last time.

Later, I could not remember what we ate.

Only the freshly baked blueberry muffins.

 

Now I sit at a table with one placemat,

Picking at tasteless morsels,

While devouring rich memories,

Gourmet leftovers reheated.

And the Angels Sang

When the angels sang…

 

Into the dark of a cold winter night,

Came a warm and radiant light.

Into a world where wars do not cease,

Came a babe who is Prince of Peace.

 

Into the confusion of a human mind,

Came a Counselor, wise and kind.

Into a life full of pain and grief,

Came the Shepherd for a wand’ring sheep.

 

And a hardened heart by sin so racked,

Looked on the light and defenses cracked,

Amazing love broke every barrier,

As the heart bowed down to the Lord and Savior.

 

And the angels sang!

Who is at the Table?

 

Who is at the Table?

Who sits at my table, who eats of my bread?

Is it only “the worthy” whose hunger is fed?

 

Who is handed the menu and offered the fare?

To whom do I say, “No, you can’t sit there!”

 

The table is spread with a glorious feast.

Are invitees “the highest,” excluding “the least?”

 

At the banquet in heaven, which will happen someday,

Will my “rejects” be seated, while I’m turned away?

One More Time

Things I would like to do with Bill one more time:

*ice skate

*sing a duet

*cheer him on in a race

*walk to church holding hands

*fall asleep holding hands

*ride in the car

*take him a freshly baked cookie

*crawl in bed together

*wake up together

*tell each other about our day

*discuss an issue and reach a decision

*work in the garden

*talk while he empties his pockets onto the dresser

*sit in the bathtub and talk

*sit in the double recliner

*give him a bare …whoops…bear hug 

Unforgettable

Isaiah 49:15 says that a mother might forget her child, but God cannot forget us.  This is a great comfort to me, as I know how impossible it is for me to forget my children and grandchildren.

When my daughter Janelle was about 4 or 5, she was hanging out in our bedroom while my husband and I were getting ready for the day.  He and I were discussing various things, and at one point, I said, “I just realized that I have no major projects planned for the month of January.”  In addition to routine events on my calendar, I normally had something I planned to work on each month, and it would be written at the top of the calendar page.  As soon as I finished saying there was nothing major planned, a sweet little voice said in a sad tone, “January 6^th?”  That was her birthday, and she apparently feared I was forgetting it.  In fact, it was written in red on my calendar.

Although I never forgot any of my children’s birthdays, a friend has shared with me, that the year he turned 13, no one in his family remembered.  No one said anything all day, but he was sure it would be remembered at suppertime.  He expected a cake and a present.  But, there was no recognition of the special day.  After supper, he went to his room and cried.  How hurtful it must have been to be forgotten by those closest to him.

This summer my youngest granddaughter (age 5) gave me a map and guided me on a treasure hunt.  She had placed a snack-sized plastic bag filled with sparkly items in a special spot for me to find.  After I found the treasure, she said, “I want you to put the map on the refrigerator, so you will never forget me.”

Oh…my heart!  How could I ever forget you, you precious little doll!

Amazing that the God of the universe remembers each of us individually.  He knows the number of the hairs on our heads (Luke 12:7). That is something I don’t know about the people I love!

I expect to spend a couple of days this week in a hurricane shelter.  God will know where I am.  He has a plan for my life.  He will not forget me.

I Sang

Today in the shower, I was not singing.  I was talking to the Lord about how grieved I am at the loss of my voice.  Essential tremor first robbed me of my singing voice, and it is now working on my speaking voice.  I am actually looking forward to dying, because when I get to heaven, I am going to be able to sing again.

I listed off for the Lord (as though He didn’t already know) all the places I have sung.

 

Church services (no idea how many different locations)

Funerals (from a big church balcony, to a cappella at a grave site and places in between)

Weddings (not sure of number, but in at least 3 states)

Band stands

Dinner meetings

Street corners (almost got arrested)

Prisons

Nursing homes

Mental hospital

Chicago Public Television

World Flower & Garden Show at McCormick Place

Nursing school graduation

Walking home from college

Rocking my babies

Silly songs for kids and grandkids

Working around the house—cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, folding laundry, painting

Driving in the car

Campfires

Christmas caroling every chance I could get

 

Besides solos, I sang in duets, trios, quartets, ensembles, little choirs and big choirs.

I sang a cappella, or accompanied by taped music, piano, organ, guitar or violin.

When I sang, I felt as though there was a direct connection between my heart and my voice.  My sincerest and deepest feelings could come flying out of my mouth.  I want to be able to praise God in that way again.  Now I stand in church during congregational singing trying my best to produce the sound I can hear in my mind.  Once in a rare while a couple of the old notes will come out.  Mostly I quaver and croak…and sometimes, I cry.

Hurricane

Trees bend before your breath,

Water surges on the shores,

Sheets of rain pour from above,

The wind ferocious roars.

 

Nature wreaks its havoc,

On structures built by man,

Collapsing as it wishes,

Defying human plan.

 

Some bow before you trembling,

Others in defiance stand,

But it matters not to you, who are

Both horrible and grand.

Mend Me with Gold

Our love was held in a priceless artifact,

Exquisitely and skillfully formed.

It was so full that it spilled out.

We wished we could bottle it and give it away

To those who didn’t seem to have enough.

 

When the hand of death snatched you away,

It was not the beautiful pitcher that broke.

It was my heart that shattered.

Countless pieces, sharp shards,

Piercing me at every moment and movement.

 

Can the broken be mended and restored?

Artisans reassemble broken pottery,

Filling the cracks with liquid gold.

The damaged piece leaves their hands

Stronger and more beautiful than before.

 

Will the divine potter, master craftsman,

Reassemble my heart, remake me?

Can I emerge stronger and more beautiful?

More conformed to the image of His Son?

Can my heart be mended with gold?

 

A vlog of the same title can be found on youtube:  @ruthchapin8805

The Sacred Space

Being in a sexual relationship is sometimes referred to as “sleeping together.”  But, there is a great deal more to sleeping together than having sex.  When you fall asleep in someone else’s presence, you are allowing yourself to become unconscious along with them and totally vulnerable to them.  You are signaling, “I trust you completely.”  There is something extraordinarily intimate about this mutual vulnerability.

It seems to me that it is a sacred thing to end the day by crawling into the same bed.  Whether there are any words spoken or prayers murmured, there is a sense of “we are in this together. We have made it through another day of both difficulties and accomplishments.”  For the one who believes in a personal God who guides us through life, there is a sense of “we are here together in His love and kindness.  We are not only holding each other.  We are being held by the hand of God.”

I have been pondering that having my husband go into cardiac arrest as we slept side by side can be viewed in two very different ways.

I could be tempted to think of this as death’s cold hand invading our sacred space.  We went to bed together secure in each other’s love and expecting, as we always did, that God would protect us through our time of vulnerability.  Did the specter of death attack while we rested in security and oblivion?

The alternate view is that the hand of God reached into the sacred space and stopped my lover’s heart.  What better time and place to take him than when we were resting in our love for each other and God’s love for us?  Picturing his passing in that way takes away some of the painful sting of death.  My sweetheart moved from one sacred space to another even more sacred…the presence of God.

Either way brings tears.  I have a choice between tears of sorrow or tears of joy.  In truth, my tears are a mixture of both grief and gratitude.

I am writing this in the middle of the night having awakened alone and calling out my love’s name, but also with an awareness of God’s amazing love and care.

What drives the desire for intimacy?

I have recently been pondering the difference between youth and old age as regards the desire for an intimate relationship.   When living in a retirement center, it isn’t uncommon to see people who have lost their spouses pair off with others.  Sometimes, there are relationships that seem to be of the boyfriend/girlfriend type indefinitely .  Other times, a remarriage occurs rather quickly.  What influences the pace?

One could ask the same question regarding relationships between the young.  I think it is quite apparent that youthful relationships are largely driven by hormones.  The sex drive can be unbelievably strong.  Once it has kicked in, it moves in only one direction.  If there is not increasing physical intimacy, the relationship ends.

I think the primary driver among us old folks is loneliness.  After living, perhaps over 50 years, with a spouse and sharing so many experiences together, life without a companion becomes very lonely.  An older widow, who was clearly lonely and acquired a “boyfriend,” told me that love was just as great the second time and did not have the complications of hormones.  A widower I know was quite clear that he desperately needed a companion after his wife’s passing.  He quite quickly developed a friendship with a lady who could fill that role.

I am aware of some late in life second marriages that were likely motivated by loneliness and ended in disaster…heartbreak and divorce.  Similarly, youthful relationships in which sex is the primary motivator can end in disaster.  So…what is a proper motivation?

As I see it, neither sex nor loneliness should be the primary reason for entering an intimate relationship.  Sex was not my primary motivator the first time, and loneliness will not be the second time, if such a thing occurs.  I am not denying that both sex and loneliness may be elements in an attraction, but neither should be the overriding reason for someone who is a believer in Christ and desires His purposes for his/her life.

In marrying Bill, I had a deep assurance within my heart and soul that we could accomplish more for Christ and His kingdom as a couple, than the sum of what we could/would accomplish as individuals.  For someone who is genuinely Christian, that should always be a large element of the decision to enter an intimate relationship.  For a believer, God Himself is part of the intimate relationship.  If He is not in it, trouble will ensue.   We tend to expect too much of an earthly companion, if our relationship with God is not primary.  Intimacy with God takes the pressure off intimacy with another person.

So…young people, make sure there is a great deal more to the attraction than sex, AND we old people need to be sure there is a whole lot more to a relationship than relief from loneliness.

 

Joyful Exuberance

I was awake during the night tossing and turning and thinking about my dear husband Bill.  Many images came to my mind, and I thought again about the energy he exuded as he tackled life.  He was a person who didn’t sit still even when he was “sitting still.”

Not many people enjoy shoveling snow or weeding a garden, but he seemed to get genuine pleasure from these activities.  I can picture him carrying his bucket of weeds to the compost pile  with a bounce in his step.  I can see him stomping the snow off his boots with a look of accomplishment having shoveled the sidewalks and driveway.   I don’t think I ever saw him trudge wearily.

One of my earliest memories of this type of behavior comes from our dating years.  The summer of 1967, I was working 11 pm to 7 am at a hospital.  He was an early adopter of computers for data processing back in the days of mainframes.  He had to rent time on a local computer during the hours when the business which owned the computer wasn’t using it.  That meant he had to run his reports at night.  If his night to rent computer time coincided with a night I wasn’t working, I would go with him and read while he worked.  When his reports were completed, he would print them out.  The old printers were noisy, but they made a rhythmic sound.  He would dance to the rhythm of the printer with a gleeful expression.  I couldn’t resist laughing and that encouraged his display of enthusiasm.  He vibrated with energy and the joy of life.

I have missed the energetic aura that surrounded him.  I recently reread sympathy cards and noticed that one of his employees had written that he always knew when Bill had entered the factory, because his energy could be felt. 

That aura was apparent until the day he went into cardiac arrest.  Right up to the end, he was approaching everything he did with vigor…well, there were a few exceptions to that…things he had put up with for years, that he was just plain tired of.  But, that did not include pickleball, a sport he had just recently taken up.  A lady who played with him remarked, “With Bill, every game was the Olympics.  He went after every shot!”

Seeing him comatose, totally unresponsive for 8 days, I knew I could not keep him here.  He had made it clear he didn’t want to be kept in a vegetative state, and I knew it was incompatible with the way he had approached life.  He wanted to run right up to the gates of heaven.

I like to picture the joyful exuberance he is now experiencing in heaven.  God did not make him to sit still, so I expect he has been given an assignment that brings him joy.  He danced through life and right into eternity.  I expect he is still dancing.