Strength Through the Limping

Writing today's date on our white board in the school room gave me a tinge of sadness. Today is five months until what would have been our 30th wedding anniversary. There are no plans being made for jetting off happily to Hawaii. (More realistically,) there will be no nice dinner out. Not even a quick trip to Taco Bell together. No looking together through our wedding pictures and reminiscing. No well wishes from family. No lingering kisses. No rejoicing.

We will limp towards the day, most likely still legally married. But, unfortunately, on the road to becoming another statistic.

God ordains marriage to be a covenant. He is in the midst of the two who are joined as one. It is a mystical, intangible cementing together of two individuals. Two souls becoming something new.

Tearing it apart is painful beyond belief.

And yet, God has His arms wrapped around me. He holds on tight, never letting go.

...I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4: 12-13 NIV

(I know this looks like a yellow board! It's just my camera phone...)

The Angel

It was God's grace that I "happened" to take the Beyond Consequences Online Parenting Class right now. Although it's designed to help us more effectively parent children who've experienced trauma, I find it's helping me as I navigate my own trauma of going through a divorce. I also realize that as I live with my pain, I understand my children's pain more vividly.

Lately, I have been anything but an angel. I find myself having great difficulty even speaking civily with my husband. I pray for patience, and yet I so readily fly off the handle. When he leaves, I calm down, see the error of my ways, ask for forgiveness from him and/or the kids, evaluate my behavior and try to learn how to be more polite the next time.

Beyond Consequences teacher, Heather Forbes, talks about the amount of stress we can take before we blow up. She calls it the Window of Stress Tolerance. To illustrate this point, I want you to think of a bucket. It's got some water in the bottom which represents your life. There are a few rocks in there too, collected from the various problems one has. Now, most of us can carry the bucket around without difficulty. Water and a few rocks get added every day, but we know to stop, take some rocks out, pour out some of the water, and go on with our buckets.

Someone who is experiencing/has experienced trauma, has a much different scenario. They have a bucket that is nearly full before they even get out of bed. As soon as they wake up, they know they must lug that heavy bucket around everywhere they go. They are tired of the water sloshing out onto their pant leg all the time. They dread the problems they know will happen today. They always do. The bucket will get too heavy. It always does. They will stand there. Holding on to the bucket with two hands. Crying. Yelling. Frustrated.

Maybe, just maybe, an angel will come along. The angel will gently take the bucket from their grip. The angel will pour out the water onto some flowers, and take the rocks out to line a garden path. The angel will give them a hug, a cup of tea, sit and chat, and then send them on their way with a manageable bucket.



Although I am carrying around my own heavy bucket, I need to be the angel to my children.

Maybe I can even be the angel to myself.

(photos: my daughter and our dog - June 2009; flowers at the Abbey - July 2009)

Beyond Consequences

I have been interested in learning more about adoption related abandonment issues. I recently heard of a 10-week online class about parenting children with challenging behaviors, and found out I could take the class for free if I promised to blog about it. Although in a round about way I'm being paid to blog, I promise to be honest about my thoughts on the course and the book we are using.

One purpose of the first class was to help us change our thinking about WHY our children misbehave. In order to do this we need to understand more about stress and how the brain works. A little bit of stress is useful, and most of us can cope with the stresses in our lives. If a car pulls out in front of us, we are sent into a state of heightened stress which enables us to react quickly and avoid an accident. After we slow down and keep a safe distance from the other car, we are able to modulate or regulate ourselves and get back to "normal".

But children who have experienced trauma in their lives can't deal with the same amount of stress. For them, the same car that has pulled out is like putting one of us in the middle of the race at the Indy 500. They quickly become overloaded or overwhelmed (dysregulated). If I were plopped into the middle of such a car race, there is no way I could observe the other drivers, glean from them how to navigate around the other cars, and blend in with the pack. And yet, often, I expect our daughter to observe others (or me), figure out how to deal with different situations, and just get with the program!, you know.

The author's contention is that if you peel back the misbehaviors, layer by layer, you will find at the core: fear. Fear of abandonment, for example, can be triggered by something that seems to have no correlation whatsoever. It's just that when the child is overwhelmed, they revert to their basic instinct of not being safe. A state of fear. The author also takes brain research from the past 20+ years and uses that to back up her claims of why the child automatically goes into a state of fear as a coping mechanism.

One of our homework assignments was to practice deep breathing so our bodies revert to it automatically when we are stressed. I have been teaching this to my children, and they've noticed the difference in their outlook right away. I want to keep practicing it when they're calm, in the hopes that it will instinctively be used when feeling overwhelmed.

I've read lots of parenting books in the course of my teaching career, and more recently as a parent. Years ago, I may have pooh-poohed this talk of fear-based behaviors. But experience has taught me that there's something to this...

The book:
Beyond Consequences, Logic, and Control by Heather T. Forbes and B. Bryan Post
The Beyond Consequences Online Parenting Class is taught by Ms. Forbes.

(our happy daughter, playing her brother's guitar)

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.

Romans 12:9-15

(My son took this photo while we were walking our dog last week.)

Slightly Less Putrid

Since we all have a tendency to hypocrisy, any hollow appearance of righteousness is quite enough to satisfy us, instead of righteousness itself. Since there is nothing in us or around us that is not greatly tainted with impurity, as long as we are assessing limits of human corruption, anything which is slightly less putrid makes us very pleased with ourselves.

Jean Cauvin (1509-1564)
The Institutes of Christian Religion

I've been praying that God would not let bitterness take root in my heart. All too often I revert to frustration which then turns into anger. It dawned on me that while I'm trying to shield myself from bitterness, it would be quite easy to become done in by something else. Pride, for instance? While doing some reading for our history study this week, I ran across this quote by John Calvin and found it worth sharing.

(Our dog, Lady, smelling yellow snow, which is "slightly less putrid" than eating rabbit pellets!)

Masterpiece of Nature

A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)


For our first dinner of the new year, I filled our home with friends. There were four families (including mine) who used to worship together, and it was such a blessing to sit around the table and discuss theology, movies, Post Modern America, and a myriad of other topics.

The other three women at the table have cried with me, laughed with me, prayed with me, and allowed me to pour out my heart. Good friends are more than masterpieces of Nature. They are gifts from God!

After they all left, I was gazing at the tree in our dining room. The lights sparkled, not only on the tree itself, but also shone in the reflection of the window. The ornaments hanging from the chandelier picked up light from it, as well as the tree lights. Even after my friends were gone, their love lingered and warmed my heart on a cold winter's night.

Thank you, God, for the gift of friends who help bear our burdens and shine light on our path.

Content New Year

I took this photo in the Abbey chapel because I liked how the rays of the late afternoon sun hit the floor. Some areas were completely shrouded in darkness. Other areas gave a hint of what lay beyond the sun's reaches. The light made an arrow of sorts, pointing forward.

My life goes on. Some areas of my life are shrouded in painful sorrow. Others spread out just beyond what I can see. Only the Lord knows what lies ahead for me.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.

Philippians 4: 12-13 NIV

One of my goals for 2010 is to be content in any and every situation. Paul writes that the Lord will give me the strength to do this. May I graciously clothe myself with this strength to give Him glory.

Trust in the Lord

A friend who is battling cancer wrote this to me upon receiving our Christmas greetings and letter:

thanks, dear! I'm still working on ours...You are a brave woman. and you are in my prayers.

I am living another unenviable life. That of a wife abandoned for another. This is what I wrote back to my dear friend:

And you are in mine as well! I don't know how brave I am. I think that word is more applicable to you! I suppose we both are traveling a path we never asked for, a path we would not choose for anyone, and a path that elicits more tears than bravery. And yet, with His strength we see the sun rise anew every day. We see the Son arise anew as well. We grow closer to Him with each tortured footstep and vividly learn what it means to...

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths. Be not wise in thine own eyes; fear the Lord, and depart from evil. It shall be health to thy navel, and marrow to thy bones.

Proverbs 3: 5-7

In Christian sisterly love,

Deb

At some point I had to start writing about my current life. I suppose this is it. Here is a Christmas Eve picture of my precious children who bring me joy and strength.

First Sunday in Advent - 2009

Thoughts from The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis.
The Third Book - Chapter 1 - Of the Inward Voice of Christ to the Faithful Soul


"Blessed are the ears which receive the echoes of the soft whisper of God, and turn not aside to the whisperings of this world."

"Blessed are they who long to have leisure for God, and free themselves from every hindrance of the world."

"Put away thee all transitory things, seek those things that are eternal."

Thank you, Lord, for speaking to me. I am clinging to Your promise even now. May I not be hindered by this world, but seek Your face alone, and expectantly wait for You.

The Dreaded Task

The basement weighs on my heart; some times more than others. And as cluttered as this looks, it's one of the better sections of the basement. Boxes, baskets, stuffed animals, old National Geographics, plastic grocery bags holding who-knows-what is bad enough. I wouldn't dare step back and show you a wide angle view.

I keep thinking I need to get the rest of the house in better order before I tackle the basement. But I think this is just an excuse to avoid it entirely.

I read this verse recently, and was nudged yet again that I need to begin my basement project. Maybe tackling the basement should be a winter chore after Christmas.

Some background before the verse: When the exiles return from Babylon and rebuild the wall, Nehemiah realizes that there aren't enough people to defend the city. He devises a plan to bring some people from the tribes of Benjamin and Judah to settle in Jerusalem. Nehemiah calls for genealogical records and makes a census of sorts, counting all of the various tribes of people.

During this census, there were six families who could not prove that they were descended from Israel:

They searched for their family records, but they could not find them and so were excluded from the priesthood as unclean. Nehemiah 7: 64

Now, this should make me want to get myself in gear!

"Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing"

The past few weeks, I have been humming this hymn as it pops into my mind. The author of the words, Robert Robinson (1735-1790), was an English pastor, first in the Methodist church, and then in the Baptist church.

Although hymnals print the name of John Wyeth (1770-1858) in the spot reserved for the composer of the music, he was actually an American printer and publisher who compiled songs others had written. It doesn't appear that he had musical or theological training, but he had a large collection of printed music. His tunebooks; Repository of Sacred Music (1810) and Repository of Sacred Music, Part Second (1813); may have been the result of a good business move rather than inspired by any religious convictions.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.


(Fort Hunter Mansion in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, above. It was built in 1814 by Capt. Archibald McAlister, about the time that Wyeth was printing his songbooks in the same town. It was named for the 18th century fort constructed near the site.)

"For All the Saints"

The words to this hymn were written by Englishman William How (1823-1897). An Anglican minister, he was appointed bishop of Wakefield in 1889. There has been a church in Wakefield for over 1000 years, something that's a bit difficult for us Americans to grasp. The Cathedral of All Saints in Wakefield, England, erected a marble memorial to How.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the music was composed by a fellow Englishman, Ralph Vaughn Williams (1872-1958).


"For All the Saints"

For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Apostles’ glorious company,
Who bearing forth the Cross o’er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord,
Is fair and fruitful, be Thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For Martyrs, who with rapture kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, Thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
And singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

(Photo of the spire of Wakefield Cathedral, formerly Cathedral of All Saints, comes from this website.)

Ora et Labora

Or perhaps more aptly titled, "Pray and Shovel." While clearing some of the Global Warming off our driveway this morning, I was privileged to pray for my friend, Kim, who is in surgery.

It's quite a nice combination actually. Not surgery and breast cancer. Although if the surgery's successful, it's a good combination, I suppose. But praying and shoveling, being the good combination. It's so quiet and peaceful outside. Perfect conditions for praying.

My son came out for a while to help. He's so tall in his snow boots. My little man isn't so little anymore!

We still have a bit of the Climate Change falling from the sky, and it's been going on now for about 36 hours straight. Funny. We often have flowers blooming when the candy beggars show up on the 31st.

May God bless Kim and her family this day.

(View from the back door this morning.)

By His Stripes

But He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
And by His stripes we are healed.

Isaiah 53: 5 NKJV

The time for me to leave the abbey came. I had loved reading my Bible and studying it. Spending 30 minutes on one verse is a luxury I seldom take. I had walked a lot and spent time talking with my dear friend who was there too.

It's always difficult for me to leave. So I walked the road from the Retreat House to the Chapel one last time. Already late in heading for home, I chastised myself for being so foolish as to walk. 'I should have driven and saved myself some time,' I thought to myself. But there's something about walking that road and thinking as you go.

I entered the vacant chapel and sat in a back pew to pray, thanking God for the time there, asking for safe travel, and readying myself for the patience I would need as I returned home to a busy life.

I studied the shadows on the chapel wall. Usually stripes connote a jail cell or prison garb. Instead, His stripes and His blood deliver us from such a sentence. The bright red window above the crucifix creates a pool of red on the Chapel floor when the morning sun hits it just right. And although I much prefer an empty cross in a church, the juxtaposition of symbols was powerful on this early evening, and I didn't mind it this time.

By His stripes we ARE healed.

"Crown Him With Many Crowns"

The words to this hymn were written by Matthew Bridges (1800-1894) and then more verses were added by Godfrey Thring (1823-1903). Both men were Anglicans from Britain (although Bridges converted to Catholicism in 1848). Thring was ordained in the Anglican church and wrote many volumes of hymns. His brother wrote of Thring's many hymns, "As long as the Eng­lish lang­uage lasts, sun­dry of your hymns will be read and sung…and ma­ny a soul of God’s crea­tures will thrill at your words. What more can a man want? [Y]ou live on the lips of the Church."

Crown Him With Many Crowns

Crown Him with many crowns, the Lamb upon His throne.
Hark! How the heavenly anthem drowns all music but its own.
Awake, my soul, and sing of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as thy matchless King through all eternity.

Crown Him the virgin’s Son, the God incarnate born,
Whose arm those crimson trophies won which now His brow adorn;
Fruit of the mystic rose, as of that rose the stem;
The root whence mercy ever flows, the Babe of Bethlehem.

Crown Him the Son of God, before the worlds began,
And ye who tread where He hath trod, crown Him the Son of Man;
Who every grief hath known that wrings the human breast,
And takes and bears them for His own, that all in Him may rest.

Crown Him the Lord of life, who triumphed over the grave,
And rose victorious in the strife for those He came to save.
His glories now we sing, who died, and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring, and lives that death may die.

Crown Him the Lord of peace, whose power a scepter sways
From pole to pole, that wars may cease, and all be prayer and praise.
His reign shall know no end, and round His piercèd feet
Fair flowers of paradise extend their fragrance ever sweet.

Crown Him the Lord of love, behold His hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.
No angel in the sky can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye at mysteries so bright.

Crown Him the Lord of Heaven, enthroned in worlds above,
Crown Him the King to Whom is given the wondrous name of Love.
Crown Him with many crowns, as thrones before Him fall;
Crown Him, ye kings, with many crowns, for He is King of all.

Crown Him the Lord of lords, who over all doth reign,
Who once on earth, the incarnate Word, for ransomed sinners slain,
Now lives in realms of light, where saints with angels sing
Their songs before Him day and night, their God, Redeemer, King.

Crown Him the Lord of years, the Potentate of time,
Creator of the rolling spheres, ineffably sublime.
All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou has died for me;
Thy praise and glory shall not fail throughout eternity.

(Photo of Wells Cathedral, where Thring served, is from the Cornell University Library's Photostream.)