Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare … – Psalm 91:3a

A few weeks ago, I posted some stories about times in our lives when the Lord has rescued us (mostly Marty) from situations that could have been dire.

Where Marty Was (“Don’t Judge Me!” Part 6, Continued)

Recently Marty and I went to see a movie that brought back memories of another “dodged a bullet” that occurred in that season when we were young and naive.

“Sound of Freedom” is a film about child trafficking. (It’s excellent, by the way. Do see it, if you haven’t already.) A scene depicted in one part of the film brought back disturbing thoughts related to one of our sailing trips, although we had not realized at the time the danger we were in, or what was happening very close by.

[Flashback about 48 years.] Early in our marriage, Marty was earning his PhD with a lab assistantship – getting paid to go to school! – while I was finishing up my bachelor’s degree. With the university calendar, we had the luxury of being able to go to Michigan in the summer for a couple of weeks of vacation at the lake. As in our teenaged years, sailing was a big part of that place both for us and for my cousins, Tom, Owen, and Larry, who were also life-long “summer people.” We fancied ourselves to be “hardy old salts,” although most of our sailing adventures consisted of racing little Sunfish sailboats around Portage Lake, and slightly larger boats, which we would occasionally take out the channel onto “the Big Lake” (Lake Michigan). On rare occasions we would sail up the coast, camping out on the beaches along the way.

One of the more memorable trips was when we sailed all the way to Beaver Island in two Catalinas – Marty and I in his dad’s with our dog Radar, and the cousins in my uncle’s. A steady wind was out of the north the whole week, so sailing north involved a lot of tacking and making little headway. (It took us nearly a week to sail to Beaver Island but just 24 hours to get blown back home.)

We had some interesting minor episodes along the way, but the most memorable was when we had stopped and set up camp on North Fox Island. After sailing most of the day, we were hungry and tired and glad to be settling down for the night.

But as we finished pitching our tents, two strangers approached us. These men did not look like tourists, and they did not appear happy to have company. We were informed that we were on private property, and we would have to leave.

“Oh, sorry!” said one of my cousins.

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” another promised agreeably.

“You’ll leave NOW,” one of the men stated firmly.

We noticed these men were armed, so that was the end of the discussion. As tired as we were, we broke camp, loaded up the boats, and backtracked to South Fox Island.

As we looked back on that trip, the encounter with the armed and unfriendly strangers seemed like just a momentary scare. That is, until the day Marty read a grim story in the news.

We read that North Fox Island had been owned by a Grosse Pointe multimillionaire whose “youth camp” had turned out to be a pedophile and child porn haven. In reading the article and comparing dates, we realized that the evening we were on the island, there were probably young boys close by having unspeakable things done to them. According to the article, there were also several unsolved murders and missing children that some speculated to be connected with that pedophile ring. (I don’t care to go into detail here, but if you google “Fox Island Pedophile,” you’ll find more information than you ever want to know.)

To this day Marty and I wish we had known and could have done something, but we couldn’t report what we hadn’t seen. And, if we had in fact known, and if those men had discerned that we knew, we might not have made it off the island alive.

As I look back on the full picture, I realize once again how the Lord has always protected us. And no, I don’t know why He didn’t protect those boys in the same way. He certainly doesn’t love them any less than He loves us. It’s something that breaks my heart, and that I will probably never understand this side of heaven. But I do know that

From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. – Luke 12:48

I am taking that sobering verse to heart.

Prayer: Lord, I know I don’t deserve the mercy You have shown me. You have shielded me from many evils in this depraved world that I’m aware of, and probably countless others that I don’t realize. It makes me want to make every moment of my life – the life You have preserved these seven decades – be used to honor You and to bless the people You love so dearly. As You have shielded me from harm, shield me also from the temptations and distractions that would keep me from being all You want me to be and doing all You want me to do, in Jesus’ name, amen.

P.S. Today there are some things people like us can do to help in the fight against child trafficking. Tim Ballard’s organization, Operation Underground Railroad, is just one group that is rescuing young victims of traffickers and other predators. Franklin Graham’s Samaritan’s Purse is another. And there are more. If you do a search, you will find numerous organizations working to end this horrible practice, which you can support with your financial gifts and especially your prayers.

I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. – Galatians 2:20 (KJV)

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows how much joy I get out of singing. Ever since I sang in children’s choirs, learned to play the guitar and sing Joan Baez songs, performed in the high school Gilbert and Sullivan production, and joined the choir in college, singing has been one of my greatest joys, especially singing to and about the Lord. In my 30’s I wrote my own songs and tried to get them published. I took trips to Nashville to record demos and pitch my songs to my favorite singers. I’ve sung for women’s groups, weddings, funerals, and church services and in hospitals and nursing homes. Sometimes when I accept an invitation to get together with one or more friends, the next thing said is, “Bring your guitar!”

So, the times in my life I have found myself without a singing voice have seemed like times my world had a big hole in it. I told a story about one such time a while back:

Easter Tears

Another episode happened much more recently, and although it wasn’t as severe as my experience when I was in college, it still frustrated me, especially at church.

Our church doesn’t have a regular choir, except for the Christmas service and Good Friday. The rest of the year, as the music minister explained, the “choir” is the whole church. We are worshiping our God together. Everyone is participating, no one is “performing.” And it works for us. As our church has a remarkable number of good singers, the music minister likes to have the strong voices spread out. That way, worship fills the whole sanctuary. My favorite part of the singing at our church is toward the end of a song, when sometimes the instruments stop playing and 700+ people sing the final verse a cappella, in four parts. It’s like stepping into heaven for a moment and experiencing the unity and harmony of the Body of Christ. Being even a small part of those moments is a blessing I will always be grateful for.

Standing in the midst of such a moment and not being able to sing can be a frustrating experience. (Yes, I realize if this is my biggest problem, I am indeed blessed.)

A few years ago, I had recovered from an especially bad cold. Sinusitis had morphed into bronchitis, laryngitis – all the usual fun “-itises” that left my singing voice lacking, to say the least. For a while I was just glad to be able to talk and didn’t mention my loss to anyone, since it hadn’t yet affected anyone but me. At church other people’s prayer requests were about much heavier issues. But one night at our home group meeting it was my turn to ask for prayer, and I confessed that I hadn’t been able to participate in the singing at church, and it was breaking my heart. The group prayed for my singing voice to be restored, and I was grateful, possibly hopeful.

But a couple of nights later, one of our granddaughters was spending the night at our house, and as I lay next to her on the bed, she said sleepily, “Nana, would you sing to me?”

I gulped and “gave it the ol’ college try.” But after squeaking out the notes of the first verse, I stopped, and she didn’t ask me to go on. She drifted off to sleep, and I lay beside her, quietly crying.

The next morning, we went to church. As we found seats, the “gathering music” was playing and the worship team sang. The words were printed in the bulletin, so the congregation was welcome to join in. (I usually had.) But most spent that time greeting one another and taking a few minutes to chat before the service.

Of course, once my granddaughter and I were settled, we immediately had to go to the “little girls’ room.” We had taken seats close to the exit, so we could slip out more easily. I hoped we’d get back before the opening song that everyone sang together, because bittersweet as it was, I still wanted to hear the singing, even though I couldn’t join them.

When we came back into the sanctuary, the congregation were on their feet and singing the opening lines of a song that had recently become one of my favorites.

My heart leapt and cried: I just have to try! even though I feared more discouragement. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth …

And there it was! My voice was back – strong, pain-free, belting out the lyrics I loved and lived by. The prayers of the home group had been heard and answered, and I was given the desire of my heart – and for one of my all-time favorite songs! ❤

So … what was the song?

“Yet not I, but through Christ in Me.”

This was not my voice, it was His. When I gave my life to Jesus, He took all of it, including my voice, my abilities, my resources, my time, my passions – my everything.

(He IS my everything.)

Anything good I do in this life is not my doing. It’s “not I, but Christ in me.”

Prayer: Lord Jesus, even as I write this, there are tears of joy. Thank You that when Your people sing out Your praises, their song not only blesses You, but it blesses us. I so look forward to the day we will all be together, singing before Your throne! Until that day, may we never treat worship lightly. Let our weekly gatherings always be a joyful celebration of You, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

P.S. This is the song I love so, which I’m hoping will be played at my resurrection celebration (a.k.a., “funeral”) someday:

And now I will show you the most excellent way … I Corinthians 12:31

Since I have been “seeking divine perspective,” I have been given new perspectives on God, people, experiences, and some biblical passages I THOUGHT I knew.

Recently my friend David Sharrard, the most knowledgeable person I know when it comes to history and cultures, posted a commentary on I Corinthians 13 which I found fascinating. This piece shows I Corinthians as not only a description of divine Love, but also the reason God’s way is superior to every other way. Check it out. I’m including the passage for quick reference:

1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. 4. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9. For we know in part, and we prophecy in part. 10. But when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. 11. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13. And now these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. – I Corinthians 13:1-13

Dave’s commentary:

One of the best known Bible passages, First Corinthians chapter 13 known as the love chapter is so much more. God used it to attack human philosophy. Verse 1 gives a blow against Eastern mysticism, (Buddhists use clanging cymbals ). Verse 2 strikes at Gnosticism, where we get our word knowledge…and these folks thought they had received a “special” knowledge. Verse 3 hits against Stoicism a philosophy that built the Roman Empire, but relied on human strength alone. Verse 4 opposes the thought of egotism, where your self and self-interests rule. Verse 5 attack’s narcissism and Epicureanism basically the love of self-pleasure. Verse 6 speaks against hedonism which is just plain evil. You can throw in cynicism too. This isn’t just a chapter about God’s love…it exposes the weakness of human philosophy and so called “wisdom”. The Bible says about man, “Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.”

Prayer: Our loving Father in heaven, we are surrounded by ways that are not Your ways. The world, the flesh, and the devil have devised seemingly endless ways to get it wrong, but as Your people, we want to get it right! Continue to show us Your most excellent way, through Your Word, Your Spirit, and the perfect example of love, Your Son Jesus. In His name, amen.

You hem me in, behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. / All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. – Psalm 139:5,16

Last week I shared a cringe-worthy story of a time when I was young, foolish, selfish, and immature. (Imagine that.)

Rebuke from the Still, Small Voice” (Don’t Judge Me!” Part 6)

Recently – 45 years later – Marty and I were sitting outside the ice cream shop in the little village near our summer home when an acquaintance came over and greeted us. “Jane” (not her name) was alone, so we invited her to sit with us. In the ensuing conversation I learned, among other things, that she’s a member of the local ski patrol on weekends in the winter.

Northern Michigan’s long winters can be either miserable or loads of un. If you enjoy snow-mobiling, ice fishing, downhill skiing, or cross-country skiing, our area is a veritable playground. On the flipside, last week I shared what’s possible if a new mother gets stuck inside all week with a new baby when the days are short, dark and cold, and it seemed the snow is flying constantly.

As Marty and I shared with Jane what life was like for us when we lived in the area year-round, Marty related the story of when he was out cross-country skiing alone in the woods one day. It would seem I wasn’t the only one who’d had a few things to learn back then …

When Marty heard “cross-country,” he assumed it meant off the road, random skiing any old place he decided to go. So, he’d headed out through the trees and off any semblance of a path, into the unknown. As he told the story, I realized it was one I had never heard before. After 50 years of marriage, this was pretty unexpected.

Unlike downhill skis, cross-country skis are not attached to the whole boot, but loosely attached to the toe. This works well when the skier is propelling himself along straight, reasonably flat ground. But when finding himself going downhill at a faster speed, toward trees that need to be dodged … well, not so much. As Marty described coming down a hill, not quite in control, toward a formidable birch tree, Jane’s eyes got big, and my jaw dropped.

“MARTY!!!” Jane half shrieked, half scolded. “Trees don’t give! We’ve had people seriously injured or killed on the slopes crashing into trees!”

All I could think of was the one notorious ski accident I remembered that had made national news. “That’s how Sonny Bono died!” I gasped. Well, obviously, Marty had survived, so I shut up and waited for the rest of the story.

As Marty continued, I had a mental image of the swiftly approaching tree and held my breath.

What happened next was a “God thing,” no doubt.

Marty had hit the tree, and as if in a dream, he felt the thud, then watched the tree explode into birchbark-encrusted powder.

My darling, dopey husband had collided with a hollow, rotted-out tree. Whether the tree had been rotten for two years or two seconds, who knows? I’d like to believe the latter, but it really doesn’t matter. Clearly it was not his time to leave this earth, or to be stranded in the snow with a broken leg, out where no one, including his clueless wife, would know where to find him.

As I was recovering from the shock of such a tale at this late season of our lives, my mind went back to that winter and was struck with the thought: Could that have been the same Saturday I was home fretting – not worried about my dear husband’s whereabouts and well-being, but totally centered on what I “needed” (wanted) at the moment?

I opted not to share the story of my own idiocy back then, but I prompted Marty to tell a couple more stories of “close calls” he’d had in his younger days. Clearly it was testimony time!

1.) When we were “dating,” Marty was driving from Springfield, Illinois, to St. Louis to see me every chance he got. In those days it was easy for us to lose track of time. One night it was about midnight when he was leaving, and I was concerned about his driving two-hours on the dark, straight, flat (boring) highway back home, especially since he seemed sleepy.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just spend the night here? Mom said you could sleep in the guestroom.” Marty said he’d be fine, but I made him promise to call me when he got home. “Just let it ring twice, so I’ll know you made it, OK?”

Two hours of praying later, I heard the phone ring twice and finally went to sleep.

The “God part”: Marty told me later that he’d been driving along in the dark, full speed, when he’d randomly changed lanes for no particular reason and immediately passed a stalled car with its lights off.

2. Those were the days of the Viet Nam War, when there was still a Draft. Marty was almost finished with college, so he would soon be eligible. The “lottery” was the random selection of young men by birthdays, and Marty’s birthday was the tenth one drawn. In other words, out of 365 groups of young men, his was tenth in line to go to war. I prayed hard for his protection. He prayed for courage.

The “God part” of this story involves a series of very detailed “coincidences”: Marty’s being in the right place at the right time, which was, oddly, at home alone late New Year’s Eve, watching TV -and miraculously being awake enough to understand a “random” public service announcement from the government that came on in the wee hours of the morning. He wrote down a phone number, followed the instructions, and ended up getting deferred. The war ended two years later.

Prayer: Father, Your Word says that all the days ordained for us were written in Your book before one of them came to be. How could I not believe that? Thank You for the peace of knowing that we will not leave this planet one moment before You’re ready to call us home – and I don’t want to wait a moment longer to be with You. In Jesus’ name, amen.

“In your anger, do not sin.” Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. – Ephesians 4:26-27

I want to preface this story by saying that I’m not the person I was when this happened forty-five years ago! Back then I was a 25-year-old new mother, a city girl, now living in a “little house in the big woods” in Michigan. (The woods weren’t that big, I suppose, but you get the scenario; spoiled brat in the process of being un-spoiled.)

It was an even longer, colder, snowier winter than usual. I had a bad case of cabin fever, having been stuck inside with the baby for most of the week. I’d had to put someone else’s needs ahead of my own. Poor me.

My dear husband had spoken to me earlier in the week about the possibility of watching baby Joanna for an hour or two, so that I could get out and do a little cross-country skiing. It didn’t have to be cross-country skiing. It didn’t have to be anything, as long as I could just get out of the house and have a little “me time.”

But it hadn’t worked out that way. Marty had ended up being gone most of the day, “doing his thing,” and by the time he returned, the few hours of January daylight were about gone. And I was mad.

In those days Marty didn’t always notice when I was peeved, and I wasn’t about to tell him. After all, a man is supposed to be able to read his wife’s mind, right girls?

So, instead of the doing the reasonable thing and talking to him about my disappointment, which, after all, would put a real damper on the pity party I was planning, I lay awake that night, stewing. The fact that my husband was sleeping like a baby infuriated me even more.

Finally, at about midnight, give or take a few growls and sighs, I decided to get up and go out. Never mind that there was nowhere to go.

Let’s see how he likes being left with the baby! I thought. I knew darn well that when Joanna woke up hungry and fussy, he’d have nothing to give her. I didn’t leave a note telling him where I was going … because I didn’t know.

Starting the car, I half expected Marty to come running out to see what was happening, but he was a much sounder sleeper than that. So, I headed into “town.”

Onekama’s streets were predictably deserted when I got to the village limits. The Christmas lights had been taken down, and their absence made the streets seem even darker. I was a bit surprised to see the lights on in the little church I attended on Sundays. I didn’t see any other cars when I parked and got out, but I went up and tried the door anyway. I was surprised to find it unlocked. I stepped into the sanctuary, walked down the aisle and sat down in the front pew.

I’d like to say I was “pouring my heart out to the Lord,” but to be honest, I was basically b*tching to Him about my lousy husband’s lack of consideration.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, but I guess at some point the Almighty decided He’d had enough. I heard a loud click, and suddenly I was in the dark. With a slight shudder I decided that maybe it was time for me to be on my way…

I wish I could say I did the sensible thing and went home, but I wasn’t through bit– er, venting. I drove in the opposite direction, as once again the snow began to fly. I should have asked myself where I was going and just what did I plan to do if/when I got there. Or what might happen if I ran out of gas or got stuck in a snowbank.

I blubbered through another pitiful tirade (making everything about me, of course), ending with “YOU understand how I feel, don’t You?”

And then, for the first time I listened, and God finally got a word in edgewise.

Of course I do, the Still, Small Voice said gently.

Then after a pause, He added, still gently but firmly, I also know how Marty feels, and you don’t. So why don’t you just go home now?

Thoroughly rebuked by those few words, I stopped, sheepishly turned the car around, and headed back.

I wondered what I would find when I got there. Would Joanna be awake, hungry, and hysterical? Would Marty be up, pacing, sick with worry? Would he be contrite? – or would he be (rightly) angry?

But as I walked up to the door, the house was as silent as the snow falling outside. My husband and my baby were both sound asleep, blissfully unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Quietly, I shut the door behind me, and the moment I did, I heard Joanna’s whimper. I sighed wearily and headed into the nursery. Upon seeing her, I smiled. How I loved that baby girl! I scooped her up, held her close, fed her, changed her diaper, sang and rocked her, and laid her back down. Then, finally, I let it all go and sank back into the bed by my husband, who never stirred until the morning light.

Prayer: Lord, thank You that I am not who I was! Thank You for Your patience through all my tantrums and pity parties. Thanks for protecting me through foolish and dangerous choices. Thank You for loving me right where I was – but loving me too much to leave me there. Help me to keep growing and becoming the person You created me to be. In Jesus’ name, amen.

P.S. When Still, Small, Voice spoke to me that night, He could well have been saying, little lamb, You. Have. NO. IDEA. A few nights ago, after 45 years, I learned for the first time what had happened to Marty one day – possibly that same day – when he was out in the snow. I’ll tell y’all about it next week.

“… for you [God] alone know the hearts of all men.” – I Kings 8:39

Pardon the click-bait title here, but I’m making a point.

Ever since my teenaged years when it seemed I spent half my life either coming down with something, sick with something, or getting over something, I have been somewhat of a “health nut.” I have written posts about how my early illnesses were a blessing in disguise, because they taught me how to take care of myself, strengthen my immunity, and maintain all-around resilience and extremely good health for my age. The fact that the Lord didn’t just zap me one day and make me instantly healthy has also given me the added bonus of a lifestyle of self-discipline.

(Most of the time.)

So, there are certain on-line “articles” (ads for alternative health care products) with titles that grab my attention. I’m sure you’ve seen them: “The Nutritional Supplement Doctors Don’t Want You To Know About,” “The Toothbrush Dentists Don’t Want You To Know About,” etc. What bothers me about these ads is the perceived assumption that doctors are just out to make money, and the sicker you are, the more money they can make keeping you sick and the happier they are. Although there may be doctors (especially lately) who unintentionally do harm to their patients, I venture to say there are very few who would deliberately keep their patients sick, and I for one take issue with the general insinuation that patients are no more than the medical profession’s “cash cows.”

In my lifetime I have had the privilege of being under the care of some amazing doctors, and I hope you have, too. You know the kind – They listen to my concerns, answer my questions, explore options with me, suggest but don’t push, and do all they can to help ensure that I’m making an informed decision. When I ask about something new I’ve heard or read about, they’ll research it further and get back to me. For example, I recently asked my primary care physician about a supplement I saw advertised as a kind of internal sunscreen so I wouldn’t have to slop chemicals on my skin to prevent a sunburn. She got back to me the next day, saying that though the evidence was not overwhelming for the sunburn claim, she was okay with my trying it, saying the antioxidant in it might help relieve inflammation in my joints. That’s my kind of doctor!

So is my former doctor in Michigan. Knowing I preferred prevention over cures and nutrition and exercise over drugs and surgery, she always recommended the natural way first. She once called me on a Saturday because she had read an article about some new research that made her think of me, and it led to my having (rare, for me) surgery that I think helped alleviate multiple problems.

All that to say, my experience with most doctors has been that they had gone into the medical field because they wanted to help people get and stay healthy, not because they wanted to take advantage of sick people to enrich themselves.

I say “most,” because I have had a few who wanted me to keep coming back until I got tired of their ineffective “treatments,” and once I actually walked out of an appointment, having discovered I had been lied to.

But these are a tiny minority. Most of my health care workers – doctors, dentists, specialists, chiropractors, physical therapists, etc. – seem delighted when I have a good report. I’ve been told once or twice that seeing me brightens their day, after they had been dragged down seeing multiple patients not doing well.

“But,” you might say, “if you’re staying healthy, they don’t make as much money from you.”

True. But good doctors are always in demand, and if they’re spending less time dealing with my ailments, they’ll have more time to take on new patients. Better a doctor with many healthy patients than one with just a few sickly “cash cows” (s)he sees weekly.

Besides, patients who are sick (and broke) all the time, don’t make their doctor look very good, do they?

Side note: More than one doctor has marveled at how well I do, health-wise. When I told one doctor I had just been doing what she had told me to (going to the gym for weight resistance training three days a week), she responded, amazed, “You have?” It seems most of her patients did not follow her instructions! (I wonder if they blamed her when they didn’t improve?) If you don’t follow your physician’s instructions, then either your health isn’t that important to you, or you don’t really trust that doctor and need to find another one.

(There’s a clear parallel here to the degree to which our trust in God is in direct proportion to our obedience, but that’s a post for another day.)

Meanwhile, as hard as it is to trust the medical profession after recent events, don’t get down on health care providers in general. Prayerfully choose one you feel is well informed and genuinely rooting for you. And know that there are a lot of them out there. Give them the benefit of the doubt as much as you’d like others to do the same for you. I believe my doctors have been a blessing from God, and I pray He leads you to the right ones, too.

And please, if you’re advertising the latest discovery in health and fitness, don’t assume all doctors are greedy monsters out to rip us off. That’s just not true. Doctors may not be perfect, but neither are you.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for creating us. We know we are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” and our bodies still hold mysteries that haven’t been explained. Help us to be wise in our choices and take care of the bodies You’ve given us, that we might live on this earth for as long as You would have us, serving You faithfully and effectively, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

What shall we conclude then? Are we any better? Not at all! – Romans 3:9a

This story began last week:

(https://seekingdivineperspective.com/2023/07/21/dont-judge-me-part-3-a-pleasant-surprise-at-the-pride-parade/)

The following is my letter to my fellow sinners:

  First of all, I want to apologize for the deplorable treatment you have received from the Church – or that small but vocal element claiming to represent the Church, those folks that seems to think there’s only one kind of sin and you’re it. When Jesus confronted people like that, He said “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone,” (John 8:7) and at least that group was honest enough with themselves to drop their rocks and walk away. I’m not sure certain people would be willing to do that today. I am so sorry.

       Secondly, I want to make it very clear that I have no illusions about being better than you. When the Bible says “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” (Romans 3:23) that most certainly includes me. So when I talk about sin, know that I am one sinner relating to another. There’s so much more to sin than sexuality, so let’s just set that whole issue aside.

       Have you ever told a lie? (I have.) Have you ever wanted something that didn’t belong to you? (So have I.) Have you ever had bad feelings toward someone else? (I have, too.) Have you ever lost your temper? (Me too.) Have you ever held a grudge? (Don’t get me started…!)

      You see, there are so many things that count as sin, and I think it’s fair to say that all of us are guilty of most of them. You don’t have to be an axe murderer to fall short of God’s glory. Any sin makes a person unfit for heaven and subject to God’s judgment.

       The really scary thing is how sin comes so naturally! None of us had to be taught to be selfish. Each of us has something in us that is contrary to God. It’s called “sin nature,” and we’re all born with it.

       I happen to have an inability to let stuff go, or to put it bluntly, unforgiveness. When I’ve been hurt – even if the hurt was accidental – my natural tendency is to retreat, lick my wounds, pout, sulk, and plan a pity party for myself.

       There are two problems with pity parties: For one thing, usually nobody else wants to come, and most importantly, the Bible says that kind of attitude is DEAD WRONG. Jesus had some choice words for people like me: “If you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” (Matthew 6:15) That terrifies me, because guess what – I need forgiveness! You see, unforgiveness is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die. But what can I do? I have thin skin – I was born this way!

       It would seem the only solution for me is to be born again, with a new nature. So how do I do that? Through the only One who was born without a sin nature, God’s perfect Son, Jesus.

       Jesus loved people like no one else could. He taught them, He healed them, He fed them, He even raised them from the dead. But the main reason He came was to rescue them – rescue us – from the consequences of our sin. The Bible says “The wages of sin is death” – that is, spiritual death, eternal separation from God – and Jesus loved us too much to let that happen. He wanted to save us so much that He paid the price for us by allowing Himself to be beaten, mocked, spit on, and nailed to a cross to die a slow, agonizing death, while His enemies gloated.

       Jesus was the only One who should never have had to pay any penalty. But He did, because He couldn’t bear the thought of spending eternity without us. All we need to do is to accept that substitution, knowing there is no way we can save ourselves.

      The moment I placed my faith in Jesus and asked Him to forgive me, the slate was wiped clean, and I could start over. Only now I have Him to help me get over stuff, to have a better attitude and more patience and forgiveness for other people. Because when I gave up my “right” to hold grudges, it turned out not to be a sacrifice at all! When I let go of the hurts and allow Jesus to mend relationships, I experience a joy that I can only describe as indescribable – a kind of joy the “old me” never could have imagined. (It’s way better than a pity party!)

       Now I usually don’t have time to pout; I’m too busy enjoying life and loving people. Notice I said “usually”. There are still times when I get hurt, and the old nature rears its ugly, unforgiving head. But if I recognize it and ask the Lord to help me let it go, He does!

       Please don’t get me wrong. I’ve got a long way to go. I still struggle and probably always will. But I’m not struggling alone, and that makes all the difference.

       As you know, there are plenty of people all too willing to take it upon themselves to tell you how you need to change. Ignore them. God is the One who created you. He knows your struggles and needs, and He’s the One who loves you. He won’t demand anything from you that He won’t empower you to do, and He won’t take anything away from you without replacing it with something much better.

       So trust Him. Believe Him. Love Him. He loves you more than you can imagine.

       Enough to die for you.

       If something I’ve said today has struck a chord with you, I would love to meet you, talk with you, and pray with you. And I promise I won’t judge you – we’re all in this together. 

[phone number]

       God bless you.

Everyone I offered the flyer to accepted it gladly, but no one ever took me up on my offer to meet and talk further. On the bright side, neither did I have anyone hunt me down looking for a fight. I’m hoping with all the prayer invested in this outreach and what was in my heart that day, that if nothing else was clear, these people recognized that I do love them. And more importantly, that God does, too.

Prayer: Lord, I don’t remember the people I gave my letter to, but You know every one, and they are never out of Your sight. Wherever they are today, speak to them of Your love and draw them to You through Your Spirit, in Jesus’ name, Amen.

He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.” Mark 16:15

The discussion made me cringe. People were calling in to a Christian radio station, bemoaning the deplorable behavior of some alleged Christ-followers who had shown up at a funeral, carrying signs saying God hates gays and they were all going to hell.

Finally, the moderator posed this question: “If you were standing next to these people with your own sign, what would your sign say?”

I knew my answer immediately, “ASK ME ABOUT THE REAL JESUS – THE ONE WHO LOVES YOU.“

I didn’t call in, but there was a stirring in my heart that I believe was preparing me for what happened later that evening.

I received a message from a friend, a pastor’s wife, inviting me to go with a group from her church to the “pride parade” in Detroit. They wanted to “love on” the people there and apologize for the way the Church had treated them.

I asked my daughter Kelly if she’d like to go share God’s love with the LGBT community. Her response was an immediate and enthusiastic “YES!”

The parade was in just a couple of days, so I grabbed some poster board and started working on my sign. I guess I was a little too eager and didn’t plan the spacing very well. It was like one of those signs saying, “P-L-A-N AHEad,” with the last few letters scrunched together for lack of space. (*eye roll*) When I told Kelly I might have to start over, she made a suggestion that saved the day. (She’s familiar with my scatterbrained ways.) So, my sign ended up saying, “ASK ME ABOUT THE REAL JESUS, THE ONE WHO ❤ s U.”

Close enough.

I had noticed signs outside certain churches, implying that God was perfectly fine with whatever behavior one chose to practice. Not wanting our group to be mistaken for one of them, I prayed about how to distinguish ourselves from the enablers without coming across as unloving. Since this was going to be a totally new experience for me, and since I am much more confident writing than spontaneously speaking, I decided to write a testimony that I could give out at the parade. If the people there didn’t understand our position when they encountered us, they would when they read my story.

I prayerfully wrote my piece and was surprised at how quickly it came. The words flowed with very little revision, and when I showed it to my husband Marty, who is excruciatingly honest in his feedback, his only response was, “This is good.” Coming from him, that was a huge green light.

I typed up the piece to fit onto a sheet of paper with three columns on each side. Taking it to the local print shop, I had copies made in multiple colors, folded them, and stacked them to look like a rainbow in my hand.

The night before the parade, Kelly sat with a blank hot pink posterboard and a concerned look on her face.

“I don’t know what to write on my sign!” she sighed.

Remembering that we were going to the parade to try to undo the damage done by “Christian” haters, I suggested, “How about, ‘Can we start over?‘”

She loved the idea and got to work. Around midnight we put the signs and flyers by the door, set our alarms, and went to bed. We wanted to get a good night’s sleep before what we felt was going to be an important day for us and, we hoped, for some hurting people who would be blessed by what we were offering, as well.

I admit I’ve slept better. I didn’t know what kind of reception the Pride people would give to a church group, especially after the despicable treatment they had received from others who claimed to represent Jesus. I was also aware that if we were going down to win souls to Christ, there was going to be pushback, if not from the people themselves, from the spiritual forces that held them captive. Were we in for unpleasant encounters, even violence? I believe in spiritual warfare, as my long-time readers know. Putting on my armor and praying some Scripture, I eventually fell asleep.

Early Sunday morning downtown Detroit was quieter than we had expected. I texted my friend and her husband to see where we should park and which direction we should walk to meet them. As we traipsed along the empty streets, we started to encounter other people, and by the time we met up with our group, there was considerable activity.

We were given t-shirts to wear that said, “I’m sorry” on them. I admit my initial reaction was negative. Sorry for what? I didn’t do anything. But I swallowed my self-righteousness and put on the shirt.

I was surprised and amazed at the response we received. I had prepared for the worst (braced myself for unpleasantness), but we experienced the opposite. People thanked us for coming, hugged us with tears in their eyes, wanted to take our pictures, and wanted their pictures taken with us. Some even stepped out of the parade to rush over and hug us before running back to catch up. One woman just yelled, “YES!” from the procession. Then, clarifying, she pointed to Kelly’s sign and called, “YES! We can start over!”

I suspected there was a good chance most or all of this response was from misunderstanding why we were there. I did see a woman holding a large sign with as passage from Romans condemning homosexual activity, having a seemingly calm and friendly conversation with a man dressed in rainbows. Still, I was anxious to share my flyer with these people and clarify what exactly it was we wanted to share with them.

Next week I’ll share what the flyer said.

Prayer: Lord, why are we so often afraid to tell others You love them? Why do we expect them to respond negatively to the Good News that has blessed us so much? Do we really think they are that different from us? Or has the enemy succeeded in intimidating us into silence? Break us out of our selfish cocoons and love them through us. And when some respond negatively, keep us from retreating, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

      

“Haven’t you read,” he replied, “that at the beginning the Creator ‘made them male and female,’ and said, ‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united with his wife, and the two will become one flesh’? So, they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.” – Matthew 19: 4-6

I probably should skip posting this week, as we have a very full weekend coming up, but I’m taking a few minutes off from preparing the house for houseguests and making party arrangements to fill in my readers ahead of time.

The day this is scheduled to be posted (Friday, July 14), Marty and I celebrate fifty years (!) of marriage.

“Save-the-dates” were sent out at Christmastime, and official invitations sent out a couple of months ago. Relatives are joining us from all over the country (Arizona to Maine), as well as a couple of long-time friends, who took part in our wedding. In addition to the Best Man (my cousin Larry) and Matron of Honor (my sister Susie), one of our special guests will be another bridesmaid, Cathy, dubbed “Cannonball” back in the day. (Our summer gang played volleyball, and Cathy had a mean serve.) Her sister Carol, who played guitar and sang the “Wedding Song” in the ceremony, is coming with her husband. My niece Sarah, who was our flower girl, is excited about coming, and her husband Pete, photographer extraordinaire, will be accompanying her and taking pictures.

Daughter Kelly is our designated D.J. Months ago, we gave her a long list of songs from the 60’s and 70’s, color-coded (green for dinner music, red for fast dancing, blue for slow dancing), to make into our playlist. In case that’s not enough rock and roll, Simon and Garfunkel, Beach Boys, and Woodstock, there will also be a Karaoke machine for the family hams to knock themselves out.

Our family summer home – where we were married five decades ago – is being spruced up with paint touch-ups, a few new rugs, and a face-lift for the patio. (Thanks, Sweetie! ❤ )

I’ve been making a new wreath for the door and filling flowerpots with white flowers embellished with gold ribbon, as well as designing decorations for the tables: candles in glasses of sand and pebbles, tiny vases of white flowers (not to block our view of one another), and pictures from our wedding in little gold frames. I’m up to my elbows in white and gold.

The cake has been ordered, the caterer is all set, the tables, chairs, and tablecloths reserved.

With a sense of deja vu, it occurred to me that this feels a lot like planning our children’s weddings, except instead of planning someone else’s wedding, it’s been a time of reminiscing about ours.

It seems like forever ago. It seems like yesterday.

A while back I shared the lyrics of a song I wrote for Marty when we had been married about twenty years. Since then, my songs have found their way to SoundCloud. (I told the story of that bit of serendipity on another post – https://seekingdivineperspective.com/2023/05/19/i-guess-im-not-finished-yet/ )

So now – I THINK – I can share the song with you so that you can actually listen to it! This is the demo I had made in my songwriting season in the 80’s, when I took occasional trips to Nashville in search of someone to publish my work. The songs never made it big, but I ended up with (I think) some nice recordings. You won’t hear me. The singers in this recording were hired professionals, which seemed like a better idea at the time. 😉

(Note: This song was written before Kelly came along, so the line “… with a daughter and a son” has been changed to ” … with two daughters and a son.” 😉 )

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wed —er, party to attend…

Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for instituting marriage, to give us a picture of the bond You have with Your Church. What an honor it is to be Your Bride. Help us to be faithful to our wonderful Bridegroom, now and forever, in Your name, amen.

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. – I John 4:7

Some years ago, my little granddaughter and I were on our way to get our allergy shots, and as often happens in the car, we had a “teachable moment.”

“Nana, did God know when He made people that we were gonna sin?” she asked. It was one of those questions of hers that seem to come out of thin air.

“Yes, sweetie, I believe He did. There was a pause as she considered this.

“Did He know Jesus was gonna have to die to save us?”

“That was the plan, yes.” Another pause.

“Then why did He create us?!” she asked, baffled.

How do you answer that, other than, “Because He loves us so much!”?

Recently one of my Facebook friends posted a picture of her newborn daughter, who, of course, was adorable. She posted that in one day her whole attitude toward life and the world was changed. Her perspective had shifted instantly from self to someone else – a helpless little person who couldn’t do a thing for her, and yet who elicited a love in her that she hadn’t known existed before.

I remember that feeling well, of falling instantly in love with that tiny person who so far had done nothing but cause me pain, and yet —! I remember how the proverbial lightbulb had switched on, and how between feedings and diapers I had made an awkward attempt at expressing my epiphany. The result was a poem, which I tried to share with the church but ended up basically blubbering my way through.

The recent Facebook post jogged my memory, and I was surprised at how much of that poem I remember now, over four decades later. Even just now, as I’m writing, the gaps are being filled as the rest is coming back to me

                              Joanna 

Hello there, little stranger - so it was you all along! 
All these months you've waited to sing your birth-day song.
 
I struggled for so many years, I tried so hard to learn 
To understand God's love for me, a love I couldn't earn. 

My sins - there were so many! My failures, far from few. 
I crucified Him daily with the things I'd say and do. 

"Oh God, how could You love me? There's nothing I can do, 
No gift to give, no work to do, that didn't come from You."

And then one night, a miracle, a gift from God above, 
One wondrous summer evening, a child for us to love. 

She was so small and helpless, and yet she looked so fine! 
I loved her - not on merit, but just for being mine. 

Hello there, little stranger. I'm glad you helped me see. 
All these years I never knew how much He cared for me! 

When God created us, He formed us in His image. He knew we’d blow it, but He placed in us a divine spark, and as sinful and selfish as we are, there are those moments – like falling in love with your baby – when that seed of pure love makes itself known. Any parent who has experienced that surge of divine love – that agape – has been given a glimpse of the divine that should inspire us to love and serve the One who created us. After all,

“We love because He first loved us.” (I John 4:19)

Prayer: Heavenly Father, even as we quote the Scripture, “God is love,” we may never in this life fully fathom the depths of that love. – We can’t, because Your love is infinite. All we can do is stand in awe of You and offer our eternal gratitude to You for creating us to be Your beloved children. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

I realize this post is too late for Mother’s Day, or even Father’s Day. And it’s way too early for Christmas, but I want to share a song with you that has touched me deeply, especially in light of my granddaughter’s question. And even though it’s from a Christmas album (my all-time favorite – “Rose of Bethlehem,” by Selah), its relevance is timeless. Listen, meditate on the words, and be in awe of the God who loves you that much.