FINDING JOY

Blind since infancy, living to her nineties, Fanny Crosby 

showed the power of praise in her thousands of hymn texts,

like this one

My first job (no surprise) came with its share of humbling and challenging experiences, plus a fresh appreciation for the practical wisdom in the epistle of James.  Like this: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).

Pure joy? Who was he kidding when I trudged home at night reeking of my colleagues’ second-hand smoke and nursing a headache from the press of deadlines and constant phone ringing?  This was newspaper work in the early 1970s—but I had a job! That was the joy. I remembered how I was hired—a series of “just happened” things.  Disheartened by “not hiring” answers to my job queries at local papers, faced with impending joblessness as my studies ended in mid-March, one day between classes I just happened to go down the hall of offices for journalism professors. One of my profs just happened to have his door open. He told me it just happened that a managing editor from a mid-size daily was interviewing that day for their summer college intern. The job wouldn’t start for three months, but it was something. 

I signed for an appointment, and showed up in business attire with my resume and writing samples. A few days later the editor called and offered the summer job. Plus, their women’s editor needed time off for surgery. Could I come early (like March 17!)  and fill in for her?  By mid-summer, my “intern” job became permanent.  Not only did I grow professionally but personally and, most important, spiritually, as I connected with a Bible-teaching church.

POUT OR PRAISE?

In my five years at that job, I began learning that God was ready to patiently teach me how to “do life.” One big lesson was to look for the little blessings. Despite all the pulpit-pounding admonition I hear in the book of James, there are “look-up” messages. “Is any one if you in trouble?” James asks, “He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise” (5:13).

Decades and several jobs later, I am still learning that. But it is a sweet lesson. And I am learning to pray-through-the-day, not just during the get-down-to-business “quiet time.” I wake up (praise!) and step in the tub for a quick shower (praise: Hot water! Towel! Clothes!). I fix and eat breakfast (praise: food, appliances). I plan my day (praise: I have the health to do something useful).  Things happen, and I find myself saying, “Thank you, Lord.”

William Stoddard, a pastor and teacher of a previous generation, observed in his devotional  First Light (Multnomah, 1990, p. 349): “Prayer is the time to be renewed in our love for God.  Think of all the gifts we have received.  Think of the days of sunshine and blessing.  Think of the cup that overflows with the joys of health and family and loving companions.  Think of the times that love warned us and, to our good, we heeded the warning. Think of the open doors we might never have entered without the gentle and persistent nudge of God’s love.”

Open doors!  Yes, even praise for an open faculty door in 1970 that led to my first full-time job and a writing career. 

SIZZLE

My husband had decided to bring home the bacon, for real. Our local store had a bargain if you bought two packages, and he couldn’t resist. BLTs (bacon-lettuce-tomato-sandwiches) are high in his love language. Yes, we know bacon isn’t on the same health level as kale and bean sprouts, but sometimes we sin against nutritional guidelines. I cook it up, drain it, and stack the pieces between paper towels in a container headed for the freezer.  Besides adding crunch to BLTs, bacon turns scrambled eggs into gourmet delights.

OUT OF THE FRY PAN....
As I stood watch guard over the sizzling fry pan, I had a nudge that there might be a spiritual lesson here. (You’re probably thinking, this lady fried her brain, too!). The heat that releases the fat from the meat is like adversity releasing the spiritual fat from our lives.  This takes me back to James 1:2-4, which became front and center in my life when I jumped out of the frying pan into the fire—I mean, graduated college and went into the “real world” for my first job.  On this bigger stage, I faced many more testings of my faith:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

In college, I hopped through curriculum hoops for ten weeks each, wrote papers and took tests. Then, on to the next class.  In the School of Life, those lessons and tests just keep coming and I never really know how well I am doing. My only hints of a “passing grade” are experiencing the closeness of the Lord and discerning tiny changes in my character. Said another way, the “fat” of fleshly entitlement slowly melts away in the heat of life’s hard places.

Am I “fully cooked”? Well, no. How would you answer that for yourself? Actually, James wrote the answer in the verse above.  This spiritual “cooking” goes on until we’re mature and complete. To me, that is spelled H-E-A-V-E-N. James alludes to that a few verses later:

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. (v. 12)

If I stirred up your taste buds for a BLT, well, glad to know there’s a kindred spirit out there.

Quiet lessons of care-giving

Because she loved anything pink, we planted a pink dogwood
in the yard of my mother-in-law's home. Every spring,
when it blooms, it brings sweet memories of her.

I stood in the store’s cosmetics aisle with my 85-year-old mother-in-law, calling out the color names of lipsticks with a loud voice because of her hearing loss.When she finally chose one, she seemed shocked by price. Dementia had locked her memory of prices to those of decades earlier. At the cash register I paid from her coin purse because counting money confused her. Then I offered my arm for support as we walked to my parked car.
That shopping trip was typical of my day as caregiver for a family member, a role shared by an estimated three to five million American women.

For two decades, I helped her through hip replacement surgery, widowhood, stomach cancer, a heart attack, and the slow decline of Alzheimer’s disease. Eventually she needed total care. When I hurt myself lifting her, the family reluctantly placed her in a care home. She died eleven months later at 89. Sometimes I wondered why God put me in this role for so long. Now I see several lessons He needed to teach me.

1. Slow down. I like a brisk half-hour walk for personal fitness. Her walks, painfully slow, meant she hung on me or a walker, winded after a few steps. Respecting her pace and her many stops to look at flowers renewed my awe of God as Creator. He’s even called the father of the dew (Job 38:28).
2. Find what you’ve lost. Often I hunted through drawers, coat pockets, and paper piles to find a lost hearing aid, bill, or specially-purchased birthday card. When her forgetfulness irritated me, I realized I had lost my joy. Instead of seeking it in circumstances, I needed to simply rejoice in God always (Philippians 4:4).
3. Remember what’s important. Her dementia meant bright memories of the distant past, but a foggy mind about the day’s events, so we wrote daily reminders on an erasable message board. I realized I was prone to “memory loss” of God’s benefits in my life (Psalm 103:2) unless I wrote these down in a notebook or the margins of my Bible.
4. Hear what’s vital. When she cocked her head and looked confused, I’d check if she was wearing her hearing aid. My own spiritual hearing was impaired when responsibilities meant rushing through my days instead of taking little breaks to heed the quiet warning of Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”
5. Pare down. Her Depression-era childhood impressed on her to “save,” meaning I had to toss stained clothes, spoiled food, and empty margarine tubs. But the cleanout made me think of my own stash of “things.” Was I wisely using what God gave me? Was I hoarding something that someone else could use? None of it will make the final move to heaven.
6. Accept help. Every Saturday morning while still in her own home, I washed and set her hair and give her a manicure. “What would I do without you?” she would say, fanning out fingers knobbed by arthritis. I thought of God’s spiritual beauty program for me, targeting an at-times unkempt heart and ragged personality. What would I do without pastors, Bible study leaders, and writers of books that lead me closer to Christ?
7. Look past pain to results. Her face itched almost unbearably after a doctor removed some skin cancer. “Let’s focus on how great you’ll look after the stitches come out,” I said to encourage her. God also asked me to trust His plan in the spirit-surgery of care-giving’s demands. James 1:2-4 assured me that persevering through its trials would led to a mature faith.
8. Seek the good in negatives. One day she mourned how she couldn’t drive or take care of a pet any more. Though tempted to dismiss her comment with a shallow “You’re doing just fine,” I reminded her of the need to pray for her descendants, whose photos filled her walls. “One more thing,” I added, “you still have a really sweet spirit.”  She glowed and reached for a hug. Our interaction prompted me to review how often I encourage rather than discourage others.
9. Keep your eyes on the skies. Long after her husband’s death, she prominently displayed his photo and wore her wedding ring. Often she talked of seeing him again. As we rushed her to the hospital with a heart attack at 84, she kept saying, “If this is the time, I’m ready for Heaven.”  I wonder if I will live as long. When a drinking driver nearly ended my life at age 50, I realized that I didn’t want to die yet, even though I’ve trusted in Christ as Savior and have His promise of eternal life. Though my mother-in-law’s dying, I affirmed that life is brief, but God is eternal.
10. Place God in charge. God knew exactly what He was doing as He led me through this season of care-giving. When I felt overwhelmed, I remembered the promise in Isaiah 43:2, that God would be with me when (not “if”) I passed through the waters of difficulties. “When” meant His strength at just the right time.

Some lessons are best learned in shut-away places. Each morning as I came in her home to help bathe and dress her, then fix her breakfast, I was doing it for Christ. In the hidden, mundane, and sometimes frustrating tasks of care-giving someone He loved and valued, God was shaping me for His glory.

 

That winter splinterland

Twigs and even huge chunks of limbs heavily littered our local orchards in recent weeks. Producing apples, cherries, pears and peaches (and other fruit crops) isn’t all about blooms and harvest. It’s also about maintenance, which includes what may appear to be pruning so heavy that someone like me (unschooled in orchard management) wonders if the pruned tree will even live. This also happens in the winter, before the sap runs. The pruners put in cold, hard days.

The sight reminded me of scriptural passages about pruning and spiritual growth. One is James 1:2-4 (NIV): “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

A key word in that verse is “develops.” Spiritual maturity doesn’t drop into our lives overnight. We’re like orchards, needing pruning as we’re shaped into God’s optimum “fruit-producers.” The “perseverance” mentioned here isn’t the “grit-your-teeth-and-get-through-it” type of living, but a growing reliance on God’s faithfulness in life’s tough spots.

This process is called “spiritual formation,” for through spiritual pruning, Christ is formed in us. One key idea expressed in Klaus Issler’s book, Living into the Life of Jesus (IVP, 2012), is that this involves progressive steps. We’re not zapped with spiritual maturity overnight. As Issler describes the progression:

1. We begin by not seeing ourselves as having a spiritual problem

2. We become aware of our spiritual “gap” and are mulling over whether it’s really worth changing.

3. We’re willing to change, but wonder how. This idea of “depending on the Spirit” comes into play. We don’t know how to change, but He will guide us.

4. We commit to change. We may have setbacks, but we’re committed to keep going--with God’s help.

5. We see changes in our character.

6. We settle into a lifestyle with those changes. It’s easier to do what’s right.

One personal example was Issler’s problem with mild “road rage.” That included negative habits and language to express anger when things didn’t go as he wanted on the freeways of Los Angeles. (Personal note: I am a survivor of Los Angeles traffic, probably thanks to guardian angels galore!) After confessing that his problem of contempt for other drivers was a spiritual issue, he identified scriptures that addressed his problem. He then went into a season of letting God’s Spirit prompt him to respond peacefully every time a highway incident came up. Some months later, he realized a traffic situation no longer roused his anger.

Thankfully, spring follows winter. The blossoms come, and we’re reminded that the God who “prunes” us, sometimes severely, wants only His glorious best for us.