A Slice of Heaven

The Divine Service is often referred to as a slice of heaven, and rightly so. When we go to church to have our ears filled with God's Word and our stomachs filled with Christ's Body and Blood, we truly experience a foretaste of the feast to come.

Recently, working as a reporter at the 66th Regular Convention of the Lutheran Church--Missouri Synod, I feel as though I had a week-long slice of heaven. My husband told me it was the happiest he's seen me in a long time. No offense to my kids, who weren't there. :-) But I agree--this past week was the most relaxed I have felt in ages.

Thinking about why that might be, I can't help reflecting on the past 3/5/7 years. It's been a rather long slog. For the first time in a very long time I find myself in a place in life where there isn't a huge life change, crisis, or ordeal either in the very recent past or near future. It seems like many things are finally falling into place. I give thanks for that blessing while telling myself that the current sense of settled-ness could change at any time.

But I think there are also some very concrete reasons that I found this past week so relaxing. I was working, yes. But there was so much that I didn't have to give thought to. I didn't have to figure out what to make for supper. I didn't have to clean. I didn't have to do laundry! I didn't have to make decisions about what needed to be done any given hour of the day because it was all laid out for me: go to this meeting, report on that committee, write that article. With all the walking I also got a good deal of exercise. And then there was the worship three times per day--one day it was even four! Not to mention being surrounded by people, over a thousand of them, who know whence their help and salvation come, and the joy of seeing and spending time with many good friends and several dear ones. 

Sometimes I have thought of heaven as a place where we have ultimate freedom, not only from sin, but to do the things that make us happy. Right now I'm thinking heaven might be kind of like the convention--freedom from having to think about what to do because God has it planned out for all eternity and it's all good! 

Here are a few pictures from the week.

Totally staged first day pic, pretending like I know what I'm doing. 

Thank you to my friend Katie for taking this. 

A few of the contract writers. These ladies rock! 

A few old friends. Lovely young lady and babysitter extraordinaire from a former congregation, and 

homeschooling Lutheran moms!

 Post-convention date with hubby.

Hubby with The Prez.

I blinked.

I just returned from a 9-day trip out of town with my husband. During that time---

My 20-year-old daughter ran the house, played chauffeur to her 12-year-old brother, and today picked me up at the airport.

The aforementioned 12-year-old calmly rode out a tornado warning while he was home alone and his sister was having lunch with a friend.

My 23-year-old logged another week in Schlern, Italy, playing the first of two performances he will give there, and visiting Seiser Alm and Cremona.

Who are these competent, self-sufficient people and what have they done with my babies???

Donald Trump, the Supreme Court, and Our Children

Last week the United States Supreme Court struck down a Texas law calling for more regulation of abortion providers in the Lone Star state. The regulations had been aimed at protecting the health and safety of women by "by requiring abortion clinics to meet the kinds of medical and safety standards that legitimate medical centers meet."

Also last week that same Supreme Court refused to hear a Washington state ruling forcing pro-life pharmacists to sell drugs that, by causing abortion, violate the pharmacists' religious convictions.

These two cases are perfect examples of why I remain unconvinced by the argument that conservatives who have rejected Donald Trump need to disregard all their reasons for not supporting him and do so because, if nothing else, he will at least put conservative justices on the court. In the first place, I don’t have great faith in Donald Trump to stand by his word. In the second place, the conservative cause has not fared too well with the Supreme Court of late, Republican appointees notwithstanding. Anthony Kennedy, who voted with the majority on both decisions, was appointed by Reagan. Reagan was arguably the most pro-life President we ever had. Yet here we are.

By way of reminder, here are a few more examples from recent and not-so-recent history of Republican-appointed justices not assisting the cause of conservatives:

1) Anthony Kennedy (again, a Reagan appointee) joining with the liberals on the court on gay marriage.

2) George W. Bush appointee John Roberts' repeated bailing out of Obamacare.

3) The votes of Nixon appointees Blackmun, Burger and Powell with the pro-choice side of the Roe v. Wade decision.

4) George H. W. Bush appointee David Souter's turning out to be one of the best friends the causes of Planned Parenthod, the ACLU, and eminent domain ever had.

Time and time again this election season I have been told by some of my fellow conservatives that we are not electing a pastor but a President and that it is necessary for me to compromise my principles because Supreme Court. The events of recent days have only strengthened my conviction that doing so would be a devil’s bargain, a selling of my soul that would gain little in return.

As a parent trying to teach my child right from wrong, what has become clear to me over the last almost 25 years is that human behavior is much more influenced by example than it is by external rules. The old poem "Children Learn What They Live" got it right. Parents can talk unceasingly about telling the truth. If they are repeatedly dishonest in their own personal and professional dealings, that is what a child will learn. If they readily toss their convictions for reasons of pragmatism, children will learn that, too.

That doesn't mean we shouldn't have rules or teach principles of right and wrong. Of course we should. But rules don't change hearts. And in the heart/mind battle over decisions of conscience, it is usually the heart that wins. Why do you think we term something that has been truly learned as being "taken to heart" or "learned by heart"? The heart is where the rubber of our principles meets the road of our life--where gut checks happen and all that we believe is put to the test.

I am not saying that conservatives should give up. To the contrary, we need to work harder than ever before. But we deceive ourselves if we think the battle is ultimately going to be won in the public arena. The Supreme Court has demonstrated that it cannot be counted on to do its job. Conservatives’ best hope, then, is our children, for theirs are the minds and hearts we have the greatest capacity to change. We cannot hope to do so by voting for someone whose life and behavior make a mockery of everything we have tried to teach them.

How to Survive the Homeschool Expo: Introvert Edition

1. Check in at registration desk and get packet of goodies.

2. Head over to vendor hall.

3. Quickly circle vendor hall, avoiding all eye contact.

4. Exit vendor hall.

5. Decide you really need to get some groceries for the folks back home. What were you even thinking, leaving them all alone for an entire hour? Poor souls are probably starving by now!

6. Drive to grocery store, buy groceries, and drive home.

7. Verify everyone at home is still alive. Put away groceries, make cup of coffee, and settle down in comfy chair with bag of goodies and conference brochure.

8. Eat a healthy lunch so as to build up strength for the afternoon.

9. Head out to try again. You can do this! You're a mighty homeschool mom!

Don't mind me--I'm just gonna hang out here in my shell a while. 

Photo from David DeHetre/Creative Commons. 

I Threw Out the Cheerios Today

They were my mom's Cheerios, the Cheerios that have been in my pantry for about 6 months now. They were in my pantry on January 12 of this year, and Mom probably had some for breakfast. But at lunch that day she fainted and fell. I called 911, and an ambulance came and took her to the hospital. She did not get better, and on February 19 she came home so she could die in her own room. She went to be with Jesus on February 22.

I have tried on more than one occasion to throw out those Cheerios. No one else in the house eats them. They're getting stale. They're just taking up room. But each time, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Until today. As I was putting groceries away I suddenly grabbed them off the shelf and in one motion, before I could think too much, put them in the trash.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Just Putting This Here

Not too long ago I wrote a #neverTrump article that has yet to find a home. At this point I don't think it ever will unless that home is here. Apparently the market for such articles is saturated and the articles that are getting published seem not to be having any effect on the people for whom they are intended anyway. Sigh. I thought with the second election of President Obama I knew what it was to be discouraged about our country's future. I am now experiencing that on a whole new level.

Anyway, I don't think I can move on unless I go ahead and post this somewhere. But I totally I understand if you skip it.

A Bully Too Far

One of the most puzzling aspects of the Donald Trump phenomenon, at least to me, is the extent to which my opinion has diverged from that of people with whom I typically have a great deal in common. There are many in my friend and family circles who see him as I do, as a dangerously volatile individual lacking in the personal characteristics I seek in a President. But there are also those who take a different view, seeing in Trump someone who offers the hope they so desperately seek. These are smart, conservative, patriotic and God-fearing people who largely share my values and world view. How did we end up so far apart?

It's a question that many have tried to address, and certainly there is no single answer. A few months ago in The Federalist A.D.P. Efferson took a stab at it with an analysis based on crisis theory. Efferson likens Trump supporters to those who have reached such a profound level of desperation that they experience a kind of breakdown, acting in ways they might otherwise not. Yet I think I have reached that same point of desperation, and Trump makes me feel more, not less, desperate.

Another theory focuses on Trump’s supposed appeal to the “authoritarian personality.” But the definition of authoritarian as someone who values order, the upholding of tradition, good manners and respect for authority fits me, and I am frightened by, not attracted to, “authoritarian” candidate Trump. I think the definition of authoritarian utilized by these pieces is faulty, too closely equating it with conservative Christianity, and I agree with this piece in the Washington Post that suggests it is less authoritarianism than populism driving Trump.

Instead, the psychological explanation to which I find myself repeatedly returning (because it’s gotta be psychological, since it is most assuredly not logical for conservatives to be supporting Trump) is Laura Ingraham's identification of Trump as the anti-bully. Here is the gist of Ingraham's argument:

"But the truth is that most, if not all, of the folks supporting Trump don’t care who he offends, as long as he’s standing up for them. They feel like they’ve been bullied for years. For them, Trump is like the savior kid in the schoolyard who takes on the bully by popping him right in the eye. The kids who have been ridiculed or roughed up suddenly have a champion."

Ingraham goes on to enumerate some of the ways Americans have been bullied in recent years. She is spot on that Americans, especially those of my ilk, are increasingly frightened of and angry at the reach of big government and deeply troubled by our seeming inability to combat it via the system that is in place. Why, then, do some of my like-minded friends look at Trump with hope while others such as myself recoil in fear? I think one determiner of how people react to Trump could be the bully factor: an individual's past experience, or relative lack thereof, with bullies.

There was a time in my adolescence when I was regularly bullied by schoolmates. It wasn't just a few scattered instances of teasing. It was day in, day out systematic targeting for several years. That sort of thing does a number on a person, affecting the way he looks at others, and the world, for the rest of his life. Among other things, it can result in making one 1) more skeptical and less trusting of others, 2) more sensitized to the marks of a bullying personality, and, ironically, 3) more vulnerable to falling under the spell of a bully in a misguided effort to align oneself with the axis of power.

In addition to my childhood experience of being bullied, I have several times gotten tangled up with an adult bully. The bullying done by an adult is much more covert than that done by a child. Whereas a child will bully another child in a very obvious way via physical abuse or overt verbal attacks, adult bullies are sneaky, utilizing psychological games and passive-aggressive behaviors. Sometimes the one who is bullied may not even realize what is going on until the pattern is well established. Adult bullying goes hand-in-hand with narcissism, since adult bullies are those whose arrested development leads them to never get beyond looking at others as objects to be used for their purposes. We all essentially begin life as narcissists, seeing ourselves as the center of the universe and others as extensions of ourselves, but the healthy person grows beyond that, developing empathy and an awareness of the inherent worth and otherness of those around him. The narcissist never makes that leap.

Interestingly, in Megyn Kelly’s recent make-nice interview with Trump, The Donald himself brought up the topic of adult bullying but then dismissed it as something people just need to get over. It might seem surprising that the one at whom so many have leveled charges of bullying would raise the topic, but it is actually characteristic of narcissists to criticize others for the very behavior in which they are engaging. It’s an element of the technique known as gaslighting, by which an abuser keeps a victim constantly off-balance by employing a number of strategies to make the victim doubt his own perceptions and thinking process. (Trump’s facility with gaslighting has been highlighted by more than one observer.)

Today as I find myself faced with the choice of whether to once again put my trust in someone who has so many of the marks of a bully, I have sometimes wished I could ignore all the alarm bells ringing in my ears and join my friends who have already jumped on the Trump train. His paternal, “trust me and I’ll take care of it” approach is admittedly tempting. Yeah, he’s a bully, but he’s on my side. It would be so easy to just give in and quit worrying about everything and leave it all up to Papa Trump to fix. But I am always caught up short by the little voice inside me screaming with all of its might, “No. Stop. You have been there, done that, and you have gotten burned. You can’t count on the bigger bully to take care of it for you, because some day the bigger bully will take the power you gave him and use it against you.”

It is for this reason that as much as my present self might be attracted to the defender-hero Trump says he will be, my past self is not falling for it this time around. I have seen too many Trumps in my day. I have, I am ashamed to say, sometimes stood by silently while they have wreaked their havoc on others. As a result I have learned a few things. When it comes to bullies, there is no such thing as an innocent bystander. A bully is not in it for anyone but himself. His promises all come with an expiration date. You are either for him or against him, and if you question him in any way or give any indication that you are not 100 percent loyal to the “cause,” whatever it is, you are punished or summarily banished. Having been there, done that one time too many, I refuse to willingly open myself up to it again, and I refuse to be a party to the bullying of anyone else, in this case, the country I love. In the words of Huck Finn: "I can't stand it. I been there before."

Photo Credit. 

End of the Innocence

When you're 51 years old, both your parents are dead, your children are growing up too fast, you don't know what happened to your country, but you find that the sea of your life is calm for the moment after having come through a string of storms, this song will flatten you. Ask me how I know.

    


Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standin' by
But "happily ever after" fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly

But I know a place where we can go
That's still untouched by men
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

O' beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They're beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie

But I know a place where we can go
And wash away this sin
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair spill all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

Who knows how long this will last
Now we've come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us
I need to remember this
So baby give me just one kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say goodbye

Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

by Bruce Hornsby & Don Henley

Mother's Day

Yesterday I changed my profile pic on Facebook to this one.

Since then, I keep looking at it, amazed that there was a time my mom and I were the same height. By the time she died, her osteoporosis was so progressed that she was hardly over five feet tall. Aging is brutal and death is terrible. Time does such cruel things to the body. I'm not talking about the cosmetic stuff--the wrinkles and gray hair and such. I'm talking about disintegrating bones, organs that don't work right anymore, teeth that can't chew, failing senses, a slowing brain, and weakening muscles. As those things wreak their havoc on the body, it can be easy for others to start seeing the person differently--to think that the 85-year-old is someone different from the 45-year-old or 15-year-old. But on the inside, nothing has really changed. That soul, that precious child of God, created by Him and loved by Him, is the same as it has always been. It still gets sad and lonely and afraid. It still wants its mommy. It still needs to feel that it is loved and accepted. It still needs a Savior.

This is Babsy. She is one of Jesus' little lambs, loved by Him fully and unconditionally. She's not sad, lonely or afraid anymore.

A Noble Task

I keep seeing this post getting shared on Facebook. Every time I do, I cringe anew. I have a very difficult time understanding how anyone could find it to be helpful.

The author begins by asking a few questions. I would like to answer them.

Would you go to the church on the corner knowing that the pastor is an ex-con? 

Yes. 

What about the congregation three streets over, where the pastor is prone to lying? 

No.

The pastor at the store-front church who’s always questioning the truth about what the Gospels say about Jesus? 

No. (Really? This needs to be said?)

What about bad language? If the new pastor has a potty-mouth, would you still regularly attend church? 

And risk my children hearing their pastor saying things for which they would be punished? Um, no.

What if he’s kind of a thug too? 

No, no, no.

Here's the deal. "Ex-con" means that the man has repented of his previous sinful lifestyle. We are all sinners, pastors included. Someone who has repented and been forgiven and now rejects the sinful behavior should not have it held over his head the rest of his life or be prevented from using his God-given gifts and talents to serve a suffering world.

The problem with the rest of the questions is that they indicate ongoing behavior. One who is "prone" to lying is one who does so habitually. One who is "always" questioning the truth about what the Gospels say has no business teaching those Gospels. Someone who "has a potty-mouth" (as opposed to occasionally slipping and saying a bad word) demonstrates an inability or unwillingness to attempt to moderate his habit of speech out of love for his flock. Someone who is (not was) a thug is one who repeatedly acts in thug-like ways, bullying people, lording over them, running his church like a mob boss.

So to answer the broader question, no. Assuming I had a choice, I wouldn't go to a church like that. Yes, we all sin. We all fail every day. By the grace of God we repent and are forgiven. Sometimes even then we fall into the very same sin again. Again we turn to our Lord and repent and again He forgives. But if we get to a place where we don't see the sin as sin or where we view ourselves as prisoners to sin, hopeless to ever stop it, constantly throwing ourselves on God's mercy again and again because He forgives again and again, we are to my thinking in a very dangerous place. "It's just the way I am. But God will forgive me."

Yes, He will. But at what point have we quit being truly sorry, telling ourselves before we even commit the sin, "I can do this because afterward God will forgive me"? It is extremely treacherous territory, and when it is institutionalized into the life of a congregation because that congregation's shepherd is constantly hiding behind the Gospel, never truly repenting but constantly excusing and rationalizing bad behavior, that is not a church I could feel safe at. I am frankly dumbfounded that this sort of thinking is being promoted as something good.

I don't know--perhaps I am extra sensitive on this matter because I have in the past been hurt by my church and pastor. But my suggestion to anyone reading and sharing this piece is to go study 1 Timothy 3 and think long and hard about the ramifications of going to a church with a pastor who does not appreciate the seriousness of the calling with which he has been entrusted. The spiritual and emotional damage that can be done by such a man is real and long-lasting. 

(P. S. And don't tell me there's no such thing as a perfect church or a perfect pastor. God disabused me of that notion a long time ago and I am very thankful He did. But there is such a thing as a safe and healthy church, and there is such a thing as a faithful, upright, and loving pastor. And when you seek out a church home you are justified in looking for both.)

Sympathy Letters from Kids

I finally got around to going through a bag of sympathy notes that were written to me by students at one of the schools I play piano for. I go to this school, a middle school, about once a week to attend chorus rehearsals and play for performances. I feel bad that it took me so long to get around to reading all the notes. There were over 100 of them.

Here are a few excerpts I wanted to preserve for posterity because I found them funny, touching, or unique or just because they made me smile. Enjoy. The authors are all sixth, seventh, or eighth graders. :-)

"I drew a rainbow because when my aunt passed away my mom said think of rainbows because it shows the bright side and it helps me. So maybe it will help you. My mom also tells me to think about the rainbow because my brother is in the air force and when he leaves it makes me sad."

"I will be praying for you. Thank you for being SO NICE to us even though we are crazy and loud. You are VERY good at the piano. I love you so much!"

"Thank you for being our accompanist, even though we're a band of bumbling baboons 90% of the time."

"Thank you for still coming to play with us tomorrow. I couldn't do it. I'm not that strong. My mom is still alive, but it feels like I don't know her. I haven't seen her in 3 years."

"It stinks to hear about what's happening, but for the short period of time I've known you, I think you can get through it. I know you can because I did. My brother died 1 year, 1 month, 6 days ago. You are much stronger than a 12-year-old so I know you can make it through."

"Hello. I am unsure what losing a parent feels like, but I have witnessed the death of some things. I once had a funeral for a turtle I found on the side of the road, and I remember how sad my family was when my grandfather died, even though I was not. I was five or six and I suppose death didn't really make sense to me. Or rather, I didn't really understand it enough to feel it. I'm fourteen and honestly don't know all that much, but I think that life is an incredible thing. Therefore, even though a life has been lost and I am certain that it hurts, there's still more life to marvel at. I hope that wasn't insensitive; I genuinely was not trying to be."

"I am glad you are the piano player at our school because you make us so much better than we already are."

"I love walking into choir and seeing you in the room."

"Every time I hear you play a smile will not come off my face. I also think you are very beautiful. I LOVE YOUR HAIR."

"To be honest I don't really know what to say. What I do know is that there are some days when all you want to do is be left alone. And then there are other days when all you want is a hug. I don't know what kind of day this is for you, but I just want you to know that I care, and that our entire women's choir cares! And I don't know if you're a religious person or not, but here's a Bible verse that always helps me when I'm going through a rough time: 1 Corinthians 10:13. Just always know that God will forever be by your side."

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Four-Year Anniversary

I was so sick Wednesday I didn't even think about it, but April 20 was our four-year anniversary. Feel free to quit reading if you're sick of hearing about it. It was a pivotal moment in this family's life, leaving its mark in ways that were terrible at the time but that have turned out in the long run to be so good. For that reason I don't know if we will ever quit marking it, at least among ourselves.

In a way it's hard to believe it's already been four years. On the other hand, so much has happened that I find myself asking, "Really? Only four years?"

As the date rolled around this year, my prevailing thought has been of sadness that the events of early 2012 did such a profound number on me and took so much out of me that there was even less of me to give to my mom in her last years. I don't lay it all at the feet of that event. That would be stupid. My mom was a sinner. I am a sinner. She was difficult. I was pre-menopausal. We both struggled with depression. But toss into that the blowing up of my husband's job and the primary focus of our days--our church--and I was struggling so to keep my own head above water that I had very little to give anyone. My husband and children came first, Mom after. I wish I had had more to give her emotionally her last years. I cared for her physically. I tried to love her. But it was really hard. I hope I made up for it a little the last couple of years after we moved to Oklahoma and started feeling normal again.

I recently stumbled on this picture. It was taken on August 12, 2012, the last day we were ever in my husband's former office. The print had been purchased for my husband by a member of the family as sort of a joke. We all have those kinds of days, right? But for a good portion of 2012 every day was that kind of day. We decided to leave the print behind, and in retrospect I am so very glad we did. We left so much behind that needed to be left behind, including that print, and we are so much the better and healthier for it.

Again I give thanks to an amazing God who knows so much better what we need than we do. May I always, always remember that.

Life Update

Hello! Anyone there? Considering how infrequently I post these days, I wouldn't be surprised if the answer were no. For the three of you who are still dropping by on occasion, here's a "what we've been up to" post.  :-)

Tomorrow will be seven weeks since Mom died. I have been spending a lot of time in her room. A few people have asked if we will be moving into it (it is the designated master bedroom). Maybe we will some day, when our knees are tired of going up and down the stairs. But for right now, we are thinking we will make it into a home office/guest room. I have already started using it as a place to get away to when I need time alone to write or edit or just be. It is such a nice room, big and bright and peaceful. 

The college kids will be home in about a month. Yay! They will be home all summer, other than several weeks Trevor will be in Italy for a piano festival. We will cap the summer with a family camping trip to Big Bend National Park in Texas. I wonder if we can find any spots like this one to pitch our tent on?

Unpacking is going slowly. You know that old Benjamin Franklin quote about death and taxes? That's pretty much what has governed my life the last few months. Maybe some more boxes will be opened and some more books will find their way to the shelves after April 15. (This year I am doing taxes for a rostered, called Lutheran cantor, so there is a bit of a learning curve. :-))

I have several articles in the queue to get published elsewhere but I have no idea when they will see the light of day. 

It has become normal to see preteen boys not my own running around the back yard, playing video games in the family room, or scrounging the kitchen for something to eat or drink. Believe it or not, even though I am on my third preteen this has not been a regular occurrence in my life as a mom. I like it. 

According to Facebook, today is siblings day. Here is a picture of me with my siblings, taken at my mom's funeral:

Here's the same group 16 years ago, on my mom's 70th birthday (we haven't changed that much, have we?):

I sure do love those people.*

We are coming up on a significant anniversary in our family history. I can honestly say that we have officially moved from asking "Why did that happen" to saying "Thank God that happened." So much good has come out of it, at least for us. I don't know if the same can be said for others. I pray, if the answer is no, that will change some day. 

It's almost cocktail hour here in Oklahoma. Off to the porch! Wherever you are this Lord's day, I hope you can find a few moments to put your feet up, breathe in the Lord's goodness, and bask a while. If circumstances are such that you can't bask right now, trust that even when it doesn't feel like it, His light is still shining on you, warming, nourishing and sustaining you through the fallow time and readying you for the next growing season. His peace be yours.  

*These are the siblings with whom I share a mom. There are four more, two of whom are deceased, with whom I share a dad.

Some of the Music from the Week

"A Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth" (LSB 438) from Cheryl on Vimeo.



"His Love Is Everlasting" (Psalm 136) - Setting by Marty Haugen from Cheryl on Vimeo.


(There is no picture for this one, just audio.)
"O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" from Cheryl on Vimeo.



Easter Vigil Procession, Immanuel Lutheran Church, Broken Arrow, OK from Cheryl on Vimeo.



"Come All Ye Thirsty" from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Click here for "Jesus Christ is Ris'n Today." (I could not get it to embed.)



"This Is the Day" (Psalm 118) from Cheryl on Vimeo.



 
Be Ye Glad from Paul-Andrew Cromer on Vimeo.

A Hundred Little Occasions

"Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from the young lady, and wishing that time could come over again, that he might never cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service; and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so little done - of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time."

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, Chapter 33

Four Weeks Later

Last night was the four-week mark since Mom's death. Everyone is doing okay. We encounter daily reminders of her absence--bumping up against things in the pantry or refrigerator that were hers, or hearing a noise in the house and briefly attributing it to her before remembering that, oh yeah, she's not here anymore. But we know that she is TODAY in Paradise, and the comfort that brings covers all the sadness. I give thanks that she lived for 85 years and that her life was a testament to the preciousness of life and to God's care of His children. Going through some of my mom's things I found her baptismal certificate. She wasn't baptized until she was 30. I didn't know that before (or if I did, I forgot). At the time, she was living in Japan with her first husband, who was stationed there. By that time she had six children, all of whom had been baptized. But she hadn't been. I wish I knew the story there. Did she think she was baptized and found out she wasn't? In any case, it is another way her own parents failed her. But the Lord did not fail her. He claimed her and called her and made her His own. Thanks be to God.

In the last few years of her life Mom became increasingly thin. It was a major contributing factor to her always feeling cold. Lately I find myself thinking of her in her casket in the earth, where it must be cold. She doesn't have a sweater! I need to constantly remind myself she's not there. She's not cold. She's bathing in the warmth of her Savior.

Of all the old pictures I have come across of her over the past month, I think this is my favorite.

Funeral Sermon for Barbara Lou Hollis

Rev. John Wilke, preacher

If a picture paints a thousand words, then what words does this picture paint? This picture of Barbara’s hand being held by a daughter is a scene no doubt repeated many times through her life. But I would guess more often than naught, it was Barbara, the mother, whose hand would hold her daughter's. 

The hand of a mother does many things throughout the life of a child. When the child is still an infant, that mother’s hand reaches out to grasp those tiny fingers as if to say, “It’s all going to be okay.” And in the middle of the night when a daughter is fearful, that mother’s hand reaches out and brings safety and security. A mother’s hand can, in one moment, be raised in discipline, and then in the next be found wiping away tears. A mother’s hand offers unconditional love to the child scorned by others. A mother’s hand offers guidance to that unstable baby taking those first few steps. A mother’s hand, every wrinkle and every scar or swollen joint, is a sign of love.

But a mother’s hand also bears the signs of sin. And in this picture, the frail hand of Barbara serves as a clear reminder to us of the curse of sin. This hand is aged, this hand is weary, and this hand is clinging to her daughter’s as life is slipping away. Death is that sure and certain reminder of sin; both in our world and in our lives. 

But there is another set of hands we can picture today. Those hands were described to us in our gospel reading. The first set of hands belong to a doubter named Thomas. He cannot believe in the Lord’s resurrection unless his eyes can see and his hands can touch the wounds of his savior. 
So our hands and Barbara’s hands begin life as the hands of a doubting Thomas. We cannot believe what we cannot see, we cannot trust what we cannot understand. We live in doubt and disbelief, leading to despair and death. Unless a hand reaches out save us we have no hope.

The other hands in our gospel today are the hands of Jesus. They are scarred and bloody with the wounds of crucifixion. They are the hands of a dead man now living. Those hands of Jesus, the hands of Thomas’ Lord and God, are the hands of our salvation. 

It is Jesus, who reaches down into humanity, down into our lives and grabs our hands. He reaches down to hold our hand because our human hand in its weakened, sinful state cannot reach up. He holds onto our hands because our grasp is too frail.

The hands of Jesus, like the hands of mother, do many things for each of us. Those hands were stretched out upon the cross, pierced by nails all for our sake. In baptism that hand of Jesus traced upon our foreheads and our hearts the sign of the cross marking us and Barbara as one redeemed. 
The hand of Jesus, through the preaching of the Word, has been raised to us in discipline, calling us to repentance. And then that same hand reaches down in grace and mercy to place Jesus’ own body and blood upon our lips that we might be forgiven. When we are frightened and afflicted by the events of this world, the hand of Jesus reaches out and takes hold of our hand and walks us through the valleys of this life.

And as we begin to lose our grip on this life and this world, the hand of Jesus even more holds onto our hand. The strong hand of our savior leads us safely through the valley of the shadow of death so that we need not fear. His hands lead us gently into the loving arms of our waiting heavenly Father.

On Valentine’s Day, I met with Barbara and commended her to the Lord. In her room we read the words of Psalm 31. There together we prayed, “Into your hands I commend my spirit, you have redeemed me. O LORD faithful God.” In death Barbara was entrusted into the hands of her heavenly Father who so graciously provided for her in this life through the hands of Jesus.

Even now, in the midst of things we cannot fully understand Jesus comes with hands of love and tender mercy. He comes to the grieving that he might wipe away their tears in the promise of heaven where there will be no more crying and no more tears. In life and death the Lord held Barbara’s hand and so he will for us as well. May the hand of God rest upon all who grieve and mourn that they might know his grace and mercy.

Funeral Service of Barbara Lou Hollis, February 27, 2016

Preservice Meditation - "Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us"
Cheryl Magness, piano

Prelude - "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say"
Bianca Wilke, soprano
Phillip Magness, piano

Invocation

Hymn - "And There's Another Country"

Kyrie

Salutation and Collect of the Day

First Reading - Job 19:23-27

Psalm 27 - "The Lord is My Light" (David Haas)
Bianca Wilke and Kyle Lowry, vocals
Phillip Magness, vocal/piano

Second Reading - 1 Cor. 15:50-58

Verse - Rev. 1:5-6; 2 Tim. 2:11b, 12a. 13

Holy Gospel - John 20:24-29

The Apostles' Creed

Hymn - "Amazing Grace"
Phillip Magness, piano

Sermon - Rev. John Wilke

Hymn - "Jerusalem, My Happy Home"
Kyle Lowry and Phillip Magness, soloists

Prayer of the Church

The Lord's Prayer

Canticle of Commendation - Nunc Dimittis
Phillip, Cheryl, Trevor, Caitlin and Evan Magness, choir

Collect

Benedicamus and Benediction

Recessional Hymn - "If Christ Had Not Been Raised"

Postlude - "Lord, Take My Hand and Lead Me"

Organist for the Service was Phillip Magness.
Crucifer, Wes Beasley
Immanuel Lutheran Church, Broken Arrow, OK

Hands

Writing this down so I don't forget it.

The pic is from last week at the nursing home, but last night I was sitting with my mom in much the same way, holding her hand, when she told me my hands were cold. (Actually they weren't--hers were--but I don't argue with my mama these days.)

I let go of her hand I was holding and put it under the blanket. A few minutes later she asked, "Where are your hands?"

I showed her. "Right here, Mom."

Then she asked, "Where are your daddy's hands?" (Earlier in the day she had asked where my daddy was. He died 22 years ago.) I told her, "Daddy's hands are in heaven, with him."

Then she asked, "Where are my [her] hands?" I couldn't help giggling a little as I showed her her own hands.

Later I was talking to Evan (my 12-year-old) and told him about the whole exchange, which I took to be indicative of her confusion. He said, "That's kind of like when I was a baby and you would ask me where everything was: Where's your nose? Where are your eyes? Where are your fingers? Where are your toes? Where are your hands?"

Oh. Wow. Confusion? Maybe. Or maybe, memories.  

Update, one year later: I just had another memory about hands that happened after this post was written. Just a little while before she died I was holding my mom's hand. Suddenly she started squeezing mine--hard! So hard! I didn't know she had that much strength left in her. I don't know if she knew she was about to go and was saying goodbye or trying to hold on. But I will never forget that squeeze. 

Keeping Vigil

My mom has come home from rehab and is now under hospice care. We have entered a time of waiting.

We grieve that it has come to this and that we were not able to bring home a healthier, stronger patient. But we also look at it as an incredible gift. We have been given the opportunity to prepare. Phone calls have been made. Visits are being planned. Most important of all, we have been provided a chance to say a proper goodbye. There are so many who don't get that.

I am not sure how long the time of waiting will be. That is in the Lord's hands. We are taking steps now to adjust our various schedules so Mom is not alone, including lining up some volunteers from church to sit with her when both my husband and I need to be at a service. With Lent upon us and Holy Week and Easter on the horizon, there are a number of times when we both have responsibilities.

If you pray, please pray for peace: peace in our home, peace for my mom, and peace at the last.

My Mom

The pictures are a rerun from Mothers Day, 2009. My mom is not doing well. She has been in hospital/skilled nursing care after fainting due to a urinary tract infection about 4-1/2 weeks ago. Since that time she has lost weight and mobility. Today we found out the UTI has returned. I would appreciate your prayers for healing and encouragement.

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
    of whom shall I be afraid?

 When evildoers assail me
    to eat up my flesh,
my adversaries and foes,
    it is they who stumble and fall.

 Though an army encamp against me,
    my heart shall not fear;
though war arise against me,
    yet I will be confident.

 One thing have I asked of the Lord,
    that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
    and to inquire in his temple.

 For he will hide me in his shelter
    in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
    he will lift me high upon a rock.

 And now my head shall be lifted up
    above my enemies all around me,
and I will offer in his tent
    sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing and make melody to the Lord.

 Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud;
    be gracious to me and answer me!
 You have said, “Seek my face.”
My heart says to you,
    “Your face, Lord, do I seek.”
     Hide not your face from me.
Turn not your servant away in anger,
    O you who have been my help.
Cast me not off; forsake me not,
    O God of my salvation!
 For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
    but the Lord will take me in.

 Teach me your way, O Lord,
    and lead me on a level path
    because of my enemies.
 Give me not up to the will of my adversaries;
    for false witnesses have risen against me,
    and they breathe out violence.

 I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living!
 Wait for the Lord;
    be strong, and let your heart take courage;
    wait for the Lord!
(Psalm 27)

Me and Mom leaving the hospital, July 1964

(the photo spent a number of years in a circular frame--thus, the unfortunate fading)

Christmas 1981, departing for Midnight Mass

At my college senior piano recital, 1986

Wedding, 1987

Grandma, Trevor, Caitlin, and Giselle, 1998

Grandma & Evan, 2003