Facing the Tough Stuff

                                             

            For decades I never told anyone about my biggest, most intense fear: a tornado. When did it begin? It wasn’t always there but serious thinking back failed to reveal its beginning. When I was a very little girl, my mother told me about her family being in a tornado and that she was scared, but that seemed like a “once upon a time” story, happening long before I was born. She was very young herself at the time, so that didn’t really seem real to me. The tornado that carried Dorothy and Toto to the Land of Oz landed the girl in a Technicolor wonderland, so that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

            Once during my high school years, I remember standing with neighbors in our front yard watching an eerie wall cloud rumble across the sky above. One of the neighbors (raised in Tornado Alley, Oklahoma) proclaimed it was the classic cloud carrying a tornado ready to dip down at any moment, anywhere along its path, whenever it chose. Impressive enough to take seriously, but it was nothing to cause heart-stopping terror. That came later, gradually; over time it grew from normal caution and respect into a panic response at the mere threat of a storm anywhere in the county. 

             My sister and her husband encountered a small twister while driving along a Missouri highway and left their car and sheltered in a ditch, then, unharmed, drove on their way. I knew they are survivable, but not for me.

My imagination was fed generously by television newsmen and their detailed reports of storms hundreds of miles away—they looked so close on the map and stern warnings issued as the storms developed demanded serious attention. Then one spring storm season, I found myself at home with two small children, a husband working the night shift. I soon formed the habit of sitting up in bed, lights on, waiting for each storm warning to be declared “all clear”, making the next day at work extremely tedious as I sleepwalked through my job. If the storm was particularly close and turbulent (according to my television friend’s warning), on those nights I sat up until the storm passed our area, fully clothed, purse, car keys, flashlight at my fingertips. In case I dozed off, I kept the television on, even though the channels had signed off around midnight, because I knew my faithful protector at Channel 5 would (at full volume) broadcast news of any secondary storm fronts passing by.

            Somewhere along my journey I began to have nightmares about cyclones, usually taking the form of my joining a line of many people standing helplessly, watching a huge tornado approaching from miles away, headed directly for us. Paralyzed with terror, we awaited our doom, making no attempt to escape. Thankfully, in none of those dreams did the storm ever arrive before I awoke. The thought of being buried under what’s left of a house gives a whole new insight into the vengefulness of the witch in Munchkin Land when her sister was squashed by Dorothy’s house arriving suddenly from Kansas.

Yes, when we’re awake, we remember all the warnings to run from them, take cover, promising we can, if caught outdoors, safely outrun a storm and should head at right angles to their path. On the other hand, we also have seen television films showing the erratic hop-skip-jump path they take, leaving debris or clean foundations where a community of homes was an hour earlier, leading me to take those guarantees of safety with a grain of salt. 

Then came the day I learned a lot about myself. 

On an early spring day while I was at work, at Abbott Labs in Irving, there were reports of hook clouds in multiple locations in the immediate area but none had touched down so far. When I left for home at 4:00 the wind was blowing leaves and trash almost horizontally to the road and I could look to the north and west and see several of those hook clouds all around DFW airport, which raised goose bumps and whitened my knuckles on the steering wheel. Then, as though that wasn’t enough to panic me, as I headed south, I passed a police car parked on the median strip of Belt Line Road in Irving, facing north with the driver’s door open and a uniformed policeman standing facing north, his radio to his lips, staring straight at the sky.behind me.

Later that day the TV news reported hanger and small aircraft damage at DFW Airport, less than three miles away, proving I hadn’t overestimated the danger I had avoided. However, still hoping for the best, I turned off Belt Line Road onto the service road to Airport Freeway. Once I entered the freeway the wind accelerated, still horizontal, blowing straight to the south, broadside to my car, carrying such dirt, leaves and small debris that the road almost disappeared. I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, hoping rain would follow and the wind would die down so I could proceed home. The wind seemed to come in gusts, like a powerful heartbeat, and my car rocked hard with each gust as though my right wheels would leave the ground with the next blow.             

I had recently attended a week-long revival preached by evangelist Jack Taylor and now understood what a shallow, powerless, fearful Christian I had always been. More important I had become convinced that Christians are not limited to their human strengths and are not supposed to live that way. As I sat in that rocking car, I looked across three lanes of traffic to my left and prayed. I recognized that beyond the next few minutes my next sight would likely be heaven or a hospital and prayed my rolling car wouldn’t hit and injure someone else on the freeway. Now calm, the thought came to me; “I need something to hold this car down.” Immediately a song we had sung all week in church came to mind and I began to sing “He’s my rock, He’s my deliverer”. The car heaved mightily once more and then sat glued to the road, stable as the Rock holding it in place. I sat for a while watching the wind still sending dirt, leaves and debris flying across the road yet my car never quivered again. 

If we’re lucky, we may receive such direct assurance of our destiny a few times in a lifetime. This was one of perhaps half dozen great revelations over my eight decades.  His Holy Spirit had physically held me on my feet at my mother’s graveside some twenty years ago. A few years later I watched His loving care through Kathy’s long illness until He opened Heaven’s door for my daughter. His presence was so tangible I felt it would be sacrilege to mourn my loss, knowing her body and speech were now restored and she was singing freely once more, this time directly to the subject of her music: her Lord and God.

All I know is that since that spring day in Irving, I listen to storm warnings and take precautions, taking cover in a closet if need be, but otherwise remain calm. No more nightmares about cyclones, no more morbid fascination with storms, just a quick prayer breathed for any possible victims of the storm as it passed through and reasonable care when called for. .And just t prove it to me, there was a test!

At 3:30 a.m. April 10, 2008, my Father in Heaven again proved He cared for me beyond my safety; He protected me from any remnant of fear that might remain in a dark corner of my heart. You see, the power went out during the night before, keeping me awake for a few hours. By bedtime on April 9, I was exhausted enough to sleep through the strange-sounding wind that woke my neighbors and sent them to their hallway for safety. No chance of my worrying or being fearful, even though a few hours earlier I had seen on the television radar screen that a tornado, forming and dissolving and forming again, was on a path toward south Hurst. 

However, at 3:30 a.m. a monstrous crash and a ball of fire outside my window raised me inches above my recliner. I was convinced there had been a very close lightning strike because the flash of light and the booming noise were almost simultaneous. I knew the power was off, the phone and security system both dead, but after a couple of hours, dozed off again. Until a neighbor knocked on my door the next morning I didn’t know the huge cottonwood tree next door had fallen on my roof. Actually their elm tree fell on their kitchen and the cottonwood fell on their garage and my house, totaling their kitchen and denting their car through a hole in the garage roof. It took out a section of fence, totaled my air conditioner, and bent double the power pole holding electric wiring to my house, leaving my electric meter, telephone box and breaker box dangling. It left a hole in the roof, 3 damaged rafter tails with a half-moon bite out of the roofing overhang—about four feet from where I was sleeping.              

When I ventured outside that morning, the man next door said his mother had earlier called 911 but since no one came, an hour later he called and the Fire Department were there almost immediately, from their station two blocks away. They sealed the neighbor’s house and part of my yard with yellow hazard tape. His kitchen roof was now accordion-shaped and there were downed wires over both our back yards. The street was full of people talking, wondering what to do first. One woman looked up and waved at the news helicopter flying over and a man with a commercial camcorder on his shoulder followed me to the back yard to look at the damage, trying to interview me before I had washed my face or combed my hair. It was surreal—I felt like I was watching it unfold on a newsreel. 

The next couple of days were a blur of strangers tramping through my yard as I tried to figure out how to deal with the damage. The owner of the tree hired someone to remove both huge trees from both houses about three days later. (It took the crew three days to finish.) In the meantime my roofer put a temporary patch over the hole in my roof and I found someone to remove a couple of branches looming over the electrical wiring hash so a very obliging electrician could get his day’s work done. 

By the second day two neighbors whose power was still working brought extension cords to keep my freezer and refrigerator working. Other neighbors shared power with those across the street, where the entire block was dark for four days. The early spring nights were cold without heat, but I refused to go to a hotel and leave my home unlocked with an open door for the lifeline to my fridge and leave my precious dog alone and fearful. We kept each other warm, listened to KCBI FM on a battery radio for Christian music reminding me of my blessings. There was cereal and milk for breakfast, cheese and cold cuts for lunch and Celina next door brought me a hot dinner three nights.

Three of my phone extensions were working; three were not. During the week I left home briefly twice, for a hot meal and a few groceries. I was reluctant to leave the house for fear of missing a call back from carpenters, roofers, tree trimmers, electricians who could help restore my poor house to normalcy. Monday the electrician repaired the wiring and installed a new breaker box and called the City for inspection. The inspector arrived midday Tuesday and called Oncor to install a new meter and turn on power. It took four phone calls to get them there by Wednesday at 5:30 and there were thanksgiving and a hot meal that evening, six hours shy of a full week!

My insurance adjuster arrived from Chicago Thursday and had a check cut for the full amount of the claim, less my $1300 deductible, without holding back the depreciation portion until work was completed. My new air conditioner is installed and paid for, as is the electrician. Carpentry work took a little longer, but the estimate was well within the total claim amount. 

No one was hurt during this storm and inconvenience is secondary. A silent house in a long dark night is a great place to reflect on your relationship with your Protector, your Comforter, your Eternal Companion. Through His grace, I had the money for the insurance premium and the deductible, I was guided to competent, trustworthy workers for the repairs and met four very nice neighbors, one of whom was a new widow who could use a friend. God is good indeed.

Unknown Assets

            I used to read those occasional announcements in the newspaper, listing unclaimed assets available to unknown heirs and daydream I’d find my name listed somewhere within that magic list. I always wondered how anyone could have unknown relatives who could carelessly leave money in a forgotten account. How could you misplace a sum of money so carelessly?  For sure, I knew exactly how much was in my wallet or bank account any given day.
            The state posted these legal notices to give unknown heirs one last chance to claim their inheritance. If no one spoke up before the deadline, the gift would revert to the state. Many people did as I did, never really believing, sort of like wishing on a star. Most folks probably ignored these lists, figuring they'd prosper on their own. but most investments have an expiration date and expire when you do. They can't be spent across the border.  A few may see the list too late; they find they could have been the missing heir, but missed the deadline. Heirs Unaware!
           The Holy Bible is brimming with promises, offering membership in a family with untold wealth at the fingertips of all who ask. Receive everything due you as heir! Upon your request to the Owner of All There Is, He will add your name to His Book of Life, making you co-Heir of All There Is. He also declares there will be a deadline for any such claim. Don’t wait too long. Don’t be an Heir Unaware.

             

       
            Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that 

    `    `  do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief 

            approaches and no moth destroys.                 Luke 12:33

Who's the Boss?

         

Looking Back, Looking Forward

            If you live as many years as I do, I pray they are a joy, not a burden. Simply put, I pray you chose God, our Living Father, as your Companion, Teacher and Savior. That’s the only way I know for you to reach your last days on earth contented, eagerly awaiting your homecoming to the mansion He has prepared for your eternity with Him and your family who preceded you in claiming their place with all the Saints from the beginning.

            Just think what a thrill it will be to meet even one person, your favorite that you’ve read about in your Bible! To ask Elijah how his faith could have been so quickly swallowed up by fear for his safety just after he had called down rain, then fire from heaven to consume his sacrifice to the Living God after the hundreds of heathen priests had failed! Or to thank Mary for her meek obedience to God’s call to bring forth the Savior who redeemed us all.

            And to greet old friends, whom you now learn to your surprise and joy, did not ignore your fervent words about this Lamb of God who gave Himself to share eternity with anyone who asked.

            This world and all its challenges, pain and fears will fade from your memory and seeing loved ones you had been missing, even visits with the wise King Solomon or Paul, who brought, for the first time, Life to Gentiles—all these thrills will pale at sight of Christ Jesus, who loved us so.                         I can hardly wait! 

   
     



           

A Bad Day

 Feeling rained on? Having a terrible, horrible, no-good day? STOP! Take a deep breath and look around. What’s going wrong? Think: what’s behind the mess you woke up to today? Surely you haven’t done something you regret? Look in the mirror and examine your heart for any misstep. Forgiveness is only a breath away, and the discomfort fades fast. Sometimes God sees us heading for deep water and puts a stumbling block in our path.

Nothing comes to mind? You’re pure as the proverbial driven snow—this time. Maybe things have been going so great you felt unbreakable and now you’re shocked to find trouble still knows your zip code. Have you shown gratitude for those good days provided by your Creator or have you begun to think you’re smarter than you already decided you were? Has He gone silent lately, thinking you had forgotten Him?

Since we humans tend to talk to God only as a last resort, sometimes it takes a little “special effort” for God to remind us He’s there, waiting for us to look up. Sometimes we willfully make a poor decision and before rescuing us, our Lord lets us experience a teaching moment, reaping a bit of the chaos we’ve sown. A parent often chastises a thoughtless child and a classroom does have tests.

Not you? You’ve probably been praying daily for some time about your spiritual growth, wanting to offload habits holding you captive, or you just want to know God better. You can’t find God’s campus anywhere in your Google search and you’re just not fond of the preacher at the church around the corner and there’s no spirit summer camp. You’re frustrated—why hasn’t He sent you a text or voicemail message?

You have faithfully prayed and listened and waited—and nothing! In the meantime life moves on and you haven’t noticed any change. But God lives outside of time (He created time, remember?). Maybe your clock isn’t in synch with His, your perception is skewed. Maybe He decided to teach you patience and grow your trust through roadblocks you’ve been blaming for the delay in your progress.

Had you been keeping a prayer journal recording your most fervent prayers over time, one future day weeks, months or years later as you reread those pleas for growth you realize many habits you once struggled with are faint memories, your rush to anger is gone or at least dimmed. On that day you would see how far you have come from your former messy life and could see more clearly your final destination in the Home being prepared just for you in Heaven.

Free from Gravity

            This January it was time to replace my power-lift recliner. I have already worn out three. But I now needed a little more help, something easier on my miserable old knees, something to improve the quality of my sleep and add a little more comfort to my days.

            And found it. At a price I formerly thought I never would have paid for both a sofa and chair. And after sitting down in it, I didn’t even ask the price for such a (miracle?) chair! I had seen zero gravity chairs in luxury catalogs but never aspired to own such a Cadillac caliber place to park myself. When I compare my lot with many other retirees who need but could not buy the comfort they need, I am blessed beyond all reason in my family, my pension and Medicare, enabling me to live so comfortably.

            And as I weightlessly (and at my size that’s a miracle, folks) float back into a reclining position, it seems to be a metaphor for my last decades as I gradually moved forward and closer to His image, more deeply in love with Christ Jesus, who so greatly loved me and so very gradually, faithfully began to change me, oftentimes without my perception. All my little changes, occurring bit by bit, imperceptible to me as they took place, unaware of any movement as I now am while gliding ever so slowly toward the desired place I need to be.


            Thank you, Lord.

           

My 3 a.m. Conversation with God

 Usually, I like to think of myself as an encourager—in writing, at least.  Face to face, I don’t come across like that. In person I seldom seem to get deeply involved with individuals; maybe because I’m not around other folks a lot and the truth is, I’m deep into my 80s now; I don’t know many people of my generation and there are none close by, so there’s that ugly phrase “generation gap”.

I was in my 40s before I began to learn to connect with people, and even then, my written words proved more effective. After all, it’s only in the most recent decade of many that I have seen myself clearly enough to admit at last that I was average at most things, inferior in others and excelled primarily in only one: the use of written words. With pride now limited to one area of my life, pride must be limited to only this one small area of my life.

My usual blog entries begin with bits of my history at a time when I learned a new spiritual truth, and as I find myself going back to reread them and reminding myself, relearning those life lessons (all too soon forgotten in the hubbub of daily life) and admiring the words God gave me to share. I guard against ego which would have me marveling at my insight at having answers to life’s problems. I know I don’t, but I imagine my reader may have as short a memory as I and might also appreciate a reminder.

As I write--and reread--these words, I can hear my Father’s voice, (not mine). When a computer glitch wipes out a page of His wisdom, knowing my unreliable memory can never retrieve those words, I breathe an instant prayer and begin typing and often the page is somehow quickly redone, often better than the original!        

At 3 a.m., however, a news reel before my eyes documents details, decades of repeated failings and my unkind thoughts toward people whose actions I disapprove of, (regrettably long after I invited Jesus into my heart) and instantly I remember that loving “the world” or “mankind” can’t replace love for an individual, misguided or heedless though they may be.  Who am I to think I have answers for others? My heart races as I wonder if I’m a sham, a hypocrite pretending to be His child? When I see Him, will He turn me away as a deceiver? And I feel the chill. 

Yes, I have experienced many miracles and blessings, but were they the result of someone else’s prayers for me, rather than my own prayers being heard? Why don’t I pray more? Why do I dare judge people no worse than I? When dawn arrives, usually I can dismiss the late-night attack and move forward, doing what I know how to do and praying for my life to grow more pleasing to God. And put aside--until the next assault on my faith--any doubts I have, and remember a phrase I began to use some 40 years ago: Don’t doubt your faith; doubt your doubts.

The morning I listened to Dr. Jeremiah’s Overcomer broadcast and Peace flooded my spirit as I received God’s reassurance. I was reminded of the disciples and the people God used mightily in their weakness. I remembered my blog about hypocrites. I had written “I am a Saint-in-Training. If and when I behave like something else, then I am a hypocrite”.