“The Willing Suspension of Disbelief”

It’s been nearly 45 years since I first heard this phrase, but it has resonated with me ever since. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote of it over 200 years ago, speaking of how readers interact with literature, especially when it contains fantastical or supernatural elements. Our high school English teacher and drama coach, Mrs. Barr spoke of it not only in the context of literature but in the context of the theater. In fact, in all art, the artist depends on at least some willing suspension of disbelief on the part of his/her audience.

In visual art, we must believe that a few strategic blobs of color, or carefully shaped pieces of marble or wood have captured something timeless and true about a single moment in time– that movement and emotion and life can be held immortal on a canvas or a statue or a tapestry. We must suspend our disbelief that paint, or wood, marble or stone exists only as itself– in the artist’s capable hands, mere matter transcends its ordinary form to touch our very soul. In music, we can hear, in the well-played notes of an instrument, the sounds of birds, the falling rain, the crashing of thunder, the marching of armies, or the buzzing of bees. Music doesn’t just touch our ears, it can touch our souls. Shakespeare also alluded to this in a comical way: “Is it not strange that sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies” (Much Ado About Nothing– Act II, Scene 3) We can listen to a symphony without being moved, but in the willing suspension of disbelief, we can be transformed and inspired by notes on a page and breath being blown into wood or brass or fingers or bows being drawn over “sheep’s guts”.

In literature or in the movies, we must suspend our disbelief that mythical creatures, aliens, monsters, and talking animals live among us as a normal occurrence– for the duration of the story…Dragons must be vanquished, Fairy Godmothers must be allowed to help poor Cinderella to the ball, and The Raven must repeat his ominous line, “Nevermore.” Frodo must hide from orcs and Nazgul in order to reach the Fires of Doom and destroy the One Ring. Charlotte must spin her wordy webs and Papa Bear must exclaim, “someone has been sitting in my chair.” As children, we shed our disbelief readily and enter into the story, falling in love (or having nightmares about) imaginary characters. As adults we become cynical, and lose some of our ability to enter into imagination and other-wordly realms.

I was recently reminded of this concept of the willing suspension of disbelief in two different contexts– loss of Faith, and the deception of the internet– including “fact checking” and AI. Very different experiences, but I think they both tie in.

First, in the loss of Faith. I know so many people, family, friends, even strangers, who write passionately about their loss of Faith. Oh, they don’t call it that. They have other terms, other catchphrases– they talk about their “Deconversion” or their “Awakening”. They are too smart, too savvy, too enlightened to give credence to Faith in Jesus, or in any “god” or divine being. After all, they cannot see “Him” or “it”; they cannot prove His existence (they can’t prove His non-existence either, but that’s another story). Believing in God, they claim, is the same as believing in fairy tales.

And yet…Keats once posited, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty– That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” (Ode on a Grecian Urn). Earlier in his poem, he also says, “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone…” There is an acknowledgement that we do not just exist in a physical plane, but in a world of metaphysical marvels– memory, hope, and yes, even “fairy tales”.

Of course, we know that there is no Cinderella– no “happily ever after” in this world. Life is not a fairy tale story. But our lives ARE stories– we have a beginning and an end. We want to find a purpose, a reason for being who we are, where we are, and even when we are. We search for our “true” identities. We dream dreams and harbor hopes. We battle evil forces– the demanding boss, the annoying neighbors, blizzards and tornadoes, cancer…And we believe very strongly in concepts of justice and injustice, fairness and unfairness, goodness and evil–metaphysical concepts. We long to be understood, accepted, “seen,” and loved (ever after!). And we must suspend our disbelief in the face of evil to search for the good. We must suspend our disbelief in our own worth to make choices that preserve our health and develop our latent talents. Indeed, we must believe and cherish what we do NOT see or have never experienced, or we will be crushed by our (often temporary) realities. When cynicism and disbelief BECOME our belief system, we become the living dead. Oh, we can continue doing “good” things without believing in God; we can espouse a code of “good living”, we can take care of our bodies and emotions within a framework of humanism and self-esteem. But we will not experience the fullness of Truth, or Beauty, or majesty, that lives in Faith.

Loss of Faith represents, what I would call an “unwillingness” to suspend disbelief, or a tendency to cling to only that which can be experienced on a physical plane. But there is another danger– that of an “unwilling” suspension of disbelief–believing things that are deceptive, because they are presented as “truth.” This includes such things as “fake news” on the internet, “fact checkers” who tilt the truth and “throw shade” on inconvenient or uncomfortable truths, and AI-generated stories meant to “create” truth where none exists.

I would like to say that I am immune to such things; that my knowledge and dependence on truth cannot be subjected to manipulation. But that is not always true. I see a touching story on Facebook about a young person who is missing– please spread the word– only to find out that the post is several months out of date. I see a meme that accuses one political big-shot or a celebrity or even a corporation or business of being corrupt, unfair, evil, etc., and I am outraged– until I realize that the original post was generated by a person or group that is completely unknown to me. I don’t know their true experience, or their motivation in spreading this information (or false information). It MAY be true, it MAY be completely false, but it is most likely somewhere in between– not nearly as bad as portrayed, or as every bit as bad as other politicians, celebrities, or companies who aren’t mentioned in the meme or article.

Outrage— especially outrage that is deliberately and manipulatively generated– is the suspension of not just disbelief, but of discernment. We immediately judge. We immediately feel our blood pressure rise, our cheeks flame, and our breathing accelerate. We become passionately angry, but we also become instantly indignant and self-righteous. I would never… I cannot tolerate… But what have we done on a smaller scale? Are we SO innocent? Do we have the authority to judge based on a single article or photo?

But it is not just outrage that can be deliberately and manipulatively generated. AI and bad actors on the internet and other media sources can also manipulate our hopes, our disappointments, and our beliefs in what has happened and what is happening around us. Stories appear online that sound authentic, narrated by well-modulated voices (many of which seem familiar), telling us that this event took place and changed someone’s life, or that this celebrity has finally “spilled the dirt” about beloved co-stars who died a couple of decades ago. Others purport to give “wise words” from aging actors or writers or recently dead corporate gurus. We suspend our disbelief, or our suspicions, because we trust the voice or the photoshopped picture. We choose to believe the worst of people we already dislike. We choose to believe only the best of people we like. If a stranger came up to me on the street with a story like this, I would be suspicious. Who are they? Why are they telling me this? Why should I trust them? But we suspend our disbelief if we see it in print with what looks like credible photos and when narrated by what we assume to be a credible voice. If we bother to look at the source, even that seems credible– I may not have heard of this news service, but it has the word “news” in its heading…

We put our Faith in things seen– even if they are false, while we hold truth and beauty to be suspicious, because we have lost the ability to hope and trust in something beyond our own wisdom and personal perceptions.

We need dreamers and artists and writers who see truth and beauty in the universal and metaphysical realities of faith and hope and majesty. And we need people with the discernment to disbelieve what strangers claim to “show” and “tell” us with their clever manipulations.

Both Faith and “the willing suspension of disbelief” depend on the Will. We have to make choices in what we are willing to believe and how far we are willing to search for the truth– both in what we can see, and in what we cannot.

July 28, 2025 0

4:13

My husband and I spent last week suffering from the flu. We slept– a lot! And we woke up at odd times, day and night, with coughing fits, getting medication, etc., only to fall back to sleep in minutes. One such time, I woke up and looked at the bedside clock– 4:13 a.m.

But the numbers stood out to me, not as a reminder that it was the early part of a new day, but as a reminder of a Bible verse– Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me”(KJV).

Growing up, we attended a small country church, and every summer, I attended Vacation Bible School, where we got points and prizes for memorizing certain verses. I also joined my mother in participating in a Bible memorization program sponsored by our church. We memorized entire passages and chapters, as well as several key verses, like the one above. I say all this, not to brag about myself, my mother, or our church, but to testify to the power of memorizing scripture– especially when one is young. It’s been nearly 50 years since we did the program, and I don’t remember all the verses we studied. But often, in moments when I’m not even thinking clearly, those sacred words are still stored away in my heart and mind. Something as simple as a clock’s numerals can unlock the truth of scripture. I was certainly not rehearsing Scripture’s promises as I woke up nauseous and achy, but three numbers were enough to give me a lifeline of hope!

Did I feel as though I could “do all things” at 4:13 in the morning as I fled to the bathroom? Not a bit. But I took great comfort in the remembering that I can do all things “through Christ, who gives me strength (NIV)” I can trust HIM for healing, and that He will be present even when– especially when– I have no strength of my own.

Later in the day, reflecting on the way that just a few numbers can redirect my thoughts to God’s promises, I remembered other “timely” hints. I’ll leave just a few here below:

1:03– 2 Peter 1:3 “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.”
1:09– Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
3:23– Lamentations 3:23 “They (Your mercies/Your compassions) are new every morning’.; Great is your faithfulness.”
4:18–Proverbs 4:18 “The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day.”

4:19– 1 John 4:19 “We love because He first loved us.”
5:25– Galatians 5:25 “Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”
6:33– Matthew 6:33 “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
8:28–Romans 8:28 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
9:25– Luke 9:25 “What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?”
10:10– John 10:10 “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.”
11:01– Hebrews 11:1 “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
11:25– John 11:25 “Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die”
12:12– Romans 12:12 “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

March 3, 2025 2

Mr. Teeter’s Song

When I was growing up, there was a man in our church named Mr. Teeter. He seemed impossibly old when I was a child– he’d been born in the 1800s! And he and his wife often looked like they were still living in the previous century. Mrs. Teeter wore dark-colored dresses that came past her calf, sturdy shoes, and a white cap over her carefully arranged, long white hair. Mr. Teeter always wore a suit to church, complete with a gray fedora. Mr. and Mrs. Teeter were both short–he was probably no taller than 5’4″, and she barely cleared five feet in height.

One of the weekly church meetings we attended was mid-week prayer meeting. Sometimes, we would start with worship and singing. Various people would call out old favorite hymns. Sometimes we had a pianist; sometimes we sang a Capella. And almost invariably, Mr. Teeter would request the same old hymn. He liked other hymns–“What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” or “He Lives! He Lives! I know He lives; He lives within my heart.” But his clear favorite was “I Love to Tell the Story.”

As a child, I found this frustrating. First of all, I liked to sing a variety of songs; this one was NOT one of my favorites, and I thought we were “wasting time” by always singing the same old songs. Secondly, because of his age, everyone deferred to Mr. Teeter, so even if other songs were called out, it was a given that his choice would probably win out.

But one evening, Mr. Teeter explained WHY he loved this old hymn so much. He said he had lived a rough life in his younger years– he drank more than he should, and he had a short temper. I was shocked. I could not imagine this tiny, wrinkled, gentle man as being anything other than how I knew him. He was dapper, soft-spoken, kind, and wise. When his wife suffered a stroke, he patiently and lovingly cared for her. He was generous and compassionate, even if I thought his musical taste was more limited than it might have been.

Instead of singing the song, he read it aloud. And after a couple of phrases, he would linger and talk about how, all these years later, he was still in love with the simple Gospel message– that Christ died for sinners, rose again and offered forgiveness and redemption to all who believed in Him. Mr. Teeter had never forgotten the joy and wonder of his Salvation. He never tired of “the old, old story” because it had changed his life in a dramatic and eternally satisfying way. Mr. Teeter died when I was still a teenager. He had cared for his wife until she died, and he was at peace when it came time to leave his life on earth. In fact, his face almost glowed as he lay in his casket. He was absent from the body, and ready to sing the “new, new song.”

There was nothing slick or intellectually challenging about Mr. Teeter’s testimony, but it was very real and powerfully moving. There was nothing musically exciting about the song he loved, but the message was eternally true, and worth singing over and over again. So many years later, whenever I hear this timeless hymn, I am reminded of how Jesus changed my life, and how grateful I am to sing His praises.

Today, as I remember Mr. Teeter and his faithful witness of God’s love and mercy, I pray that you know the simple and enduring truth of Christ’s love for you. And I pray that we would be as faithful in proclaiming the “Old, Old story of Jesus and His Love” as we go through life.

January 24, 2025 0

Leaning…

(Note: this is an edited and updated post from a couple of years ago.)

“What a fellowship; what a joy divine,
Leaning on the Everlasting Arms…”

Years ago, growing up in a small community, and attending a tiny rural church in southwestern Michigan, we sang this song often at church. As a child, I liked the tune, but had little idea what the song meant. In fact, when I was very small, before I could read, I misunderstood the lyrics– I thought the congregation was singing “wienies” on the everlasting arms. I made my grandmother laugh when she heard my interpretation! She helpfully corrected me. So I knew the basics. I knew the word fellowship– that was what we called the pot-luck meals and social times we had in the church basement. I knew that Joy was like happiness, only better. I knew that “divine” referred to God and Heaven, and Holy things. But I also knew that leaning was frowned upon– I was told to stand up straight, sit up straight, and never lean back on the two hind legs of the chair in class. How could there by fellowship, and divine joy in leaning? And what were the Everlasting Arms? It sounded like the name of a hotel. It was a long time before I began to understand the joy of leaning, or even falling into the “everlasting” arms of the Savior.

As I have lived, I have grown to understand and cherish these words. There IS a fellowship and a joy divine in learning to lean on the Everlasting Arms of Jesus; to experience the strength and peace that passes my own understanding when I trust fully in Him, instead of in my own plans, whims, dreams, or wishes. There is no shame in leaning on God– in fact, if we don’t learn to lean on the solid wisdom and faithfulness of God, we will slouch into bad habits, “fall” into false teaching, or simply collapse in our own limitations and weaknesses, much like a chair leaning on just two legs! And this fellowship is not only with my Creator, Sustainer, and Savior; it is with all the brothers and sisters around the world who have learned to trust Him, too. I can travel to foreign countries, with different languages and customs, and still feel the kinship and “belonging” with other Christians. It is deeper and more mysterious than just the recognition that we are fellow human beings. It goes even deeper than the love for others who are loved by God. It is the recognition that God’s Holy Spirit surrounds us, flows in and through us, strengthens us, and unites us IN HIM. We are fellow travelers; fellow workers; fellow members of a universal family– one that is more inclusive than nationality, race, ethnicity, language, ideology, or denomination. We can (and do) lean on the ONE who is eternally trustworthy, eternally faithful to walk beside us, empower us, comfort and heal us, and lead us home. And we can lean on each other, knowing that our mutual strength comes from Him.

I love worship services, and I’m thankful that we have an active church where people worship; where the Bible is taught and revered; where families and individuals are welcomed and loved. But I sometimes miss the old “prayer meetings” in the church where I grew up. Every Wednesday night, while the children were (supposedly quietly) playing games, singing songs, and listening to the great stories of the Bible, a faithful (and sometimes rag-tag) group of adults were upstairs in a huddle. Some pulled up chairs and sat in a circle; others knelt the whole time. They prayed for nearly an hour–prayers of thanksgiving and prayers of urgent needs; prayers expressing worship, and prayers expressing inadequacies and failures; prayers for the children downstairs, for other members of the church family; prayers for the community, the country, and the world. As I became a teenager and a young adult, I was privileged to join in. I watched wise, older men and women express their confidence in God’s provision, and pour out their hearts for their children and grandchildren. I listened to young adults asking for wisdom and guidance as they raised families and witnessed to co-workers. I felt the joy and grief and true “fellowship” that came when several hearts turned as one to God.

I have since attended many “prayer meetings”– some planned, some spur-of-the-moment; some held in churches; others held in homes or dorm rooms, even on street corners or grocery stores; some lasting only a few minutes; others lasting hours. I am blessed to be able to attend a weekly “prayer meeting” on Wednesday mornings at my local church. There is something mystical about communal prayer– listening and sharing in prayer with others. The prayers of God’s people are compared to incense– and communal prayer is like a delicately-balanced blend of fragrances, infusing the very room with blessing, and even a touch of Glory. (For more about how prayer is likened to incense, see https://the-end-time.org/2017/06/13/how-is-incense-like-prayer/) It is yet another miracle of the power of prayer, that we can combine hearts and voices to honor God; to lift up very human concerns to the One powerful enough to hold each one in the palm of His hand. It should not replace personal prayer and Bible Study, or communal worship services, but it is a wonderful practice for any Christian to “come alongside” in prayer with fellow believers. It is also humbling to think about how such a seemingly small act can have far-reaching consequences.

God “inhabits” the praises of His people (Psalm 22:3). When we show up and participate in communal worship and prayer, we get a greater sense of God’s presence, His power, His Glory, His Love, and His eternal purpose. What a Fellowship! What a Joy, Divine!

November 4, 2024 0

“Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep…”

When I was still a young child, and a new believer in Christ, I learned this bedtime prayer:

“Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the LORD my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake;
I pray the LORD my soul to take.”

I didn’t use this bedtime prayer every night; my parents taught me to say more personal prayers, whether at bedtime or throughout the day. In fact, I found this prayer to be somewhat morbid– praying about death before lying down for sleep. Still, it was an easy prayer to learn, with its rhyme scheme and easy rhythm.

As an adult, I look at this prayer from a very different perspective. I learned it from books, which had included it from revisions of earlier books, including old Mother Goose rhymes. The prayer (or a version of it) dates back to the 17th century https://www.dailyeffectiveprayer.org/now-i-lay-me-down-to-sleep-prayer/, and I imagine the thought of dying in the night was far more persistent than it is now for most children. This prayer offered comfort, not just about one’s own death, but the sudden death of a baby brother or sister, or the death of a neighbor, or one’s parent. Death, which often came in the night, was not to be feared, because God was bigger than both the night and the grave.

But as a adult, I also appreciate the simple trust that is expressed in such a short prayer. I often find myself at night fretting and praying about details and issues that I have tried to rationalize or “fix” in my own power. This prayer puts things in perspective– I pray the LORD my soul to keep. Basically, I lay everything, including my very soul, into God’s hands. Thus, I CAN “lay me down to sleep,” rather than stay up reciting a litany of little worries about which I can do nothing, or have already done what I could.

“If I should die before I wake…” The older I get, the more this line resonates. Not that I believe I am at death’s door, or anything, but death is less of a “monster under the bed” sort of concept than it was as a child. Death is a reality, and yet I can trust God to “take” my soul, snatching it out of the grave and raising me to eternal life with Him. Not because I know better than I did as a five-year-old, or because I have done “good” things over the past half-century and more– but because God said so in His Word, and I can trust Him to do what He says. Just like I learned to do when I was five!

October 18, 2024 0

The Power of Pictures

When my Mom died back in February, she left a house full of memories, and also a house full of papers and empty containers, old clothes and books, and worn furniture and broken appliances. Mom was a hoarder, and it has taken months to begin sorting through all that Mom treasured. Yesterday, I was sorting through a tub of old photos. Mom took thousands of photos over the years, and we gathered up over 25 tubs of them. They are in random order, so one group of photos may be from the late sixties, while the next might have been taken just a few years ago.

It’s been both frustrating and entertaining to go through batches of photos. Seeing my face at age 6 with missing front teeth; seeing my nephew holding his newborn daughter; seeing my Dad in his work uniform; seeing long-lost relatives when they were both alive and younger than I am now! It can be jarring. I found a photo of my favorite pair of sneakers from childhood– they were bright yellow with black stripes and white treads. I loved those sneakers and I finally wore them out. But there they were, staring up at me from an old photo– brand new– and I felt the same sense of excitement I had when I was 10 years old. I also found an old photo of a cousin who recently passed away. There she was, fifty years younger at a family reunion, a young mother with two sons (another son and daughter were yet to be born!) It was a sharp stab to know how much her family is grieving right now. And yet, it was a beautiful reminder that she is NOT gone; she is raised to life, and grief will be turned to joy as we have an eternal “Family Reunion” in heaven!

Mom took a lot of wonderful pictures that mean so much to us now. But Mom also took a lot of “dud” pictures– pictures that were out of focus; pictures of old clothes, or faded flowers. Several pictures of the same thing from different angles. Pictures of people eating–their mouths wide open and gaping angrily. There are no labels telling why such pictures were taken, or what they might mean. Years later, they leave us confused and frustrated– and ready to throw them out!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. And I have been living that lately, as I sort through old memories. But the pictures are reminding me of other memories– other “pictures” that are even more powerful.

God reveals Himself to us in so many ways– and in so many “pictures.” The Bible is full of parables, metaphors, proverbs, and histories that provide us with word pictures of His character. In Genesis, we read the story of Abraham and Isaac, which illustrates the great sacrifice God would make for our Salvation. Abraham was willing to give his son– the son God had promised– believing that God could raise him from the dead. Isaac didn’t die. He didn’t even know what was coming. But Jesus DID. God’s promises never fail. Unlike Isaac, Jesus KNEW what awaited Him at Calvary. He knew there would be no last-minute, substitute ram. HE was the lamb who would be slain. And He would rise victorious!

In Exodus, God provides another parallel; another word picture to show what He would do. He sent ten plagues on Egypt to prove His power, both to the Egyptians AND to the nation of Israel. But the tenth plague was much more than just a display of power. It was a metaphor for the Cross. In order to escape the Angel of Death, the Israelites were to use hyssop and the blood of the Passover lamb to “paint” the top and sides of their doorframes. Using the hyssop, they “whipped” blood onto the wooden doorframe, causing it to “bleed”– at the top, and on each side. The blood would drip down, creating a similar pattern to the blood on the cross–blood from the wounds on Jesus’ head and outstretched hands. There would even be a pool of blood on the ground, suggesting where His feet would be nailed to a wooden cross. It is a stark picture– a gruesome picture of pain and suffering. But it is a powerful picture that shows us how Jesus’ pain and suffering led to our Salvation. Death holds no power over the Cross! We can rest, knowing that God’s plan is for our rescue, not our destruction.

In the New Testament, Jesus used metaphors and explained how ancient stories foretold His arrival, as well as His death and resurrection. He used the story of Jonah to explain that He would be in the grave for three days. He used the prophets to remind His listeners of God’s many promises. His disciples recorded the stories. The Apostles continued to use the ancient scriptures to “show” that Jesus was the Messiah and that His life and death fulfilled the promises and prophecies.

Time after time, Jesus told parables– stories that were meant to “show” the character of His Father. And WE are also meant to reflect Our Father to the world! WE are to be pictures of God’s Love, His Grace and Mercy, His Faithfulness, and His Holiness. Whatever we do, wherever we go today, we WILL be like a photograph, showing others who we are inside– what we value, what we believe, who we trust, how we love and how we live. We can be powerful witnesses to God’s Love by the way we go about our daily activities. But we can also be “duds”– pictures of people pursuing worthless activities, or looking at the world from a dozen skewed perspectives.

I pray that my “photo” today will reflect God’s character, challenge assumptions, encourage others, and stir powerful reactions for HIS Glory!

November 15, 2023 1

My Father’s Heart

I can still remember as a small child of 3 or 4, after my Dad came in from mowing the lawn, climbing up and snuggling close to his chest to listen to the beat of his heart. Dad smelled of new-mown grass and honest sweat, and his heart was beating—thumpity, THUMP-Thump, thumpity THUMP-thump–I could almost feel it beating through his chest. It would start out racing, and gradually slow to a steady Thump-thump Thump-thump.

Looking back, I marvel at my Dad’s patience. Here he was, fresh from working on the lawn, hot, sweat-covered, and exhausted, only to be met with a wiggly child, intent on chattering, and interrupting his precious “relaxation” time. But as I wiggled, Dad’s tender arms would come around me, and both of us would become quiet and just enjoy being together, listening to the beat of his heart. They were precious moments.

My dad worked long hours at a mind-numbingly boring job. He worked for a large pharmaceutical company, but he wasn’t a chemist, or an engineer. He was a “bagger.” His company produced anhydrous citric acid for industrial and commercial use. As the name implies, citric acid is caustic, even in powder form, and Dad had to wear special gloves and shoes, plastic glasses with side shields, and other gear to protect his skin, hair, and eyes from the possibility of burns. He worked, sometimes 16-18 hour shifts (overtime, or time-and-a-half) at a station in a small, hot room. His job was to fit a bag to the end of a chute, push a button, and stand there as 50 or 100 pounds of citric acid filled the bag. He then carefully took the bag off the end of the chute and moved it to another machine, where the top edge would be stitched closed. Finally, he would lift and carry the full bag to a conveyer belt, so it could travel to the shipping room to be loaded on to skids and sent all over the world. Sometimes, he would cover someone else’s shift in the shipping room, loading the bags onto the skids or even loading the skids onto trucks or train cars, but most of the time, he was alone in a drab, overheated, powder-filled room.

I once asked my father how he could stand to do what he did every day. It was hot, heavy, boring, and mostly thankless work. Fit the bag, push a button, move the bag, push a button, move the bag again, and start all over. Always on his feet, always lifting his arms. No one to talk to; nothing to watch or listen to but the machinery around him. But my dad was content. He didn’t find his identity in his work, although he was proud to have a good-paying, steady job. He was thankful for his ability to be consistent and productive. He was proud of his good attendance record and his dedication. But he wasn’t married to his work, and he wasn’t working for money or fame or status. He was a Christian first, and a husband and father next. He was as steady as his heartbeat. Always reliable, even-tempered, trustworthy– solid.

My father worked at the same company for over 28 years (in fact, the company changed names twice while my dad worked there!). When he retired, we threw him a surprise birthday party/retirement party. But Dad’s heart was wearing out. All those years of work were taking their toll Dad spent two years of retirement enjoying some travel and relaxation, but his last two years were spent in and out of the hospital with surgeries and complications, physical limitations, and chronic pain.

Finally, the day came when Dad’s heart broke. He had been in the hospital overnight, and the surgeons had done all they could. They had “zapped” dad with the defibrillator. They had done compressions until his breastbone was broken and each compression was pressing shards of bone into his chest and close to his lungs. One last time, I stood, with my mom and sister, watching Dad’s heartbeat on the monitor. It was steady, but so, so weak. Dad’s once-solid arms were too weak to reach up from the bed; his blue eyes were dim, and he struggled to breathe. We said a last prayer and told Dad that all was ready for him to go Home at last. And his heartbeat faded to a straight line on the monitor.

Dad’s heart was huge in life– steady and strong, patient and solid. His faithfulness gave us all a glimpse of our Father’s heart in Heaven. Dad was a humble man. He was a man who sacrificed the life he could have lived to take on a thankless, boring, demanding job so we could have nice things and opportunities as his children. He also took the job so that, after those long hours, he would have time off during the week, so he could come to some of our school programs, and take family day-trips, and just “hang out” with friends and neighbors in the community. He mowed our lawn, but he also mowed lawns all around the neighborhood– for shut-ins, elderly couples, and those who were sick or didn’t have a mower. His heart was not only strong, it was incredibly tender. Dad cared about the little things…he loved children and animals; he cried for the National Anthem, and at prayer meetings. When I read about Jesus welcoming little children, it made perfect sense, because it is exactly what my own father would have done and said.

Dad wasn’t perfect, of course. He was only human. He made mistakes. And he died. But he made a profound impact on those who knew him, and he lived a life that drew people to Faith and Hope in Jesus. The Bible doesn’t make clear whether or not we will have “hearts” like our present human hearts when we are with the Father in eternity. But I know my Father’s Heart. It’s even better than my Dad’s. Some days, even here on earth, I can hear its steadfast, solid rhythm in the greetings of neighbors, in birdsong, or on the wind. And I can stop wiggling, and just be held in His tender arms.

October 25, 2023 0

What We Keep…

I’ve been posting a lot lately about going through my Mom’s “stuff.” Mom was a saver– a pack rat– a hoarder, really. She kept boxes and piles of useless things. But she also kept things that have value to those she left behind. My siblings and I have found old photographs, momentos, letters, documents, etc., that bring the past alive again..not just our past, but our family roots going back generations.

My mother with her mom and younger sister c. 1944

What prompts us to keep such memories; to hold tightly to faded papers, worn objects, shadows of days gone by? Sometimes, it is an unhealthy focus on past memories– good and bad– that keep us in the grip of “glory days” or old and festering wounds. But there IS a value to keeping a record of the past.

When I was young, we had dozens of books around the house, including Bible Story books. The stories of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Moses, Samson and Samuel, King David, Queen Esther, Elijah, and then Jesus, his disciples, the Apostle Paul…they were mesmerizing– and very instructive! God didn’t just give us Ten Commandments and a list of rules to follow. He left us with a rich tapestry of stories of real people, and their very real adventures. He has given us Parables, and Psalms, Prophets and Promises– the Bible is a living book that speaks to each new generation with timeless truths. I learned about the Faithfulness of God, His Holiness, and His Mercy in those pages.

The stories and photos that get passed down in families can also be instructive. I now have a baby picture of the grandfather I never got to meet, as well as a photo of him as a young man, and another candid shot of him wearing a milk bucket on his head (He was a dairy farmer)! I can see and sense his humor and love of family in new ways, and appreciate the way his life and early death helped shaped my own dad’s life. I have letters my great-grandparents wrote to each other when they were first married and starting their family. I have some of Mom’s letters when she was struggling as a single mother on a limited income. Many of these items I will keep–not only as a reminder of the past that shaped me, but to pass on to future generations. Other photos, letters, and objects have been given to certain other family members– it is part of the legacy THEY will pass on. Still other items I will let go– they have served their purpose and other items will take their place.

The little country church I attended as a child.

It has been tempting, with the amount of “stuff” that my Mom kept, to just throw everything out. Much of it has to be cleaned off, sorted, identified– and room must be found to keep it! So I also have to look around at what I have been hanging on to, and ask, “Why?” What lessons to I want to pass on? What objects tell an instructive story about my life? What impact will I have on others in the years to come?

One of the most difficult things to go through are the photos and letters my Mother kept. She kept nearly every letter and greeting card she ever received. They meant that much to her. Not the actual cards and paper– the thoughts, the love and connection–the people they represent were her greatest treasures on this earth. And I can’t keep them all. I don’t have space, and many of the people are strangers to me– her elementary classmates, co-workers from years gone by, great-aunts–people long since dead and, with my mom’s passing, forgotten by most. But I will keep some, because they are a testament to Mom’s love of others– her deep and abiding love for everyone who touched her life, and allowed her to touch theirs. I have thrown out, recycled, or given away many of Mom’s clothes and books, and I’m working to give away the thousands of unused greeting cards she had stockpiled but never sent. But most of all, I will keep the stories– stories of God’s faithfulness in her life; stories of how He worked in and through her life to touch hundreds of others; stories of how God’s Love blooms in the simple acts of kindness and baby steps of Faith; in the ordinary joys and tears and minor miracles of daily life.

And I will hold tightly to the stories of my childhood– of Moses and the Burning Bush; of Jesus the Good Shepherd; of David trusting God to face Goliath; of the women finding an empty tomb on the first Easter Morning. One of the pictures I inherited is a print of Jesus on the Road to Emmaus. Two men are walking along, talking to a third man. Such a simple act. Such an ordinary occurrence. But this is no ordinary walk– the man in the middle is the Risen Christ–the One who conquered death to bring eternal life to the two unsuspecting travelers. The print hangs on my wall now. The print itself is not of much material value– but the story! That is worth my life– to keep, to share, to cherish, to proclaim to those yet to come!

July 26, 2023 0

A Prayer for the “Slurpee” Babies

(In honor of my grand-niece’s 16th birthday, I am re-posting this entry from last year. I have changed her name to honor her privacy, and I have updated her age in the text,)

Yesterday was July 11. In certain parts of America, it is known as “Slurpee” Day. “Slurpee” is a brand name for a slushy drink sold at 7-Eleven convenience stores around the country. And since we write our dates with the month, followed by the day, July 11th is also “7/11.” Many 7-Eleven stores offer specials on their “Slurpee” drinks all day. And on a hot July day, that’s a great deal!

But July 11th is also the birthday of a very special person in my life. I can still remember the day she was born, and seeing her for the first time. She was beautiful (and still is). She had a full head of thick auburn hair, and seemed delighted to be alive and in the world– and we were all delighted to greet her! I remember commenting that she was a “Slurpee” baby– being born on “Slurpee” day. But shortly after she was born, it became clear that all was not “right” for “Chelsea” (not her real name). Chelsea did not respond to sights and sounds like other babies. And she started having violent seizures. Doctors soon determined that Chelsea had experienced several small strokes when she was in the womb. They also determined that such strokes would continue, and her chances of survival were slim. Immediate brain surgery would be necessary. At one point, the prognosis was very grim– even with surgery, she might be blind, deaf, and unable to control the movement in her limbs–essentially, she would be a vegetable if she survived at all. The first year of her life was a roller-coaster of surgeries and hospital stays, followed by extensive therapy and treatment that continues to this day. But she survived!

So every July 11, Chelsea, and her friends and family, celebrate, not just her birthday, but her life— her survival, her triumph, and her continuing struggle. Chelsea is 16 this year! She cannot walk on her own, and she has trouble talking and using one arm. But she excels at school–she loves reading and music (Yes, she can see and hear!) and she loves anything having to do with animals, especially dogs and horses! She loves jokes and riddles, and loves to listen to her Daddy play the guitar, or watch the dog play in the yard, or spend time with horses at the therapy riding center. She even loves cool treats– not necessarily “Slurpees,” but sweet drinks and yogurt parfaits! Her life is not easy. Her parents still have to help her dress and eat, even though she is almost fully grown. She has to use adaptive technology to write and do her schoolwork (and what an incredible blessing that it exists!) She spends most of her days in a motorized chair. And, like most teenagers, she has “moody” days and gets frustrated–her physical limitations add to that frustration. But she loves life, and she inspires those around her to embrace the positive. She is as welcome as an ice-cold Slurpee on a hot July day– sweet, refreshing, and colorful!

I am writing about “Chelsea” today, because I love her– she is my grand-niece, and my favorite “Slurpee” kid! But I’m also writing because there are many other “Slurpee” children like her who are not alive today, or who are made to feel unwanted and “less than” other children. Chelsea’s health issues were not detected until after she was born. Had they “discovered” the damage she sustained in the womb, chances are very great that her mother would have been encouraged or even pressured to have an abortion. The early prognosis was so horrific, and the struggle so difficult, that it would have been seen as the “most humane” option. Her “quality of life” would have been weighed in the balance, and her right to experience life– even at it’s most difficult moments– would have been invalidated by those who claimed to “have her best interests at heart.” Her parents could have made the choice to put her in an institution, or give up on her chances to live a purposeful and fulfilling life. Instead, they made numerous personal sacrifices, and have advocated for Chelsea’s well-being. And, if you ask them, it was worth it all!

I’m not here to judge those parents who have had to face this horrible choice, or those who have determined that they could not provide the care needed to raise a child with “special needs.” The needs are very real, very difficult, very expensive, and sometimes heart-rending. Most people I know have never had to face such challenges. And even my nephew and his wife were not called on to decide on Chelsea’s fate until after they had grown to love her for the baby she was. And there are days when they feel overwhelmed by the responsibility to care for a child beyond what they had ever planned. But I have also known Chelsea, and other wonderful children with extreme needs, who make the world a better, richer, more empathetic, and more joyful place– not because they are “special needs”, but because they are uniquely SPECIAL individuals! I also know of parents who have opened their homes and arms to foster and adopt children with special needs. Their courage, love, and sacrifice have made it possible for thousands of lives to reach their incredible potential.

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

God made each one of us to reflect His image in our own, unique way. And each individual has the power to shape the world around them for the better. My prayer today is that Chelsea, and all children who are marginalized because their lives are somehow deemed “less” than someone else’s, will find strength, hope, laughter, and respect. And that those of us who have had a “normal” childhood and family experience would embrace the joy that comes from LIFE itself, and praise the one who gives it– precious, abundant, joyful, and eternal life!

July 12, 2023 0

Christmas Wish Lists

When I was a child, we used to write letters to “Santa” with a list of what we wanted to find under the Christmas Tree that year. Sometimes this was a school project– practice in letter-writing etiquette, etc.– and sometimes, it was done spontaneously after poring through the Sears “Wish Book” Christmas catalog, or after watching Saturday morning cartoons with their endless ads for toys, dolls, bikes, and sugary cereals.

As adults, we often do something similar, drafting a Christmas “wish list” in our prayers and Advent dreams. Our adult lists may be as shallow as those of childhood–a new dishwasher, or a shiny piece of jewelry; a new “toy” boat for Dad, etc. Sometimes, they sound more virtuous– world peace, a healthy economy, a cure for cancer…

It isn’t “wrong” to have wishes at any time of year. And we should hope for better things in the world around us. But we can get caught up in the idea of Christmas being all about wishes and desires at the expense of the real GIFT of Christmas– Christ Himself! In fact, we can become numb to the fact that Jesus wasn’t just “another” Christmas gift among our “wish list” items.

⁹The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. ¹⁰He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. ¹¹He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. ¹²Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— ¹³children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.¹⁴The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1: 9-14 (NIV)

Christ didn’t come that first Christmas in response to any person’s wish list. In fact, the Bible says that when Jesus came into the very world He created, He was rejected, ignored, even despised by those who should have recognized and welcomed Him. He didn’t come wrapped in shiny paper and waiting for us to enjoy Him. He came wrapped in rags, forced to go into exile under threat of death, and honored only by humble shepherds and strangers from foreign lands. No one sought Him out on their own. Even the shepherds and wise men were led by angels and a guiding star.

This year, instead of concentrating on wish lists and our desires (even noble ones!), let’s reflect on God’s wish list– that we would turn from sin and rebellion, and be reconciled to Him; that we would make His gift our greatest desire!

December 21, 2022 0

Tag: childhood