FLEDGING - June 2 2009

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles…
Isaiah 40:31 NIV

There’s a nice young couple who have taken up residence in our home—on a support beam situated on the underneath side of our second story deck. It ‘s a safe place to lay a few eggs, sit a spell, and then hatch some young’uns. From nest construction to empty nest, I’ve enjoyed peeking in on my houseguests.

Ladies (and gents), have you ever noticed how fast another mother’s pregnancy proceeds? My pregnancies dragged on at a tortoise pace while everyone else’s pregnancies fly by like the hare in Aesop’s fable. An avian gestation goes by in a flash—for a bird the size of my housemate, approximately 11-14 days. Once hatched, baby birds grow at the speed of light, so you need to be alert and observant if you want to catch the action.

When Mama bird’s behavior changed from incubating her eggs to making umpteen trips to the grocery store, I began making bed checks on the nest several times a day to see how the babies were growing. I was elated when I first caught sight of little pin-feathered heads and beaks popping up. Then one day a baby bird was pushed out on the edge of the nest, due to cramped conditions, and I knew that, of necessity, the babes would take flight soon.

Later that same day I heard a commotion in the direction of the nest and looked over in time to see one fledgling flutter like a befuddled butterfly, fighting to gain altitude. Its wings were flapping wildly and he was darting this way and that, like a kite being played by a fickle wind. But soon he was able to control his wings and negotiated a less than perfect landing on a tree branch.

I walked over to the nest to inspect it to see if anyone else had fledged. As I tilted my head to look up at the nest, the three remaining babies fled the scene and immediately flew to nearby branches. I sat in wonder as I watched the fledglings flying back and forth. It was like watching my child taking off on her maiden bike-flight. I felt the same pride and elation that I have every time one of my kids masters a new challenge. “Whoo hoo!”

In a week’s time, “my” baby birds (I tend to quickly develop attachments to animals) were transformed from pathetic, helpless, naked newborns into teenagers, eager to earn their flying licenses and receive their flight wings. What an amazing miracle!

Do you ever feel like a baby bird being forced out of your security nest, fearful that you won’t be able to wing it? Over and over in life we find ourselves in new and challenging positions, pushed out of our comfort zone. Put your hope in your heavenly Flight Instructor and let God carry you—and “soar on wings like eagles.”

"GRACE MEANS GIFT" - May 2, 2009

“For by grace are ye saved through faith;
and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.”
Ephesians 2:8 KJV

When I was forty-something, my mom gave me her most prized possession—her mother’s Bible: a lady-like sized, leather-bound King James Version, with petite print.

What I treasure most about this Bible is my Grandmother’s written notes. My own Bible has many passages highlighted and underlined, with comments written in the margin, the really good pages dog-earred. So with great interest I opened Grandma’s Bible to see what passages were most dear to her. Leafing through its delicate pages yielded only one, concise comment—but it is a comment that speaks volumes.

In carefully executed cursive, at the top of the “Presented to” page, Grandma wrote “grace means gift.” That’s it. Grace means gift. After my initial disappointment, my heart swelled with the realization that this one tiny phrase was the “heart” of my grandmother’s heart.

At the time I discovered her note, I was in the midst of my own discovery of God’s grace. I’m always amazed (but not surprised) at God’s impeccable timing. If I had read Grandma’s comment a couple years earlier, would it have had the same impact? I think not. God saved this precious discovery for a time when I would be most able to receive the full impact of its blessing.

Grandma’s legacy—the realization of God’s amazing grace—was passed down to me through my mother. I’m not referring here to Mom handing over Grandma’s Bible to me, but to her own faith journey. Every time she shared her personal encounters with “grace means gift,” with me, her face glowed and her voice took on the quality of music—an expression that made me say to myself, “I want that! I want to have what she has!”

Even though my mom was raised in the church, it wasn’t until she was 59 that she really “got” grace. In her eighties, Mom wrote her autobiography for her children and grandchildren, and in it she stated, “Unknowingly, there had been a struggle in my life as I wavered back and forth for many years, trying to earn my own salvation FOR God, instead of accepting it as a free gift FROM God through Christ!”

Each one of us has to experience our very own encounter with grace. Grace is such a difficult concept to grasp. But once we’ve “got” grace, we want to share it. And it is through demonstrating grace toward others that we help them “get” grace.

We can lead our loved ones and friends to the water trough of grace, but they have to taste it for themselves in order to experience its refreshing, life sustaining truth. Often times, we arrive at the water trough via trauma, crisis, loss, grief—literally dying of thirst, spiritually. Care for a sip?

Grace means gift!

In memory of my grace-filled grandma
Wilhelminia Schelesky Reuman
1887-1972

PASSPORT TO PASSOVER--AND BEYOND - April 4, 2009

During March, my daughter, Beth, led a mission trip to Antiqua Guatemala for Ambassadors for Children. My husband, Rex, and I also went to Guatemala on a medical mission with People Helping People. Beth was in Guatemala from the 7th to the 14th; we were there from the 14th to the 21st.

On March 14, we were like “two ships passing in the night,” in the Guatemala City airport as Beth and her team were checking in to ticketing to leave Guatemala, at the same time that our team was arriving. There is no crossing over from the “departures” side to the “arrivals” area, and there wasn’t even an opportunity to wave at each other through a window. To be that close to my daughter in a foreign country and not give her a hug was pure torture.

When traveling out of the country, one’s passport is a traveler’s most precious possession—even more valuable than my aerosol hairspray, which was confiscated at the new Indianapolis terminal. I didn’t carry this document with me to the clinic site or while sightseeing or shopping, but I was always a bit anxious when it was not on my person.

While I tend to be a worrier in my normal life, beyond the U.S. borders I develop the mind of a Stephen King. What if our bus is ambushed by bandits, we’re robbed and abandoned on the side of a winding mountain road, without currency or documentation? Or what if a volcano erupts and…

Even more important than a passport issued by our government is our spiritual passport, given to us by God: GRACE. We are birthed into grace when we are born, for God’s grace permeates everything. It’s like air which is necessary for life, but we can’t see it. Or like water to a fish: invisible, but essential.

No need to purchase this passport: just say “yes” to God’s free gift of grace. While not tangible or visible, you can “feel” and “see” it in the way a grace-filled person demonstrates grace to those around them. This spiritual document can’t be lost or stolen. There is no expiration date; no need to renew it or pay for it, and then wait ten weeks for it to arrive in the mail. And, best of all—no ugly mug shot that you’re stuck with for ten years; our image is a reflection of Christ.

As we observe Holy Week, remember that the events of Christ’s last week of life—his entry into Jerusalem, the Passover meal taken with his disciples, his passionate prayers in Gethsemane, his arrest, beatings, trial, conviction, crucifixion and burial—were all a part of God’s plan to redeem us. Our passports are stamped with Jesus’ blood.

On Easter we celebrate God’s unlimited, uncontainable, unrestrainable Grace, as demonstrated in our Savior’s resurrection.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith;
and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.”
Ephesians 2:8 NIV

FASTING - March 7, 2009

I am not a big fan of fasting. I tried it once, but only due to peer pressure. Eons ago, a pious person in my Bible study group decided it would be spiritually edifying to fast during an overnight retreat. I’m not talking eight or even twelve hours; no, twenty-four excruciating hours of gnawing emptiness—to help us focus on God.

Oh, I fasted, and survived, but my eyes were more on my tummy than on God. And I was so famished when it was time to “break fast,” that I ravenous gorged on donuts that a thoughtful Martha among us supplied. I learned two spiritual lessons from this rigorous discipline: 1. fasting is definitely not my mug of mocha, and 2. greasy pastries hit the empty tomb like a tub of rancid lard.

In Old Testament times, the Israelites engaged in fasting—laced with “attitude.” God sounds slightly sarcastic in the following response to the fasting of his Chosen People:

"The bottom line on your 'fast days' is profit. You drive your employees much too hard. You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight. You fast, but you swing a mean fist. The kind of fasting you do won't get your prayers off the ground. Do you think this is the kind of fast day I'm after: a day to show off humility? To put on a pious long face and parade around solemnly in black? Do you call that fasting, a fast day that I, God, would like?” (Isaiah 58:3-5 The Message)

Actually, God sounds A LOT sarcastic—and angry. I think these are good words to keep in mind if fasting for Lent, whether for extended hours, or in refraining from chocolate, pop, alcohol, or some other addictive substance or activity.

If you’re primarily giving up desserts just so you can fit into your bathing suit over spring break, I strongly encourage you to rethink this. I have a hunch that this motive falls into the “unspiritual attitude” category that brings out God’s cynicism. The object of Lenten denial is to express devotion for God, not adoration for the Sun god of Daytona Beach.

I’ve occasionally given up chocolate, Diet Dr. Pepper or desserts for Lent, but I must admit to mixed and self-serving motives. To my relief, God provides another fasting option; a “doing” fast rather than a “denial” fast:

"This is the kind of fast day I'm after: to break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation in the workplace, free the oppressed, cancel debts. What I'm interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families." (Isaiah 58:6-7 The Message)

Our Savior would say a rousing “AMEN!” to that:

“I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least
of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”
Matthew 25:40 The Message

CHANGE - February 21, 2009

"I tell you the truth,

unless you change and become like little children,

you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Matthew 18:3

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Just as I get comfortable, something changes. Sometimes the change is for the better; sometimes it makes things difficult; and sometimes change falls somewhere in the middle. Mostly, change slides up and down the continuum of life and I am dizzied in my attempts to keep up with it.

I’m most uncomfortable when change comes unexpectedly. Just as I tend to be klutzy in the physical realm, I am also emotionally klutzy, falling on my face as the speeding ball whizzes by me, or worse, strikes me dead-on, right where it hurts, especially in my “family bone.”

Right now, my family bone is in good shape. Changes are on the horizon, but they are exciting ones, including a mission trip to Guatemala with my husband, brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew. I look forward to warmer temperatures; but dread the packing and traveling. I love experiencing another culture; but get frustrated because I “no hablo mucho Espanol.”

I would like to think that I’ve grown more adaptable over the years, but there’s a troubling rumor going around that people in my age bracket begin to get stuck in our ways. This was true for my parents, but I can’t imagine this happening to me.

My hubby and I are definitely keeping up with the times. Rex and I each have our own cell phones (but can only execute a paltry few functions). We just entered the postmodern era by purchasing a flat screen TV (we were forced out of our comfort zone when our good-old, good-enough antique set died right before our eyes). And, I am on Facebook (but I have no pictures of me all dolled up, bedecked in “my little black dress,” nor do I have any place to wear it).

Not one school counselor advised me that I would need to minor in computer science in order to manage my daily life in the 21st century. For heaven’s sake, today’s three-year-old knows more about the computer than I do! Must I “change and become like a child” to enter the computer age?

There’s a bittersweet change just around the corner for me. I have been writing for The Herald Bulletin since May 2005 and thoroughly enjoy doing so. However, this column will begin appearing monthly, rather than weekly, beginning in March. To wean you from a weekly column, I will be skipping the last Saturday of February, and then begin the monthly routine. So be sure to look for me on the FIRST Saturday of each month to catch up on my adventures with Grace.

In the event that you go into withdrawal, you can get a fix by logging onto my blog: http://natureofgrace.blogspot.com/. Is not the fact that I am a “blogger” substantial proof of my ability to adapt to change? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it!

HEART-BREAK - Valentine's Day - February 14, 2009

“O my Comforter in sorrow,

my heart is faint within me.”
Jeremiah 8:18 NIV

I have a sobering Valentine’s Day message. I wish to share with you a burden that is heavy on my heart.

By profession, I am a Mental Health Counselor and a large component of my practice is with women who were sexually abused as children or sexually assaulted as adults. Boys and men do not escape such abuse, but are far more reticent to report. They’re more likely to end up in drug court or jail rather than in a therapist’s office.

When you’re attending church, a ballgame, or shopping this weekend, be aware that roughly 25% of the women there were sexually abused before the age of eighteen. There are children near you who are currently being sexually abused. If they do tell someone, it is often years after the occurrence. Many of these girls and women will NEVER tell anyone.

You will likely to be standing in line, or sharing a pew or bleacher, with perpetrators. Most will never be confronted with their crimes, and those who are will escape conviction due to “lack of evidence.” There’s no DNA test for the damage done to a human heart and spirit. If convicted, the sentence will not reflect the life-long devastation wrought on their victim and her family.

Many people are baffled that victims often don’t report. “Why didn’t you scream?” “Why didn’t you tell someone?” Perpetrators tell children, “Don’t tell anyone or you’ll get in trouble.” “If you tell, I’ll hurt your mommy (brother, sister, YOU).” Big sisters will often endure abuse in the hopes that younger siblings will be left alone.

Women rarely scream for help because they are frozen in fear. Violence—even threats—is a powerful silencer. Most sexual assaults are perpetrated by people the victims know. Imagine breaking the silence and telling on a relative, pastor, neighbor, family friend, husband or boyfriend; now an entire family is affected. Will you be believed, or accused of lying? (“The rate of false reports of rape is approximately 2%-3% which is no different than for other crimes.”).

Ironically, “22% of all women say that they have been forced to do sexual things against their will, where only 3% of men admit to ever forcing themselves on a woman.”

Shockingly, “The United States has the highest rape rate among countries which report such statistics (13 times higher than England; 20 time that of Japan).”

Sadly, “18% of women who reported being raped before age 18 said they were also raped after age 18.” These women are not “asking for it” by how they act or dress. They are dramatically more vulnerable than non-victims and perpetrators easily find and target them.

Despairingly, those who have the courage to pursue prosecution of their perpetrator, will be further emotionally wounded by painful experiences with medical personnel, law enforcement, the legal system and media. Sitting in a court room with a perpetrator is a nightmare. If they’ve been assaulted by someone they have previously had consensual sex with, they will probably settle out of court; juries are stymied by this dilemma. It’s better to settle for a lesser conviction than to see one’s offender walk free.

Survivors numb their emotional pain via eating disorders and abusing drugs and alcohol. They suffer from long term depression and anxiety disorders. If they ever establish a loving relationship, their love life will be scarred by the abuse. Husbands and boyfriends often do not understand the long term consequences of abuse and, in frustration, push for sex, further wounding the women they love—and their relationship.

All is not well this Valentine’s Day. Heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, bouquets of roses, and romantic dinners cannot heal these bleeding hearts.

Compassion, patience, a listening, nonjudgmental ear, are healing ointment and protective bandages—dispense liberally. There’s no greater gift.

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Resources:

Sexual Assault Statistics, Men Against Sexual Assault, University of Rochester http://sa.rochester.edu/masa/stats/php

Bureau of Justice: Crime and Victim Statistics, http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/bjs/cvict.htm

Bureau of Justice Statistics Rape and Sexual Assault: Reporting to Police and Medical Attention, http://www.ojp.gov/bjs/abstracts/rsarp00.htm

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, http://www.rainn.org

Violence Against Women Online Resources: Document Library, http://www.vaw.umn.edu/library/sexualassault/

WHO (World Health Organization): Gender-based Violence, http://www.who.int/gender/violence/en/

NANA BANANA - January 31, 2009

I spend Mondays with my grandson Evan. We both love bananas. And we love words—or for Evan, he loves babble.

“This, is a banana,” I say. “This is Nana,” I say, pointing to myself.

“Da-da-ma-ma-puppy-da-da-woo!”

After a breakfast of O’s and flakes—and bananas, it’s playtime. Evan’s attention span is typical of a fifteen month old—short—and so we do lots of different activities.

Santa brought him a ball pit, a great idea at the time Santa’s elves purchased it, but a not-so-great idea at 10:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve when Mommy and Daddy were huffin’ and puffin’ to inflate it. The pit is basically a small pool filled with colorful plastic balls, topped off by a corkscrew track.

“Eh, eh!” coaxes Evan, as he holds out a ball to me.

“Red ball,” I reply as I comply and drop the ball atop the track.

“Plop!” announces the red ball as it falls into the pit.

“Eh, eh!”

“Blue ball."

“Plop!”

Tiring of this fascination, Evan heads to the house Papaw made for him out of an H.H. Gregg dryer box. Peek in window; enter house; peek out window at Nana. “Boo!” Nana can’t resist squeezing into the house via the toddler-wide door (Papaw didn’t take into account the likelihood that an adult might want to play inside). Evan lights up with delight and quickly joins me for a brief visit.

Then it’s on to his ATV (all terrain vehicle—Papaw went wild in the toy store). Evan’s short legs don’t quite reach the floor yet, but he’s more interested in the sound effects and lights than he is with driving.

Time for a workout on the Fisher-Price fort and slide. No need to “Eh, eh” at Nana for assistance; Evan’s up onto the platform and slipping down the slope head first on his tummy before Nana can say “Nana-banana.”

“Oh! What’s that?” Daddy’s bench press. “Oh, look at that cute baby in the mirror. Would you look at that—two Nanas!”

Time for a walk pushing the nifty, pint-sized, plastic car that transforms into a walker.
Push the button to turn on the TV. Grin at Nana. Turn off the TV. Turn on the TV. Grin at Nana…

Dig through the toy chest. Press lots of buttons that make animal sounds and music; boogey briefly to the beat. Open and close everything that opens and closes. Stack; unstack. Put in; take out.

Motor a matchbox car across the carpet, vocalizing motor sounds.

Sit on Nana’s lap. Have Nana read the six-page, indestructible, cardboard book about baby animals a gazillion times.

Time for a nap—Nana’s.

After a week’s rest, I can’t wait for Monday. I count the days. Can’t wait to kiss those baby soft cheeks and blow raspberries on Evan’s tummy. TGIM!

The Bible refers to God as our Heavenly Father, but I just bet he’s really our “Thank Goodness it’s Monday” Granddaddy.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”
Jeremiah 31:3 NIV