Author: made4eternity

I am home for Christmas, and it’s not just in my dreams . . .

John 1:14 “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

This is a poem I wrote a while back when I was in the middle of a very difficult situation, but had to keep going about my daily routine. It’s an example of my own Lamentations, my acknowledgment that the life we lead here on earth can be so very hard at times.

Life doesn’t stop for a broken heart.

It doesn’t slow down just because

It hurts to breathe, think, talk, eat, write.

And it doesn’t let us off so we can

Cease living for a while

‘Til the pain ceases stabbing every thought

And we can once again laugh without

Wanting to cry.

No, life speeds on,

Careless and carefree,

And there are dishes to wash,

Papers to write,

Meetings to sit through,

Clocks to be punched,

And the broken heart is

Left crumpled and torn

In a corner of our life

Like an old sweater

That there’s no time to mend.
 

I’ve been reading in Jeremiah of late. It’s a tough book to wade through. It’s full of righteous judgment upon judgment upon judgment against rebellious Israel; each one sad and painful. But then, I come to passages like this one in chapter 32:37-41 (ESV):

“Behold, I will gather them from all the countries to which I drove them in my anger and my wrath and in great indignation. I will bring them back to this place, and I will make them dwell in safety. And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.  I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.”

My heart rejoices greatly in that.

Why should I so delight in promises made thousands of years ago to this tiny chosen nation? After all, I am not an Israelite. These promises are not for me, a Gentile member of the Church.

I love these truths because they reveal the God I serve as a compassionate, covenant-keeping God. He loves Israel with an everlasting love. And despite their past and present rejection of him and of his Messiah, these promises will come true. I will see them come true.

And I will marvel at such a wonderful Savior, such a faithful King.

I don’t dread my own death, only others’. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I don’t want to have to be the one to deal with the pain, the mind and heart-breaking loss. I dread the phone call, the burn of tears on my eyelashes, the crazy disbelief, like the time when I was little and Dad and Mom told me a friend had died in a car accident and I just kept thinking they could put her body back together again and she’d be OK. But life, once broken into a billion pieces by the mallet we call death, can’t be fixed.

Not yet anyway.

And the dread I feel sometimes overwhelms the hope – the settled assurance – that the lives of those I love are in the most capable, caring hands in the universe. Their times, as well as mine, are His to determine. He knows when, or if, we will die. I need to rest in that fact that when tragedy strikes my fragile heart, His grace will be all sufficient. Still, I long for, ache for, live for, the “if”. I desire with all my heart to be of the generation of believers who never died, but were instead raptured to live forever with our Savior, to be free from dread, to be free of sin, to be free of decay, to be free eternally from death.

Today I said goodbye to my kids. The last thing I heard as I walked out the classroom door was their laughter. It was a fitting end to the few special months I was privileged to spend with these little guys. I laughed with them every day.

A lot.

This morning was no exception. When my supervisor announced that this was my last day, she told them I was leaving and that I was going to be working at a hospital (my medical practicum starts in January). The kids were quite impressed, based on the chorus of wows. Tommy, apparently, was especially impressed. As he walked out the door, bundled up in his heavy winter jacket and Packers hat, he threw his arms around me, buried his head in my stomach, and said, “Bye, Miss Morrison. Have a good time at the doctor’s!”

And I laughed.

I wasn’t really thinking about it yesterday when I walked into class, but I was thinking a lot about it when I walked out. It was my last class session of the semester. On Friday, I have my last day at my practicum. By this time next week, my semester will be over. I have just one final on Monday. Then in January, I begin my last semester in school. Quite possibly the last one ever.

Wow. That snuck on me. I think I get so used to routine, just getting through the day or the week or the month. And then, wham! what I’ve been doing is over and it feels extremely sudden. I hit that last date hard and get mental whiplash. The end of something is sneaky in a very subtle way. I never expect to be surprised at how quickly it comes, but I always am.

I’m looking out the window now where it’s snowing in the deepening dusk. I’ll be going out a walkin’ in it soon, which will be a nice end to the day.

And for the end of this post, here’s a great statement of trust in the LORD by King Jehoshaphat when “a great horde” was coming against Judah:

2 Chronicles 20:12b “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

In Kenya when you haven’t seen someone for a while, you might say upon encountering them again, “You have been so lost.”

And I have been.

But I’m back to wish my faithful (???) readers a Happy December. Last year here in Milwaukee we had a blizzard on the 1st of December. This year the new month has brought with it a lovely wintry mix, i.e. snow and stinging ice pellets driven by 25 mph winds into one’s face. It was a perfect day to play football. Truly it was a fun time, because of the following  combination of factors:

December. Snow. A Saturday afternoon. A pick-up football game with good friends.

What more could you ask for?

(Perhaps me, actually blogging more than 5 times a month, ala November? I’ll be working on it.)

His real name’s not Harold, but due to privacy issues, I probably shouldn’t broadcast it over cyberspace. Calling him Harold gives you the gist, because I’m not talking about a 73 year-old man here. Harold is 5. He’s one of my kids. One of my favorites, actually, which is kind of surprising considering what a distraction he is in the classroom. He rambles on incoherently about everything and nothing, he rarely raises his hand, he is a whirl of constant motion, he has little concept of classroom etiquette and social norms. Sadly, the other kids have noticed he’s a little odd.

But I love the rascal. Everything Harold does is done with a sweetness and sincerity and abandon I’ve rarely seen. His wide eyes take in life enthusiastically (if a tad cluelessly) and he usually sports a charming huge gap-toothed grin. His hair is usually matted down in places and sticking straight up in others, adding a bit of Norman Rockwellian whimsy to his persona. He laughs easily and hands out hugs just as freely. Everyone – teachers, classmates, the substitute – is “my friend” (even if they don’t necessarily think so).

Last Monday as the children were coming into the room, I saw that some looked a little draggy. I began asking them one by one if they were sad or happy. When I got to Harold, sitting in the center of the room Indian style, his back straight, eyes wide, I asked, “Harold are you sad today?”

“No, I’m HAPPY!” He leapt to his feet.

“Harold, why are you happy?”

He flung his arms wide. “I took a shower today!”

“You took a shower?”

He was nearly jumping up and down with barely corralled energy. “Yeah! And then I came to school!”

I sat there and laughed. A shower and school. Two very good reasons to be happy.

Harold is going to be leaving us soon for another classroom where he can get the kind of special education he needs. I’m going to miss that sweet little boy with the old man’s name.

I’m going to miss my friend.

There’s one good thing I can say about having to leave home a bit before 6:30 AM to catch a bus – you surely do get to see Milwaukee’s beauty. Seems that during other times of the day, creation is drowned out by the noise and bustle or it’s wrapped in darkness.

But in the early morning, Milwaukee shines. I nearly forget I’m in a city. On Tuesday, the heavens boisterously and exuberantly declared the glory of God (Psalm 19), with the rising sun warming the undersides of feathery clouds to the tune of brilliant oranges and pinks. I started singing at the bus stop, joining the chorus of the skies.

A little while later while riding through a residential section of town, the trees were glowing. It was the perfect combination of soft light and fall leaves. This year there is a lot of yellow on the trees. And when that early sun hits those leaves just right, the word “burning” becomes extremely appropriate. I find it difficult to study my articulation textbook at that point.

I’ve started getting off the bus a stop early so I can walk through a little park on the south side. The combination of relative quiet and crunchy leaves and frost-encrusted grass underfoot has proved irresistible.

Yes, Milwaukee shines. And I worship the Creator of beauty in the city.

or, 27 years. As of yesterday, that’s how long I’ve lived. Somehow, it seems like it should be longer. More days, I mean.

You mean I haven’t even hit 10,000 days?  It’s a reminder again how short this life is compared to eternity. My life span since 1980 is like the tiniest plop, blip, blot, speck, compared to unfathomable vastness of timelessness. Actually, it’s less. It is so insignificant. And yet, what happens here in time influences eternity future.

Amazing!

I’ve asked this before and I’ll asked it again: is your eternity settled? Do you know where you will spend it? Don’t push the question aside. Consider forever. Consider that we are all sinners who deserve to spend eternity in torment in hell, separated from God. Consider that the one true God became man – Jesus Christ – died on the cross, taking that eternal punishment for us, then rose again. Consider the fact that he offers salvation from hell as a totally free gift. Consider that the only way to obtain this gift is by believing (depending) solely on the work and person of Jesus (not by any works we do).

Consider the TRUTH. Then believe it and live forever.

Sometimes during my therapy sessions with one of my 4 year olds, I feel like a broken record. Mandy is on the autism spectrum, and lately we’ve been working on the social aspects of language, in essence, eye contact.

This is how I sound:

“Mandy, look at my eyes when I am talking to you. . . good looking . . . no, do not look at the computers . . . Mandy, where are my eyes? . . . good looking . . . no, do not look at Ms. B . . . . look at my eyes . . . good looking . . . no, do not look at what the other kids are doing . . . .” and so on.

See? Broken record.

Yesterday, I couldn’t help but think that this is what the Lord is like with me. He is so patient and yet so persistent with his reminders: “Katie, look at me . . . no, don’t go looking at the world’s distractions . . . no, don’t go looking at what I’m doing in your friends lives . . . look at me.”

‘Cause in reality, I’m an awful lot like Mandy. My eyes wander. I need those constant nudgings, the finger on the chin guiding my gaze back to the Savior.

Hebrew 12:1-2 ESV  “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Now that wasn’t all that hard, was it?

We sang this one on Sunday and it was  great: 

Safe is my refuge, sweet is my rest,
Ill cannot harm me, nor foes e’er molest;
Jesus my spirit so tenderly calms,
Holding me close in His Mighty arms.

Chorus: Oh! what wonderful, wonderful rest!
Trusting completely in Jesus I’m blest;
Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,
Holding me safe in His mighty arms.

Pressing my tear-stained cheek to His own,
Hushing my grief with His sweet gentle tone;
Touching my heart with His healing balms,
Holding me still in His mighty arms.

Tempests may rage, sin’s surges may beat,
Ne’er can they reach my sheltered retreat;
Free from all danger, from dread alarms,
Resting so safe in His mighty arms.

– Winfield MaComber

I like knowing things. If I know something, I cope easier because I can outline in my mind the steps that I need to take based on my knowledge of a situation. I’m a serious ducks-in-a-row addict.

So when the Lord, in his infinite wisdom and kindness, gives me a trial, he generally includes a hefty dose of uncertainty. Oh, and a nice dollop of waiting. Uncertainty and waiting – those two words pretty much sum up my trials.

Like the one I’m in now.

And I know why he gives these tests to me – because when mind is full of wonderings but my hands are tied, my only hope is in looking up to my wonderful Savior in whom there is rest and peace.

As I remember the Lord, I find great joy in the truths of songs like this gem by August L. Storm:

Thanks to God for my Redeemer,
Thanks for all Thou dost provide!
Thanks for times now but a memory,
Thanks for Jesus by my side!
Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
Thanks for winter, summer, fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
Thanks for peace within my soul!

Thanks for prayers that Thou hast answered,
Thanks for what Thou dost deny!
Thanks for storms that I have weathered,
Thanks for all Thou dost supply!
Thanks for pain, and thanks for pleasure,
Thanks for comfort in despair!
Thanks for grace that none can measure,
Thanks for love beyond compare!

Thanks for roses by the wayside,
Thanks for thorns their stems contain!
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside,
Thanks for hope, that sweet refrain!
Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow,
Thanks for heav’nly peace with Thee!
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow,
Thanks through all eternity!

I love writing because it is unnatural as far as communication modes go; we acquire spoken language, but we must be taught how to read and write.

Despite it’s lack of “naturalness”, our brains display an amazing ability to grasp and master written language in its various forms. There are many different orthographies (writing systems – think Roman [we use this in English] Hebrew, Chinese, Arabic, Cyrillic, my personal favorite, the IPA, etc.), but given time and study we can learn to read and write in any of them. Then we put little black squiggles and straight lines and dots on a white page and suddenly they mean “I love you” and “duck” and “stroganoff” and a zillion other words and ideas.

That’s pretty incredible. Yup, I love writing.

Dr. John Whitcomb, speaking of the foolishness of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:5):

“‘Then the LORD came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built.’ By the way, do you know how far down God had to come to find the tower? Psalm 113 says he has to humble himself to find the universe! And then he passes through all these billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars and finally finds our little galaxy called the Milky Way, which has 100 billion stars, and then he finds one star called the sun and around it there are nine little dots called planets and the third one isn’t so big. It’s called Earth. And then he comes and finds an infinitesimal pimple called the Tower of Babel.”

Taking a break from my “reasons” series . . .

Ephesians 4:17, 18 (ESV) “Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you no longer walk as the Gentiles [unsaved] do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to the hardness of their hearts.”

I’m currently reading a book on the wonders of science called The Canon. The author, Natalie Angier, is a talented and engaging writer, and that, along with the fact that the subject matter is awe-inspiring, makes for a mostly enjoyable read. I say only mostly enjoyable because Ms. Angier, like most people in the sciences these days, does not hesitate to enthusiastically and frequently bash anyone who believes in creation as being unscientific and by inferences (if not outright labeling), unintelligent.

She, like most evolutionists, finds strength in numbers (as if that is a cogent argument for or against a position). One passage that particularly struck me was the following:

“David Baltimore recalled an MIT scientist . . . who was one of the last remaining critics of the theory of the origin of the universe that is now almost universally accepted by astronomers and indeed the entire scientific community. ‘He didn’t believe in the Big Bang,’ said Baltimore, ‘and he was in everybody’s face about it.'” (p. 34)

The first thing I thought was “Poor guy. He was actually right.” Now I don’t know who he was, or what he actually believed as far as creation vs. evolutionism, but he was right on when he denied what everyone else proclaimed. How frustrating it must have been to be one of the only ones in his field who thought the Big Bang was a hoax. I’d guess it was that dense frustration that drove him to get “in everyone’s face”. It would be kind of like everyone in the world believing that grass is bright pink. You know know know know it’s green, and you try to tell people, but they smirk and keep living blissfully and ignorantly in their neon –pink –grass land. You’d get a little hot under the collar too, eh?

This:                                                                         

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It’s the challenge of a blank page and a flickering cursor.

Back from a little hiatus – a wonderful trip to Duluth for a God-glorifying, saint-encouraging Bible conference on Zechariah, Christology and some various other topics. Take a look at the Duluth Bible Church link to the right – they have MP3s of all the messages. I’m spiritually recharged and physically beaten down, but that sure is better than the other way around!

Onward in our “series”:

The second reason I love writing is because I am such an awkward speaker. I know, I know – considering my field, you’d think I should be a great and fluent conversationalist. Hardly. I fumble over my words, I am too blunt, I can’t think of the right thing to say or the right question to ask. I envy friends who carry on conversations with ease (and can do so with total strangers). Pragmatics (how we use language socially) is the weakest linguistic link for me. I’m an awful debater – most of my responses in defense of a position are barely above the level of “I believe that . . . just . . . just . . . BECAUSE.”

With writing, I have time to frame what I want to say. Words that elude me when I’m on the spot find their way onto the screen as I type. When my thoughts are given a chance to percolate and form coherently, writing ends up being my best communication mode.

Oooh, a series – how long it’ll be, I don’t know . . . but on with the my reason number one:

I love writing chiefly because writing is language. I revel in language, I live and breathe language. I don’t just think on language when it’s absolutely necessary to do so. I teach language, I critique it, I find joy in it. Whether I’m telling my 4-year-olds that the letter M makes the “mmmm” sound (as in Mmmmiss Mmmmorrison) or reading the book of Isaiah, I find much happiness and wonder in sounds strung together in words strung together in sentences and paragraphs.

In case you hadn’t noticed, language is near the top of my list of favorite gifts God has given mankind (note: for obvious reasons, it’s not at the top). I’m sad for my colleagues who think that language evolved because an ape or two felt an urge to start grunting meaningfully. That’s got to be depressing. I’m glad I know that my loving Creator created language so we could communicate deeply, not only with one another but also with him.

The more I learn about language, the more thankful I am to the Lord. He is awesome.