Made for Eternity

Day 135

Today I talked to my friend Amrah, who has just returned to southern California after a year in South Korea. We haven’t talked to each other that whole time. Funny how it is with people you haven’t talked to in a long while.  There is so much to say but you don’t know where to begin. Suddenly the present overwhelms and all you can think about is something mundane like “I’m having macaroni and cheese for lunch.” 8 months ago, 2 months ago, last week – what happened back then? How do you squeeze all that living into a conversation? I feel so tongue-tied. Eventually stories come to mind, but there is a big empty space where you lived your life and they lived their life and you just can’t go and relive that part together. You really can’t “catch up”. 

That’s why I love my mom’s weekly emails from Kenya. She often writes about the details – Daniel’s practicing his trombone, Emily’s running out the door to a meeting, Noah’s washing the dishes and listening to his music really loud. Somehowly, those things bring me into my family’s life, they “catch me up” just a little, make me feel a part of their ordinary. I like that.

Onward.

Jeremiah 29:11-13 “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.”

That’s our memory verse at church this month. I have a future, I have a hope (here I use that word to express a “confident expectation”, not a “wish” as it is often used today). Thanks to God, I know who I am, where I came from, why I am here, and where I’m going. That’s pretty awesome.

Day 136

I’ve been thinking about names recently, names of towns in particular. Where I grew up in southeastern Pennsylvania, there was a distinct Biblical bent – Nazareth, Bethlehem, Zionsville, Emmaus, and of course, Philadelphia. And then there was Bath. Bath was a weird one – some people may think that those other towns are named oddly, but Bath always seemed extra strange to me. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, I live in Bath. Yeah, and I have the wrinkly toes to prove it.”

See what I mean?

In 1992, we moved to Kenya where the names Kijabe, Naivasha, Nakuru, Mombasa, Machakos, Limuru, and Nairobi became as familiar to me as New York and Los Angeles are to Americans.

But that was all small potatoes compared to where I live now – Wisconsin has some of the oddest names in the book (as far as English speakers are concerned) . . . Mukwonago? Oconomowoc? Wauwatosa? Ashwaubenon? Weyauwega?    Whew – I’m giving my spell-checker fits! For correct pronunciation of these and other Wisconsin tongue twisters: www.misspronouncer.com.

OK, I guess I should feel comfortable with names like these. After all, my first hometown in PA was . . . Catasauqua.

Onward.

Today Julie and I sang at church. It wasn’t perfect, but the Lord undertook in the situation (especially since we were singing a capella), and I just prayed that he would be honored and people would be encouraged by these words:

“How deep the Father’s love for us/How vast beyond all measure/That he should give his only Son/To make a wretch his treasure/How great the pain of searing loss/The Father turns his face away/As wounds which mar the Chosen One/Bring many sons to glory.

Behold the Man upon the cross/My sin upon his shoulders/Ashamed I hear my mocking voice/Call out among the scoffers/It was my sin that held him there/Until it was accomplished/His dying breath has brought me life/I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything/No gifts, no power, no wisdom/But I will boast in Jesus Christ/His death and resurrection/Why should I gain from his reward?/I cannot give an answer/But this I know with all my heart/His wounds have paid my ransom.”

Rich words. The richest truth.

Day 137

Nothing shakes up a session with a five year old client like this question:

“How did the baby get out?”

So, there I am, with . . . hmm. Let’s call him Charlie. Working on pronouns. Subjective pronouns. You know, like he and she. We have Richard Scarry’s book What Do People Do All Day? (which I highly recommend – it’s one of my favorite books from my childhood) and are discussing “what he is doing” and “what she is doing”. Things are going well. Charlie is catching on. Then, we turn to the page with the little bunny who goes to  the hospital to have her tonsils out. While she is getting her tonsils out, her mommy has a baby! There’s a darling picture of Sister Bunny at Mommy Bunny’s bedside with Baby Bunny. Oh, so sweet. Then . . .

“How did the baby get out?”

(Pause) “Uh . . . (hoping I heard incorrectly) what?”

“How did the baby get out?”

“Well . . . (frantically wracking brain for correct response) um . . . the mommy came to the hospital and had the baby.”

“But how did the baby get out?”

“It was just . . . born . . . at the hospital. (One of the most cop-out-ly answers ever.) And now the little girl bunny has a new baby sister. Isn’t that so nice? (This part spoken with a very fast rate of speech as I turn the page.) Oh, Charlie, look! Some people are going on a train trip. What is he doing?”(Annnd we are back on track. No pun intended.)

Life’s an adventure. You just never know when a kid will try to get a biology lesson out of a pronoun drill.

Onward.

“Day by day and with each passing moment/Strength I find to meet my trials here/Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment/I’ve no cause for worry or for fear/He whose heart is kind beyond all measure/Gives unto each day what he deems best/ Lovingly, it’s part of pain and pleasure/Mingling toil with peace and rest.”

Lately (as in the past several months), the attribute of God that has been most sweet to me is his kindness. He is a kind God. He is kinder to me than I will ever be able to understand. When I face trials, I love to think that my kind Father is allowing them, and not some ogre in the sky who just wants to make me miserable. I can trust a God who is infinitely kind even when he sends heartache my way, because I know he knows what’s best for me.

I would not be able to trust a god who I thought might turn on me at any moment if I screwed up, or a god who is just up in heaven playing with mankind’s lives like they were some kind of cosmic joke. People who don’t know my Father often think he is like that. By his grace, I know better.

I know that he is kind.

Day 138

Dysdiadochokinesia: an inability to perform rapid, alternating movements (eg: saying pa-ta-ka quickly). I love this word – it takes a little practice to say, but it’s kinda onamonapeiatic (paradoxically, since if you do suffer from dysdiadochokinesia, saying the word itself might be difficult). Once you get it down, your tongue is flying all over the place. I guess that’s why I like it so much – 16 phonemes of fun. Um. Yes.

I am a nerd.

Onward.

Matthew 11:28-30 “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

This has been a tough week, a tiring week. I’m weary of school and the grind of the days. I’m burdened with thoughts of grades and clients and tests and money. And then I read this – “I will give you rest.” There are few sweeter promises I have found. Eternal rest, rest for today. There is always rest in my faithful Savior, no matter how hectic life can get.

I only wish I would remember that more.

Day 139

The title is a play on a note left on my mom’s car once when she left too little room for the guy who parked next to her. “Inconsinderate” sort of took some of the sting out of it. Of course myoclonic jerks are very inconsiderate. They can occur frequently and very intrusively in people with brain disorders. In normal people, they occur just as you are falling asleep,relaxing, drifting off into dreamland. You feel like you are sliding, falling, and suddenly your body jerks/twitches/thrashes. Your heart goes into double quick time and you are awake all over again. Grrr. Mr. Brain, this is very irritating.

No one seems to be sure why it happens. One theory is that the brain thinks the body really is falling as you relax and needs to wake the muscles up so they can right the body. I like that idea – kinda fun. 

Onward.

Last night at church, we read through 2 Timothy. There was a smaller gathering than  usual due to weather, so we sat in an circle (oval) and read it through verse by verse.  Good times.

2 Timothy 2:1 You therefore, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.

Everything that follows hinges on this thought. It’s literally “be strengthened in the grace” – the only way we can do anything in our Christian life that will last for eternity is to do it relying on the grace – unmerited favor – of Jesus Christ. By resting in him, we can be strong and accomplish his will for our lives. On our own we have no strength; we may have the desire, but we need his power.

Day 140 

Today is my friend Abigail’s birthday. Kind of. You see, she’s one of the .0684 percent of the world’s population that had the great privilege of being born on a leap year day, 29 February. But that’s not the ONLY thing that makes this girl, celebrating her 5.75 birthday today, special. She is one of the kindest people I know. She is a true and dear friend.

We lived across the hall from each other in college and met our first night at Moody: after a long day of orientation, we were hanging out in the plaza, tired, acting seriously goofy. And somehowly, we just clicked. For the next 2.5 years as I finished school, our friendship grew. We had our nicknames – she became “Big”(as in aBIGail), I was “Gangsta”. We had our fun moments, our serious moments, our crying moments (yeah, mostly me), our laughing moments (I rarely laugh as much as when I’m with Abigail and our roommates, Bethany and Danielle). Last June, I had the honor of being there in Ohio for the moment when she FINALLY married her Karl.

One of my favorite memories of Abigail is getting “tucked in”. She’d come into my room and tuck me in, then sit down and we’d talk. It was dark and quiet – well, if you didn’t count the frequent amulance and fire truck sirens blaring past on LaSalle or Chicago Ave. At any rate, it was a special time with my friend to talk about whatever was on our minds. And every night as she walked out the door, I’d say, “Hey Big, where we going?”

“Heaven.”

That’s right, Big. That’s right.

Happy birthday, girl. I love you.

Day 141 

I was supposed to pass 100 clinic hours today, but one of my clients cancelled so I’m stuck at 99.25.  At any rate, I’ll pass 100 on Thursday at the latest. For an SLP who’s racked up  thousands of hours of therapy time, 100 is small potatoes. A drop in a bucket. Yawn. But for me, a graduate clinician who 3 years ago didn’t really know what speech-language pathology was, 100 hours is kinda special. I’ve worked with people who couldn’t speak, and with four year olds who didn’t know when to stop, I’ve laughed (and yes, cried) and learned through therapy sessions  with young and old men, and a middle-aged woman.  My RAP kids will always be precious to me – they were among my first clients, and it was when I was with them that I realized one day, I love what I do. This field fits me.

So, 100 hours. It’s not a lot, but it’s my beginning. Wonder what the future holds . . . I’m glad I know Who holds my future!

Onward.

Something I wrote on Psalm 11 last year:

“The upright will behold His face.” Psalm 11:7 

I will see God. Perhaps today. Maybe this very night I will fall asleep, awaken in glory, and see that Face, that beautiful glorified longed-for Face of God incarnate, the Man Christ Jesus. And He will welcome this world-weary wanderer with a welcome that has no goodbye at the other end.  

I will see God, for I am an upright one. No, hardly upright in practice. My spiritual nose is scraped and scarred from falling flat on my face so many times. I sin, rebel willfully, daily. It’s scary to think just  how deep a cesspool of sin dwells within. Yet, inexplicably, I am called righteous. I am justified. I am seated in the heavenlies with the very Son of God. And it’s because of HIM. His mercy. His grace. His agonizing death in my place. His victorious resurrection. His tremendous reaches-to-the-sky-and-plunges-to-the-depths-of-my-sin-darkened-heart love. It’s my Savior’s righteousness that God has imputed to me. I am totally, completely, without reservation, forever accepted in the Beloved. 

I will see God. Those are four small words, yet they carry all the hope of my lifetime here on earth and the delight and joy of my life for all eternity. I read these words, realize (only a little) what promise they hold, and my heart cannot help but sing at such a glorious thought.

 

Day 142 

This morning I was thankful for my boots as I went slush puddle hopping on my way to class at 7:52. I know the exact time because it takes me 7 minutes to get from my apartment to my class and there’s something of a science in getting to class ON TIME but not too early. The science is a bit more complex in the winter as it involves clothing one’s self in items such as scarves, hats, gloves, and coats. Anyways, I was thankful for my boots today – it’s a mess out there. A lovely snowy mess, but a mess nonetheless.

 Onward.

When I study something, I find that I think a lot more about the topic. Neuroscience: I’ll find myself contemplating the guy at the desk at work whose shoulder keeps twitching and hands are trembling and wonder if something’s up with his basal ganglia. Voice Disorders: Hmm – do I have a posterior chink in my vocal cord closure, like the majority of women my age? Stuttering: I notice my disfluencies more and more. We all are disfluent at some time or another – we revise, interject “ums” and “you knows”, repeat words. That’s entirely normal. Still, my awareness is heightened.

Of course, what I study in school is of temporary value. It’s worthwhile to learn these things because I’ll need them in my job as a speech-language pathologist. But if studying these things makes me more aware and conscious of them, how much more important is it to study the eternal Word of God? As I read that and it gets into my thinking, it is infinitely more worthwhile than my school subjects. The Holy Spirit can use the Bible to convict, comfort, and guide me in ways my classes never can. But the wisdom found in Scripture will only be of value if I study it.

Note to self: Get in the Word! 

Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (NAS)

It’s snowing today. Or raining. Not sure which one, really. Still, it’s thinking weather out there.  And this is what I’m thinking today.

I’m gonna start a blog. I’ve never kept up a journal for very long. I’d skip weeks, sometimes months, and then it would fall apart altogether.  But here I go again. Maybe this time it’ll be different. I want to write every day until my family comes back to the States. 18 July. That’s 143 days.

So, 143 days. 143 entries. How hard can that be? Ha.

Onward.

Today I read that James Cameron is putting out a documentary which is supposed to prove Jesus never rose from the dead. When I saw the article, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel the need to rise up and post a response in order to prove the resurrection actually happened (though I believe it to be true with every fiber of my being). I simply felt a deep sadness for Mr. Cameron and the countless others like him who will someday bow their knee at the name of this very-much-alive Jesus with no excuse for their foolish refusal to believe. And the righteous King will send them to suffer eternally in the lake of fire for their rejection of the Son of God. It is completely just, yet inexpressibly sad.  

Yesterday’s reading of 1 Corinthians 1-4 with Ann included this:

1 Corinthians 1: 18-23, 27 For the word of the cross is to those who are perishing foolishness, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. ¹⁹ For it is written, “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, And the cleverness of the clever I will set aside.” ²⁰ Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? ²¹ For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not come to know God, God was well-pleased through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe. ²² For indeed Jews ask for signs, and Greeks search for wisdom; ²³ but we preach Christ crucified, to Jews a stumbling block, and to Gentiles foolishness . . . 27 but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong.” (NAS) 

Let them call me a fool for believing in Jesus; believing that he is God who became perfect Man, believing that he died in my place on the cross and yes, believing without even a tinge of doubt that he rose again. To me, a sinner saved by grace, this message is the very power of God.