God – FROM THE SHOE

“Trust God” – A Testament to My Mother’s Quiet Faith

“Trust God” was all that was written on a little note my mother sent me in June 2006.

It had been a stressful three weeks. I was in the middle of a divorce and money was scarce. Proceeds from the sale of our little house in San Pablo would alleviate some of this stress. Finally an offer was made and escrow was set to close mid-June. I had to borrow money from my parents and even the realtor to get to COE. (Mind you, I was paying for two houses at the time.)

Over the Memorial Day weekend, me and the kids just hung around the house we had rented near our old house. Maybe some jaunts to the pool in Rodeo were on our schedule, I don’t remember. But, of course, late Friday on a holiday weekend, an abscess on one of my molars began to pain…that and the stress of divorce, caring for ten kids (who were great, by the way, during this sad time), anxious for the sale of the house, and having very little money….the toothache was a bale of straw on the proverbial camel’s back.

I managed by sheer grit to get a hold of a dentist and persuaded her to prescribe some antibiotics without having to go into the office…remember it was late Friday on a holiday weekend. You all remember the stuff that happens with kids on holiday weekends. Relief was 24 hours away. Hallelujah! But the camel’s back was getting to the breaking point.

Fast forward two weeks, tooth was better, school was out…we were waiting for the sale to close. The day before, no lie, the buyer backed out. I was devastated. I had no financial recourse…no way to pay bills or feed these kids. My soon-to-be ex husband barely provided anything. I had to ask my parents for more help. The camel’s back was breaking.

My mother was not a prolific writer like my father. When I was in Belgium many years before, I received a little card from her with about three sentences and a plain salutation, “Mom”. At this difficult time, she likewise sent me a little card…no greetings, no salutation, just two words in her beautiful cursive handwriting. Two words she lived by, two words that helped her through her tough times, two words which elevated my depth of despair to a fledgling faith where I ascended into a cleft of peaceful resignation and confidence.

Two weeks later, in a rare moment of taking the bulls by the horn, I approached my realtor, told him to reduce the price and if the house doesn’t sell by September, I’d move back there. There was an offer the next day…and escrow closed successfully in August. Reprieve. The camel’s back didn’t break.

It was my great privilege to accompany my mother to Rome ten years earlier. There I saw her faith fully animated in the ancient cathedral of St. Peter’s, on the cobblestone roads of the Appian Way, in the dark and dusty catacombs of St. Callistus and in the hurried visit to the Sistine Chapel. She was able to see her beloved sculpture, “The Pieta” as well as glimpses of Pope John Paul II. This simple faith, the Christian Faith, has been expressed, by not only my mother, but by billions of believers, over the centuries in magnificent works of art, architecture and adulation to the glory of God, the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. And I enjoyed watching her delight those ten days in Rome.

So, today is her birthday and in her honor, I write this testament to her simple, yet powerful faith, a faith (along with her prayers, no doubt) that bore me up on eagle’s wings when I had been dashed to the ground. And I commend to my children and my grandchildren, that they too, follow my mom’s example and “Trust God” not only at desperate times, but at all times.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

Proverbs 3:5,6

Happy Birthday, Mom…tell Dad hello. We miss you both very much.

“Listen to A Picture”

I love photography. I love it when I get an image just right. A great photo or a painting or even a film can evoke beauty, inspiration or life changing actions. Even sculptures can tell a story. My favorite sculpture (which I’ve written about here) is Michelangelo’s Moses. In Bible College, the professor explained that the strength of the figure and the intensity of Moses’ gaze were because he was looking into the Promised Land into which he was not allowed to go. Now that’s a powerful image.

I can think of two images in particular that had great power; one, a horrifying photo of a mother weeping over the bodies of five of her children after they perished in a Turkish earthquake back in the ’80’s. I can’t even post it because it is so heartbreaking, even more so now that I’ve had children. This photo moved me tremendously and to understand that grief is universal, that everyday there is loss, death and calamity

The second image is the complete opposite.

It was 2017 after the Super Bowl. Of course, Tom Brady not only was in it, but the Patriots went on to win it. For Tom’s mom, it was the first game of the season she attended because she had been battling cancer all season. I looked all over the internet for the image, but it has been removed. It was in the throes of champion joy that Tom looks at his mom with his million dollar smile with great love and her face is full of so much pride, joy and love. It’s a beautiful photo and powerful image of love, resilience and joy.

Images impact emotions faster and can be more powerful than words. Henri Nouwen, when he visited a friend in France in 1983, first saw Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son. His friend asked him, “Do you like it?”

I kept staring at the poster and finally stuttered, “It’s beautiful, more than beautiful…it makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time…I can’t tell you what I feel as I look at it, but it touches me deeply.”

Henri Nouwen was so moved by the painting that he eventually went to St. Petersburg to see the original himself.

Rembrandt’s embrace remained imprinted on my soul far more profoundly than any temporary expression of emotional support. It had brought me into touch with something within me that lies far beyond the ups and downs of a busy life , something that represents the ongoing yearning of the human spirit, the yearning for a final return, an unambiguous sense of safety, a lasting home.

Nouwen went on the write his famous, The Return of the Prodigal Son, because of his encounter with a powerful image. Speaking of the Prodigal Son, the title of this blog is taken from one of my favorite sermons of Thru the Bible’s J. Vernon McGee. It too is titled Listen to A Picture. You can listen to it here.

This blog is about a recent “image” I saw. It wasn’t a photo, painting or sculpture, but it was a live illustration in a sermon. The sermon series at my church is covering the Sermon on the Mount. Last Sunday’s sermon was about the Lord’s Prayer, the “Our Father” as we called it growing up in the Catholic Church.

As the pastor gave his sermon, he did something so simple, so sublime, so unassuming…yet very, very powerful. As he was talking about “Our Father Who is in heaven”, he called his young daughter to the stage and she happily jumped into his arms. He paused and let that image sink into our minds and said, “This is what our relationship with the Father looks like.” He held her firmly with his arm and she beamed as she looked into his face. And he beamed right back into hers. The illustration lasted a few minutes, she beamed the whole time. She was in her daddy’s arms, safe, secure and loved. WOW!

Now, I know that God is my Father, intellectually, and I know I’ve been adopted into the family of God by receiving Christ into my life through faith…but as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name. I know that…but to see this powerful image of a loving father and happy child…sometimes that is not a reality in my walk with the Lord. I am fearful. I doubt. I do not trust the strong Arm that holds me. And I am certainly not always smiling. I’ve got some serious adjustments to make.

What does this image, this sermon illustration want us to hear? It wants us to hear, to know that we are beloved children of the Father, we are all kinda His favorites. That we have been legitimately adopted into His family through Christ, (that’s how great the Gospel is). And that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God…

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Even the prodigal son was still a son in the pigpen.

I think an obstacle to returning to the strong arms of our Heavenly Father is our misunderstanding or misconception of what a father is. Some of us have had difficult relationships with our own dads, and there are residual wounds. Some of us have never been held like the pastor’s daughter was, securely and lovingly. It is foreign, even uncomfortable.

But…this is not without remedy. God really can heal those wounds and replace bitter experiences with new hope. I think as we, like the prodigal son, make our way back to the Father from whatever pigpen we’ve been in – fearfulness, anxiety, unbelief as well as a host of other sins – we will begin to bask in more of that Father’s love that was illustrated by the pastor and his daughter, and we will “rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, rejoice” as Paul wrote from a Philippian prison.

The Best Christmas Gift Ever

I’ve gotten wonderful gifts over the course of my life. The births of my ten children – my ten best days, my ten best gifts – Gifts from God. Then the grandkids…more best gifts, one coming a day before my birthday. A Christmas child in ’95 and a Christmas grandchild in ’23. (Second and third best Christmas gifts.) A bike one Christmas long ago when I was in third grade, my father and mother remembered. A vacuum…the first Christmas of my marriage (that’s what I wanted, it was awesome). A sculpture of a mama hare and her ten little bunnies…a wonderful gift from a true friend. All these and many more I am grateful for. However, the best Christmas Gift I received, the best Gift I received in my entire life was the One I received forty-five years ago less than ten days before Christmas 1979.

I was raised Catholic. I thought I was a pretty good Catholic, I loved the traditions and rituals of the Catholic Church. I learned basic theology in my CCD class at St. Eugene’s in Santa Rosa. Do unto to others as you would have them do unto you, don’t steal, don’t lie, be kind to animals…all from our little CCD study book which I still have. A good roadmap.

But there was something missing, I was still searching. Being raised Catholic did give me a good foundation for faith. I never not believed there was a God. I had no problem sitting at the cliffs near our Daly City house and imploring the Creator of the winds, the waves and the wonder of the ocean to reveal Himself to me perhaps like Bernadette or the children in Fatima or even Mary. But, alas, no. He revealed Himself in this way.

In 1978, I worked at a real estate office in Half Moon Bay during the Fall. It was wonderful, but lonely. Interest rates in ’78 were climbing toward 20%, subsequently, there were very few sales. The phone rang maybe twice a day. But my boss, Dick Stahl, an old friend of my dad’s, wanted me there and paid me to man the phones. So during the long hours between calls I read the Lord of the Rings and other books, but I mainly read the Bible, especially the Book of Revelation. I didn’t understand it at all. But I read it, I knew it was an important book. And those hours of reading whetted my appetite for more.

Fast forward through 1979, partying was getting wearisome, I had no real direction in my life and I was not making good decisions. I knew I needed to get it together, but how? Late that year, my best friend started going to this little church that met at the YMCA in Stonestown. She asked me to come along. Another true friend. I’m so glad I did.

I went to the service and enjoyed it. At the end, an invitation to faith was given. I remember clearly, Eric Sorenson had preached and was giving the invitation. He said, “If you wanted Christ in your life, raise your hand and we’ll pray for you.” I’m sure he quoted Revelation 3:20, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat, and he with me.” I struggled for what seemed like a long time…I had faith, I believed, I always believed. But had I invited Christ into my heart? No, I never had. Do I need to do this? Yes, I do need to do this, I want to do this. So I raised my hand up high, and asked kinda loudly, “Pray for me.” Startled Eric looked at me, but then nodded. I wasn’t supposed to say “Pray for me”. Oh well, here I am, forty-five years later, still raising my hand in different ways, “Pray for me.” The only consistent thing in my life. My best decision.

What brought me to that decision? It wasn’t the love of God, it wasn’t the superior teaching or even the rich history of the Church (albeit marred a bit)…it was that Jesus is the Truth. I was seeking for truth, the Truth. And He said in John 14:6, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, no one comes to the Father except through Me.” That is why I came to Christ. And His love was a Blessed By-Product which took a long time for me to understand and accept. I am still learning to this day what it means to be loved unconditionally.

My conversion took place during the tail end of the Jesus Revolution. The main verse at that time wasn’t so much John 3:16, but John 3:3, “Jesus responded and said to him (to Nicodemus), ‘Truly, truly, I say to you, unless someone is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.’” I was born again on December 16, 1979, my spiritual birthday, and for the past forty-five years, I have strove to follow Him. I have not always done so. But He continues to forgive me, stand me up, dust me off and straighten me out. He has been a faithful Friend, a patient Savior and a compassionate Father. He is the Gift that keeps giving. And on top of all of the benefits following Christ renders in this life, true joy, true peace, true love, there is also eternal life with Him. Amen.

So, dear reader, maybe you believe, but haven’t made that jump, opened that door or decided to give your life to Christ. Maybe you thought He was there all along, but aren’t sure, like me. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 6:1, “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.”, if you want Christ in your life…raise your hand and receive the Best Christmas Gift Ever and “…be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable, undefiled, and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you…” (1 Peter 1:3, 4).

Merry, Merry Christmas!

“But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.” John 1:12,13

The Ministry of Nature

Healing Memories of the Russian River

At church today, the sermon was about Genesis chapter one. The pastor did a great job breaking down the first six days of creation. His premise had to do with the “formless and void” description of pre-created life. Along these lines, he traced how God took that which was formless and void, and then he broke down the work of creation into two categories: form and filling, and showed how the creation days related to one another. It was great.

He showed how Day 1’s creation was form building not unlike concrete form making, however, on a mega-macro level, and Day 4 was its “filling” mate, like pouring in the concrete. Same with Day 2 and Day 5, and Day 3 and Day 6. I have never seen that before. It was so exciting. However, his comments about creation are what prompted this blog post, and how it relates to the River for me.

At the end of the sermon, he wrapped up his message with these points, that creation was like a temple where heaven and earth come together, that creation is a gift, a gift to see and receive from God, and finally that creation longs for Emmanuel. Now, I guess for a long time I discounted physical creation as something of this world, temporal, if you will, and that it might be a little anti-spiritual. I did appreciate creation, and knew it was God’s handiwork, but I didn’t realize there was something more to it than physical beauty. I didn’t look close enough nor long enough at the mountains and hills, I didn’t listen long enough to the soothing cadence of the ocean’s tide. I enjoyed the river growing up, but it wasn’t until life got pretty hard did I benefit from the divine ministry of creation, particularly, the Russian River. These are a few of my memories of healing by God’s creation.

Back in 2006, I was at the river attending a summer party memorial for my life long river friend’s dad, a sweet and kind man. It was during one of the lowest times of my life. I was emotionally and physically spent. After the party, my little ones and I went for a swim, it was really hot that day. As I lay in the river, looking up at the redwoods, redwoods that have probably seen much worse than what I was going through, I allowed the river just to hold me, and soothe me. I felt like I was melting into its cool caress. I didn’t understand it then, but this was the healing ministry of nature.

Another time, about ten years later, I came to the river. At this visit I declared to my niece, I am here for the ministry of nature. I knew I needed a rest and I knew how powerful time spent at the river was. I know it was before my dad passed away because my niece and I were exhausted and saddened with his deteriorating condition. The last year of his life was difficult, had he been able to come up to the river, perhaps his anxiety may have lessened. Perhaps. My dad loved the river. He first started coming up here when he was a little boy. I have yet to find out how my grandfather discovered the river. And how he met my life long river friend’s grandfather. The same redwoods I looked to for comfort and peace watched my dad with my friend’s mom and uncle scooting up and down the river in his boat. Those trees sure have seen some things.

Finally, the summer after my father died, I came up. Again, my niece and I sat at the pier watching the kids swim…like what her parents did, like what my parents did, and like what my grandparents did. But one of the river’s faithful friends was no longer with us. It was a somber visit, yet still beautiful because of what the river is.

As we sat there, my niece suddenly jumped out of her chair, “Oh my gosh…!” I jumped up as well thinking maybe there was a drowning down towards Roland’s. “What…what?” I asked.

“It’s a bald eagle!” she said stunned, pointing down river.

I have been going to the river for most of my 59 years, I have NEVER seen a bald eagle this far up river. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bald eagle. After we scurried around with cameras and phones, and took as many pictures as we could, we looked at each other and knew. This eagle was a divine visit, a divine gift that perhaps my father, her beloved papa, wasn’t so far away. And that perhaps he was keeping an eagle eye on his family and the river he loved. Another little gift, a blessed gift that comforted those who were mourning.

I don’t know what seismic convulsions or riparian residue caused the Russian River to wend and wind its way down from Willits to Jenner in the manner it presently does. I don’t know how my grandfather stumbled upon this place nearly ninety years ago. I don’t know how he met my life long river friend’s grandfather. But I do know I belong here, albeit a newer arrival compared to this slender body of water and her tall, beautiful, evergreen guards. This is my inheritance, this is my children’s and grandchildren’s inheritance not just as a Moore, but as Christians. My father may have given us this place and these memories, but I must thank my Heavenly Father, the Creator, the One Who actually designed all this beauty, the One Who formed and filled this void that we enjoy visually and physically. He also empowered His creation, this creation, with healing, joy and peace. Thank you, Lord.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit.”

Jeremiah 17:7,8

Life Is But A Preface

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“Life is but a preface

To a never ending tome.

A story yet unwritten,

Waiting to unfold.

There will be no epilogue,

“The road goes ever on,”

As someone wisely wrote

Not so long ago.”

Our short stay here on earth is like the preface of a book. Short and sometimes sweet. If we stand back and put our years into perspective of just known history, our lives are very short indeed. “For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” As my parents have gotten older just like when my grandmother and great aunt had aged, I seem to be walking through the valley of the shadow of death. I am surrounded by their mortality, and reminded of my own. One day, it will be my turn. And for the record, no one knows when it’s their turn. I don’t like to presume I have thirty more years, we’ve all learned, sadly, that some will go sooner than expected.

So somber, so sad…especially for those who left unexpectedly. But…as believers in Jesus Christ, the good news is that life really is just a preface, a short introduction to the complete story, the purpose of the literary creation. A preface to a wonderful story yet to be written by the One Who created the beautiful heavens and the luscious earth, the One Who wonderfully and fearfully created you and me. “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.“

I have come to accept the finish line of this earthly race, whether it’s far ahead or near, I can’t tell. My eyesight has worsened since my 40’s. My hare-like nature has wizened up a bit, and is trying to apply some tortoise-shaped brakes to the break neck speed I’m used to. Always in a hurry. Time to slow down and ponder this short brief “vapor” of a life I’m living.

What is life all about? Is life nothing more than a library of stories of those who came before us, those who share our point in time and those who are to come? Our brief tango with time. Will our accumulation of experiences and memories only disappear after our deaths or, at best, linger in the memories of our family and friends? What’s it all about, Alfie?

When I was a young adult, I struggled with these questions. I struggled to find my place in my family and in this world. I sought for truth. The true understanding of what this life was about. I found the answer in Jesus Christ. He said, “I am the way, the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” Coming from a catholic background, it wasn’t hard to personally embrace the teachings of the New Testament. Being born again was and continues to be the prime reality for me. Yay, Jesus lives! There is eternal life, and there is meaning to our lives here on earth. And there is Someone Who loves us beyond our imagination.

So after I made this decision, my life was perfect, right? Hahaha…ad infinitum. No, it wasn’t. I was still saddled with this human, sinful nature. I’ve made my share of mistakes, poor decisions and sins of omission. I’m at a place where I look around at the landscape of my past and try to understand my present. I am thankful God in Christ has forgiven me, and for all that is in Christ which is now mine. It’s taken me a long time to apprehend the treasures we’ve received as Christians. I hope I can redeem the remaining time for the benefit of my kids, to provide a somewhat sturdy, albeit at times stumbling example to walking in His steps.

Moses is attributed to writing Psalm 90. In this lovely piece of Hebrew poetry, he writes, “So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom.” As I look forward (meaning looking forward (ahead), not looking forward) to the conclusion of my preface, however long that might be, I look to Him to teach me to number my days, that I may present to Him a heart of wisdom. Something I can take from this life, and hopefully, something that will linger in the memories of my family and friends to point them to the Ancient of Days, the only true God and Jesus Christ Whom He had sent.

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made:

Our times are in His hand

Who saith “A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”

-Robert Browning

Count Thy Sunbeams Now!

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This morning I drove my son to work early. I got a good night’s sleep…thank you, Lord…and was listening to this new song I discovered from one of those corny Hallmark Christmas movies. It’s a sad Christmas song, and I think if the songwriter added an emotional bridge, it would be a classic.

Anyway, this song reminded me of a very painful Christmas sixteen years ago. There was a fight, and me and the nine kids (I was pregnant with the caboose) left and went to my parents for the holiday. It was the beginning of many low points. It was the beginning of the end.

The song reminded me of the days of many children. The days of many regrets…not regretting the kids, but many of my decisions during those years. Normally this line of thinking would land me in the “depths of despair” to quote Ms. Shirley, but not this morning, I just left it for what it was. Mistakes were made, but there were some good memories.

After I got home, I read today’s devotional in Mrs. Cowman’s Streams in the Desert, Vol. II. She quotes Psalm 92:1, It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord. She starts the devotional with these lines:

The remorse of memory is the pain of having failed to enjoy yourself. Have you ever felt that kind of remorse? Have you ever come to a time in which you looked back upon the past, and learned how little you valued it? To find that days were happy when the days are gone, to learn that one is passing through Elysium and not know it, to see the light on the hill only when it is setting – that is one of the saddest of all experiences. It is the climax of pain when I say with the poetess: “Oh, while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more!”

I had read that quote before and didn’t understand it, until this morning. When we add gratitude to our lives, gratitude for the good and the bad, we create appreciation, value if you will, to those times. As I look back at that painful Christmas, I realize how good my kids were, for enduring what they did with resiliency and grace. They were and continue to be good sports.

Below is the rest of the devotional, which I must add because it is written by George Matheson, one of my favorite brothers in the Lord. I am looking forward to meeting him when I go….

My soul, wouldst thou be free from that pain — that remorse of memory? Thou mayest be so; live in present thanksgiving! Count thy sunbeams now! Treasure today the gems that are strewn upon thy path! The love that is merely retrospective is a very painful thing. I would not have thee wake to the glory of a past only when it is past — desire one of the days of the Son of Man after He ascended. If thy days of sorrow at any time should cloud thy days of joy, I should like thee to be able to say, ‘Well, while they lasted, I did appreciate them.’ There are some who want to feel at death that their life has been a vain show. I would not have it so with thee, O my soul. I should like when death comes, to feel that I had thoroughly enjoyed life — taken the honey from the flower as God meant me to take it. I should like to know that I had not defrauded myself of my birthright, that I made room for others because I had had my share. The cup of gladness which my Father has given me shall I not drink it, even unto the dregs!

I shall thank Him for every bird that sings. I shall praise Him for every flower that blows. I shall bless Him for every stream that warbles. I shall love Him for every heart that loves. I shall see the sparkling of the cup ere it passes to the hand of my brother. There shall be no remorse of memory when I have thanked God for today. — George Matheseon

Hallelujah, and thank you, Lord for this chilly, wonderful Day.

This Beautiful Country

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I love books! I mean, I really love books. Many times I would rather read than eat, that’s how bad it is. When I have extra money, I’d hit up the used book section at Florey’s or even splurge on a new book purchase. One day a few years ago, I had some money, like maybe $30 (now that’s a lot for the used book section) and I stopped by Florey’s. I found some nice used books and was very pleased. But I was in for a pleasanter surprise. Coming out the bookstore, I saw the sign – 2 DAY LIBRARY BOOK SALE at the Pacifica Library. Oh my gosh!! I still had an hour to kill before I had to pick up the kids and at least $15 bucks left. And the sun was shining in Pacifica! Don’t you just loved those days when the stars align just for you!

With great anticipation, I scooted up the little hill to the library and even found a parking space. I spent the next 45 minutes hungrily searching the various sections and left with a bagful of goodies that only cost about $13. Of course, I should have used the money for something more practical, like extra boxes of oatmeal or topping off the gas tank, LOL, I mean pulling the indicator out of the red. But I am a hopeless book addict. I have decided that if I marry again it will have to be to a man like the Beast in “Beauty and the Beast”. I fell in love with him when he gave Belle his fantastic library. Now that’s a man after my own heart!

My love for books was born in my grandmother’s Richmond District living room. She had a wall full of books, the built-in bookshelves stretched from her lovely carpeted floor to the high ceiling; and for a young girl, it was larger than life and filled with so much potential. Similarly at Uncle Bill’s Russian River cabin, he had dotted the entire cabin with small bookshelves so everywhere you went you were sure to find a silent companion. I am not comfortable without books around me. They are my constant companions, and they don’t talk back!

No movie, no second-hand account, no Cliff Notes can convey the clear impressions of a great literary creation. Forever etched in my mind is Aeneas’ wrestling over whether or not to plunge the sword into Turnus’ breast in Virgil’s Aeneid.

“I know my death deserv’d, nor hope to live: (said Turnus)
Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think, O think, if mercy may be shown-
Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son-
Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;
And for Anchises’ sake old Daunus save!
Or, if thy vow’d revenge pursue my death,
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;
Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife:
Against a yielded man, ‘t is mean ignoble strife.”

In deep suspense the Trojan seem’d to stand,
And, just prepar’d to strike, repress’d his hand.
He roll’d his eyes, and ev’ry moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt;
When, casting down a casual glance, he spied
The golden belt that glitter’d on his side,
The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, rous’d anew to wrath, he loudly cries
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)
“Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,
Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?
To his sad soul a grateful off’ring go!
‘T is Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow.”

Or when, in Robert Bolt’s A Man For All Seasons, Thomas More explains to his daughter, Margaret, why he cannot sign the Act of Succession, that by taking an oath he holds his very self in his hands.

When a man takes an oath, Meg, he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then — he needn’t hope to find himself again.

And he adds later in the play these sublime words.

Listen, Meg, God made the angels to show Him splendor, as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of his mind. If He suffers us to come to such a case that there is no escaping, then we may stand to our tackle as best we can, and, yes, Meg, then we can clamor like champions, if we have the spittle for it. But it’s God’s part, not our own, to bring ourselves to such a pass. Our natural business lies in escaping. If I can take the oath, I will.

Or the divine act of kindness by hungry little Sara Crewe in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess, when after she found a coin in the gutter and bought half a dozen hot cross buns only to part with five of them to one hungrier than she.

“Bless us–no,” she answered. “Did you find it?”

“In the gutter,” said Sara.

“Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there a week, and goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.”

“I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I’d ask you.”

“Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and good-natured all at once. “Do you want to buy something?” she added, as she saw Sara glance toward the buns.

“Four buns, if you please,” said Sara; “those at a penny each.”

The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed that she put in six.

“I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only the fourpence.”

“I’ll throw in two for make-weight,” said the woman, with her good-natured look. “I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren’t you hungry?”

A mist rose before Sara’s eyes.

“Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for your kindness, and,” she was going to add, “there is a child outside who is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank the woman again and go out.

The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look of suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She was muttering to herself.

Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her cold hands a little.

“See,” she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, “that is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not be so hungry.”

The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight.

“Oh, my!”

Sara took out three more buns and put them down.

“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She’s starving.” But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I’m not starving,” she said–and she put down the fifth.

The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had been taught politeness–which she had not. She was only a poor little wild animal.

“Good-bye,” said Sara.

When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare,–a curious, longing stare,–jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun.

I came across the lyrics of this old hymn from Lilias Trotter’s Parables of the Christ Life. Written by Gerhard Tersteegen in the 18th Century, these words seep down into my soul like a sweet rain on thirsting ground:

Gently loosens He thy hold
Of the treasured former things—
Loves and joys that were of old,
Shapes to which the spirit clings—
And alone, alone He stands,
Stretching forth beseeching hands.

And finally, the serene, sublime words – “he restores my soul” – of the shepherd-king from his most famous psalm. Words that have found a resting place in billions of hearts over the centuries. Words that have guided many souls from this life to the next. One of David’s greatest legacies, one of God’s greatest gifts to man.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Such treasure, such beauty….however, I am but a poor dilettante traveling the rich borderlands of a vast continent of literary landscape. I have only scratched the surface. There are places I have yet to travel; happily, I have the rest of my life to go and enjoy this beautiful country.

Waiting For Hope

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Probably my favorite passage from Mrs. Charles Cowman’s Streams in the Desert – July 26

For we through the Spirit by faith wait for the hope of righteousness – Galatians 5:5

There are times when things look very dark to me–so dark that I have to wait even for hope. It is bad enough to wait in hope. A long-deferred fulfillment carries its own pain, but to wait for hope, to see no glimmer of a prospect and yet refuse to despair; to have nothing but night before the casement and yet to keep the casement open for possible stars; to have a vacant place in my heart and yet to allow that place to be filled by no inferior presence–that is the grandest patience in the universe. It is Job in the tempest; it is Abraham on the road to Moriah; it is Moses in the desert of Midian; it is the Son of man in the Garden of Gethsemane. There is no patience so hard as that which endures, “as seeing him who is invisible”; it is the waiting for hope.

Thou hast made waiting beautiful; Thou has made patience divine. Thou hast taught us that the Father’s will may be received just because it is His will. Thou hast revealed to us that a soul may see nothing but sorrow in the cup and yet may refuse to let it go, convinced that the eye of the Father sees further than its own.

Give me this Divine power of Thine, the power of Gethsemane. Give me the power to wait for hope itself, to look out from the casement where there are no stars. Give me the power, when the very joy that was set before me is gone, to stand unconquered amid the night, and say, “To the eye of my Father it is perhaps shining still.” I shall reach the climax of strength when I have learned to wait for hope. –George Matheson

Strive to be one of those–so few–who walk the earth with ever-present consciousness–all mornings, middays, star-times–that the unknown which men call Heaven is “close behind the visible scene of things.”

Today I Feel – RX for Jessica

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Last night my niece, Jessica, posted the above sentiment on her Facebook status. Before I fell asleep, I managed to comment encouraging her to find Bible verses to counter those feelings. I’ll try to do that in this blog. Here’s her Bible verse prescription for the above ailments that trouble her, and all of us too.

I encouraged her to find Bible verses because I had, and still do have, those exact feelings. I’m sure most of us do. I especially relate to the “ugly”, “like I don’t matter”, “invisible”, and “not worthy of love” feelings, but I will tackle each of them. I have learned over the almost four decades of knowing the Lord Jesus, that He can transform my mind which in turn will produce different feelings than those above.

Today I feel abandoned…I think every human has felt abandoned, lonely and alone. No one truly understands. And that’s a true experience. There are many synonyms for “abandoned”, left, uncared for, forgotten. When I think of abandoned, I think of an empty house, abandoned, like the old Granville house in “It’s a Wonderful Life”. What changed that abandoned, empty house into a happy home? Life and love changed it. In Christ, we have a new life, in 2 Corinthians 5:17, Paul writes, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come; the old has gone, the new is here!” John 3:16 says we’re loved, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son…” and John 10:10 says “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.“ Life and love, and to top it off, Jesus says in Matthew 28:20, “…I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Never alone again. Amen.

Today I feel ugly…I don’t think there’s a woman in the world who has never felt ugly. We are bombarded with images of unnaturally beautiful women everyday and then we look in our own mirrors…ughh. That may be one of the reasons I have few mirrors in my home. Antonyms for ugly abound: beautiful, pretty, pleasant, nice, attractive. Most of us can’t change our looks, but we can change our inner lives. From there, we can acquire an inner beauty that never ages. We have to admit we’ve got some ugly going on inside. How do we change that? One verse that helps is Psalm 34:5 “They looked to Him and were radiant, And their faces will never be ashamed.“ When we look at Jesus, we become radiant, we have a spiritual beauty, and from that we get joy. Nothing gets rid of ugly faster than happy.

Today I feel hurt…Hurt comes to all of us. Physical, emotional, mental pain abound in every country, city, and family. Pain: Our great unifier. The opposite of hurt would be healing. Psalm 34:18 assures us, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” and Psalm 147:3 promises, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up all their wounds.” As we draw near to Him, our hurts will be healed.

Today I feel like I don’t matter…The opposite of this feeling would be we feel like we do matter, that we’re important, that we’re special. The Bible says you matter to God. In the Old Testament, God says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.” In the New Testament, Paul tells us how God showed us we matter, “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” Greater love has no one than to lay down his life for his friends, Jesus loves you that much. Believe me, you do matter to God.

Today I feel useless…This word “useless” reminds me of the debilitating slur some parents would hurl at their children, “good for nothing”. Praise God He’s not that kind of Father. Paul, after he declares we are saved by grace through our faith, says “…we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” You’re not useless, God will use you just where you are.

Today I feel invisible…What’s the opposite of invisible? Visible, of course, noticed, seen, but more importantly, recognized, not just seen, but known. Someone who knows you. David says in Psalm 139,

¹³For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
¹⁵My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
¹⁷How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸Were I to count them,
    they would outnumber the grains of sand—
    when I awake, I am still with you.

He knows all about you because He created you. You are NEVER invisible to Him. Hallelujah!

Today I feel like I don’t belong…Dr. Brené Brown in her book The Gifts of Imperfection writes: “A deep sense of love and belonging is an irreducible need in all women, men and children.” We all want to belong to someone or something. Psalm 100:3 says, “Know that the Lord, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.” Jesus adds to this, “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.” As Christian believers, we belong to Christ.

Today I feel not worthy of love…I know this one too well. I never felt like I was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone a man’s. Some where deep down I felt flawed, “irregular” like the marked down clothes at Target. I wrote a whole blog about how God transformed my feelings of worthlessness into beloved-ness. All I can say is we need to let God love us, and then we not only feel beloved, but we are capable of truly loving others. Here is a link to that blog: https://fromtheshoe.com/2015/12/05/and-my-soul-felt-its-worth/. Just like the Christmas song says, when Christ was born, “the soul felt its worth”. Thank you, Lord.

So, dear Jessica, here is your prescription to alleviate those “sick” feelings and come back to health. I pray for you that you will come to know the living Christ and be filled up with all the spiritual blessings He is ready to offer you. God bless you, little sister.

Love, Donna

Guest Blog: David’s Sunrise – The Story of a Photo, by Wendy DeRaud

After God perfected the sunrise, he created photographers, artists, and poets to ensure his feat remained immortal. – Terri Guillemets

Rarely does Mark get a commission to do a landscape from a photograph, but my old friend Donna had taken a photo that had a profound meaning to her, and she wanted Mark to paint it. When she explained the story behind it, I understood why.

On Feb 19th of this year, Donna’s daughter found out that David, the young man she was seeing, had OD’ed. They were all devastated.

A few days later, on Feb 21, Donna went to work early and decided to take a route she rarely takes. The sunrise was brilliant, so she pulled over on a residential street in South San Francisco, to take this picture.

Later, when her photo was posted on the Everything South City site, someone commented on it, saying that it was very meaningful to her. Not the bird flying above, but where it was taken. It was David’s mother who told her that the photo was the exact location where David had died.

Donna had no idea where David had died when she was inspired to take that sunrise shot, but now this image has become more of a significant landmark to everyone involved.

And for you, the reader, this image becomes one more example of how art can imitate life, and how an unseen God can intervene in the world, making Himself known through an art form, captured at an intersection of time and space, inserting His presence where He is needed most, to help in the process of grief, honoring a young man taken too soon.

Because of Donna’s keen eye for finding beauty in her surroundings, stopping from her everyday routine to appreciate it, she now can bless David’s mom with the gift of this painting.

Life is a great sunrise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one.

– Vladimir Nabokov

Mark also gets to be a part of this story. By Donna commissioning him to paint this photo, Mark can now extend his brush to communicate more of God’s beauty and love, to give a little more comfort to a family still hurting from this loss. What a privilege.

You can find out more from Donna on her blog, “From the Shoe,” and her post, “Why I Hate Drugs.”And stay tuned here as I follow the progress of Mark’s painting, “David’s Sunrise.”

Mark working on, “David’s Sunrise,” in his Fresno studio.

P.S. from the Shoelady: David’s mom, Karin Cunningham, was featured on San Francisco’s KRON Channel 4 sharing her story of loss and her determination to warn kids and their parents about this epidemic and to eradicate this danger from her community. Fentanyl laced drug overdoses have increased hundreds fold. Below is the link to her story on Channel 4. See her interview below.

http://www.kron4.com/news/bay-area/san-bruno-mother-speaks-out-after-18-year-old-son-dies-from-xanax-laced-fentanyl-overdose/1142048912

Also, you can visit Mark and Wendy’s site for more blogs and artwork: