A work in progress

We are being transformed into his likeness. – 2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)
      
      
I was pregnant with our second child when we began our house in the fall of 1979. Since we were building on the pay-as-you-go, do-it-yourself plan, we knew it would be years before it would be completed. But never did I dream it would take more than 30 years!
      
We started by digging a hole in the side of the hill, pouring a footer and laying a concrete block foundation. The following spring, my husband and I packed up our four-year-old son and three-month-old daughter, and began to transform that basement into our home. We worked in the cold, damp spring and through the humid, stormy summer, sleeping on a dirt floor or in the back of our pickup truck and eating packed meals on a sawhorse table.
      
In November, even though our basement home wasn’t quite ready, we moved in, insulating the walls and ceiling, putting up paneling and trim boards as we had the money.
      
Three years later, in 1983, we constructed the framework for the second floor, and began to work on the upstairs, room by room. We covered the exterior walls with black tar paper. With only one income, we knew it would be years before we could even think about siding.
      
The stairway almost done in the fall of 1984, when, nine months pregnant with our third child, I decided to move the bedrooms upstairs. I used a kitchen chair to get from the landing to the second floor. But by the time David was born on Dec. 26, the stairway was done – well, almost. It didn’t get carpeted until 1990, when we bought carpeting for the downstairs.
      
Over the years, we added a bathroom upstairs, installed windows, interior doors and flooring as we had the money – and time. By now our children were active in school and sports, and our time and money were invested in them.
      
I wanted the house finished by the time David, our youngest, started college. I felt that if it wasn’t done by then, it would never be, because college is a big expense, and we weren’t getting any younger. It didn’t work out as planned. But does it ever?
      
David has been graduated from college nearly three years, and we are just now planning to put on the front and back decks this summer.
      
I, too, am a work-in-progress. I became a Christian about the same time we began the house. Spiritually, I, too, had to begin with a foundation, removing dirt accumulated with years of living my own way, to make room for the solid foundation of Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 3:11). Over the years, God transformed me, room by room, working from the inside out (2 Cor. 5:17, Romans 12:2).
      
Just like my house, God won’t be done with me until I see Him face-to-face (Phil. 1:6). But until then, He’ll continue to work on me, finishing what He began more than 30 years ago.
      
When I become impatient with myself and others, Lord, remind me that we are still works-in-progress. Amen.

    Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 3

After winter

See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come.  – Song of Songs 2:11-12 (NIV)
      
      
My winter of pain has left me weary in body, mind, and spirit. Distracted, unfocused, I have little energy, enthusiasm and motivation. Things that gave me pleasure are now ho-hum. Depressed? Probably. But somehow I muddle through each day, trying to squeeze out joy where I can.  
      
And it’s been a winter like no other in my life. Not only was it filled with physical pain, it also was draped with bitter disappointment after projects I’d poured my heart and soul into came to nothing.
      
I was shaking out the kitchen throw rugs on the back porch last Thursday after supper when I saw them—little white flowers poking up through the ground at the woods line behind the house.
      
Although the grass is still brown, the trees bare, the temperatures cool and the scenery drab, those little flowers gave me something I sore needed—a shot of hope. They tell me that soon the grass will be turning green, buds will appear on the trees and shrubs, the mud will dry up and maybe, just maybe, a song will plant itself in my heart. And, oh, how I need a song!
      
St. Paul understood seasons of pain and disappointment, too.
      
“We now have this light shining in our hearts,” he wrote the believers at Corinth, “but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. . . .
     
“That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day.  For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever” (2 Corinthians 4:7, 8-9, 16-18 NLT).
      
Slowly, the dawn will wash the night from the morning sky earlier and earlier, and the sun will hang over the horizon longer in the evenings after supper—which is why I was able to see those little white flowers.
      
Life is the same way. We brave our way through the winter, waiting, knowing, no matter how bad winter is, it will give way to spring. And spring will give way to summer. The grass will not always be brown. The lane will not remain muddy. The pain will pass, the disappointment will give way to hope.
      
Ah, spring! The mop-up-after-winter season. The season of flowers. The season of hope.
      
      
Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in You, God! I will praise You again—my Savior and my God!  (adapted from Psalm 42:5 NLT). Amen.

Special-Tea: Read 2 Corinthians 4:7-18

When I first spied the snowdrops, there were more than one, but the hungry country critters found them. (sigh)

     

Keeping the faith

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. – 2 Timothy 4:6 (RSV)
    
I attended a small, private high school that struggled to compete athletically. When you have only a few students to choose from, your teams went in each game as the underdog each time. Then one year we got a new football coach. I remember the first pep rally. The entire student body cheered as the coach stepped to the microphone. On the wall behind him was a banner with a new slogan: “Keep the faith.” To me that meant believing this team would eventually emerge the winners. I don’t remember whether they did or not, but I never forgot the slogan.
       
But what does “keep the faith” mean? 
      
First, let’s look at the word “keep,” which can mean to hang onto something, not lose it or give it back; for example, “keep the change.” It can also mean to take care of or guard. A housekeeper, for example, takes care of the house, a zookeeper takes care of the zoo, a gatekeeper guards the gates.
      
Next, let’s look at the word “faith.” Hebrews 11, of course, is the famous “Hall of Faith” chapter of the Bible. The writer defines faith in the very first verse: “What is faith? It is the confident assurance that what we hope for is going to happen. It is the evidence of things we cannot yet see” (NLT). 
      
Faith, then, is more than a system of beliefs. Faith is more than the doctrine you believe in and adhere to. Faith is personal. It’s believing, first of all, that God exists and is all the Bible says He is, even if you don’t understand everything perfectly. Second, faith is taking God at His word and believing His promises.
      
But let’s bring that word a little closer to home: What does faith mean to you? How has it added value to your life? Our pastor asked that very question one Sunday morning during his sermon, then took a microphone around the congregation. Here are some of the answers:

• It gives me a sense of purpose.
• It gives me emotional stability.
• It opens my eyes to the truth.
• It helps me to face the storms of life and not be afraid.
• It gives me hope for the future.
• It helps me to cope with change and face the uncertainties of life.
• It gives me a reason to live.

      
Faith, then, gives us purpose, stability, understanding, courage and hope. A lot like the two builders in Jesus’ parable: When the storms came, the house built on the rock withstood the tempests, while the one built on sand collapsed, “and great was the fall of it” (Matthew 7:27 RSV).
      
As Mother Teresa once said, “Faith keeps the person who keeps the faith.”

Are you keeping the faith?
      
Help me, Lord, to keep the faith, because with it, I cannot please You. Amen.
      

Special-Tea: Read Matthew 7:24-27

Stretching time

We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us. – Romans 5:3-5

      
Have you ever been stretched? I mean literally.
      
I have—and am.
      
One of the treatments my doctor prescribed for the herniated disc in my neck is cervical neck traction. I lay on a treatment table, my neck in a vise-like device, a strap around my forehead, while the traction machine gently stretches my neck, creating more room between my vertebrae so the nerve isn’t being pinched.
      
My first treatment was at the end of January. The therapist set the machine to 20 pounds, which was too much at the time, as the muscles in my shoulder, neck, and arm were too tender and painful to tolerate mechanical traction. So she resorted to manual traction for a few sessions. When she felt I was ready, she put me back on the traction machine, starting at a lower setting (16). This week the setting was increased to 17.
      
I feel it. Although my pain has decreased considerably and my range of motion has increased, after my PT session, I feel as though I’ve been stretched on one of those racks my grandmother used to re-stretch woolen blankets and afghans after laundering. But these are good aches—they mean I’m making progress.
      
And after four months of pain, I need to see some light on the horizon. I’m ready to be 100 percent. But that will take time. My neck isn’t the only thing being stretched—my patience is, too.
      
So is my empathy. Before this all started I had little understanding of what those who suffer chronic pain have to deal with day in and day out.
      
I’m learning to take life one day at a time. Before this, that phrase was just a nice-sounding bit of wisdom that I knew in my head, but not in my heart.
      
I’m learning better to prioritize, as my productive time has been cut considerably and I must use my pain-free, loopy-free hours doing what’s most important. Everything else must wait—or go.
      
And rest, so important for healing of body, mind, and spirit (all of which have taken a beating from the chronic pain) is something I can no longer put off. With rest, I do better during the productive time I do have. I’ve learned I don’t  have to cram every minute of every day with something to do.
      
I’m being stretched in more ways than one, and being stretched is painful. But it’s a good kind of pain—a pain that means progress, however slow.
   
“When troubles come your way,” writes James, “consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow” (James 1:2-3 NLT).
   
Are you being stretched? Take heart. God, your own personal therapist, knows how much you can take and has adjusted your program to produce the best results.   
       
Dear God, thank you for the lessons I’m learning during this stretching time. Amen.

 

Special-Tea: James 1:2-4, 12