For flexible fingers and white chocolate—thanks!

 Several years ago, as a spiritual exercise, I chose seven values that I wanted to describe my character. All these traits are faith statements, something to grow toward. The first value on my list is gratitude. Some days I find it easy to be grateful. Other days I don’t. Gratitude when times are hard or I’m feeling especially tired is something good to aim for.

Today I’m both dizzy and grateful. It’s thanksgiving week. It seems ironic that we give only one day of the 365 to officially designate as a day of thanksgiving, but at least our culture does that much. I’m aiming for 365 unofficial thankful days, although without the turkey and cranberry sauce.

I made a short list this morning of some specific things I’m grateful for at this time.

I’m grateful….

--for a grandson who wants to include his grandparents in his life. Friday night we gathered with some of his friends at his house to begin our annual Lord of the Rings marathon. Last night he invited us to come with other friends to see the movie Bonhoeffer. All these young adults seemed to enjoy including us grandparents. He comes to the retirement home to eat lunch with us every week. I don’t take any of that for granted.

--for a husband with flexible fingers. Hal suffers from trigger finger (and he doesn’t even own a gun). It’s a strange and painful condition where his fingers curl in toward the palm and he has to force them to unbend. He is currently recovering from an operation in his left hand that is already correcting the condition. We believe in prayer for healing. We’re also thankful for advances in modern medicine that bring about this type of miraculous healing.

--for white chocolate and SWP coffee. I have a chronic condition called vestibular migraine and two of the food triggers that intensify the dizziness are chocolate and coffee. Can you imagine? Two of my favorite foods! But, and this is the thankful part, I’ve discovered the exceptions to the rule: white chocolate and SWP coffee! I’ve found a German white chocolate that is just as good as the real stuff. And, better yet, SWP (Swiss Water Processed) decaf coffee also tastes like the real thing, because it is real coffee. My early morning comfort drink.

--for a quirky orchid plant that won’t give up. My son gave it to me for some occasion earlier this year, a tall plant with lovely purple orchids. It bloomed for several months, then the flowers dried up and fell off. But I continued to water it once a week and kept it in the bedroom, out of sight because it looked so strange: broad leaves low in the pot, and three long stems (12-18 inches) fastened to sticks. No blooms. But a week ago I noticed eight buds at the end of the long stems. Today two flowers bloom and six buds are about to open. I’ve put it back in the living room. Beautiful. I’m sure there’s a good moral lesson in this. Maybe I’ll think of it tomorrow.

--for the expectation of a wonderful thanksgiving dinner with eleven family members. I’m hosting it, but I don’t have to cook, and I can’t adequately express how grateful I am for that. Our retirement community puts on a marvelous thanksgiving spread and encourages us to invite family. One of the many perks of living here.

--for God’s sovereignty over history—world history, national events, and my own small story. I’m stirring up my faith to rest in the fact that God knows what’s happening in our nation at this time, and that no matter how disappointed or nervous I feel, I can trust that the Spirit of God is on the move and will watch over all his people.

In our Sunday school class this week, the convener told of an exercise that I’m going to try this year. At the end of each day, I’m to write in my journal one specific thing I’m grateful for in the last 24 hours. I will try to do this for a year (or at least until the end of this year). But the thing is, I can’t repeat anything. It has to be something new each day. That sounds challenging, which is what an exercise is supposed to be. I anticipate it will cause me to dig and find more things to be grateful for, things or experiences or people I wouldn’t normally consider as blessings. I plan to read back over my list at the end of every month. (The plan is to read the list after a year—but each month sounds like more fun.)

I’ll let you know how it turns out.

What are you grateful for? Be specific!

The richest kid on the block

 This past week we residents in the retirement community gathered in the auditorium to hear the annual financial report. It felt good to know our living situation is on solid ground. But the report also included the yearly increase in our monthly resident fees. With the rising cost of living, it is right that the fees increase, but we’re always nervous about the amount.

 It wasn’t as high as it could have been but, even so, we’re going to have to be more careful about our spending. It’s expensive to live in a continuing care retirement community, but we’re aware that the money goes into long-term insurance and that when we run out of enough money to cover the full cost, we won’t be asked to leave. So, it’s worth it. Even so, we don’t want to run out of money. And, I confess, we do worry.

But we know we’re not poor. We live in a beautiful place with good friends and family near-by. We’re still learning and growing. In fact, I think we’re rich. 

And that reminds me of a story.

I was ten years old the first time I realized I was rich. That was the year I broke my piggy bank.

My parents viewed my intentions with some hesitancy. My father was a high school football coach, and years earlier he had invited several of his football players to my first birthday party. The team bought me the pig, each member making his own contribution to my future wealth. My dad set it on a shelf in my room, and down through the years I faithfully plunked in my pennies and nickels.

By my tenth year the pig was heavy. I was not nearly as sentimental as my parents. I wanted my money. So I smashed its head with a hammer.

Yes, I was rich. Twelve dollars and thirty-eight cents! And it was all mine. No other kid I knew was so wealthy.

I wanted to spend it, and I knew just the place, the local five-and-ten-cent store. Only this time I wasn’t going to just walk up and down the aisles, looking and dreaming. I was going to really buy stuff. I had no shopping lists, priorities, or needs in mind. My goal was to spend my money. All of it.

And I did. What a morning! I put all my coins in the bottom of a green plastic purse. My mom drove me to the store—and I got started. (I wonder now what my mother was thinking. I admire her for permitting me this fling, for not making me save my money or buy socks or give it to the missionaries. I do have a vague memory of her and the clerk in a powwow just before she left me to my glory. They both looked at me and giggled. I ignored them, having better things to do.)

I took my time, first doing a general survey of the store, walking up and down all the aisles, looking at puzzles, pencils, coloring books, barrettes, vases, hair curlers, ribbons, and, of course, boxes of candy and gum.

Then I started, picking up one single item at a time, bringing it to the counter, counting out the nickels and pennies, sealing the bargain, and stashing the loot. I then methodically repeated the procedure for my next purchase. So I advanced, item by item, all morning long, stopping when the only thing my last few pennies could buy was gum balls. I chose the red ones.

When my mom came to get me, I had the stuff in several big bags. I was anxious to get home and show off my treasures.

I bought stuff for myself, of course—comic books, candy bars, and one large bottle of Ben Hur cologne. I had also purchased presents for everyone, and I was so excited to have them get their gifts. For my little brother and sister there were soap bubbles, marbles, and crayons.

I saved the best for last. I had found the perfect gift for my parents. I proudly presented them with a set of tiny glasses, beautifully etched on the outside with golden grapes. I still remember their smiles of delight. In fact, they were so happy they laughed. 

Only years later did I learn I had given them whiskey glasses. 

Several years have passed since then. My husband and I have given most of our adult lives to cross-cultural missions. And while we wouldn’t have wanted to do anything else, it didn’t exactly put us in demand for interviews on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

But, by God’s grace, something of the magic of that day in my tenth summer still clings, wafting through my senses like Ben Hur cologne. We have a wealth of memories, kids grown up and living good lives, grandkids, and, now two great-grandbabies. And we live in this marvelous place. I feel full of the wealth of it all. 

And even though I occasionally worry about current finances, I know that my Father is generous with his gifts. I am secure in his goodness. This world is bigger than any five-and-ten-cent store, and better stocked. I’m a spendthrift at heart, and, yes, I’m still the richest kid on the block.

On being old and poor in spirit

 Our church is doing a sermon series on the Beatitudes. Several Sunday ago, the sermon on the first Beatitude impacted me. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3). The preacher, a university religion professor, described the person who is poor in spirit as a humble person, often desperate, who recognizes her need, who knows she is absolutely dependent on God to help her. It’s a person who understands his own smallness as compared to God’s grandeur. I think of people in situations of poverty and homelessness, of refugees and victims of war. I also think of persons suffering depression or mental illness. Maybe at times we all go through experiences that make us poor in spirit.

But it was after the sermon, in our time of silence and open worship, that the impact came home. My friend Jo stood and talked about those of us who are growing older as frequently being poor in spirit, especially as we deal with the fear of loosing competency. This fear is based on one of the realities of the aging process, and the fact that it may be normal doesn’t make it easier for the person experiencing it.

A friend who has been a successful life-long pastor recently shared that preaching and teaching are getting difficult and are now something he doesn’t enjoy so much. It takes much longer to prepare a message and he is now unsure of himself in his delivery. Another friend who was for years the superintendent of his denomination talked about how scattered, forgetful, and unorganized he now feels. Getting stuff done is a challenge he doesn’t feel up to anymore. In both cases, facing the loss of professional (and personal) competency has been hard.

During one period in my life, I worked as faculty secretary in a large seminary. Assigned to four professors, I prepared syllabi, obtained copyright permissions, typed letters, prepared visual aids, ran errands, helped students with their dissertations, and wrote the school newsletter, all at the same time I was beginning my own doctoral degree program. I feel exhausted just remembering, but at the time I thrived. I discovered I was good at multitasking and at getting things done efficiently. I excelled at time management, and managed to contain my job to the eight hours a day I was paid for. (The doctoral work happened in the early mornings and evenings.)

Not anymore. If I try to do two or three things at once, I get confused and end up doing nothing well. I can walk from one room to another and forget on the way what I was intending to do in the next room. I’m learning that it’s OK to focus on one thing at a time. For all the rest, I depend on the lists I make when I’m in my right mind. One big problem is that I often forget to read my list. At the end of the day, I can complain, “Oh no! I missed that meeting!” and then see that it was on the list all along. It seems I’ve lost administrative competency.

Even in prayer. I’ve felt for years that God called me as an intercessor and I used to spend a good amount of time in this endeavor. But any more when I sit down to pray, a half-an-hour later I wake up. There are times when I am energized to listen well and pray. But the other times are happening more frequently, the times when it’s almost too much effort. Is there such a thing as competency in prayer? (That sounds very unspiritual.) If there is, I think I’m losing it.

I used to spend hours, even whole days, investigating and writing, being creative. Now if I can get in two hours of creative writing a day, I thank God. But I wonder if and when that will disappear. 

We all face different areas in which the fear of losing competency makes us poor in spirit. So how does this transform into a blessing? How does it somehow put us in greater possession of the kingdom of heaven?

The preacher encouraged us to meditate on the Scriptures, seeing both the truth of our smallness and dependency, as well as of the grandeur of God. I would add that we could soak in the truths about who God says we are, no matter our age (for example, dearly beloved by our Father, friends of Jesus, chosen to bear fruit, etc. etc.)

We struggle to let go and accept age as a new phase of life, not a diminishment. Maybe not so much being less competent as being otherly-competent. (Pardon my freedom with the English language.) I have days when I accept this and feel contentment. But I’m not totally there yet. Times of discouragement still come when I compare what I used to do to what I can (or cannot) do now. When some well-meaning person asks me what I’ve accomplished today, I often can’t think of a good answer. I have to do battle with my feelings and remind myself of who God tells me I am and what I am worth to him.

Somehow the struggle itself is part of the blessing. As we admit our feelings and work through them in the light of God’s truth about us, we actually move towards a blessed dependency. That’s a kingdom task where eventually we find our place in God’s scheme of things.

 Actually, I’m working through this as I write, trying to figure it out. If multi-tasking is not in my future, I’m OK with that. I may be coming into a new way of praying. Maybe the two hours I write in the mornings will result in something beautiful and useful to others, more so than if I labored all day. I remember John Milton’s poem that ends with the line, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” (For me, it would be sit and wait.)

In any case, in God’s up-side-down kingdom, we who are aging, and who are often poor in spirit, are blessed.

I can live with that, even if I don’t understand it.

Election prayer

 I’m posting this blog a day early because tomorrow, Tuesday, national elections will absorb many of us. Who will have time to read a semi-silly blog on growing older? (Or to write it?) Besides there are things I want to say that work better before than after.

At the retirement community we don’t talk about it in public. It’s like that elephant in the room everyone smells but pretends they don’t. It’s policy. We’re instructed not to talk politics in community spaces, like the halls, the dining room, or the auditorium. We’re not to post partisan messages on our apartment doors or the public bulletin boards. Hush hush. But among our own tribe (we know who we are) and behind closed doors, it brings a certain relief to share our angers, fears, and hopes.

Right now, it’s the not-knowing that wracks our nerves. As aging people facing so many “normal” changes, another important Thing that we don’t know can be worrisome, to say the least. So we wait and try to figure out how to pray.

Tuesday evening down in our lobby, we’ll have a pre-election sing-a-long—hymns and folksongs. That might help and I intend to participate. A church I attend digitally in Minnesota is having an election night worship service which I also plan to attend. Other than that, I will avoid the television. I’m nervous enough anyway. I’ll probably isolate myself somewhere and work on puzzles.

It's been hard to know how to pray. I know what I believe, but I hesitate to tell God, “Knock so-n-so out of the race,” or “Let the other so-n-so win.” Can I presume to know the will of Sovereign God? Or can I even presume to concede that whoever wins is obviously God’s chosen? No. All of that is heresy. Lots of things happen that are not the will of a God who gives us free will and therein messes up world history (with a promise to fix it all in the end). 

I’ve looked through the prayer books I have—The Book of Common Prayer, The Oxford Book of Prayer, The Celtic Daily Prayer Book, and a few others. Nowhere can I find a prayer to pray before an election.

And then I remembered the Lord’s Prayer. Aha! I’ve learned to use this prayer for many specific occasions. It covers the ground and shows a way. It was, after all, the instructions Jesus gave when his disciples asked him to teach them to pray. It continues to teach us. So I used this prayer to craft a pre-election prayer for God’s people. It can also serve as a post-election prayer, something our nation will need a lot of. Here goes:

Our Father, who lives in heaven,

Hallowed be your name. However this election turns out, may your name be praised, honored, and lifted up throughout our land. No matter if we’re overjoyed or dismayed by the results, help us see that you are greater than our government, greater than our nation, the Lord of the whole world and all the starry universe. Hallowed be your name!

Your Kingdom come. You are the King. You are sovereign over all nations. Your authority is greater than that of presidents, senators, governors, the media, and even “we, the people.” You bring rain to dry fields, comfort to the mourning, homes to the refugees, wisdom to rulers. You cause miracles to happen and wars to cease. Your Kingdom come.

Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. We don’t presume to know your will in this election. But whatever the result, we do know that you will for reason, hope, and peace to prevail. We know that your will is for justice to come to the oppressed and downtrodden. We pray that you will raise up leaders, women and men who hunger and thirst after righteousness and justice. We pray for a place for the pure in heart and a welcome to the stranger. Your will be done.

Give us this day our daily bread. You know what we really need. Give food, clean water, and a place to live to the people of North Carolina. Grant peace and security to people seeking safety from hopeless and violent situations. Give honesty and clarity to our election process, both before and after. Give the wisdom and faith we so desperately need to move forward in these frightening times.

Forgive us our sins and as we forgive the sins of others. Spirit of reconciliation, raise up women and men with a heart for reconciliation. Give us confident humility so that we can build bridges to those other than us. Grant us the ability to say “I’m wrong” and “I’m sorry.” Give us the generosity of heart to say, “I forgive you.” Let the Spirit do this work in each one of us and throughout our nation.

Lead us not into trials too hard for us to bear.  After the election, raise up peacemakers whose words and actions can bring calm to ragged emotions and disappointed hopes. Quench the fires of hate and mistrust with the waters of your Spirit. Spare us the violence that would rip our nation apart. 

Deliver us from the Evil One. Thwart the strategies of satan. We come against the spirits of hatred, division, and violence. Free us from those who would sow deception and chaos. Deliver us from the evil that resides in our own hearts. Come, Spirit of God, deliver us.

To you alone belong the Kingdom, the power, and the glory. Forever. 

Amen.