the susie solution

Psalm 12: 2, 7  “Everyone lies to his neighbor; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak. … You, O LORD, will keep them.  You will guard us from this generation forever.”

Ever get frustrated watching a show where it’s obvious to the viewer just who the bad guy is, yet the hero seems totally clueless?  Maybe it’s because he can’t hear the ominous music.  Maybe he just didn’t read the whole script. Whatever the reason, on he goes, treating the bad guy like a pal, going along with his every suggestion.  Around here, you’d likely hear one of us using the old quote, with evil grin and twitching eyebrows, “’Come into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly!”

I wonder what it was like for the Magi.  They knew they were searching for one born to be King of the Jews.  I would think the first place to ask about that would be the residence of the current king, but that’s not where they went.  Maybe they stopped at the Tourist Bureau first and found out there hadn’t been a son born at the palace in the last two years, so figured it wouldn’t be worth pursuing their inquiries there and turned to other sources.  But after the Wise Men’s question reached the ear of Herod through the grapevine, HE sent for them – privately.  He told the travelers to go find the child they were seeking, then send word back to him, “so that I may come worship him, too”.   How cool is that?  I mean, here’s the current king telling you HE’s as big a fan of this new up-and-comer as you are!  HE wants to come hang out in the mosh pit with you, just let him know where the party is.  It’s all good!

Did the Wise Men hear that ominous music in the background?  Was there ANYTHING in that flattering, double-hearted liar’s speech that made them the least bit suspicious?  What explanation did he give them for keeping all this a secret from the rest of his court?  Didn’t any of it seem even just slightly odd?  Scripture doesn’t indicate that they had any qualms.  All we know for sure is that they took Herod’s advice of going to Bethlehem, and were able to once again follow the star, this time all the way to the Child.  If things had gone according to the rest of Herod’s plan, and they’d returned to give him word of the Child’s exact location, I’m pretty sure they’d never have made it further.  Since he’d gone to pains to keep their first visit a secret, he wouldn’t have risked their news spreading any further.  He could then have sent a targeted squad after the Child.  No muss, no fuss, just another day in the life of Rome.

But God kept the Wise Men and guarded them.  He warned them in a dream that they needed to recalculate their route home and give Herod the slip.  They listened to God’s leading, and lived.  Herod’s flattering lips might have deceived the Wise Men, but they couldn’t deceive the Only Wise God.

I am going to attempt to write one Advent/Christmas thought a day through Epiphany, based on the Psalm I am reading that day.  (I know Advent doesn’t start till tomorrow, but this will make up for an invariable miss.)  We’ll see how it goes!  I have a laptop now, though, so I can sit right at the dining table and do it as part of my devotions, so that should help.  (If I go to my desk, I’m tempted to check email, Facebook, and oh, there’s that note to check the asiflex account, and… I’m lost!)  Here goes!

Psalm 11:7  “For the LORD is righteous; He loves righteous deeds; the upright shall see His face.”

Our first four kids were pretty much bald when they were born.  Stayed that way for quite a while, too.  So, when our fifth one was born, it’s no wonder that the first trait we noticed was that she had HAIR.  Not a thick mop, but definitely much more than her siblings had been graced with.  Her face, though, was very like her siblings – definitely an Aasen baby!

I think most moms spend those months of pregnancy thinking about their baby’s face.  Will he have my nose?  Your chin?  Grandpas’s dimples?  PLEASE not Uncle Humperdink’s nose!  Nowadays, of course, we have ultrasound in HD, and are able to see Baby’s face and profile in utero with astonishing clarity, but, even so, it’s not the same as that first amazing gaze into those precious little eyes, that awed poring over every line of that little face.  I’m sure it was no different for Mary.

Gabriel told her that she had “found favor with God”, and that she was to bear a son, the Messiah, the very Son of God.  I wonder if she ever thought of that verse from the Psalm and how literally it was to be true for her?  When “the Babe, the world’s Redeemer, first revealed His sacred face”, she was privileged to be the first, with Joseph, to gaze upon that face in all its beautiful, bloody birth mess.  The upright did, indeed, see His face.

Ah, Thanksgiving!  Don’t you love the decorations for this season?  All the lovely leaves, and pumpkins, and bounty of the harvest, the turkey, the corn.  And, of course, the pilgrims.  There they stand, Ma and Pa Pilgrim, looking fresh and clean, collar and cap snowy white, all neat as a pin, round and rosy.  Pictures of The First Thanksgiving nearly invariably show a collection of such pilgrims, with a few smiling, boisterous children running around, all happy and satisfied with an overflowing abundance of bounty piled around.  Gives ya the “warm fuzzies” all over, doesn’t it?

Only problem is, it’s fake.  The real story isn’t picturesque.  Most of us remember from our school days that the pilgrims came over on the Mayflower, but do you know how big the ship actually was?  We think “ship” and imagine an “ocean liner”, or at least a small cruise ship.  Try one hundred feet long and twenty-five feet wide!  In other words, you could fit EIGHTEEN of them on a football field.  And those are the outside dimensions, not the actual floor space in the hold where the passengers lived.  There were one hundred and two  passengers (and thirty crew members) on that tiny vessel.  That many people in that little space?  Ugh.  The journey actually had a couple of false starts, as there were originally to be TWO ships going.  They finally had to give up on the other ship being fixed, and set out with just the one, much later than anticipated.  The crossing took two months, the first not too bad, but the second full of nearly continual Atlantic storms.  No Carnival cruise!  The damp and the stench would have been overwhelming and the food was miserable.

But all journey come to an end, right?  So did this one.  They arrived on the East coast in on November 11, but it took time to find a suitable settlement spot.  They landed at what became the Plymouth Colony on Dec. 6.  (Some of the passengers had now been on board for SIX months!) Great time to start a new colony, right at the beginning of winter, huh?  They began building the settlement, but inclement weather and the generally poor condition of the immigrants meant that only seven of the intended nineteen buildings got done.  One hundred people (two died in the crossing) in seven buildings.

With poor shelter and poor diet, in the teeth of a ferocious Northern winter, it’s no wonder that starvation and illness took a heavy toll.  By spring, only fifty-three of the original passengers were still alive.  That’s just over half – only four of which were adult women, and many were children.  That’s just “alive”, too, not necessarily healthy enough to do the work of building or planting – or perhaps to survive another winter.  The Mayflower had sailed for England in April; they had no way of knowing when – or, indeed, even IF – other settlers and supplies would be coming.

Think about all this!  They left England sure of God’s leading, convinced of the necessity of the voyage, with visions of a new land where they could be free from the Church of England’s rule.  (They came for the freedom to establish their OWN “religiocracy”, of course, not “freedom of religion” as so often taught.  But I digress…)  Think about how it must have felt, then, to have all these things go so terribly “wrong”.  Ever been there?  “God, I followed your leading, and look what a mess You’ve gotten me into!”

Yet, they chose to celebrate that first harvest the next October.  They were undoubtedly a motley looking crew.  Many probably still were somewhat haggard or bore the marks of their great suffering.  The state of wear of the clothing was likely pretty shabby.  For all, it would have been a bitter-sweet celebration as they thought of all those who hadn’t made it that far and all the dreams that hadn’t come true.  There was no way for them to be sure the crop would be sufficient for the coming winter if that winter was even worse than the previous.  They didn’t know how many of them would still be alive by the next harvest.  Maybe because death and hardship were just so much a part of life then, maybe because their entire religious outlook was different and they expected life to be a “vale of tears”, or simply because their faith was strong, in the face of horrendous suffering, they were still thankful for what God had given them in that harvest.

I wonder if we modern American Christians, put in the same circumstances, would be thankful.  It’s easy to celebrate and give thanks when our lives look like that stereotypical Thanksgiving tableau.  When we have more than we need, and life is good, and everyone’s happy, and the sun is shining, it’s easy to be thankful.  That’s where the rubber meets the road, though, isn’t it?  We are to give thanks in all circumstances.  When the harvest is bountiful, and when the crops fail.  When our loved ones are gathered around us, and when there are empty chairs at the table.  When events have turned out just as great as we envisioned, and when all our dreams turn to dust.

No matter what your circumstances are this day, I hope that you are able to give thanks.  God is still good.  He is still faithful.  He will never leave us or forsake us.  This world is not our home.  As Mark Driscoll put it in a sermon, this world is as close to Hell as a Christian will ever get – and here, we STILL have God’s presence with us.  If that is not a cause for giving thanks, I don’t know what is!

A blessed Thanksgiving to you all!

Ever notice how God doesn’t check with us before filling out His dayplanner?  Last week I wrote of the somewhat harrowing journey to Seattle through the worst snowstorm in years to get a CT angio for my cousin.  In the next two days, we had a major ICE storm as well, which knocked our power out for just over a day.  Thankfully, we have a good fireplace, a gas water heater (with no electronic ignition!), and a gas stove, so we do very well even without power.  We have huge branches from our 26 trees down all over our yard (10-20 feet long, some with a base 8-12 inches across), three that landed on the roof, one of which punched THROUGH. On the second day of that storm, with the weather abating somewhat, my cousin ended up in the ER here as her condition took a serious turn for the worse, and was transferred up to… a hospital in Seattle!  I am thankful to say the roads were bare and wet pretty much by then as the temperatures had warmed.  I have been there the last two days, coming home late last night to get one night’s sleep in my own bed and get a few things done – like updating this blog – before heading back to Seattle for two or three more days before another home visit, then back up.  This may be a long affair!  Would you believe our power just went out AGAIN 15 minutes ago?  Another tree snapping the power line.  (I came down to my mom’s to use her computer, as she hasn’t had ANY power outs.)  The effects of this storm are also far from over – and we have more wind predicted.  It feels very strange for me to be leaving my husband and daughter to deal with all the mess and insurance and everything, but there’s no way around it.  Marie needs me more!  None of us saw this coming – but God did.  He had his dayplanner all filled out.  He already had set things in motion to prepare the way.  One example is that last week or so, I did another big batch of cooking freezer meals, and even wrote out a calendar of menus for the next two months, including side dishes.  Now I don’t have to give a thought to what my dh and dd will do for feeding themselves.  I mean, I know they’d have scrounged and not starved, but now I know they’ll be eating HEALTHY meals, and my dd won’t feel the burden of figuring out just what to fix.  Cool way God fixed that up, huh?  I’m keeping my eyes peeled for those things in these days of stress and uncertainty.  I don’t know when I’ll get to update this blog again, but I hope you all are remembering, whatever you face, that God has already crossed over the Jordan ahead of you to prepare the way.  Nothing catches Him by surprise, and He’s ready for the consequences!  He is faithful and true, and He will accomplish it!!!

Just a note that I won’t be posting for about at least a week.  We’re off to visit our son, daughter-in-love, and newest granddaughter.  I’ll try to think of something good for when I get back!

That phone call I spoke of yesterday came not too long after I did my post….. and mom and baby are doing fine!  Evelyn Jane’s birth necessitated a C-section, but she made it.  Brooke is recovering.  My son’s voice has taken on new tones never heard before – a swelling of pride mixed with awe.  Thanks be to God for this amazing gift!!!!

Luke tells us that Christ gave thanks before distributing the bread for the feeding of the five thousand.  All the synoptic gospels record that at the Last Supper, Christ gave thanks as He broke the bread and gave the cup.  The Psalms are full of verses that begin “O give thanks unto the Lord….”  Paul told the believers in Thessalonica to “give thanks in all circumstances”, and the Philippians he instructed to present their prayers “with thanksgiving.”  Thanksgiving is an integral part of the believer’s faith life.

As I write this, I am waiting for a phone call.  My daughter-in-law is in labor with their firstborn.  The baby is 11 days overdue.  They went to the hospital 11 hours ago.  Things have not gone well.  None of my five births were like this.   My daughter’s two births were also pretty easy.  This was supposed to be another “we’re going to the hospital now” followed a few hours later by a cheerful “She’s here!”.  It is anything but.  Our darling Brooke isn’t having that wonderful, rosy natural birth experience we all wanted her to have.  Quite frankly, to use our son’s word, so far it’s terrible.  Brooke has had horrendous pain, and is exhausted, her body giving out.   I wonder if it will end in a C-section.  A phrase keeps coming to mind from an Anne of Green Gables series book that refers to childbirth as “the passage perilous”.  We are 350 miles away, which somehow makes the waiting harder for me.  Not that we could “do” anything if we were there, of course, but somehow just being closer would feel like doing something.  And…. the awful thought slithers in, dark and whispering, “If something bad happens, I’d BE there to help my son bear it…”  We know there are many, many people praying – but God doesn’t answer prayers by a popularity contest.   Fear nudges its toes through the door.

How do we respond to situations like this?  I’ve been praying a lot, of course.  But I haven’t been remembering to do this thing that Scripture is clear about: give thanks.  We are to give the same thanks no matter what the situation, no matter what the outcome.  We don’t just give thanks that “it could have been worse”.   If our thanks only come for what we have, because we might have had LESS, then we’ve missed the point.  We give thanks because what we have from God does not change.  The truly worst can NEVER happen: He will never leave us or forsake us.  No matter what happens to us, nothing can separate us from His presence.  He is WITH Brooke in that labor room.  Nothing can separate us from His compassion.  As Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb even though He knew He was about to raise him from the dead, I believe God is weeping at the ordeal His daughter is undergoing; He makes use even of the results of the Fall, but, oh, how it grieves Him to see His world suffering.  We give thanks because nothing can overcome us that is greater than His ability to get us through.   No matter how difficult this birth, He is able to sustain Brooke through it.  If the I-don’t-want-to-think-about-it were to happen and we were to lose mother or child, He will carry us through that loss and enable us to stand through the days ahead.   Giving thanks doesn’t mean that my fear disappears, but it does make it assume a different demeanor.

God willing, that phone will ring any minute with news that Evelyn Jane has joined us and that mother and daughter are doing fine, and this Thanksgiving Day will see us giving thanks for the blessing of a new granddaughter.  But whatever He wills for that situation, I know what He wills for ME:  that come what may, I WILL be giving Him thanks.

For the Christian, thanksgiving isn’t an option – it’s a given!

I’ve always been one for remembering things. I have a lot of knickknacks or pieces of jewelry or clothing that remind me of a person, or a place, or a time.  I have the New Testament my dad carried in WWII.  I have a jewel-toned turquoise blouse that belonged to my roomie in college, then we shared it, then she gave it to me and I’ve had it ever since.  With the advent of hot tea season here in the Pacific NW, I’ve been enjoying a “Toadally Texan” mug (with a silhouette of a horny-toad) that my dear friend gave me on my visit last summer; when I look at it, I remember Terryl, and my visit… and I smile.  No wonder then, that I love the story from Joshua 3 and 4 where the Israelites cross the Jordan, and Joshua has one man from each tribe choose a stone from the middle of the riverbed to pile up on shore as a reminder for generations to come of what the Lord had done for them.

One other way I remember things is that I write them on my calendar.  I have a BIG calendar on my wall.  Not one of those with the pretty picture on half of it.  18′ x 30″, nothing but days and days with lots of lines in them.  In addition to the usual suspects of appointments and such, I track birthdays (though this year I managed to forget to move my s-i-l’s over a day, so wished her happy birthday a day early – oops!) and anniversaries (with which one it is).  I keep track of deaths in the family of friends, reminding myself to pray for and send notes at major holiday times.  But one of my favorite things about my calendar is that I also keep track of all kinds of events of the past.  I can tell you exactly which day we moved into this house, or bought each of our cars, for example.  When Jillian was hospitalized with rotavirus, when Phil had his leg surgery, Cherry had her appendix out, the day Jillian, the baby of the bunch, was taller than Mommy – all are duly noted.  It is tremendous fun through the year to be reminded of those events in our lives.

Today is an anniversary of an important event in my life.  In September of last year, I began seeing a counselor after years of marital and family conflict.  On the advice of that counselor, I went to see a psychiatrist.  Exactly one year ago today, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II.   For many people, I realize that this would be dismal.  What an awful thing to get hit with, huh?  In reality, though, it was a blessing!  I (and my family and friends) had been suffering its effects for some thirty years, without knowing what was going on.  Getting that diagnosis, rather than being something to be depressed about, was actually a relief.  Having a NAME for something, being able to pin a “why” on what’s going on – even when the explanation is bad, it’s easier than the not knowing.  So, what has this year meant?

First, let me tell you what being bipolar was like.  Bipolar II is a somewhat milder form of its more infamous big brother, with highs not quite as manic, and lows not quite suicidal, and on either end you don’t generally get psychotic.  Bipolar isn’t just about fluctuating moods, though!  My mind was constantly racing, never quiet; if I was upset about something, I was like a hamster in a wheel and couldn’t get away from the constant cycle of those repetitious thoughts.  I sometimes had very odd, disquieting impulses.  For example, I hated being near the edge of heights because I always had the impulse to throw something off; an “odd” impulse when you’re talking about my camera or my glasses, but very disturbing when you’re talking about my baby!  I thought about cutting a finger off whenever I used a knife, wondered what it would be like to drive my car off a bridge, and so on.   (Obviously, I never acted on any of those impulses.  I never talked about them, either.  What do think I am, crazy?)  I couldn’t see myself to recognize when I was pushing too hard, being too vehement, being too convinced of my own rightness.  When something upset me, I watched myself explode with anger, ranting and raving and venting, unable to stop myself even as I knew I was not being rational, feeling utterly trapped.  (Oh, how I loathed myself for that!  Oh, how I prayed and prayed and repented and repented, to no avail.  Duh!)  It wasn’t always like that, of course; there were moments along the cycle up and down when I was in the middle and relatively normal.  As close to normal as I get, anyway!  Most people who’ve known me have had no idea of what was really going on.  But not even my kids, not even Rob, knew the half of what was going on in my mind.

The search for finding the right medication and the right dose for bipolar averages 18-36 months, but in my case, we found it in 6!  Within a few weeks of starting lamatrogine, it was like waking up from a dream.  My family and friends noticed a difference, which definitely witnesses to the reality of the change!  My mind has been able to get off the hamster wheel of obsessive preoccupation with thoughts of the things that have been such sources of conflict here at home, and break free of many other traps as well.  I am no longer a prisoner of anger, although, it having been such a habit for so long, there are still remnants.  (Seeing now that my previous anger wasn’t something God held me responsible for – hence the seeming lack of effectiveness of repentance – is tremendously relieving;  now I get to work on dealing with the anger that He DOES hold me accountable for!  Yikes!)  Although most of the situations of conflict haven’t changed, I’ve let go of caring about them.  If they change, great; if they don’t, oh, well.  I am changing myself, and changing what lies within my sphere to change.  I’m not waiting for others to change first, or even change with.

God’s grace doesn’t depend on our understanding, and only someone who has been down to places I’ve been to can understand how amazing it is that He holds on to us when we can no longer hold on to Him.  His grace never changes, but I am experiencing it now in new ways, able to understand in new perspectives not clouded by malfunctioning grey matter.  I am being challenged in areas of trust and gratitude.  I know that my family suffered much pain because of my condition; I am learning to accept that somehow even that is part of God’s plan for their life, that even the ugliness is part of the beautiful Good that He works in all things for those Who love Him.  I am on a journey of discovery of who I am – not me-as-wife, not me-as-mother, but just ME, who I was created to be, bipolar and all, for it still affects me, though it no longer dominates me.

Bipolar isn’t curable.  My meds could stop working.  I have no promise that the clarity in which I walk today will be there for all my tomorrows.  But for now, I am thankful for this reprieve, and here I raise my stone from the Jordan, or maybe my Ebenezer.

“Here I raise mine Ebenezer.

Hither by Thy help I’m come.

And I hope by Thy good pleasure

Safely to arrive at home.”

Let the good times roll – but may that particular stone stay put!

I don’t particularly care for cooking, so I try to find ways to reduce the time I spend on it.  For instance, I just spent about 5 hours cooking.  I buy large quantities of hamburger, and chicken and process them all, then vacuum pack and freeze them; some I freeze as full dinners – garlic lime chicken, meatloaf, Swedish meatballs – and some as ready-to-use for other dishes.  Bags of cooked burger may end up as stroganoff, spaghetti, chili or tacos; shredded chicken may be chicken alfredo, burritos, or Jillian Likes It Rice Casserole.  It gives me an incredible feeling of security to have all those dinners in the freezer, ready at a moments’ notice, tasting like they were just made.  One long day of cooking gives me two months of benefits!

However, there just are some foods that don’t lend themselves to being done this way.  Macaroni and cheese?  Yeah, freezing just doesn’t work.  Our favorite Scandihoovian pancake-type dish, aebleskivers, simply must be hot out of that lovely dimpled pan or they’re just not …. aebleskiver!  I suspect souffles would probably fall in this category, too.

I’m afraid I sometimes seem to think I could run my spiritual life like I do my cooking.  I could spend a nice, long afternoon doing reading and prayer, and then I’d start making my bags.  I would make a few bags of patience, for example.  Faithfulness.  Forgiveness.  I’d prepare some gentle answers, and a some encouragement.  Hope would make a nice package, too.  For the really desperate, last minute times, there would be prayer and trust.  Maybe I could just get a dehydrator for the Fruit of the Spirit.  (Fruit leather, anyone?)  Once I had all everything nicely bagged up, I could toss them in storage and never give them another thought until I needed one, then – voila! – pull it out and all would be well.  One afternoon’s spiritual work for several months’ sanctification!

Doesn’t work that way, though, does it?  The disciplines and virtues of the Christian life need to be fresh daily.  If we haven’t been working on developing patience along the way, it’s foolish to think that when some big test of it comes along it’s suddenly going to be there.  If we haven’t been practicing forgiveness in all the little things that happen in life, how much harder will it be to forgive when a truly horrendous thing happens?  If we don’t work on trusting Him when we can see at least part of our way, it will be hard going to trust Him when we find ourselves in the deep dark.  God certainly is merciful and may grant the “prayer of last resort” – but how much better to be in such constant communication that prayer is our first line of defense rather than the “last desperate measure”!

Just as His mercies are new every morning, so should our journey with Him be.  It can be good to have the occasional long day of concentrated spiritual preparation, the weekend retreat, the conference, but those can never take the place of the day in and day out, step by step walk with Him.  As others have said, little things done frequently matter more than great things done infrequently!

All this talk of cooking is making me hungry.  Think I’ll go find a snack…  There are brownies in the kitchen – FRESH, not frozen!

This should have been my first post.  I meant it to be.  Honest.  But I typed it into the “About” page.  In the middle of the night, I realized what I’d done, and thought, “Hmmm.  I better go change that around in the morning” – only to find that it had gotten lost while I navigated around in the previous night’s attempts at figuring this thing out. 😦  So, I’ll have to attempt to reconstruct.  Ah, the learning curve!

One of the quotes I have on my study wall says, “To most people, solutions are answers.  To chemists, solutions are things that are all mixed up.”  The older I get, the more I realize how much I resemble both of those definitions.  With 51 years of life, virtually all of it as a believer (since I don’t remember ever NOT believing), 29 years of marriage, 26 years of parenting, 22 years of homeschooling, and almost 2 years of grandparenting under my belt, there are plenty of questions about life and parenting and relationships that I feel reasonably certain that I have some handle on and perhaps even, by God’s grace, wisdom to share.  However, with all that experience, I also run into more and more questions that lead me to …. more and more questions, leaving me befuddled and confoozled and not always sure which way is up.

Life itself is like those definitions.  Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it’s a confusion, and sometimes it seems to be somehow both at the same time!  I am trying to learn to accept those contradictions, even to embrace them, rather than trying to force life to be understandable.  So, the point of this blog will be exploring life’s solutions – constants and conundrums, mysteries and muddles, ponderings and pronouncements.   Off we go!