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Many years ago, I was walking to my car in a parking lot that was covered with glare ice. I slipped and fell flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me and it felt as if I had hurt my back. I was alone except for one young man who ran up to me with a look of concern and asked, “Are you all right?”
“No,” I groaned, and laid there in pain. With a startled look, he stood up straight, thought a moment, walked to his car and drove away, leaving me laying on the ice. He did not help me get up. He did not go into the building we were next to to get help. He simply left. Realizing I was on my own, I did manage to crawl to my car, get in, and drive home. Nothing was broken and although I was bruised and sore for a few days, I was basically okay. Fortunately. Now, that young man was not being malicious. He was concerned enough to come over to me and ask if I was all right. But no one had trained him what to do if he came upon someone who was hurt. In his world, you asked someone if they were okay and they were supposed to say, “I’m fine.” He simply didn’t know what to do next. Perplexed, and possibly feeling he had done all he could he simply left me lying alone, in freezing weather, in an empty parking lot on a sheet of ice. I wonder how many of us, looking at our culture right now feel like that young man? We have plenty of good intentions, but no concrete strategies or actions to follow through. Plenty of opinions are flying around, but very few plans, and even less follow up. Many in the church have declared culture wars, but few are thinking about culture care. Meanwhile, it seems that our nation is lying flat on its back, unable to get up. About twenty years ago, it was popular to wear bracelets or tee shirts emblazoned with WWJD. It stood for what would Jesus do? It became quite popular. If faced with a life situation, you were encouraged to stop and ask yourself that question. Of course, to answer that question one has to educate themselves with who Jesus was, what he taught, and how he lived. An understanding of a sacrificial lifestyle was important and why he came to show us how it’s done. You really had to educate yourself biblically to truly answer to question, but it’s far more popular to just adopt a fashion statement. Which brings us to today. As I ponder the life of Jesus and wonder what He would do, I’m confident from being familiar with his teachings that he’d find a way that would honor the authorities, since he was clear on the importance of paying your taxes, to respect those in government and to pray for those in authority. Not just the public figures you liked. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be posting unkind and untrue memes about people or political parties he didn’t like, since he came for all people. All. And finally, I’m confident he’d put the phone and tablet away and engage people on a much deeper level. He had more important things to do that to be constantly distracted. So do we.  Cindy's flowers The month of July is drawing to a close. It is a time where Cindy is very much on my mind. On her birthday, I hiked through Blandford Nature Center with a friend. Cindy and I enjoyed nature walks and it was a good way to remember her on her special day. The center has changed since we were last there together. I wish she could see it.
A week later I was kayaking again, introducing a friend to Wabasis Lake - a large local lake that has fun places to explore hidden among the reeds. Cindy and I discovered kayaking together and we really enjoyed it through the years. I hadn’t been on the water for two years - she had become too weak to paddle and I just wanted to stay available to her. Last summer, it felt disloyal to take my boat out when she could barely walk. So my kayak hung on the garage wall until last week. The flowers Cindy had given me for my garden bloom in July. They are a beautiful reminder of our friendship. This has not been a great year and in some ways I’m glad she didn’t live to see the pandemic, the brutality, the national strife…but I will always miss her and July will always bring her to mind. Mary Oliver was one of her favorite poets. I’ll leave you with this poem that she read at a friend’s funeral a few months before her own. The Summer Day Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? —Mary Oliver Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be. - Thomas a Kempis
Someone posted an idea on Facebook last week that I thought was something worth pondering, so I shared it on my feed. Basically, the writer wondered why the Church in general was not leading the charge to protect the vulnerable and postulated that a it was due to political expediency. I didn’t comment on it, just thought it was something worth mulling over. Perhaps it was this quote, or perhaps it was already raging on but it seemed like suddenly the subject of masks was a hill people were willing to die on. Pro or con - the debate raged (and continues to rage) on social media. It’s become so toxic that I’ve stepped away from that platform to ponder and to pray. What on earth is going on? I prayed for God to explain things to me, and I believe that no matter which position a person lands on, the intense reactions are based on fear. From fear of a virus that can kill or disable to fear of the government overstepping its role to take away civil liberties. One person I know has a very limited oxygen intake and fears wearing a mask would kill her. It’s not as far fetched as some have expressed since even without a mask she has passed out due to lack of oxygen. Everyone has a reason for their response. You may not agree with it, but as the Kempis quote points out, you cannot change people - we can barely change ourselves. In the atmosphere of general panic, I want to take a step back and reorient myself. How, in this overwrought atmosphere, do I live a life of faith? How do I reach out to others to still their fears? How should I live my life to demonstrate God’s love and mercy in these dark times? I turn to scripture and find that Jesus said “Fear not” or “Don’t be afraid” a lot of times. A lot. Someone did a devotional that claims there’s 365 verses about not being afraid, but I haven’t come up with that number. However, the version of scriptures that I prefer (New American Revised Standard) comes up with 4 – fear not; 57 – do not fear; and 46 – do not be afraid. Enough to know that God is making a point. A point I need to pay attention to. I can’t make everyone chill out. There are times I can barely do that for myself. But as a believer in Christ, I can remember that He is where my most important freedoms are and I can set my heart and mind on Him as I try to put into practice the verse in Micah. Do justly, be kind, walk humbly. And a note to myself - stop posting things on Facebook. It’s better to sit down in conversation to find out why people feel the things they do. To anyone I’ve hurt with my posts, I do most humbly apologize. And what does the Lord require of you But to do justice, to love kindness, And to walk humbly with your God? - Micah 6:8 NASB  Last week there was a day I stayed home from my studio and waited all day for a delivery. We’d ordered a credenza for the office. During this quarantine, people have been doing a lot of jigsaw puzzles. This credenza was a puzzle on steroids. It came in four huge boxes and it took some time to put together. I put off assembling it, but Mike (my hero) took the bull by the horns and spent a day (and all night) putting it together. Now I have one less excuse for getting the office put back in order.
Excuses. So many excuses for not engaging life. When I think of two of my dearest friends - Jan and Cindy, both gone now - I realized that both women really engaged life. In different ways and in different things, but they both really explored the world and various interests. Instead of engagement, I’ve used excuses. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have enough money and that I needed any spare dime put into my art career. While that was true when I was starting out, I now have a well supplied studio and I have more than enough. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have enough time because I was caring first for my mother and then for my in-laws. Sadly, they are gone. I did take good care of them but now my time has opened up yet I still hang back. I’ve used the excuse that I don’t have anyone to do things with anymore. When you lose a friend that’s almost like a sister it does leave a gaping hole in your life. There is no getting around that. And life will never be quite the same again because each of us is a unique poem. In fact in scripture we are called God’s masterpieces. The Greek for that word is poema. We are each a poem and there’s no replacement for a truly lovely poem. But I’m well aware that there are other lonely people out there who have also experienced loss that I could reach out to and start to build relationships with. All these excuses are basically a way to mask anxiety. What if I fail? What if people hate me and reject me? What if I can’t figure out what I’m “supposed” to do? These questions sound ridiculous when I write them on the page. Of course I’ll fail. I’ve failed before and it wasn’t fatal. In fact, it’s a way to learn and grow. Of course some people hate me and reject me. You can’t please everyone. And I know what I’m supposed to do…walk justly, love mercy, walk humbly. Add to that to open up my training and experiences to God and let him run with it. It’s not rocket science so it’s time to stop making excuses. During the quarantine, our church has been doing a study of Psalm 91 and I decided to do a calligraphic meditation on it. So for a couple of weeks, I would take one verse and write it out to try to create a cohesive block of work on the theme of that passage. Writing it this way, slowly and carefully, made me ponder it in ways I haven’t before. I tend to read quickly and when doing this particular writing style, I had to slow down and really meditate on what I was writing. While I was doing that, two women from our church have been writing thoughtful, daily devotionals about their meditations of each verse. If you're interested in it, you can find it at this link: http://lakeeffect.church/91-for-91/. I have known people who claim this psalm for themselves as a good luck charm…that if they recite it enough and believe hard enough that nothing bad will happen to them. That is not what the scriptures promise. Rebecca Sytsema, author and co-pastor of Lake Effect Church in Grand Rapids, is one of the devotional writers for this Psalm. In today’s meditation, she wrote: Because Psalm 91 is not a guarantee that we will not face difficult times, nor that we will be spared from death. If that were the case, we would have millennia-old relatives running around! But, Psalm 91 is written about a God who has a jealous, fervent, militant love for His children. It is written about a God who is not impotent, weak, or unwilling to move on our behalf. She would know. Her eldest son is low functioning autistic. He’s non-verbal, functions at a toddler level and is built like a linebacker. He also had COVID-19 last week and had to be hospitalized which is a situation he does not understand and fights. Was it easy? No. Was there a miracle of God’s rescue. Yes. Did it involve medical attention from a fabulous staff? You betcha. This miracle of Nick’s quick turn around (he was out of the hospital in 48 hours) involved a good amount of struggle, effort and incredible determination on Becky’s part (who, by the way, is half of Nick’s size). And prayer. Lots and lots of prayer from hundreds of people worldwide. Psalm 91 isn’t a good luck charm. It’s not about getting the results we want. I encourage you to do a deeper reading of it. One of the themes is God’s aid in helping us overcome and about His presence in our times of trouble. It's about His love. I leave you with the last passage I illumined. Blessings on you in this time of quarantine.   One of the things I did when I found out Cindy only had a few months to live was to sign up for a couple of online classes to give me some structure. I knew I would need that to keep me moving forward through the grieving period. There have been times that I wished I hadn’t, but on the whole it was a wise thing to do. An assignment I had to do this week was to write poetry. It may seem strange that a woman who has written a book and keeps a blog does not see crafting words as a strong suit, but there you have it. I was not looking forward to this particular assignment. The parameters set forth for the first poem was to take a walk in nature. Walk for five minutes, stop, and take in the scene around you. Walk five more minutes and do the same. And then another five minutes and once again, soak in your surroundings. Take notes, or in my case since it was a bitterly cold day, take photos and then craft a poem from the experience. The second poem was to be constructed by a random word list generated by a software program. I got a list of ten words and needed to use at least eight of them in a poem. I thought I would share the first one here. Not because it will set the literary world on fire, but to share the healing process. Because I found that going through this actually helped a little. Here you go. The Dead of Winter The park is desolate today... gray bleak cold empty. It mirrors my heart... wintry sad raw exposed. The dead of winter. A death in winter. The landscape and my heart a frozen desert.... empty alone. Bare, barren vines and branches exposed... freezing abandoned tangled ignored. The silence is crushing, the wind is biting, tears are stinging I walk alone. In the dead of winter mourning a death in winter. Alone in the city where everyone else has the sense to stay inside through the gray bleak cold empty park. My eyes sweep to the colorless ice along the water's edge. I stop. There is movement. A muskrat foraging for food. Oblivious to me, to my thoughts, to the cold. There is life in winter In the dead of winter.   I met a friend for breakfast. Her mother had been a dear, dear friend from our college days until her death. One of the loveliest gifts she gave me was her family and we still keep in touch. As Dawn and I got caught up over tea and coffee she asked how I was doing. I’d recently lost another dear friend and two days later, another woman who’d been a spiritual mentor to me. Grief has me in its grip.
One thing I’ve experienced with grief is that it brings up older losses. Although Jan has been gone for years now, the feelings spring both fresh in this new grieving time. It all pretty much merges together. So we talked about friendship and loss, and reminisced about her mom and dad. Loss and grief is the price of love. Oh, how it hurts. But oh, how it’s worth it. We talked of that as well. Hesitantly, she asks me, “Did you get a card in the mail from me?” I hadn’t. She was. a bit frustrated with her post office branch. She’d had other mail go astray lately as well. I promised I’d let her know when it came. It came yesterday. A hand made card wishing me recovery from an illness I'd had a week ago. She’s her mother’s daughter. Creative and thoughtful, and as a nod to our mutual connection, the coffee cup was made from a scrap of a painting that had Jan’s signature on it. It warms my heart. People we love are never really gone. They leave loving reminders to us everywhere. And I am grateful.  Our first kayaking trip There really are no words to express how special Cindy was. The world really could use more special people like Cindy. While she was smart, creative and fun, her stellar qualities were her thoughtfulness, grace, and kindness. She loved unconditionally and without judgement. I was so blessed by her friendship. So long, friend. See you on the other side.   Recreation of the event On New Year’s Eve Day, I woke up to see a note on my computer. Mike had stayed up into the wee hours to shovel snow. It had snowed heavily and he cleared our walks and some of the neighbor’s as well. It was well intentioned, but it had continued to snow and his work was covered up. The note read that he would need sympathy when he got up because in the process of clearing walks, he had lost his keys.
I sat down to check my email, feeling very sorry for his plight and thinking of the hassle of replacing all his keys, hoping some nefarious person didn’t find them and try all the doors in the neighborhood until they found ours. As I surfed the internet, a thought popped into my head that I should go and look for the keys. I know the source of that voice and said aloud, “Seriously? That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s cold outside, I don’t wanna.” But God has a way of nudging you in a friendly way saying, “Come on. What do you have to lose?” “Warmth and comfort,” I muttered as I got my coat. I bundled up. I decided if I was going to go out looking for this key ring, I’d clear off the walk again. It was still snowing but seemed to be slowing down. “Look in the street by the truck.” “In a minute. I’m going to clear off Becky’s ramp.” “They aren’t on the ramp.” “They might be.” They weren’t. “Look in the street by the truck.” “In a minute. I’m going to clear off the walk and meet the new neighbor.” Introduced myself to Steve and cleared off our front sidewalk. The keys weren’t there. “Look in the street by the truck.” Sigh. There was about four inches of snow on the street, and cars had been through. If they were in the street they could have been smooshed or dragged. I trudged toward the truck looking at all the ruts and lumps in the snow. “There. Brush the snow off that lump.” So I took my shovel and brushed aside the snow off one particular lump and there they were. Two feet away from the truck and one inch away from the tire ruts. Cold, wet, and otherwise unaffected. Glory to God. He took me on a treasure hunt to end the old year and begin the new. A great start to the day and a mystery. I pray all the time for a lot of people. I pray for my nation as it descends into anger and violence. I pray for healing, provision, children, and my family. I’ve prayed for my friend to be healed and the answer, apparently, is no. So many things that need a divine touch, and He helps me find Mike’s keys. I have no profound answers as to why. I’ve mulled it over from time to time and eventually have to throw up my hands and give into the mystery that is God. He is intensely personal. I’ve experienced that many times. He’s very powerful. I’ve experienced supernatural healing and other things that cannot be explained. Yet, I’ve also experienced deep disappointments with God. There are different theological explanations that work to explain why things happen or don’t happen the way they do but often it’s just an attempt to put God in a box to perform and that’s something He steadfastly refuses to do. I often tell people I’m comfortable with the mystery that is God. To some degree I am. The key incident does not stand alone in silly yet fruitful interactions I have with Him. And yet, as I watch my dear, dear friend dying the mystery does not rest easy in my heart. Still, I will praise Him and thank Him for the keys.  The day after Christmas found me meandering (not power-walking) through Riverside Park, near my studio. The temperature had reached 60 degrees - a rarity in Michigan winters, and I jumped at the chance to be outside in the sunshine. In part, exercise was needed after a day of excessive eating, but mostly I needed to be outside for my spirit and my soul. I needed to soak in the sunlight and commune with God through nature.
There were remarkably few people on the beautiful day after Christmas. If the nightly news report that Mike and I watched the night before is correct, the majority of people (75% said the news anchor) were returning gifts. That seems a bit sad to me for some reason, but I have to admit I like having the park mostly to myself. The sunshine and solitude help me slow down, center myself and pray. No profound, earthshaking prayers…just quiet, contemplative prayers of “what next?” and “how do I get ready for that?” After an hour’s stroll I return to the studio, have a cup of tea, and read for a while. I am reading Playing God, Redeeming the Gift of Power by Andy Crouch. A book that is quite thoughtful and giving me much to mull over. This slower pace of walking, drinking tea, and reading through the afternoon is a good reminder that life is to be enjoyed - not over scheduled and raced through from moment to moment. The end of the year is often a time of reflection with a sometimes unrealistic expectation that “This year will be different!!” It might. It might not. Certainly it is good to reflect and create a plan to help achieve a goal or break a hurtful habit. Set a budget, invest in your skill set, use your time better, eat healthier…all good goals. Over the years I have set and achieved (or not achieved) many goals. But along the way I’ve learned to hold on a bit more loosely to the results and my expectations. Life has a way of zigging to the left when I was zagging to the right, but I’ve always ended up in pretty good places - eventually. So I’ll slow down this week and do my best to think about and pray things through. I’ll talk things over with my artists' group that will get together this Saturday. We’ll talk about the joys and challenges of the holidays, pray for one another, encourage one another. We’ll talk about the upcoming year. There are irons in the fires, trips that are planned or to be planned, and ideas to sift through. So ends another year. |
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July 2024
Donna KemperDonna Kemper put aside her art career to care for a mother she hadn't seen in over a decade. For seven years she followed her mother's journey into dementia, caring for her and putting forgiveness into action. Categories
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