Monday, February 24, 2014

My Grandmother and Corrie

I have this memory of my grandmother.  We are in her kitchen, and she is standing in her favorite corner (where she always stood, next to her coffee pot) and I am sitting at her counter, in the swivel chair.  She is telling me about Corrie ten Boom.

I have another memory of my grandmother.  She and I are sitting in her mauve chairs in her mauve living room, sipping Coke from cans, and she is telling me about Corrie ten Boom.

I have yet another memory of my grandmother.  I am sitting on her waterbed in her lovely silver and pale blue bedroom.  She is sitting on the chair next to the bed, we are eating potato chips and sipping (what else?) Coke, and she is telling me about Corrie ten Boom.

When I was a child, Corrie ten Boom had a profound impact on my grandmother.  I couldn't see it through my young eyes, I just knew she told me about her.  A lot.  

At that time, Corrie's book, The Hiding Place, had been in print for around 10 years. It is a story about Corrie and her family, and how they made a terrifyingly difficult decision to harbor Jews in their home in the dark days before and during world war 2. It also goes on to tell of her time spent in prison and concentration camps, finally at Ravensbruck.  In the early 80's, the book was still relatively new.  Like all bestsellers, this book had a broad reach…and it swept right into my grandmother's living room, guided without a doubt by her Heavenly Father.

I've had many years to think about Corrie ten Boom and her book, but I didn't actually read it until last year.  Oh, how I wish I had read it before my grandmother passed away!  I now know why she admired this quiet, foreign woman.  I understand why she felt so compelled to tell everyone about the captivating, horrendous, amazing, and heart-wrenching story.

My grandmother had a difficult life.  Growing up, she was "dirt poor" as my mother always puts it. She recollected hearing mites "pop" when ironing her clothes. When she was in high school, her father burned down their house while in a fit of rage.  Her husband passed away when her three children were still young.  She had failing health when she was in her late 60's and early 70's, and passed away at 72 young years of age. 

In Corrie's book, she speaks about the need to love all humans, whether they are Christian or not.  She speaks about the atrocities that she and her sister Betsy were forced to endure.  But Betsy and Corrie never gave up hope or lost faith.  In fact, they amazingly continued to witness throughout their torturous years.  One quote from the book resonated with me, and I'm sure it is a quote that gave my grandmother enormous comfort:

"There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still."

My grandmother had been in the pit. And, like Corrie, she felt the love of God keeping her from drowning.  I know my grandmother's situation was not the same as Corrie's, but I would like to think that part of Corrie's purpose in writing her book was to help strengthen faith in others, no matter what their circumstances. 

I know that my faith is a direct result of the faith that my grandmother passed down to my mother, and then passed down to me.  As a child, I admired a woman who was kind, gentle, slow to anger (what anger? I never witnessed any), and full of love for me. As a young teenager I grew to know a Grandmother who prayed for my husband (wherever and whomever he might be) she had yet to meet, who gave me my precious bible I still use today, and who shared her knowledge and wisdom with me. As an adult I grew to know this woman was my "kindred spirit" as she used to call me, who knew even when I didn't that God was in my heart, who knew God had marvelous things planned for me, and who knew a Savior that had infinite love for all.

Long ago, on April 14, 1892 in the Netherlands, a woman was born who would grow up to be a marvelous witness for Christ, one whom God would use to help strengthen the faith of so many of His children.

Including my grandmother. And now, including me.









Monday, February 17, 2014

I'm In Love With…the Morning?

This morning I ran into a dear friend in the office at school.  She was all smiles, and exclaimed that she was just very happy this morning.  She had a long list of things to do, and none of them were yet accomplished…but she was, still, just very happy.  She added that her mood may very well be changed by late this evening, but on this snowy Monday morning, everything was great!

I heartily agreed with her!  Mornings are great!  I feel the most productive, have the most energy, am the most patient with my kids…all in the mornings.  If it is a sunny morning, well, all the better.

As I drove away and was pondering all of this, another memory came to mind.  Not long ago yet a different dear friend posted this on her Facebook page:
"Thankful that His mercies are new every morning…and that joy comes in the morning."

Of course that phrase rang a bell in the depths of my Sunday-School-bible-verse-memory-archives.  Thanks to Bible Gateway (my favorite website to look up bible verses), I very quickly found the Psalm she was quoting:

"Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints,
and give thanks to His holy name.
For His anger is but for a moment,
and his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes in the morning."
Psalm 30:6-7

And then, of course, things seemed to all click into place.  It wasn't a very hard concept to put together, and quite obvious really, but I guess once again my feeble humanity clouded my eyes to see how God works in our lives.  

I am joyous in the morning because God grants me joy.  NEW each morning.  

I feel good, productive, patient, loved, happy, etc…because God has promised to renew me each morning.  To give me the strength and vigor that I need to boost me through my day.  

Yes, some mornings are not joyful.  Some mornings I wake up, foggy…then remember a certain situation, and grief or worry or shame may roll over me.  I really don't like those mornings.  But at least I have the promise: "weeping may tarry for the night (and perhaps that night may last a LONG time), but JOY comes in the morning."  I WILL have joyful mornings again, it is a promise I can cling to. Even when there may be nothing else to grasp.

Thank you LORD, for this morning of JOY!  Thank you for your mercies that are new today, and will be new tomorrow! Quiet my soul on the mornings of grief or sadness.  Let this promise of "JOY to come" bring hope on those dark mornings. Amen.







Tuesday, February 11, 2014

On Parental Yelling and Residual Guilt...

I would love to say that I am not a yeller.

I also wish I could say that I have never told a lie.

I would love to be one of those moms who literally oozes patience, who demands obedience with her mere presence, who can give one look to her children and they comply.

I would like to stop believing the myth that this type of mother actually exists.

I would enjoy never feeling my anger rise so very quickly, so suddenly, so inexplicably.

I wish I could always look at those angelic faces with complete calm and reverent love.

I have a dream world, where my offspring obey the first time I ask them to do something.

I break down in my resolution to remain calm, I raise my voice once, twice, louder still until the third and fourth time I have repeated a direction onto a little body…only then do I see a reaction from that little angel.

I have residual guilt.

I don't want to be a teacher who conveys that yelling is a reasonable form of communication.

I don't want my children to remember specific times when I let my anger get the best of me.

I want to be a mother who shows Jesus' patience.

I need to be a mother who accepts help from her Savior.

I am thankful for the blessings of my beautiful children.

I am in loving awe of these three little blessings, right now, as they are off at school.

I pray for them constantly.

I don't think it is possible for me to ever receive a bigger blessing from my Lord than my children.





Monday, February 10, 2014

Prodigal Daughter

Every day I forget about you.  But every day you take me back.

When I come to you, and let down the walls that hold you at bay, I can feel your spirit living in me.  It is a feeling of completeness, of wholeness, of contentment. Yet still I let the walls slide back into place, and so easily do I wander away.

You don't leave me.  Even when I go hours, days without thinking about you.  You are there, waiting for me.

I'm like a child, who cannot get things right.  The wrong that I do is staggering when I let myself absorb it all. I make choices that I know are not pleasing to you, that do not honor you.  Yet I make them anyway, time and again.  Unlike a child, I am not innocent.  I do not deserve such an amazing love from such a perfect Savior.

Yet I come back to you.  Sorry.  Begging forgiveness and love. And you give it all to me.  Every drop that I need…you pour it over me, so that it covers every inch of this unworthy prodigal daughter.

I know you will love me forever, in spite of my unworthiness.  I can hide nothing from you, no secrets can be kept, no sin withheld from your sight.

You have promised me that your love is greater than my unworthiness.



Romans 8:38-39
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.