Tag: Rescue

More Than Just Thankful

Posted on by Dorci

It was November, 1982 and I was on a Greyhound bus headed for Ohio.  I’d be spending the holidays away from my family.  I was 19.  Two years before I’d been asked to leave home one night and I’d been running ever since.  I had a lot to run from, but to where, or who, I didn’t know.

My boyfriend at the time knew a couple there, who, coincidentally or not, pastored a church. How he knew them I have no idea. We drove up their driveway and stayed in their living room for the next month and a half.

If I felt lonely before, I felt even lonelier now.  I was almost 2000 miles from home, spending some very cold days in strange house while everybody was off during the day.

Thanksgiving came and went, and the days and nights got even colder.

Something settled in my chest and I couldn’t stop coughing.  Nights were the worst, and it was a small house.  I lay there night after night, thinking I just might cough up a lung, and all I wanted was for someone to take care of me.

It was Christmas day and we tagged along to the wife’s parents’ house.  I sat in the living room staring at the activity, knowing I didn’t belong.  I asked to use the phone.

I called home and my little sister answered the phone. I told her where I was and we both started crying.  She begged me to come home.  I wanted to, but did I belong there?  Did I belong anywhere?

My mother got on the phone and tried to convince me she wanted me to come back.  She said she’d send the money.  I told her I didn’t know.  Staying was painful, but going back would be painful, too.

The couple we were staying with had bought a home in town.  We began helping them move, and they began dropping hints that once they were in the new house, we needed to find another place to stay.

I supposed it was time to go home, and back on the bus we went.

And I was thankful.

A lot happened in the next six years.  There would be a lot more running, but to where, or who, I didn’t know.

There would come a day when I’d find out.

It was a Sunday morning and my husband and I had been invited to church.  We took our 6-month-old son, walked through the sanctuary into a tiny gathering of people who met in a few rented rooms in a strip mall, and I found the Lord.

I know people like to say God finds us, but God knew where I was all along.  He was with me on the bus and in Ohio.  He was with me all the time I was running.

And I’m thankful.

 

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”   James 1:17

In the world I had only a general feeling of thankfulness, but no one to direct my gratitude to.

Now I am more than just thankful.  I know who I have to be thankful to.

I know who was responsible for every sunrise and sunset I continued to see against all odds.  I know who walked with me and whose grace and mercy covered me as I roamed the streets of a town I didn’t know. I know who healed me when there were no doctors.

And I know He was with me as I got a job as a front-desk receptionist at a computer company who had a lawyer whose calls I would answer, who would eventually steal me away to be the front-desk receptionist at his law firm, where two women worked who went to church together in a tiny congregation that met in a few rented rooms in a strip mall.

I know it’s God, my God, my Savior and my Lord, who has blessed me with all things.  Even when I didn’t know it.

And I’m thankful.

Lost and Found

Posted on by Dorci

One of my favorite sounds of the summer (or just about any time of the year here in Arizona) is the distant hum of a lawn mower. The rumbling of the engine as it cuts rows into the grass makes me feel comforted and secure. Instantly I am taken back to my childhood when I heard the same sound in our own yard. 

That choppy, little engine meant my daddy was home. 

I didn’t hear our lawn mower as much as I would have liked, though.  It sat in the workshop much too often, while my dad was out in the world doing other things. 

His absence left an emptiness in my heart, and without a positive, strong father as a role model, I grew up feeling insecure and lost.  I went on to spend my late teens and early 20’s searching for something to fill the void.

There was a T.V. show that ran from the mid- to late 2000’s that illustrates this feeling well. It was a little show called Lost, presumably titled because it’s about a group of people whose plane crashes somewhere over the Pacific Ocean and they become lost on an uncharted island. 

But I think they were all lost long before they became castaways and found themselves battling their inner demons come to life. 

The series portrays a group of people who, for one reason or another, has each endured painful and damaging relationships with their fathers.  As each character’s past unfolds, we get a better understanding of how the pain of those broken relationships has left them confused, lonely, searching for the love of a father and at the same time running from their pain. 

Lost.   

We witness their journeys from inside their pain as they try to fill their own voids, and their struggle toward healing, or not. 

Unfortunately, these kinds of painful struggles aren’t limited to TV shows. Real life is full of them.  The news is full of stories of people who have been flung into the world without the solid foundation of an involved, loving father.   

Why? We’ve come to believe a lie that’s been perpetrated on us for a long time, and the lie has gained momentum.  The enemy of God and of love and truth has lied to us, telling us children don’t need a father, and the world has swallowed the lie. Now we’re paying the price.

The truth is God created marriage.

God created marriage as a picture of Christ and His bride, the Church.  Husbands were created to be an ongoing personification of Christ’s sacrificial love for her. 

God has given both men and women important roles.  They were both created in God’s image, but in case you haven’t noticed, they were created differently.  In God’s wisdom, He’s given each of them separate, distinct characteristics that, when brought together in a marriage, form a more complete picture of the image of God. Opposites attract as a way of bringing two sets of strengths together to a marriage and a family.      

The truth is God created families. 

Moms and dads each bring their unique God-given characteristics and abilities to the raising of their kids.   Too often, though, dads have been pushed out, left, or have never been involved at all.  Whatever the case may be, unless we get back to God’s vision for the family, we will continue to see the eroding of society. 

So what are husbands and fathers to do?

Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them. Colossians 3:19

It starts with the marriage.  Fathers are the first man in a young woman’s life. The example he sets by how he treats his wife is the portrait she internalizes in how she should be treated by a man.  Fathers are the example young men look to in how to treat a woman. 

And you, fathers, do not provoke your children to wrath, but bring them up in the training and admonition of the Lord.  Ephesians 6:4

God’s discipline is always given with grace and wisdom.  Disciplining too harshly causes children to become bitter.  God says it’s to be done in a loving, nurturing, teachable way.  Not disciplining at all can also cause bitterness and a disrespect for authority.

Fathers are the first impression children form as to who God is, and that impression can last a lifetime. 

Dads, you are needed.  You are important to your children’s lives, and to the prosperity of your family, community, and our society.  The ripple effect of a dad’s relationship with his children can either be an earthquake or a peaceful wave landing on the shore.  I pray you will seek the Lord and let Him show you how to parent your children, that you will be active in their lives, conveying to them how much they’re loved and how important they are to you.  They will carry that into their adulthood.

If your children are alive, it’s not too late to be the father God desires you to be.  Ask Him for wisdom.  Sometimes the most teachable moments and best times of building a relationship are just hanging out together.  Throw a ball.  Make a fort.  Mow the lawn.  Just let them know you’re there for them. 

And if your children are grown, it’s not too late to pray for reconciliation. 

I was able to connect with my dad when I was in my 30’s, just a few years before his death. We didn’t have a lot of time, but the time we had was sweet. The truth is he had his own father issues and searched his entire life for a way to fill his own void of loneliness. I understand that now.  Because of God’s faithfulness, someday we’ll be together again and our relationship will be complete. 

No matter the situation, know that in Christ there is forgiveness and love. 

Sons and daughters, forgive your dad.  It’s the best gift you can give yourself, and your children.  The sad truth is that if he was harsh or absent he probably had his own pain he was grappling with, and unfortunately that pain taints all our relationships. Pray for him. Love him with the love God gives you.

Know that the image we have of our fathers is not an accurate representation of God.  The best of dads (and moms) are not perfect.  Don’t assign your dad’s weaknesses to your Heavenly Father. 

When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me. Psalm 27:10

I’ve relied on this verse throughout my walk with God.  No matter how lost you may have felt before God, in Christ you are now found.  Christ died for you, rose for you, and sought you.  He wooed you until you were His.  He will never leave you nor forsake you. His love and provision are limitless.  His grace and mercy abound to you.  He is faithful.

God bless you on your journey,

 

 

 

Image credit: mulden / 123RF Stock Photo

My Redeemer Lives

Posted on by Dorci

I’ve been a believer in Christ almost half my life (maybe more, but that’s a story for another day).  I’ve lived this Christian life so long that I can sometimes forget all that Christ has saved me from.

But once in a while God gives me a reminder, a little glimpse into what my life could have been like had I kept walking the path I was on.  I very well could have died in my sins.  Lost forever. 

But my Redeemer lives.

For I know that my Redeemer lives, and He shall stand at last on the earth; and after my skin is destroyed, this I know, that in my flesh I shall see God, Whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!”  Job 19:25-27

Even Job, who lived centuries prior to Christ’s incarnation, because of his intimate relationship with God knew he had a Redeemer.  While he sat utterly destitute and broken by the tornado of suffering he suddenly faced, he held onto hope that he would be saved, even if not until he passed on from this life.  He knew His Redeemer would reign victorious at the end of all things and that He would be raised with Him and see his Redeemer face to face. 

God did save Job and restored his life.  And I have no doubt that Job’s faith carried him home to see the face he so longed to see, where all suffering melted away.

God’s saved me from more than I have time to tell you here.  And no matter what struggles I go through as a believer, it’s nothing compared to living this life without Jesus, without the hope of salvation. 

He’s redeemed my soul from the pit.  He’s saved me from destroying myself. He’s rescued me from destructive relationships and from wandering the earth in a state of spiritual blindness. 

He’s given me sight to see Him and ears to hear Him.  He’s changing my heart from hardened stone to pure, soft flesh. He’s blessed me in ways that before I would have thought impossible. And He’s filled me with His Spirit to give me  the hope of salvation and that one day I, too, will see my Redeemer face to face. 

From what has your Redeemer saved you?

Grace and peace!

The Rescue

Posted on by Dorci

I walked through his apartment in a daze, sifting methodically through his keepsakes, his memories, his life, trying to decide what I dared throw away, what I gave away and what I kept.  I was on a time crunch and for the most part I resisted leaning back to read the slew of papers left everywhere with his private thoughts, his struggles, his journey.

But sometimes the words called out to me from the pages and I gave in.  Faces from black and white Polaroids stared at me and I stared back, wondering just who they were.  How had my dad known them?

As I made my way around his bedroom, I looked up and there in a relatively dark corner was a survivor, a cutting from a Pothos.  A rescue with one or two small leaves in a clay pot.

My dad liked to rescue plants.  He was always taking cuttings from plants and giving them a fresh start.  I think in his heart of hearts he wanted to rescue something. He wanted to do something good.  He couldn’t rescue my mother, or my sister or me, or even himself.  So he rescued plants.

I lifted it from its place and laid it aside in the pile of things I would keep.

I brought home my little adopted friend and tried to find just the right spot where it would get enough light to grow.  It’s been all over the house in the years since.  Right now it has a cozy home by a sunny window in my bathroom.

For a long time I put off transplanting it into a bigger pot with new soil, even though it desperately needed both.  Still, it held on.  Every once in a while a leaf would turn yellow and drop off and I’d be afraid I was watching my dad’s plant die.  But another leaf would soon take its place.  It didn’t really grow, though.  It just held steady with those two or three leaves.

After scouring brick-and-mortars and the internet for a pot deserving of a plant my dad had taken the time to nurture during its teenage years, I finally found just the right pot for it and replanted it with some fresh new soil.  And what do you know, it began to grow like crazy.

Still, it only had the one stem.  And it just kept getting longer and longer.  Somewhere along the way I had developed my dad’s love of gardening and I’d learned a thing or two about it.  I knew that if I wanted the plant to be healthy, to develop multiple stems and bush out rather than remain leggy, I’d have to prune it.  I’d have to cut some off the end of the one stem it had so that the energy would be redirected to the roots and it would grow a new stem.

I put it off for a while.  It wasn’t just a stem I’d be cutting.  It was my dad’s rescue. Strangely it seemed part of him.  But I wanted it to grow into a healthy, beautiful, thriving plant, so I went to the drawer for some scissors, stood in front of it, told it I was sorry, and cut a few inches off the end.

And within a few weeks it began to grow another leafy stem.

Recently those two leafy stems with their big, shiny leaves had grown so long they were hanging on the floor.  Still, there were only two stems.  I knew it was time to prune it again.  And I dreaded it.

I went to the drawer for the scissors and stood in front of it with slightly bated breath.  This is silly! I thought.  It’s just a plant.  Again, I told it I was sorry, and I snipped off several inches this time, just adjacent to where a leaf emerged from the stem.

And suddenly something occurred to me.  Does the Lord feel this way when He prunes us?  He knows it’s for our good.  He knows just where to cut and how much to develop healthy, new growth in our lives.  Still, He knows it’s going to hurt us.

I wonder if He stands for a moment with slightly bated breath before He allows us to hear that diagnosis.  Before we hear the news about our loved one.  Before we find out we’ve lost a job or a home, or a child.

Jesus wept.

John 11:35

Of all the times the New Testament tells us of someone crying, this instance of Jesus weeping with those who wept over Lazarus’s death is the only time the word dakruo is used to describe it.  It means to weep silently or to shed tears. All other instances were of people crying out loud.

Jesus knew in just moments He would give Lazarus new life and still, His compassion for Mary and Martha and the rest was overwhelming, because He is not an uncompassionate God.  Our pain is His pain. He wept for their immediate suffering, but also for the sin nature they were caught in which ultimately brought death–the sin nature He came to overcome.

My plant is not the only rescue in this house.  I am God’s rescue.  When He plucked me out of my dark corner of the world, I was barely alive, barely growing.  Since then God’s pruned me back many times.  And I’m not always as compliant as my plant.  I’ll argue He’s taken too much or it’s too soon to take more.  And there are times I’ve wondered if He cares how much the pruning hurts.

And I look at my plant, and I know He does.

Somehow that makes going through the pruning, the struggle of it all, just a little bit easier.  Knowing God isn’t at all cavalier about the pain He must allow in my life, knowing He has a purpose beyond what I can see, knowing He’s right beside me, weeping when I weep, makes it all just a little bit easier.

When I grow up, I want to be like my plant.  I want to allow the cutting without a peep.  I want to bounce back and quickly begin to produce new growth.  I want to be content and even flourish where the Lord sees fit to put me.

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday.  If he were here I’d give him a jar full of jelly beans and a trip to the Desert Botanical Gardens.  Maybe a new fishing pole. Nah.  He’d rather keep the one he’d broken in.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  You rescued me more than you know.

Love and Blessings,