The Lord bless us and keep us, the Lord make his face to shine upon us and be gracious unto us, the Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon us and give us peace.
I’ve yet to find the official number for traffic fatalities in Texas in 2015, but I can tell you this: It is short by 3.
My husband, nephew, and I were in a wreck in December that, by all rights, should have killed all three of us. My nephew, by an astounding miracle, literally walked away from the accident and spent the rest of the evening with the family while my husband and I were taken to the closest trauma center. Both of us are still under the care of various doctors; we’ve been averaging 5 doctor visits every week. Yes, it’s getting old, but that’s beside the point.
The point is we should have died. I’ve only looked at pictures of the car once, because I had to in order to fill out some paperwork. Seeing it made me physically ill. In those first few moments of realizing Jack wasn’t in the car, I was sure he’d been killed when he was thrown out. The only thing that kept me from running to him was my inability to move. I still don’t know how I managed to swing my left leg out of the car; it certainly wasn’t letting me do anything with it after I got it there.
I’ve learned a lot in the recovery process. I’ve learned that massive painkillers followed by surgery anesthesia can mess with you in many ways. There are chunks of those first those first few weeks that are just gone, others that can be dredged up only with help, and still others I know can’t be accurate memories. I have no idea how many conversations came to an abrupt halt when, in the middle of a sentence, I could not remember what word I was going to use next.
I also learned that depression after surgery is a VERY real thing. There were points at which it was so bad that I pretty much asked God where He got off forcing us to survive the accident when He could have let us die. (Seriously, watch over your loved ones prayerfully after surgery! I never said a word to anyone about the depression I was fighting.)
But I learned something else, too. I learned that it was against all odds that He DID cause all three of us to survive. I learned that, if He caused all of us to survive then there must be a reason, a purpose. It sounds glib, but I learned that it’s true: God really isn’t finished with us…with any of us.
In Philippians 1:21-24 (NKJV), Paul says, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor; yet what I shall choose I cannot tell. For I am hard-pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better. Nevertheless to remain in the flesh is more needful for you.”
Even without the depression I fought for a while, I do long for the day when I can literally stand in His presence, and the thought of dying really doesn’t bother me. BUT, I also understand, with Paul, that each of us has assignments here, and if we leave before completing them then there is work being left undone.
So I’m here to stay until He says so, and while I’m here I recommit myself to fulfilling His plans and purposes in keeping me here. I won’t JUST live. I will remember that for me, to live is Christ.
Our pastor recently taught a series on the power of prayer, and opened our sanctuary every Saturday evening for a whole month so we could come together and pray as a congregation. To make it easier on those who want to “tarry for an hour,” but don’t know how, he created a chart that breaks an hour into five-minute segments, each focusing on a different topic. Many who used it commented on how much they loved it, on how easy that hour of prayer suddenly became.
I was reminded of this yesterday at lunch. A group of us were discussing how our brains work, and the techniques we use to keep them in line. My brain is a hyper-speed rabbit trail follower. As a result, prayer time can sometimes be frustrating for me as I unsuccessfully try to stay focused. I learned many years ago that for me a prayer journal has great power. The simple act of forcing my thoughts to slow down to the speed of my pen keeps me on the right track. It also creates a prayer paper trail that gives God the chance to say, “Go back and look at what you just wrote.”
All of this explains why my prayer life exploded when my sister blessed me with a new concept in prayer journals two birthdays ago. Produced by Kelly Niemeier who, with her husband, pastors Living Stones Church in Alvin, Texas, it combines the power of written prayers with biblical order (i.e., “Let us come into His presence with thanksgiving…”), and the combination, for me, has been life changing.
If she ever gets her website up and running, I plan to publish a complete review of the journal; for now you can find her through the church, or on Facebook as Kelly Pruitt Niemeier.
My point in this post, however, is to remind everyone that, while we clearly have guidelines to follow (like asking God in Jesus’ name) there are as many ways to pray – to commune and fellowship with God – as there are to commune and fellowship with our dear friends and family. So, unless your approach to prayer is truly unscriptural, don’t feel like you’re wrong just because your style of prayer differs from your neighbor’s. You may spend twenty minutes on your knees by your bed while I spend forty-five with a notebook at my dining table and the next person paces the floor for an hour; the point is to develop a strong, intimate relationship with God.
By becoming friends with who you are and who you can be; by finding a resting place for your heart; you can put a light in the window for yourself.Thomas Kinkade
I find myself wondering how many, on this last day of 2015, are thinking these words…or worse.
I could be. My husband, nephew, and I were in a wreck on the 20th. My nephew walked away, bless God, but my husband won’t be released from rehab until tomorrow and I’ve got a hip that is only just now letting me walk any distance and a fixator and pins holding my wrist together.
Self-pity and depression are SO easy to fall into at times like this, and it would be easy to paint all of 2015 with the pain of today. But 2015 was a great year! I won’t bore you with the details, but this really was a great year, with lots of wonderful moments and days in it.
Even in the midst of today’s chaos I’m finding things to genuinely thank God for. Again, I won’t bore you with the details, but when I asked God to help me find them I was suddenly able to see…and to be genuinely grateful that God is making lovely things come out of this truly ugly situation.
I have had a few “Life stinks!” moments lately, but I’m getting past them-hopefully have gotten past them. I thank God for 2015 – with all its beauty and ugliness – and, as the fireworks light the night sky, my sleeping self (I don’t do midnight) will thank Him for the joys of the year to come.
Only a short distance from this bridge, over which I’ve passed numerous times through the years, lies the entrance to New Hope Cemetery. This is an old cemetery with a fascinating collection of aged headstones. This is a rustic cemetery and it holds the earthly remains of some of my nearest and dearest.
Too many times, we’ve followed a hearse over this bridge, taking a loved one to their final resting place. Several times, we’ve crossed the bridge to visit the graves of those we’ve not seen in so very long. The last time I was there–the day I took this picture–we were “visiting” Mother.
You’d think this bridge would represent loss to me, would inspire pain, but it doesn’t. Why?
The answer lies in the cemetery’s name–New Hope. Yes, we’ve laid our loved ones to rest here, but I know that in each and every case they were born again and destined for Heaven. For them, and those of us who expectantly wait to see them again, this place offers hope indeed–hope of that new life, true LIFE that will never end–eternal life in the very presence of God, surrounded by those we love so much…HOME.
So this picture shows a path of hope, a man-made construct that bridges the past and that glorious future as we follow the road home.
