The More Things Change…

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You’ve heard the saying “the more things change, the more they stay the same”?

Allow me to catch you up on what God’s been doing in my life for the last six-plus months. When I do, and when I share one of the many lessons He’s taught me through all of it, you’ll see why I titled this devotion what I did.

On June 20 of last year, I accepted a position as the third-grade Spanish Immersion teacher at a nearby school in my local school district. I had taught before, but never for a public school, and never with an elementary-level focus. But my husband and I believed that getting a job at all, and accepting this job in particular, was God’s plan for me and for our family.

For the rest of the summer, I prepared to teach. I continued my online coursework toward my teaching certificate; I consulted friends who are teachers for tips on classroom management; I bought things for my classroom; I attended approximately 80 hours of training; I prayed and thought and planned some more.

It turned out that school was not at all what I had thought it would be. For the first two weeks, I cried every time I thought about having to go to work. God and I had some honest, raw conversations during this time and in the following weeks.

Then, in the middle of October, my beloved stepmother, who had turned just 61 years old a few days before, died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack. I was devastated. Since then, I’ve experienced not only grief that flares up when I’m least prepared for it, but family issues related to my dad’s health and finances.

At first, it seemed that my life had changed a lot in the past six-plus months. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what truly constitutes my life hadn’t changed at all.

According to the words that came from the very mouth of Jesus, true life now, and always has, consisted of knowing God. In another place, Jesus made it clear that the only things God wants from me are to know and love Him, and to pour out His love on anyone He puts in my path as my neighbor. This is true life, Jesus said, and that hasn’t changed in the past six months. Nor will it ever.

No matter where I work, my purpose for working there will be to love the people I serve. My comfort level at my job has nothing to do with what constitutes life.

Similarly, whether I’m surrounded by my loved ones until the day I die, or whether some of them depart this earth before I do, my best and most loving relationship will always be found with God. I can enjoy my earthly relationships with others, but they aren’t my life.

Circumstances can change in a heartbeat, or in the cessation of one. They’re shifting sand. My life—what fulfills me, what brings me the best and highest joy—is now, and always has been, loving and being loved by God Himself, and sharing His love with those around me.

Yes, I would love to have a job that’s comfortable and easy every moment of every day. Yes, I would love to have my stepmother back for just one more day, one more phone call, one more text, even.

But even if I could….

Even if I could, what matters most in life wouldn’t change. My circumstances would change, yes. My level of joy? Oh, yes. At least temporarily.

But not what constitutes true life for me. Because true life is God, and He never changes.

I’ll go on trying to make positive changes at school. I’ll continue to miss Sheryl every single day. But I will refuse to believe that true life is found in the absence of distress or the presence of whatever, or whomever, I desire. Instead, I will do my imperfect best to live out the truth to anyone who might be watching that God is enough for me, now and forevermore.

The more the details change, the more what really matters, stays the same.

In that, I am comforted. In that, I truly live.

John 17:3—Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. (NIV)

Luke 10:27—He answered, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (NIV)

In Memoriam

On Thursday, March 9, 2017, heaven became one precious saint richer.

That was the morning my long-time, dear friend Victoria Kruse left behind the pain and suffering bound up in her body and went to meet Jesus face-to-face.

Vicki had been diagnosed with ALS a few years before she died. At first, her symptoms seemed to be increasing slowly. Gradually, as time went on, she lost the ability to speak, walk, and move purposefully. Yes, there were medicines that would take away much of her pain, but they would have made her less than alert. And Vicki wanted to stay as alert as she could, as long as she could, for the benefit of her husband, Ron, and their daughter, Molly.

As Vicki’s body deteriorated, she longed to be healed, and she believed until the very end that God could heal her miraculously, if He chose to do so. But even as it became more and more clear that she would probably not be healed on this earth, Vicki never stopped loving God.

Questioned why He would allow this? Of course. Who wouldn’t, in that situation?

But she never stopped loving Him and believing that her life, and even her death, were in His hands.

And she never stopped desiring to glorify Him, whether that were through a miraculous healing, or through the way in which she endured her suffering, or even in some way she didn’t understand.

It turned out that it was not God’s will to heal Vicki on this earth. But He abundantly satisfied her desire to glorify Him and bless others, despite the fact that she was physically unable to bless people in many of the ways we usually think of being blessed.

Vicki wasn’t able to attend my birthday party last year, but she asked her driver to drive her to Sonic to purchase a gift card for me (Sonic was our “thing” together) and then drive her to my house to give it to me.

She was no longer able to take my children out for ice cream at Braum’s, one-on-one, on each of their birthdays, but when the kids and I took a long plane trip, she asked me for ideas of what each child would enjoy reading or playing with on the trip. Then, she asked people to help her buy the gifts, and she asked to be driven to our house so she could present the gifts to my children and witness their delight.

She wasn’t able to form meaningful speech, much less sing, but when I took her on the long drives that helped relieve her pain (I had the privilege of being her weekend caregiver for six months), I would sing a variety of songs, and when I sang our favorite hymn (“It Is Well with My Soul”), she somehow sang with me. Maybe not in articulate words, but in the best body language of which she was capable, and in faint sounds.

sonic cupInstead of her bringing me a vanilla shake from Sonic each time I was in the hospital after having a baby, we went to Sonic together—only now, I fed her a mini, double peanut butter, extra-thick shake, with the whipped cream she thought was really yummy, using a spoon. After she gave me the cherry on top to take home to Jessica, that is, because she knew Jessica loves maraschino cherries.

Vicki prayed for others. She listened to others, including me, and encouraged them. She laughed at my jokes and my quirky sense of humor.

Vicki continued to bless everyone who knew her, by being the same kind of smart, funny, caring, wonderful friend, mother, wife, and family member she had always been, right up until the end.

She poured out her love upon all of us from a frail, ineffective body, but a fully functioning heart, even when it caused her weariness or pain to do so.

And in so doing, she brought glory to the God she worshipped.

He granted her one of her deepest desires—the desire to bring Him glory—for years. And on March 9, He granted her second deepest desire—the desire to be physically healed.

As of 10:15 that morning, Vicki is no longer in pain. She’s not confined to a wheelchair anymore. She can run and walk and jump, and fix her hair just right. She can breathe.

As she breathes the clean, pure air of heaven and looks full and easily into Jesus’ wonderful face, the rest of us grieve. We rejoice for her and what she is experiencing now, but we mourn her absence. We weep her loss, even though we know we will see her again.

In the meantime, we strive to be like her in pouring out our love on those around us, because we who are able-bodied have far less excuse not to do so. We who still live, go on with our lives.

But sometimes, when the pain is particularly fresh, and the desire to be with Vicki again is particularly acute, we get in the car. We drive to Sonic. We order a vanilla shake.

And we drink it in her memory as the tears fall.

Victoria Kruse
b. September 30, 1961
d. March 9, 2017
Beloved.

John 13:1—Having loved [her] own who were in the world, [she] loved them to the end. (NIV)

Romans 14:8—If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. (NIV)

In Remembrance

On Saturday, I received word that my stepfather had died suddenly from a heart attack.

We knew he had heart problems, including previous heart attacks. We knew his heart was failing. What we didn’t know was that on Saturday, as he and my mother sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, he would suddenly stop in the middle of a sentence and be gone.

Just like that.

Paramedics took him to the hospital, where doctors and nurses did everything they could to save him.

But he was already gone.

The news came in a phone call from a beloved uncle (my mom’s brother). At first, it didn’t hit me emotionally. I said the things that had to be said and asked the right questions before hanging up. I didn’t cry until I went to tell my husband, who had just arrived home.

Then, I cried.

And then, I remembered.

I remembered a man who was always kind and gentle. Literally always. He and my mom got married when I was in sixth grade, and from that point until now, I never saw or heard him being unkind to me or to anyone else. Never.

Not one time.

Someday, unless the Lord returns first, my loved ones will get news of my passing. And I wonder what the first thing is that they will remember about me.

In order for some beautiful quality like kindness or love to be the first thing they think of, that quality has to characterize me now. My loved ones can’t remember about me what they never saw in me in the first place.

Oh, God, help me to be the kind of person now that I want to be remembered as then. Work in me, and through me, and make me the kind of person who will glorify You and bless others abundantly. Thank You for the example of my stepfather Ron, who was always, unfailingly, kind and gentle.

Ronald Rae Sheets
b. November 11, 1943
d. January 16, 2016
Kind. Gentle. Loved.

Matthew 25:23—“His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’”

Ron Sheets

Before It’s Too Late

sundialAs I write this, my heart is heavy. I recently received news that a dear family friend has been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. I didn’t cry the night I found out; I don’t think reality had sunk in yet. But I spent most of the next morning in tears.

My friend is seeking a second opinion from another specialist. Apparently, there’s still some possibility that what she has might have some other name and might not be life-threatening at all. That’s what we’re all hoping, anyway, and praying for. But always, in the back of my mind—and, I’m sure, hers—is the possibility that maybe the first doctor was right. Maybe she really is going to die.

Our times together may be many fewer than either of us anticipated. And in light of that reality, I’ve been thinking. Which other family members and friends whom I really care about do I need to spend more time with while I still can?

After all, each one of us is going to die someday (unless, of course, the Lord Jesus returns first). Our time with every single one of our friends and loved ones is limited. We don’t know how much longer we have with anyone. When I get the news that someone I love is dying, or has died, I don’t want to have any regrets. I want to have made the most of that relationship that I could.

Especially my relationships with my children.

If—may God forbid!—one of my children were to die before I did, I would want to know that I had done everything I could to love them, nurture them, comfort, protect, and encourage them while I had the chance. I’d want to know that I’d spent more time playing outside with them than inside on Facebook. I’d want to know that when I had the chance to really be with one of my children, that I took advantage of that, pouring love and security into their little souls and making them feel like I’d rather be with them than anywhere else on earth.

I know I can’t be a perfect mom. But if that day were ever to come when I sat on my child’s bed hugging his or her favorite stuffed animal and breathing in the fading scent of my little boy or girl, I would want to have no regrets. I would want to know that I’d put my children before myself and poured out my life so that they could have the best life possible. I would want to have a huge vault of memories stored up that I could take out and treasure one by one, instead of a string of memories of my own voice saying, “Not right now,” or, “Mama’s busy,” or, “Why don’t you go play with one of your siblings?”

I can’t change the mistakes I’ve made in the past. I can’t go back and re-take advantage of opportunities I missed the first time around.

But I can start living differently from here on out.

I can be purposeful about spending time with my children. Why always wait until they come to me? Why not go to them and ask if they would like to play?

When my children do come and ask, I can accept their invitation gladly and be thrilled about the fact that they want to spend time with me right now, instead of resentful that they interrupted something I was doing.

I can make a list of all the things I would want to look back on and say, “I did everything I could,” and I can begin doing those things now. Today. Because I really don’t know how much time I have with my precious children.

If I fail to spend plenty of good, purposeful, quality time with my children, I’ll regret that one day—whether that day comes at the end of my life, or of theirs, or somewhere in between. But I’ll never regret it if I invest my life in my children. If I pour my life into theirs.

If I make loving memories while I can.

Philippians 2:17—Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all. (ESV)

To God Be the Glory

Few things in this life leave me speechless. This video set is one of them. I hope they inspire you—as they have inspired me—to live your life to the glory of our Heavenly Father while we have the chance.

You should know before watching that Zac Smith died in May of 2010 after a year-long battle with colon cancer. He tells his story in the first video (filmed a few months prior to his death); his widow, Amy, tells her story in the second video.

The Story of Zac Smith from NewSpring Media on Vimeo.

A Story | Tears of Hope from NewSpring Media on Vimeo.

Job 1:20-22—Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.” In all this job did not sin or charge God with wrong.

Empty Arms

Maybe the news came in a phone call. The telephone rang, and the sound of it was the sound of your life shattering.

Maybe a doctor told you as you sat across the desk from him, with words that couldn’t sink in because you’d gone numb.

Maybe you were there as your child took her last breath.

Whatever the circumstances, your life will never be the same.

There’s nothing more agonizing than losing a child. Nothing cuts deeper or produces longer-lasting pain. Nothing shatters your soul into such tiny fragments that you’re certain you can never be put back together quite the same. You wonder if you can be put back together at all.

You grieve on the anniversary of your child’s death, on what would have been your due date, on your child’s birthday, and at Christmas. You remember the times spent together as a family, a family that will never be complete again.

The times in your life that should bring joy now bring pain.

Mother’s Day is especially painful because everything about it reminds you that your child is gone. The pastor delivers a sermon focusing on mothers. You go to the store for a gallon of milk and pass displays of floral arrangements and cards. You open the newspaper, and out falls a jewelry store circular advertising “gifts to make her day special.”

Even if you have other children who present you with stick figure pictures of yourself and clay handprints, you find yourself trying to remember how your other child’s hand felt in yours.

Precious friend, as you grieve, there is something God wants you to know: your grief touches His heart. He grieves with you.

In the Gospel of John, chapter 11, Jesus arrived in Bethany to hear that His dear friend Lazarus had died. First one of Lazarus’ sisters, then the other, came running to Jesus to blame Him for what happened. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

Our hearts are tormented with the same question. Lord, You could have stopped it. Why didn’t You?

Jesus didn’t directly address the sisters’ cry of anguish. But watch and listen to the answer He did give, for it is the same answer He gives you.

When Jesus saw everyone weeping, He was deeply moved. The Greek words indicate that He was “terribly upset”. You see, He cared about the sisters, their grief, and Lazarus’ death.

“Where have you put him?” Jesus asked, and they answered, “Lord, come and see.”

Upon hearing this, Jesus began to wail loudly. He must have, for in the Jewish culture of Jesus’ day, you grieved openly to show how much you loved the person who died. Even in a culture that was used to weeping and wailing, the other mourners thought Jesus’ grief remarkable in its intensity and talked about how much Jesus must have loved Lazarus.

What does that mean for us, two thousand years later?

It means we can know that when Jesus sees our grief, He is deeply moved. When your child died, He wailed with you.

Never think that because God doesn’t prevent death from happening, He doesn’t care. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, He cared so much about what death does to us that He sent His Son Jesus to gain the victory over it, not just for Himself, but for the whole world.

This victory has incredible implications for us. One day, no mother will ever again grieve the loss of her precious child. No mother will ever again feel the soul-deep, physical ache of empty arms that long to be filled with her baby. Death will finally be destroyed, and there will be no more mourning or crying or pain. God Himself will wipe every tear from your eyes, and your grief will be over.

Oh, friend, can you imagine that day? My soul longs for it, and I know yours does, too.

Until then, when it seems as if the tears will never end, remember that Jesus cries with you. When you don’t know how you can rise to meet one more day, remember that He grieves with you. And remember that though He may require you to walk through agony on this earth, He has promised that one day, your grief will cease as you triumph with Him over that ultimate enemy.

One day, you will rejoice again.

1 Corinthians 15:26—The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

1 Corinthians 15:55—Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?

Revelation 21:4—He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

Empty Arms

~~ Special thanks to author Renae Brumbaugh for her gracious assistance with editing this devotional ~~