Surrender

Full surrender to God.

This just isn't the human ego's way of dealing with things, is it. It ... chafes. Goes against the grain. Feels wrong.

Yet when we do that, even for a moment, we find the release we didn't know we needed. Sure, it might still chafe a bit. Giving up control never feels particularly smooth. And God is still there - in the midst of our resistance, He is still guiding us. Holding our hand. Leading us to the still waters our spirits need.

Our egos need.

"We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels." William Shakespeare (from Henry VIII)

Possibly the greatest human writer of all time. Somehow Shakespeare's connection to the human spirit and all its vagaries remains, some 400+ years later, as accurate as it was in the original moment.

"...in our own natures frail..."

Indeed Mr. Shakespeare. Aren't we JUST that - frail. Our very natures are unstable, fraught with contradictions and the imposition of our own will.

Not God's will. But our own.

Because we know best, right? We know ourselves and what we need or want better than anyone. Better than our spouse, friends, parents, siblings...

And we know, as Christians, in our hearts this is not true.

The only one who knows us better than we know ourselves is God. And His knowing may rub us the wrong way, might get annoying, even frustrate us.

And we also know that, when we surrender to that greater knowing, life simplifies. We gain clarity if we open our hearts to God and what He wants for us.

Because in the end, when the day closes and we say our final prayer before sleep overcomes us, what God wants for us and shows us - is always good. Even if we can't see it right away.

God is good...all the time.

Once More

Hello friends. It's been a full year since I posted in this space. SO much has happened. As I alluded in my last post of April 6, 2025 - there was tons going on and not much of it good.

My darling, beloved hubby was diagnosed with cancer in March 2025. The world's rarest cancer - 
Sarcoma. They represent just 1% of all cancers diagnosed each year. And to add to the rarity, Sarcomas have 50 sub-types. 50. Five. Zero. Jim's specific cancer was a Liposarcoma - a fat cell run amuk. Talk about vanishingly rare.

And to make it just that much more traumatic - in a location that 8 Chief Oncologists in 4 different hospitals - had never seen before.

Yeah, we skipped to the head of the line and only saw "Chiefs" during this journey. From a well-respected hospital in Hartford, CT to the world renowned Dana-Farber Cancer Institute to the also world-renowned MA General Hospital. Oh yeah, and I can't forget the world famous Smilow Cancer Institute at Yale New Haven Hospital.

So the very happy news is - he is fine. So far so good, no recurrence and no spread. He will be screened every 3 months for the next 5 years, then every 6 months for another 10 years, then annually for the rest of his life.

Talk about the wake-up call no one wants. And pretty much the ultimate test of our faith. Hubby leaned into that pretty quickly. Surrendered it all to God in an act of breathtaking faith and trust. He stills feels that way, one year later. God had him in His hands and all would be well.

The testing of my faith - continues right to this moment. My ability to trust is nearly non-existent. A childhood filled with abuse and an adulthood marred by ongoing manipulations...will do that to a person.

I am the kind of person who doesn't just have a Plan A - I also have a B, C, and D (at least) for everything. I must anticipate all possible outcomes so I can be prepared.

Except nothing prepares you for when your beloved spouse's life is threatened. No matter how many plans I made, no matter how much work I did to ensure all appointments, tests, etc...were accounted for and solidly set-up, confirmed, and communicated - it was never enough to rid me of my fear.

That I would lose him to cancer. 

Yet despite all my best efforts to plan - every single corner had "other plans" waiting for me. More tests, massive radiation treatment plans, and a surgery that would result in a permanent physical deficit for him.

And again, he showed me what real faith looks like. He never once complained. Oh he cried a bit here and there. He got extremely frustrated with himself. Yet his faith in God's plans for him never wavered. There was no wobble. Just his steadfast belief that God had everything in control.

Me? Not so much.

I prayed all day every day for hubby's safety thru all this. For the surgical outcome to be the best it could be given the circumstances. I had faith enough to pray to God.

I didn't believe though. Didn't believe that he would take hubby thru it and out the other side - if not whole then whole-enough. Safe & healthy.

And here we are - 13 months post-diagnosis, 8 months post-radiation, 7 months post-op - and hubby is thriving. Adjusting to his "new normal". Living his life. His new-found life.

{This new life is FAR better than the first option presented by Dana Farber. The tumor was on the largest muscle in your body - the one that controls your ability to lift your leg from the hip and allow you to raise & bend that leg from the knee. The muscle was so compromised by the tumor that it could not be saved. Full removal was the only option. With the critical nerves involved, Dana Farber advocated full amputation of his leg, at the hip. They even used the words "dire situation" to describe it. (Even a year after that appointment, we are not over the trauma it caused.) Ironically, they recommended a 2nd opinion from MA General Hospital; they doubled-down on their recommendation by saying we needed to "hear it from someone else". We pursued that 2nd opinion and found a masterful surgeon, physician, and human being at MA General. He was stunned at the Dana Farber plan and assured us it would not be necessary. Thanks be to God (yeah, more irony for me) he was right. With a couple of physical limitations, hubby kept his leg and it functions pretty well. As the surgeon said:  You'll walk - it won't be pretty but it will be on your own 2 legs.}

Me? I remain a work in progress. I still pray everyday but it's changed a bit - for God's mercy to heal me, to help me accept that God is in control. And that no matter what happens, God still wants the best for us.

A friend recently said this: Sometimes I think there are 2 options for Purgatory - the one we all know about - you die and go to Purgatory to be purified. The other - you go thru Purgatory in your lifetime and don't face it after your death.

I rather like that POV.

P.S. I shall be starting up blogging again. :-) 

Bondage

When we see that word - bondage - it's likely we automatically think of slavery. A stain on any society that kept slaves. And while the word does usually mean being kept in chattel slavery, there is another meaning:

servitude or subjugation to a controlling person or force

It is this lesser-known meaning I've been praying on this past week. Particularly the "force" emphasized.

What could this force be? In the context of my own prayers it represents a spiritual attack on my well-being. I hesitate to say this as I'm not one to go this dramatic within my faith but...

satan

There. I said it.

The evil one. Lucifer. Beelzebub. The Dark Lord. Mephistopheles. The Beast.

So many names for one creature. 

I have come to see, incredibly recently, that I have been under spiritual attack by The Dark Lord. Intent on keeping me servile, it has tied me to the hatred that I bonded to within my own family.

Most everything they did was only for their own benefit. Self-aggrandizement. Charity did not begin at home unless someone could take credit for it. How very - un-Christian. And of course I've already shared what that meant in my family.

Their Christian virtues were irrevocably tied up in hatred. They weren't pro-Christadelphian, they were anti-Catholic (anti any Christian practice really). My mother was anti-<insert ethnicity here>. My father was the same. Equal opportunity bigots.

They hated pretty much anyone who didn't march to their particular drum. And that included people within the family as much as without. Since they weren't very loving, as a child we had no choice but to bond to what they offered.

And so here I am - bonded to their hatred. 

And given a gift without price. An epiphany delivered at Mass last weekend by none other than Holy Mary, Mother of God.

{Now to clarify things for the non-Catholics in the crowd - we do not worship Holy Mary. She is a Saint, not a God-replacement. She is venerated as all Saints are; we pray to her for her intercession on our behalf to Jesus, thru whom we pray to God. That's all. She is very important to the Catholic faith - as she should be to all Christian faiths.}

Back to Holy Mary's gift. In a quiet moment of communal & introspective prayer I found myself praying for my father. For the first time in nearly a decade I spoke his name in prayer in a positive way - and asked for the strength to learn how to forgive him.

Trust me - his sins against his daughter are great indeed. The worst sin a parent can commit on their child. In fact those sins really are among the unforgivable.

And yet, here I am. For the first time in my life recognizing that the kind of forgiveness I need to give him will release me.

Just me. Only me.

In a moment of pure clarity, Holy Mary showed me the chains that tie me to him. The connection that keeps me subjugated to him. To his hate. Literal chains leading to this man who wounded me so deeply I never thought I'd recover from the memories of it.

It was - literally a godsend of coherence in a mind that was anything but.

With this magnificent and quite holy offering, I have finally stepped on a path I haven't really seen for my entire life. The incredible understanding of this kind of forgiveness.

How liberating it will be. Oh yes, Holy Mary showed me that too.

After talking about it endlessly - annoyingly even - my journey in faith has taken on another facet. One that I know will bring me closer to that goal of all goals...

...peace.

Amen.

Sneaking

I've spoken about this before. 

This is what I call sneaking back to the foot of the cross to take back the baggage we once left in that place.

Of course our human egos won't leave things alone. We think we can do better - than God?

Really?

There are so many mentions in the Bible about God being our strength, our salvation. Here are just two:

"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you" - the prophet isaiah, 41:10

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline" - 2nd book of timothy, 1:7 

Everytime we pray we are asking God to renew his promises to us. And what do we do in return?

Slink, nay, skulk around behind his back and take up our crosses over and over again.

"But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble." - psalm 59:16

Do we respond like the Psalmist when we feel like we are in over our heads? And whose fault is that exactly?

Ours because we can't leave well enough in God's hands.

This is, to me, the eternal - and sometimes impossible - struggle between our egos and God's love.

I am in the midst of this struggle right now - and I know I would prefer God's love to my own inadequate considerations.

It all feels like some spiritual warfare is going on within me.

"For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ..." - 2 corinthians 10:3-5 (underlined emphasis mine)

There it is. The thing we should trust above all else. The thing that satan can't possibly achieve victory over.

Our weapon in this fight is the armor of God.

"Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm." -ephesians 6:13

It is God's love for us, his ceaseless desire to draw us closer to him, his greater strength in the face of evil. It is in these times of struggle against what we know to be true - that we must turn our faces to God.

Literally - raise your face upwards to the sky and allow his armor to envelope you like a second skin.

Covering you without any seams, without any gaps. Let God fill in the spaces of our hearts & souls so we can leave that baggage at the foot of the cross.

And walk confidently on the path of light that leads to God.

Feels like a circle doesn't it. A circle of life with God as our leader.

Anchor

Anchor - let's define that word to start.

noun - a heavy object attached to a rope or chain and used to moor a vessel to the sea bottom, typically one having a metal shank with a ring at one end for the rope and a pair of curved and/or barbed flukes at the other.

verb - moor (a ship) to the sea bottom with an anchor.

To be specific for our purposes here - to be kept in place with no ability to drift. We are allowed movement in all directions but only from that single point of contact with the solid bottom.

The bedrock as it where. The foundation.

That movement is our free will. We all have choices we make every single day. Some don't allow that movement as we remain close to God. Some allow us to spin in endless circles as we chase our tails.

That is the human-ness in us. We are always a dichotomy. 

We want that closeness, that guidance that comes from God thru Jesus Christ. Yet sometimes we insist on taking things into our own hands - and we all know the results are rarely safe and don't usually allow us that solid anchoring. In fact, some of our choices totally unmoor us, setting us adrift in a sea of confusion and, if we are being honest, torment.

And when we finally give in and turn to God - the anchor is restored thru Jesus Christ. His sacrifice for us is that point, that weight that keeps us in place. We still have free will of course and we will, inevitably, turn to ourselves rather than to God. And back again.

The beauty part of this is that no matter how far we spin or drift from his anchor, Jesus will take us back; God will take us back. Because that kind of love is divine and just can't help itself.

The love of Christ and the love of God - want us as close to them as possible.

Not as humanly possible, but only in the possibilities that God offers.

Which are - endless comfort, endless boundless love.

*: the image above is at Reynisfjara Beach in Iceland; an example of the basalt columns & caves that are unique to Iceland.

Joy

Joy - now that word has gotten a bit of a bum rap lately. So let's take it back to basics with a simple definition:

a feeling of great pleasure and happiness

See also - delight, jubilation, triumph, exultation, exuberance, glee...and so on. You get the picture.

Just one more - rejoice.

Now that one - hits today. As this is the third Sunday in Advent, it is also Gaudete Sunday...based on New Testament Scripture. For example:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to all, for the Lord is near at hand; have no anxiety about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God. - Philippians 4:4-6

Rejoice in the Lord...always.

As mere humans just how do we do that? This can be a rough time of year for people - I know it is for me.

The Holiday Blues are a real thing and they have settled on me like a lead weight.

We all have much to be grateful for; so many blessings if we only stop and let those settle on us.

Air in our lungs. Blue skies. Raindrops. Breezes. Sunrise. Sunset. Beautiful birds. A home. 

Whatever our circumstances those are but a tiny fraction of the blessings we experience daily. Yet...when the sorrows of life surface and descend, how do we find God in those saddest of moments?

(In a fit of cleaning & decluttering recently I unearthed an old Advent devotional from 2014 and it has captured me fully.) According to the Christian author and Vatican Prelate, Robert F. Morneau, in this newly discovered book - "Waiting in Joyful Hope": 

"Despite the slings and arrows of life, God's abiding presence makes visible a joy-filled disposition."

And what can we do to recognize this abiding presence?

Simple.

Prayer.

And I mean that literally - simple prayer. Formal prayers are very nice. They are liturgically "correct", however much that might mean to each of us. 

As Fr. Morneau suggests:

"Prayer is communion and communication with God. In this dialogue we experience a "mutual presence" and share our common joys and sorrows."

He goes on to say that if we... 

"...never cease praying, we enter a frame of mind by which we refer all our thoughts and actions to the indwelling presence of God. ... All is gift; all is grace."

Ceaseless prayer isn't about the form of the prayer. In truth, I believe there are no rules about our prayers, not really. God wants us near to him and we can only achieve that thru prayer.

As I am haunted by all the "what could have beens" and "what should have beens" at this time of year, I need to remember that my joy is found within prayer to God.

He is always there, even if my prayers rant & rave about all the "coulda, woulda, shoulda" of life. And this requires a suspension of ego, the acknowledgment that God is in charge.

Not me. Never have been; never will be.

And if you really think about it, there is a freedom in taking that to your heart. To admit that we humans mess things up, that we suffer the "slings & arrows of life" as part of that human experience.

And God is there - always - waiting to take on those sorrows, those burdens, so we can experience his indwelling...

...and feel the true Joy of the season.

Amen.

Footnote: I love that a Vatican Prelate uses a partial quote from Shakespeare - and Hamlet, no less - to bring home our human-ness:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.

As is always the case with Shakespeare, there is so much to unpack there. To place it squarely in the midst of a charge to pray ceaselessly, is simple brilliant.

Our Warrior

Do you ever get tired of the daily grind? The endless demands on your time & energy. Whether that be at work, at home, or elsewhere in your life. Don't you want to set those burdens down?

Of course you do. Who wouldn't?

Well - guess what. We have the most powerful warrior the universe will ever know...walking right by our side, just waiting for us to turn to him and say...

Lord, please help me.

Or some variation of the same.

Don't be shy about it. Shout it out if you need to. Yell, scream, holler - or whisper it so that your words are almost silent. Just a faint breath on the breeze.

God won't think you are angry with him. And no matter how softly (or loudly) you say it - he will hear you. He always does.

He already knows you are overburdened, worn out, your insides mush from being wrung dry on a daily basis. All he wants from us is to turn to him in times of trouble. (Or happiness - to be thankful for the abundance.)

Even if those burdens don't magically disappear - the demanding boss, the financial concerns, the trials of life - giving them to God always feels good.

Because he is our Warrior. 

God's Hands

 This is truth. Abundant truth.

I have powerful testimony that proves this simple statement.

We are going back to 2010. I was at possibly the lowest point of my life. Nothing was going right. So much turmoil. So much sadness.

I had been away from church for about 15 years. No more Christadelphian meetings, no praying, nothing. I didn't stop believing in God and yet...I started questioning everything about him. The personal crisis that started in 2009 had crescendoed to a feverish state of mind.

After a year of intense sorrow, the hubby & I started talking about, of all things, going back to church.

No one was more shocked than me.

Now - we love the city of Boston. It is one of our favorite places anywhere and we try to get there several times each year. In early 2010 we planned a mini-break holiday in that great place. Bougie hotel, great meals, lots of walking and people watching.

And a visit to St. Leonard's Church in the North End of the city. We went there every time we went to Boston to light a candle for Heather Smith. She was the daughter of old friends and she perished on Flight 11 on 9/11/01. Despite not being particularly religious during those years we honored Heather and her parents.

So we went to St. Leonard's during our weekend away. I was more curious about this Catholic church than any time in the past given that we were thinking about going back to church. And the Christadelphian faith was definitely not on the list.

Growing up in a non-aesthetic Christian faith I had no familiarity with Saints. I knew nothing about them and certainly never saw any physical representations of them.

St. Leonard's in Boston is a classic 19th century Italianate church. Built entirely by the Italian immigrants living in the North End, it is lavish with coffered ceilings, gold leaf everywhere, and elaborate statuary all around the church. So many saint statues that they stood, literally, shoulder-to-shoulder.

I had never explored them before but this time, March 2010, I felt compelled to walk up to each one. I felt one of those saints calling to me. One of them had something important to tell me, I could feel it in my bones.

So I began walking around the church, stopping in front of each statue and asking - are you the one? I'd wait a minute or so, then move on when I felt nothing.

Until I came to a distinctly unique statue. Tall, wearing armor and holding a pennant***. Like all the others, I paused and asked - are you the one?

The next few moments are burned into my memory. I can see this like it is happening right in front of me at this moment.

I was pushed - literally - to kneel in front of this statue. There is no doubt in my mind that the hand of God gently forced me to the cushioned kneeler. If there wasn't a kneeler, I'm sure I'd have gone prostrate on the floor.

I prayed as I never have in my entire life. And cried - I didn't know a human being could cry that much in one place at one time.

I have no recollection how much time passed. Hubby just let me do what I needed to do. He stayed near me but didn't speak to me. He respected what was happening to me. He was then, and remains today, my steady loving rock.

Eventually I stood back up, dried my messy face, and sat in the church for a good long time. Just sat there - quietly praying some more.

On the ride home from Boston that evening we talked about what happened. What it felt like physically. And emotionally.

I was exhausted in every way possible. Overwhelmed by the experience and reeling from the very clear message. From God himself.

Go back to church my child. You need me. I need you.

Startling to say the least. The following weekend was Easter. And as we were in our driveway on Easter Sunday, prepared to drive an hour to hubby's parents, we clearly heard church bells. We'd never heard them before in the 20+ years we'd live in our home.

Saints. Kneeling. God's voice. Church bells.

You just don't ignore all that. The weekend after Easter we started going back to church. Our plan was to try the "Big 3" in our country town - Lutheran, Catholic, Episcopal. We started with the Catholic Church for 2 reasons: 1) hubby was born Catholic and 2) God told me to go back to church while I was in a Catholic church.

And so our faith journey began. Because God laid his hands on me.

And it's true - I haven't ever been the same since.

Amen.

*** There is an amusing side-story to this saint statue. In my heightened emotional state I saw this statue with the armor and spear as - female. Research immediately after that visit told me it was - Joan of Arc. Now I knew her story but not the details. So I read everything I could find about her. And ultimately selected her as my Patron Saint when I joined the Catholic Church. Fast forward another couple of years and in speaking with one of hubby's Aunts - discovered that the saint statue I knelt before was distinctly male - The Archangel Michael.

I based my conversion to Catholicism, in part, on the misidentification of a saint statue. To this day it makes me smile at the private joke I feel God had for me. I'm not sure I would have responded so viscerally if I'd recognized the statue as St. Michael. Yet upon a revisit some years later it was so obvious the statue is male...abs under the armor, well-defined legs...and that pennant? It was a spear, going thru the heart of a demon at St. Michael's feet.

Just writing all that - makes me laugh.

Grounding

My heart is sore. My mind is whirling. Shoulders are hunched up around my ears. It's been a brutal week at work. Crazy busy, demands coming from every side, every corner. Just when I thought I might be catching up to myself - more demands came pouring thru the cracks. The kind of week when I enter the weekend feeling like I've left pieces of myself behind.

Yesterday as my workday wound down I found myself at odds with the world. Feeling like I was walking thru some kind of dystopian world. Everything was off-kilter, as if my feet were on a heaving ship in a whirlwind storm.

Knowing this would wind me up to an inevitable (and likely inappropriate) explosion, I went outside in the sanctuary of my backyard. Communing with nature - listening to my beloved songbirds, inhaling the unique scent of grass warmed by the late summer sun, gazing at the lush gardens and greenery - is a surefire way for me to come back to myself.

Grounding. 

Letting my feet rest in the grass, feeling the sunshine on my body, clearing my head with fresh air. 

And praying. Praying ceaselessly.

Praying until I think God must be tired of hearing from me.

Then - praying some more.

In that space, the Holiest Mother - Mary - sent me the most divine message of love and peace. 

A beautiful Ruby Throated Hummingbird. Not the male you see here but a sweet female. She buzzed around my head, twice. She let me watch her while she sipped the sweet nectar of the abundant flowers around her (and me). In those moments, Holy Mary showed me the way to slow down my frantic psyche, to embrace the solitude of the moment.

And today - as half my house is being torn apart in a long-awaited renovation - my shoulders are not hunched around my ears. My mind is still whirring away but that's more about the happy chaos in the house than anything else.

Prayer. Is powerful. For a few moments my heart was calmed thru a simple conversation with God.

Spotlight

As I continue to consider putting pen to paper about my faith journey I am butting up against some seriously dark places along the way.

The journey I took started with one of the most disastrous moments in my adult life, taking me on an unwelcome whirlwind into deep forests of fear and pain.

And on the other side of all that - came God. Shining thru like a beacon, like the supreme being he always was and always will be.

Indeed. God's grace was always there as we are never alone. And his grace brings with it illumination into the dimmest reaches of our lives.

God's spotlight makes it impossible for the pain to hide in the shadows. And even better - that spotlight banishes the pain.

All you have to do it bend your knees - and ask.

I know I used this image last week. Hit me just as hard today as it did a week ago.

Contemplation

Something big has been on my heart for a long time now. I've approached it many times and each time was rebuffed by my own fear and trepidation. 

I have now dipped my toes into the vast ocean that is...my faith journey. Meaning putting it in writing. A memoir of sorts.

I don't pretend to be any sort of writer at all. Except that I do enjoy it and there can be healing in the action of writing down your own story. Even if it's only ever for yourself.

Yet there is this part of me that thinks - maybe my story can help someone else navigate theirs. 

Is that ego? Or hope? 

And so it is with my story. God is at the center of it - even though for two thirds of that time I was utterly unaware of his presence in any real way. God remained with me during the deepest, darkest times of a young life thru the darkest times of an adult life - and every weigh station in between.

I feel like I need to honor him by speaking my truths. Even if my voice shakes a bit.

Right now my thoughts are a jumble of what to write and where to put that bit of history in relation to the other bits. For now it's just isolated experiences. At some point I will need to combine them somehow, or at least that's what my research tells me.

My prayers - well right now I'm asking God to help me get it all out; we'll sort it out when the times comes. And yes, I mean "we" - God and me. With every chapter, paragraph, and word - my prayers will be ongoing for God's love & grace to guide me.

And so - without further preamble or excuses - I bare it all with the first few paragraphs of my faith history. 

On Being Christadelphian - Pt. 1

My faith history needs a bit of context. My mother grew up in the Congregational Church, my father was a Wesley Methodist. I remember being told they went to church every Sunday. I am not aware of their involvement beyond attending services.  After they got engaged, they met someone who introduced them to the Christadelphian branch of Christianity. Something clicked for them and together they took the necessary classes, converted, and were married in that faith. They even brought in my father’s parents after their wedding. My mother’s parents didn’t convert. Their reasons are lost to time.

Christadelphian - Brothers in Christ - are a special breed of Christian. In the most basic terms, they are a fundamentalist faith observing a strict interpretation of the Bible, which they believe is inspired by God rather than written by men. Their churches - ecclesias - are independent of each other, managed by a group of elected men - brothers - who handle everything from building maintenance to investments of donations. They reject the idea of a Trinity, they believe Jesus Christ, in his human form, was not divine, and they wait for that day when Christ returns to Earth to establish his Father’s Kingdom. They believe as strongly in the Old Testament as the New Testament. Believers call it “The Truth”. Salvation is thru reading scripture alone, or sola scriptura.

And they believe The Truth is for just them. No other Christian, or other form of faith except the Jews, will have the opportunity to inherit God's Kingdom. With regard to Judaism - as the favored people of God, they get a "free pass" from Christadelphians. Any other Christian faith will be found lacking on Judgement Day per Christadelphians. Because these other branches don't read the Bible to the strictest degree that Christadelphians do. Plus no other Bible study is good enough when compared to the Christadelphian Bible reading program, wherein you read the Old Testament once and the New Testament twice per calendar year.

The Christadelphian faith was founded in 1848 by a doctor from England. In small part this was in response to the Radical Reformation that began in the late 17th century, which was mostly about the rampant corruption in the Catholic Church. Which is so personally ironic given my current and happy home in the Catholic faith. This reformation would create several more now-mainstream Christian branches including Anabaptists (which includes Huetterites, Mennonites, and Amish). Some Christadelphians align themselves, at least in part, with Quakers.

It is a strict faith with unyielding rules and beliefs. Not unlike many others. However, Christadelphians believe in a vengeful God even while believing in a benevolent God who gave us our ultimate savior, Jesus Christ. There is also much hate and bigotry taught in Sunday School. That will become important later. Overall, as I look back on it with decades of distance, I can see how my earliest traumas were a result of this hateful, vengeful faith. My inevitable low self-esteem and sense of unworthiness can be traced, in part, to my activities with and belief in being Christadelphian.

Up Next: On Being Christadelphian, Pt 2 - A Family of Faith

Carry Me

Just a simple yet, conversely, complicated disclosure about the state of my world at this moment.

It should say "...broke, again..."

I'm not praying anywhere near as much as I should. Truth is - how many of us do?

Conflict is so darn difficult to handle. Especially when it's within a family, coming up against an entrenched, holier-than-thou, thinks they are better than everyone else person. Who has been enabled in this behavior since they joined the family nearly 40 years ago. Excuses made at every turn. Because we don't want to "upset XXX". 

This burden has been upon me all these years. Well - not me alone but I've been the brunt of the bullying for about this long. God knows - truly - God knows how hard I've tried and for how long to make this thing at least be civil.

Jesus tells us:

Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus said to him, I say not to you, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven. - Matthew 18:21-22

I can do that math. 490 times, if we are to take Jesus literally. While that is tempting I believe he meant as many times as it takes. Forgive over and over again. 

And there is this "gem":

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. - Matthew 5:38-40

Oh boy. Talk about a tall order. As usual, Jesus sets us the impossible task and charges us to make it - possible.

What to do when the person you try to forgive - without the apology given - who you try to approach in good faith over and over...just refuses to bend. No quarter given by this person. His way or the highway. Or rather - his way. Period.

What to do when you run out of cheeks, shirts, and coats? Start with the underwear?

I make light of this but there is so much roiling under the surface of this. 40 years of rip currents that threaten with every encounter to take me under until I stop breathing.

Sounds dramatic.

It is.

And my prayers should ramp up; I should shout them until I'm hoarse. Not because God isn't listening but because I need to hear them too.

When you pray - do you pause at all to listen to what God might have to say? I know I don't. Not always anyway. And how are we going to take in what God wants for us if we don't listen to him. His voice, his actions, those magical signs that glimmer throughout our lives if we'd only top & look/listen. I need to take a pause when this bubbles over...because it tears me apart every single time. Leaves me nearly irrational with anger & pain.

We are at the end of our tether with this family drama. After nearly 40 years and countless side-steps, bending & breaking, the last straw has been placed on the camel's back.

And my heart is breaking at what this means, long-term, for me and my darling husband. It will divide us, permanently, from a core family member. Oh, we will keep up the pretense (after all this time we are very good at it) until hubby's parents are no longer with us. A time which is, sadly, getting shorter everyday.

In truth there isn't much there at this point. What little there is - is for my in-laws' sake. And when all is said and done...there will be nothing left to hold on to. I've had to recover from such losses before - the loss that is like a death...without the death - and it nearly killed me before.

Sometimes I think...I've been broken for so long, what's one more heartbreak - right? I am healing from all that brokenness before. I really don't know that I have it in me to fully heal from this one.

And so, once again, I bow down to God and ask him to hold me up until I can stand on my own. To take control of this and show me the right way to proceed. How to pick myself up, put on that smile again - but this time for it to be real, not a facade adopted to get thru the days.

Honestly, friends, sometimes I do wonder what is the point of all of this? I'm supposed to find the gifts in all this; the things that make me a better person in spite of or because of - all this.

And I do try to find them. Squeeze out the positive from so much negativity. Be the better person; strive to learn and grow thru the pain. To give myself grace for the struggle. To give others grace for whatever their struggles are.

And...damn. Just...damn.

Kneel

In a world that feels endlessly demanding...whether it's your job, family, or whatever burdens you place on yourself...

How often do you give it all up and just...pray.

Indeed. We have the simplest way to hand over the stress & demands; the easiest possible action to let God take over for us.

Kneel.

Or if you are like me - bow. :-) 

My world has gotten a bit heavy of late. I can feel myself starting to sag under the weight of responsibilities, discoveries, and the burdens I can never seem to set down for too long.

I need to remember God is only a few words away.

Or one single bodily action will bring him up front & center for us.

Kneel.

The prayer will come.

Scars

My heart.

Battered. Scarred. Broken so many times I've lost count.

And I am still here.

Cuz as the great Plumb says - I know whose I am. And I turn to him as much as I can, and need to do more. For our solace, our strength, our salvation is only found in him.

Oh, the God who made the stars
Is the God that made your heart
And He's holding you right now
He can heal the broken parts
And make beauty from the scars, the scars
Beautiful scars!

Our scars tell our stories for us. But they are not who we are. They are signs of our struggles, our battles, and our recoveries. 

Because those scars did not kill us. They propelled us forward to healing and the light of God.

Amen, sweet Plumb. Amen beautiful God.

(Plumb is one of my favorite singers of any genre; that she turns that beautiful voice to Christian music is the abundant icing on the delicious cake.)

Stubborn

This past week has been - a struggle to get thru.

I haven't felt like myself. Deep within I feel disoriented and there is a disquieting edge to my thoughts and my attitude. I've been clipped and easily irritated. I am definitely wearing my grumpy-pants 24/7.

And I can't figure out why. Maybe that's the point - another hint from God that it's not up to me to figure it out, it's up to me to give it to him so I can release the burden of needing to know.

And if you know me in real life - I have to know all the things. All of them, all the time. As I've written so many times, the human ego can be a real challenge to getting thru life.

Some of what I'm grappling with is memories that are the very worst kind. They are torturous and painful beyond words. I don't want to think about "them" and yet...they infiltrate my mind at the least opportune moments.

And I reflect here that perhaps that's what God wants. Catch us off-guard so we can train our "muscles" to turn to him in these times of greatest need.

To be honest, I'm not sure I'm OK with that. And it's likely my version of something much simpler.

God wants good for us; good for us all the time. He wants us to love him; there is no way for us to love God in a way that comes close to his love for us. Yet he wants us to persist in prayer to him so he can show us his love.

Funny thing about human ego - I don't love them, I'm struggling with the practice of forgiveness, and if I'm being really honest - I don't want anything for them that is good. (Which, I am fully aware, goes against what I said just one paragraph above. God wants good for all of us...so who am I to not want good for them? I don't wish them ill (or at least I stopped doing that a few years ago). I just don't wish them good, either.) But I am 100% OK with moving on without them. I just didn't think it would be as chronic & debilitating as it has been.

And that last has been my struggle for a very long time. Living my life without them has been the hardest thing I've ever done. Or ever tried to do, more like. It gets easier with time - and prayer - and yet there are weeks, like this last one, that surely try my soul.

Is this some kind of spiritual attack? Likely. And so it is, as always, I continue to train those muscles to turn to God in all things.

But goodness I have a stubborn ego, don't I?

Lean

Are you feeling this?

I am. Deeply. This resonates to the core of my being. I am literally vibrating with this.

Think about it - "...every ounce of trust in Him."

Naturally it brings to mind this classic Bible verse:

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” proverbs 3:5

In this the writer (Proverbs is attributed to many writers; it is thought that the first 9 books are from King Solomon himself, King David's son) is telling us not to rely on our strength and knowledge, but to trust in the Lord. To let go of trusting earthly wealth, wisdom, and experience.

Once again, as humans this may be the toughest challenge in all the Bible. Which is the entire point of this Proverbs verse - indeed in our prayers themselves.

We come to this space & time constantly - pray to God, give over our worries and burdens to him, and trust that he has us. 

Then what happens - do we trust him?

Somewhere deep within us we know we can trust in God. Putting that trust into practice is something else again. Our egos will question it with every word.

Yet, at least for me, I do feel called right now to do exactly as King Solomon instructed - trust in God, lean on Him. And him alone.

God is always with us. I am leaning in - and feeling that deep, compassionate, loving presence all around me.

Lean into God. You'll feel him right there beside you.