On Being Homogenized

homogenous: adj. Of the same kind; alike, similar. Having the same composition throughout; of uniform make-up.

We, the citizens of the United States of America, are living out a paradox. My nation can no longer tout unity. Division reigns. Yet a push to eliminate voices that counter a prescribed and predetermined thought pattern has come to the forefront. (Isn’t that called censorship?) In other words, those in power want our nation’s citizens to become homogenized. One can earn the label of phobic, racist, terrorist, or the next popular catch phrase that will become a trend-setter by simply dissenting, disagreeing, or expressing an opinion contrary to the accepted narrative.

Conforming, becoming homogenous, contradicts the fact that God created us as individuals. He gave each of us the right to be our own person—which includes having personal thoughts, opinions, and perspectives. No one has the license to discount them because they either don’t like them or disagree. Neither does any other human have the authority to label, silence, or require I become part of the mix and become “homogenized.”

I am the daughter of a farmer who raised milk cows. I know that raw milk separates, and the cream rises to the top. Homogenized milk is milk that undergoes high pressure, dispersing the fat so no identifiable separation remains.

Those of us who refuse to conform are under an enormous amount of pressure. I say, “Leave that process for milk. I am my own person.”

Be true to yourself—before God—and watch the cream rise. That’s where the quality is, the high-dollar stuff. Ask any dairyman who gets paid by the amount of butterfat in the milk his cows produce.

Separation reveals the superior nature of not only milk but people as well. Homogenization obliterates it.

Step out from the world. You belong to God.

 

Come out from among them, and be separate, says the Lord.

…. . . I will be a Father to you, and you shall be my sons and daughters,

says the Lord Almighty.

2 Corinthians 6:17, 18 nkjv

 

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On the Heart and Salvation

salvation: n. The process of being saved, the state of having been saved (from hell). 

Do you know what a midden is? Do you understand and can you explain crop rotation or stock futures? How about symbiotic relationships or drying out? These terms may be unfamiliar, as they relate to specific lines of work, endeavors, or interests--each with its own unique, specific vocabulary. If you don’t know the meaning of the words, you might as well be listening to a foreign language.

Schooling encompasses teaching the language, its definitions and practical applications. This applies to any field of activity, whether physical in nature or intellectual. For example, an electrician will talk about circuits or amperes, insulators and hertz, whereas an archaeologist may speak of artifacts, grids, or a midden—an area used for trash disposal. Medical terminology is the jargon the medical world uses to describe the body, its functions, and the treatments they prescribe. In s[1] Sports, banking, and real estate industry, the world of politics, parenting, education—every aspect of life has its own definitive terminology.

Religion and all things spiritual are no exception. Salvation and the heart of man, eternal life, righteousness, fruits of the spirit—Wwhat do they all mean?

I was raised in a conservative home and an evangelical church. I have no memory of life before church. A basice foundational doctrine of my childhood religious education emphasized my need for salvation. In accordance with the teaching of the church, inviting Jesus “into my heart” fulfilled that necessity. As a youngster, I often reflected on how that could be. I mentally peered into my inner self, trying to locate my heart and ascertain—hHow could Jesus dwell there?

Much of religious life takes place in the head. Those in authority present doctrines as the gospel truth, with no room for questioning or challenges. Religious peers and superiors expect obedience as proof of being faithful. Often, Christianity is laid out in a few, easy steps, followed by an offering plate. The list of accepted and required behavior can be quite long, often with more “don’ts” than “do’s”.

Spiritual life and religious life are not one and the same. The one emanates from the heart, the other from the flesh.

Humans are a complex creation: Body. Soul. Heart. Mind. We share the commonality of these facets as each one coordinates with the others as we live life.

Our physical house contains our flesh-and-blood body. The soul--our personality and make-up--consists of unique, individual traits. It is the essence of who we are. My soul is me. Thought and reasoning take place in the mind. There we process ideas, make judgments and assessments, and come to conclusions. In our minds, we make decisions, in concert with our soul.

We have been created with both a physical and a spiritual heart. A muscular organ, the physical heart pumps lifeblood through the body, flowing sending it to the brain and other vital organs. Many tend it through exercise and health in an effort to extend physical life. A faulty heart can even be replaced with another by medical specialists—a heart transplant. When the heart stops beating, life as we know it comes to an end.

Where does one find the spiritual heart? And what, exactly, is it? The spiritual heart will never show up on an X-ray or MRI. No instrument can check its health, pressure, or rate of beating. And yet we all have one. The way we live our lives indicates whether it has been touched by God’s hand. Or not.

God created humankind with the knowledge of His existence. The spiritual heart harbors the seat of an awareness and consciousness of God, our Creator. “In reality, the truth of God is known instinctively, for God has embedded this knowledge inside every human heart.”^[1]

When Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden and ate of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the heart was cursed, in need of redemption. “For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lewdness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within and defile a man.”^[2]

When we acknowledge God and the provisional sacrifice of His Son, a cleansing takes place in the heart, changing it from its state of depravation and making it new. Only He can do this work. If that does not take place, a condition of rot and decay remain. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.”^[3]

I have discovered the location of my heart . . .… my spiritual heart. It dwells in the very core of my being, and my physical stature does not limit its depth. You could never tell by looking, but my spiritual heart is deep within me. It cannot be touched, harmed, or damaged by any foe—human or spiritual.

The Spirit of God quickened my spiritual heart and made it His home. There He fills me with His presence and His knowledge; there He teaches me and gives understanding.

In the same way my physical heart pumps life-giving blood through my body, God’s spirit Spirit pumps life into and through my spiritual heart. A renewed spiritual heart is the ultimate heart transplant. It is eternal.

And that, my friend, is salvation—that simple, that complex, that true.

May each of you have the eternal, life-giving experience of a renewed heart.

 

For it is by believing in your heart that you are made right with God, and it is by openly declaring your faith that you are saved.

Romans 10:10 nlt

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^[1] Romans 1:19 The Passion Translationtpt

^[2] Mark 7:20-–23

^[3] Psalm 51:10 NRSVnrsv

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On Forgiveness and Healing

 

You took my broken heart and made it whole.

You took my shattered life. You healed my soul.

You gave me hope.

You gave me strength, so I could carry on.

 

I was so all alone. No place to call my own, my home.

You filled a void in me, gave me eyes to see. You gave me peace within.

I placed my life into Your hands.

A childish trust, not one I’d planned.

 

You wrapped me up into Your arms.

You held me close, free from harm.

You whispered in my ear, so soft that I could barely hear:

“Forgive, my child, and be healed.”

 

My heart sings out to You, for all eternity.

The wounds, the hurts are but a memory.

But this I know, I know forevermore:

“Forgive, my child, and be healed.”

In Memoriam: Tony Schackman

 

I hear the clock making a faint click-click sound while it counts off the seconds. The ceiling fan rotates so fast it makes a noise because the weight of the blades isn’t balanced--I'm just trying to keep air circulating during the current persistent heat, so I kicked up the speed. Traffic passes by quickly outside my front door--back and forth, to and fro. I sit quietly in my rocker, hearing the sounds but not listening. A state of silence comes over me as I listen to my inner thoughts and note my feelings, rather than sounds.

Tomorrow morning at 1 a.m. marks one year since the passing of my partner of six years. A family member asked me a couple of months ago if I had anything special planned. “No. I hadn’t thought of anything.”

This past week has brought forth memories of his final days in a hospice facility. Tears enveloped me when I realized he won't be at my grandgirl's September wedding. The last words he spoke were to her when he said, "I love you," as she said goodby. That was just a day before he passed.

Blessings come in many sizes, shapes, and forms. Mine came in an unexpected, unplanned relationship with a former high school classmate from fifty-five years ago. I didn’t know him then, though he always said he knew me. Silly guy.

At a recent grief support group, the facilitator suggested we describe the person we grieved for. I responded, “Tony was the most real person I’ve ever known. He had zero pretense, no ego, and he accepted me without trying to change me.” I don’t think those qualities can be applied to many who walk this earth.

One year ago today, I sat beside a bed, awaiting the inevitable—the passing of my very dear friend. He was in a place of quiet; he had no requests for pain medicine or cold compresses. He was on his own solitary journey, and all I could do was watch. . . and wait.

I slept in a chair beside the bed that night. Around 10:00 p.m., I awakened with a start. His breathing had changed. I told him how much he was loved, how much he would be missed, and let him know we (all of us left behind) were going to be OK—even though he would no longer be with us. Within three hours, he quietly took his last breath and left.

“We’ve only been together six years,” I told my daughter. "We didn’t have a family together or create decades of family history."

“It’s not the years, it’s the memories,” she so wisely said.

Some days in the calendar year are never forgotten. For me, this is one of those. One year ago today, I was holding the hand of my partner and friend while he was on his way to new adventures in another place. I told him he better be waiting for me when it’s my turn.

 

Death. Grief. Life.

Death: July 17, 2023, I experienced the death and the loss of a loved one.

Grief: Since then, a multitudinous number of emotions, peppered throughout with grief, have taken over my life and my being.

Life: One year later, living with that loss is getting easier.

 

Tony Schackman, you became part of my life—and of my family. You are missed, Tony. We feel your loss and are thankful we had you for as long as we did. And personally, I thank God you were gifted to me. It was the memories, not the years.

I will listen to the silence as the day turns into night. And as the midnight hour approaches, I will quietly wait--just as I did one year ago.

As he faced his final days, Tony asked me if I was going to be OK. I told him I was going to miss him. “You’ll never forget me,” he responded. He was correct on that one.

In Memoriam: Carl Anthony “Tony” Schackman

December 16, 1943--July 17, 2023