"Whatever Happened to God?"

My father was a hard working man. After completing his day job at the local plywood mill, he came home to his second job, that of farming several acres and milking a small herd of Jersey cows twice a day.

He loved to travel. Crammed in the back seat of a car without air conditioning during the heat of summer, my two brothers and I weren't so keen. The tendency for all three of us to be car sick didn't help as he drove 500-600 miles a day to his childhood home of Texas, Mom's birthplace in South Dakota, and a variety of places in between. 

Dad was the ultimate sightseer, absorbing the scenery along the way. We visited the Grand Canyon before it became crowded, went to Disneyland when it was newly opened, witnessed Old Faithful at Yellowstone, drove across the desert of Arizona and were tourists in a myriad of other places. When we weren't housed by relatives, we stayed in cottage motels with a kitchenette where my mother could prepare an evening supper and breakfast the next morning before we once again headed out.

My father's dream was to retire, purchase a travel trailer--he had his eye on an Airstream--and go places. Mom and Dad took only one trip after he retired. As my mother shared the driving load, Dad realized something serious was taking place, that her capabilities had become compromised..  

Mom was in her middle 60's when an invisible, insidious monster took over her body and her mind. Its name was Alzheimer's.

The family was all gathered together, probably after a get-together of some kind. Dad was explaining what the doctors had reported. They thought she might have Parkinson's, and she had been given some medications. "Whatever happened to God?" I asked. Mom's head whipped and, with steely, cold eyes she responded, "Yeah. Whatever happened to God?" It was apparent she felt He had failed her.

The world is in the midst of a pandemic, another type of unseen, dangerous predator. This one has taken the form of a lethal virus, named COVID-19. Everything about it is new and unknown. It has rightfully earned the moniker of novel virus. Around the world, this beast has torn through like a tornado, leaving death in its wake. At the same time many are left untouched and unscathed. 

The news and internet post daily counts of those who have contracted it and those who have died from it. With 24 hours a day, 7 days a week media available, it is like the nightly news from the Vietnam era on steroids.

How-tos abound--There is no end of precautionary measures to take in order to avoid exposure and prevent becoming one of those in the daily count. "Wash your hands for at least 20 seconds with hot, soapy water; do not touch your face with your hands; use hand sanitizer after touching anything you do not know is clean. Practice social distancing; stay at least 6' away from people other than your immediate family; wear a mask. Disinfect anything and everything."

The world waits in anticipation of either a cure-all for those already infected or a vaccine, protection against future outbreaks. 

If those of faith and those who are without faith were placed in a line-up you could tell no difference between the two. All are practicing the same methods of prevention with the same measure of behavior---including me with my face mask. 

As a person of faith I am in the world but not of the world, but where is there any evidence of any difference? Whatever happened to God? How does He want me to live with and deal with the threat of COVID-19? It is a question I, as a believer, need to ask myself.

"Whatever happened to God?," He reminded me. 

This much I know: I know that in the same way I cannot save myself spiritually, I cannot save myself physically. I can do all the "right" things, all the things "they" say I should do to avoid contracting this virus and yet, if it is to be part of my walk, there is nothing I can do to change it.

Whatever happened to God? He has gone nowhere. Nothing is separate from Him, and all of creation serves His purpose. Just because He doesn't work in the way we think He should does not mean He has abandoned us. 

And I hear Him saying to His church, "Whatever happened to Me? What have YOU done with me? Seek me, not the world--and stop viewing me as an afterthought."

Now when these things begin to take place, 

stand up and raise your heads, 

because your redemption is drawing near. 

Luke 21:28

"On Calamities and Focus"

focus: n. Concentration of attention.
calamity: n. An event resulting in great loss. 

While Americans were glibly and merrily celebrating Christmas and the incoming New Year, China was dealing with a virus which had never been seen before. This novel virus, first manifest in the Wuhan Province, is said to have originated from live bats sold in the open wet markets where live and dead animals are in constant close contact. The bats were the original hosts which infected other animals, and the disease was then transmitted to humans.    

COVID-19, as it is called, is a highly contagious respiratory disease. In our exceptionally mobile world, where a person can have breakfast on one continent and dinner on another, it was inevitable due to its ease of transmission that it would spread worldwide.The first confirmed case in the United States took place on January 21, 2020.

The earthquake March 31, 2020 was more than just a tremor. It measured 6.5 on the Richter scale, the standard scale used to compare earthquakes where 6 to 6.9 is classed as strong. It was centered about 80 miles northeast of Boise, but it rattled the state capital for a fraction of a minute and was the most powerful earthquake to strike Idaho since 1983.

I had been weeding in a client's garden and wasn't even aware of the incident until I was asked if I had received any information from my daughter. My Idaho family lives in a suburb of Boise; close friends live even closer to the epicenter.  With the ease of electronic communication, I was able to find out that both families had experienced the quake but no damage was done. "It was a good one," my friend said. They live in a log house, and she commented, "The logs on this old house were a-grumbling. We ran outside." 

First the Coronavirus and now an earthquake. Choose your calamities to focus on, was my thought. Or not.

Television, radio, and the Internet are filled with vast quantities of information about COVID-19, much of it packed with a wallop of intensity, bordering on hysteria. The situation is fluid, ever-changing so it suits our current form of communication--cable television and the Internet--to report on the pandemic twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

The head count of those infected all over the world, the number of people who have succumbed to the disease, and the lack of resources for medical personnel is staggering. As mankind tries to bring it under control by limiting human contact, the financial ramifications are devastating. Many businesses, particularly those in the travel and hospitality industry including airlines and cruise lines, hotels, and restaurants are suffering due to the government mandates to stay home. Schools from preschool up through universities have been closed in order to avoid one-on-one contact which might precipitate its spread. Self-quarantining, in an effort to limit exposure and the potential threat, has turned cities all over the world into empty tombs.  

The available data on every facet of this pandemic is prolific. 

I found myself reading article after article, post after post written by those who had experienced the disease or those who are treating its patients as doctors and nurses. Information pours out of official government sites as hot spots in the nation try to bring the invisible monster under control. In addition, there is no shortage of videos available explaining "how to" self-cure, avoid being infected, or what to do if infection does occur.

My mind went into overload from the sheer volume of material I had ingested. My concerns for my family and my nation remained unresolved. What is going to happen? There was only silence.

I am one who believes nothing is separate from God and that there is a point and a purpose to all things. Where is my peace, Father? There were no answers of reassurance.

In the same way one cannot physically look forward and backward at the same time, one cannot look to God while focusing on the problems at hand. It is an impossibility. And so, I am given a choice: I can either focus on God, with the knowledge that He is in charge of His creation--which includes me--or I can focus on the situation around me and all that "they" say is or is not going to happen. 

I have made my choice, and I have chosen to not focus on the calamities, whether it's this insidious virus, an earthquake, or any other set of circumstances that may come along. 

Do I know what the outcome of that choice will be? No. I must live it, and I must walk it all the way through. What I do know is that I have a measure of peace that is free from the cacophony of the endless chatter surrounding this great upheaval. For me, that is priceless.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee:

because he trusteth in thee.

Isaiah 26:3 (KJV)

"Live Life Like a Golfer"

golf: n. A ball game played by individuals competing against one another in which the object is to hit a ball into each of a series of (usually eighteen or nine) holes in the minimum number of strokes.

 

"I feel so overwhelmed if I think of the overall picture," she said, "so I'm just going to go with your 'one step at a time.'"

A friend has stepped out from under her nurse's cap to train for another job, a medical coder. At the age of seventy-two--with a bad knee to boot--her body can no longer hold up to the physical rigors and demands of nursing. A desk job, one which relies on brains sans brawn, seemed practical and made sense. She has returned to school at the local community college to gain certification and future employment.

"Why," you may ask, "does she still need to work? Don't nurses make good money?" A bout with cancer several years ago wiped her out financially. Period.

Panic set in as she began her second term. "It's the 2:30 wake-up thoughts...last night it was What AM I doing? What if I fail? stuff. I'm trying to not get that panicky, overwhelming feeling thinking about it."  

"You're trying to take on the whole," I told her. "It will never work. All you can do is go one day at a time, one step at a time," 

Life is like that. The whole of it is overwhelming. It may present itself in the form of family concerns, health issues, financial problems, or--in our present culture--be political in nature. In reality, all any of us has is this current moment in time. Right here. Right now. Being concerned about "someday" is a waste of time and energy, an exercise in futility.

My suggestion is to live life like a golfer. The game of golf consists of either nine or eighteen holes. Using a golf club, a small ball is hit into each of those holes with the least number of swings (called a stroke.) The course is completed by hitting the ball towards each hole one hit, one swing at a time. Sometimes the ball goes in water or high grass and can't even be seen or found. Another one takes its place, and the golfer continues on--one hit, one swing at a time. The final hole isn't visible when the game begins at the first swing, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. When the last swing is made on the last hole, the game is completed.

This is my point: Deal with the task at hand, in the here and now. The process cannot be sped up. Take every step, in order, and you will get to the end.

Regardless of your personal circumstances, the picture is clear. And makes a lot of sense. 

So go forth. Live life like a golfer. Focus on what is right in front of you, but never forget the end goal. For me, that is finishing out this physical life and stepping into eternity. 

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own."

Matthew 6:34 

"On Faith"

faith: n. The process of forming or understanding abstractions, ideas, or beliefs, without empirical evidence, experience or observation. A trust or confidence in the intentions or abilities of a person, object, or ideal.

At the age of 74 ("almost 75," I hear myself saying), my gardening business is in its seventeenth season. It is grunt work--weeding, mowing, pruning, maintenance work. I am tired. God and I have had discussions about when it is going to end and how I am going to support myself when it does--well, I have anyway. He sees the work as being about the people I am in contact with, whereas i always end up in a financial place.

I am neither here nor there. My heart isn't in the work these days, but the money makes a difference in how I live my life, and I'm not ready to let go. I have turned a couple of large jobs over to a young man, jobs I no longer enjoy. Weed eating blackberries on a slope with the possibility of encountering bees has lost its appeal. I don't have a clue what I'm doing or what is going to happen. Am I retiring, going part-time? Will I continue working, being more selective in the work I do? I do not know, and my heavenly Father isn't giving any hints.

This meme is an accurate representation of life with God. I can't even find the nose on the end of my face. While weeding this afternoon, He reminded me that without faith it is impossible to please Him. And He whispers, "Do you trust me?" I can honestly say He has never, ever failed me.

"On Transition"

transition: n. The process of change from one form, state, style or place to another.

His name is Nelson. Soft-spoken with a warm, bright smile, he was introduced to me by a client. Not only is he going to fill in for me while I am away for three weeks this summer, he is also going to replace me as resident go-to gardener for at least two of my accounts.

"What are your plans, Ladonna?," Bruce had asked. "How much longer are you going to continue working?" As I approach 75, my resolve for work in my gardening business has been waning the past couple of seasons. It is evident. A regular Friday client for the past eleven and a half years, I had contacted him and his wife when I took off for a trip to visit my Idaho family, telling them of my absence. Work was left undone, and Nelson had been called in to help out. 

As we talked, we mutually agreed it is time for a change, a transfer of responsibility. Nelson will take over my former role; I'll be called in for projects as needed. A transition is taking place. 

Transition happens to us. We are neither pilot nor commandeer; we are simply passengers, observers from this craft called our body as change takes place. It isn't like an elective course we can sign up for. It is on the required list. The sooner we come to that realization, that understanding and reckoning as humans, the better our mental, physical, and spiritual state.

The prefix trans- is borrowed from the Latin trans ("across, on the far side, beyond"). Its meaning carries nothing that identifies with status quo or stationary. It does indicate an alteration, even an upheaval, of life as we know it.

I am no stranger to work. The story was told that I went with my mother into the tomato fields and prune orchards as a toddler while she harvested those fruits. Summers were spent in the fields gleaning berries and beans. One fall I was the sole harvester of walnuts and filberts in a neighbor's orchard. 

I don't consider myself a workaholic, but I was raised by parents with a strong work ethic. For some "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." In my household, work was the virtuous trait and characteristic. After my dad retired I remember his recounting, "I haven't done anything," when told food had been prepared to eat. The unspoken message was that he didn't deserve to eat because he hadn't worked. That work ethic, that philosophy sunk deep within me.

The Traveling Gardener was established seventeen years ago when I found myself a single person with no marketable job experience. Working in the outdoors suits me well, the independence in being self-employed does too. Physical labor has its merits as my body is pushed and stretched as I weed, prune, mow, and operate power equipment. Loading and offloading the mower from the back of my truck uses muscles otherwise left to atrophy. Some of it is hard work, but it is work--and from my childhood, work is a virtuous thing. That point of view isn't an easy thing to walk away from.

However, in this, my seventeenth season, I find myself not wanting to work. I'll have a 75th birthday in six months, and I had begun feeling something needed to change, but I didn't want to let go. And then Nelson was introduced into my life. I find I am ready to bequeath my obligations to him.

It is time. I feel it. I know it. I'm not sure of the outcome--am I going to continue working part-time? I don't want to walk away from the relationships I have with my clients. I am ready to walk away from blackberry briers, hedge pruning, and hauling away loads of debris. The details will continue to unfold.

All of life is transitional. Emanating from the mind of God, each one of us made the transition seamlessly from that creation into this physical realm. Without any effort on our part, we passed through the embryonic stage, infancy, toddler and childhood; adolescence; adulthood, moving from one stage to the next to the next until we find ourselves where I am--an almost-75-year-old senior citizen facing the end of my working life and, eventually, physical life itself. It will be a full circle completed, a transition into the spiritual realm of the next life, the one where my--and your--creation took place. 

The transition from that of a person who works long days and hours to one who has a lighter, more reasonable schedule is taking place quite smoothly. I have no doubt the transition from this physical life into the next life will happen just as smoothly. I hope I'll be able to tell you about it as it is taking place. 










  

"On the Measure of Success"

success: n. The achievement of one's aim or goal; financial profitability; the fact of getting or achieving wealth, respect, or fame.

I received a book in the mail yesterday, a complimentary copy from the publisher of the book I wrote. To use publishing terms, the book has gone "live," it has been "launched," and the receipt of it verified that fact. It is in print and is available for purchase.

This blog came into being over five years ago. I have always viewed myself as a musician, a pianist, not an author, and I still struggle with applying that term to myself. "Story teller" or "scribe" is a better description, I think. I am most comfortable with the idea I simply relate personal experiences or share insights learned in my daily life. 

Once the seed of an idea is planted within my mind, I am unable to ignore it. Coming from the mind of God, it doesn't go away, but grows and grows until I take action. That is how Tidbits and Pearls--A Book of Essays on Living Everyday Life with God came into being. I cannot tell you when it happened, but at some point it seemed like a good idea to gather together several of these posts under one cover. And so the process began. 

Rome was not built in a day. Neither was developing "the book." It turned out to be one of the most challenging, difficult things I've done--and I've had some doozies. The focus from the beginning was to point the reader Godward, to challenge status quo thoughts, to open up possibilities for new thought, to encourage focus on the spiritual rather than the short-term physical.

I am now a published author, a success, according to some. My take on that is a person can do most anything if they are willing to pay for it. I chose to self-publish a compilation of blog posts so I could maintain control. While that sounds a bit like I have OCD or Obsessive Control Disorder, in reality I didn't want to be under contract to a publisher or have an editor telling me what I could or couldn't say. It was bad enough that the company I chose wouldn't allow me to describe war as "hell." 

Success is a heady word. It suggests personal accomplishment, especially when compared to failure. After all, we all want to succeed rather than fail. The numbers game is important when the world speaks of success--the larger the number, the greater the success. Often that is translated into dollars, the world's measure of success.

Think about that for a moment--a person's success is determined by the money made or shown on a profit/loss statement, a net worth, the larger the more successful. That is not how God measures success. Value and worth as a person can never be evaluated by a currency.    

In my finite mind I would love for my book to be known around the world. Its message, that of God's desire for friendship and relationship, is an important one, and I feel it is one the world needs to hear and know. 

God, however, does not play the games the world plays and has brought my focus to "one.. for the sake of one." If only one person is pointed to Him as a result of reading those things given me to write, then the book will be a success. 

My challenge to you is to consider/reconsider how you measure success. And may it be in spiritual terms instead of those of the world. "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Matt. 19:19; "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind." Matt. 22:37

I am honored to be chosen to deliver His message. 


"What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray." Matthew 18: 11-13 

"On the Things I Learned While Writing a Book"

author: n. The originator or creator of a work, especially of a literary composition.

scribe: n. Someone who writes; a draughtsperson; a writer for another; especially, an official or public writer.

It started with a thought--one, single thought that harkened back decades. 

Many years ago--well over fifty, in fact--I was given a note written on a small piece of paper taken from a legal pad, one of those with yellow paper. On it was written the truth of God's love for me and this: "Soon you will write psalms." 

I shared it with no one and tucked it away in my wallet, occasionally taking it out to read the message even though the words were fading and it was falling apart. My purse, with the wallet inside, was stolen and, with it, the note. I felt that loss more than the loss of my Social Security card, bank cards, and checkbooks. However, I never forgot its message.

The key on my piano refused to produce a sound when I played it--an f note to be exact. A dialogue began floating around in my mind making the point of how important each one of us is in the whole of things. There are no substitutes and no one can take our place. One note does not a symphony make, but there are voids, empty spaces when a single note is missing.

I put the thoughts into words and began writing, dipping my toes into the writing pool, testing it out. I shared it as a Facebook post. The door had opened, and I walked through it.

A high school friend encouraged me to begin writing a blog, a place where I could share. That was five and a half years ago. The posts accumulated until there were nearly two hundred of them. What would happen if I compiled them in a book?, I thought. The journey began.

I printed out all of the posts, and the challenge was on to make a cohesive manuscript out of them. It needed to present a message and make sense; it couldn't just ramble all over the countryside. The first thing I learned was that I needed God's hand, wisdom, and guidance. This was not going to be done without Him. 

A theme developed, that of God's desire for friendship and relationship with us, His creation. He took me back to my early teen years and an experience at church camp when I responded to His call. That experience became the introduction and is the foundation, the setting for Tidbits and Pearls: A Book of Essays on Living Everyday Life with God.

I am not a trained writer. I have no professional instruction other than Mrs. Wilshire's AP English class as a senior in high school. I quickly learned that following the lead of God isn't always easy as self-doubt and self-incrimination filled me--for days, weeks, and months. "I'm not an author. I am not a writer. There's no way I would ever put myself in that class."--all in comparison to those who are. I learned that never bothered God in the slightest as He asked me to simply share from my heart.

Another thing I learned is that "Rome wasn't built in a day." And neither was what I thought would be a simple task of making a format of several blog posts. I have tried to place a time frame on when the seed was planted but am unable to. I know it has now gone into years rather than months. Often it has felt like the longest pregnancy on the face of the earth.

Writing a book has been one of the hardest, most challenging things I've done in my life. And I have several to choose from. Had it not been for the knowledge that this is what my Heavenly Father wants, I would have got buried in the sheer detail of it all.

The book has never been about me. It is about God and His love for us all. It matters not if only one person reads it. If the message is taken in, settles within and grows, its purpose will have been fulfilled--that of pointing the way Godward. 

Vulnerability has been by my side as this book nears release. I know myself; I know my life. I know standing before God asking forgiveness for wrongs and hurts I've caused others, for rebellion and resistance against Him; I know His forgiveness as I remind Him, unable to let go of the memories and self-blame, and He says, "I don't remember what you're talking about." In the writing I am exposed--How can you know the truth of what I tell unless it is that way? I know my state--I am human.

In the past I have viewed myself as being a pretty patient person--at least when I think of years gone by. I have learned, however, that impatience has become my constant companion as the manuscript has gone through the process of becoming published. The reminder from a daughter just yesterday that "It's all about the timing" has tempered my impatient disposition.

I am sitting on the cusp of the release of "the book." The representative from the publisher said she hoped it would be today. And I am learning, "It's all about the timing."

A marketing representative contacted me asking me what my marketing plans are and who I hoped to reach. I told him "word of mouth, Facebook, and the world." He laughed and commented I would probably reach thirty or so people. While my response was quite grandiose, the message of Tidbits and Pearls is that important, and I want it shared with all who will listen--God is love. He wants your friendship--and mine as well--and wants to be part of our daily lives. He made possible a way for that to happen. It is our choice.   

I have been given unlimited, unfathomable, unconditional support from you, my family and friends, on this journey. And that is another thing I have learned. I could not have written a book not only without God, but without you. Each one of you has played a role in the creation of this symphony of words. 

Thank you.