On Being Human

human: n. A person.^[1

This past week can only be described as “one of those weeks.”  Some are harder than others. I found myself at every turn feeling that I either said or did something stupid, intrusive, or out of order. “Open mouth. Insert foot” could have easily qualified as my theme song.

Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? Why did I do that? What was I thinking? Right—I wasn’t thinking!

This sort of behavior shoots me off into second-guessing myself—continually. Instead of readily flowing, I become hesitant, then apologize for things I have said or done. God has not taught me to live this way, but nonetheless that’s where I’ve been—in a state where I heard myself say as I awakened in the morning, I’m so tired of being human.

When I first began my spiritual walk, in innocence and naivete, I had an unrealistic picture of life. I felt I was something special—a bit (a lot!) better than others. My pious, “spiritual” attitude became my virtual sidekick, my humanity clothed in self-righteousness. When anger, doubt, impatience, or fear manifested itself in the reality of living everyday life, I readily spun off into a tailspin of self-condemnation.

 One particular time, I shared a “failure” with a friend. I hadn’t lived up to my expectations of what I thought I should be like or how I should be living. Her response: “What are you expecting? You are human.”

Boy! Am I ever!!

Even though I have a lifetime of experience with my loving, kind, Heavenly Father, I struggle with finding peace. I wrestle with doubt. I question myself. I criticize aspects of interaction with others.

Life brings with it adversities and challenges. There may be a health issue with a parent, a child struggling to find their way. The bottom might drop out of personal budgets as a costly automobile or home repair comes out of nowhere. Family dynamics may become toxic with no ready resolution available. Patience comes easily when stress or pressure doesn’t prevail. Being kind and caring is a piece of cake when all is well with--and in--the world. Difficult circumstances reveal the truth—of our character and our faith.

My walk with God began decades ago. He has continually pushed me beyond my limits, shored me up, and ministered to me. As a bona fide old lady, I can attest to His presence in every aspect of life.

I am human—with more than enough flaws, warts, and foibles to confirm that. That fact also places me on the same plane as every other person in this world. I am no better . . . I am no worse. If anything of any value manifests in my life, it is the result of His work--not mine.

I am human and in good company—that of the person of Christ. He laid aside His cape of glory, replacing it with the rags of humanity. While He never succumbed to “The Three S’s—Satan, Sin, and Self,” He knew and understood the human factor—and now intercedes on my behalf before God. While walking this earth, I wonder if He ever awakened with the same thought: I’m so tired of being human.

God knows my heart. He loves and accepts me in my present state and condition. Self-acceptance, including my humanness, is of utmost importance.

God’s universal message of love, repentance, and renewal resounds with the truth and hope that He neither judges nor condemns us for being human. We do that to ourselves.

 

And the Word became flesh and lived among us… .

John 1:14 NRSVUE

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^[1] American Webster Dictionary

On Some of the Things I Learned While Turning Eighty

My birthday is right around the corner. I am going to be eighty years old. The big 8-0. Eighty. Yes, eighty. If it sounds like that fact confounds me, you would be correct. How in the world did I become “elderly?’ It must have happened while I was sleeping, because I certainly would have put the brakes on if my eyes were wide open. 

I have a January birthday, but ever since I hit the Social Security stage, (another steppingstone on the way to “getting up there in years”), I began a mental preparation every August. Thus, I’m almost eighty, has been my mantra for the past several months. By reminding myself in advance, I have never been taken by surprise that I have become a year older. 

I’m finding, however, that turning eighty is a completely different story. While I have tried to prepare myself for this pivotal birthday, it appears to be all in vain. Becoming eighty is unnerving, daunting, and fraught with uncertainty. Many of my peers concur. We agree that “at our age,” we view time in a manner far different from former periods in our lives.

The reality exists-- the amount of physical time left is at a premium for those of us who are eighty . . . or almost. As one friend described: “Being 80 is weird.” Who knew we could spend an hour—or longer—conversing on that subject? My physical future does not consist of decades, nor necessarily even years. The timeline of my life is drawing to a close. And that is the black and white fact.

“They” say that with age comes wisdom, though I wonder who “they” are and who gave “them” the authority to make such statements. Over the years I have learned a whole lot about a whole lot of things. In fact, the more I know, the more I realize how little I know. The wisdom part? Not so much.

School was easy for me, and I received good grades. One thing I learned, though, is that getting an A is not the same as having good judgment, character, or common sense. Memorizing facts for a test is not a substitute for intelligence, creativity, motivation, or success.

I have learned you can “step out.” Or you can “stay put.” I have also learned sometimes you are “pushed out,” even though you want to “stay put.” It is the equivalent of childbirth. No one gets to stay in a comfortable fetal nest. The truth: Life happens outside the comfort of the womb, beyond our comfort zones. Scary? Absolutely! Hard? For sure! That’s probably why we have no memories of that physical process. The pressure must have been enormous for all of us.

I have learned there are two ways to learn—the hard way and the easy way. I don’t think I need to expound on that point.

I have also learned there are paradoxes along the way. The support of family and friends is valuable and important, but I still have to go through life and the learning process alone. It is absolute truth that I came into the world alone. And I will leave it alone. So, too, the living of life in between those two events.

I learned I am responsible for myself, my decisions and choices . . . and no one else’s. Conversely, no one else bears responsibility for mine.

I have learned money is a tool, but it has no purchase power when it comes to my health, peace of mind, relationships, or happiness.

I’ve learned that laughter is a gift and is the best medicine. A little bit of kindness goes a long way. Holding onto a grudge or offense is equivalent to carrying a heavy load and is not worth the space it occupies in my being or my mind.

It is important to “Stop and smell the roses.” Nurturing living and growing things matters, whether that is in the form of providing food for a hummingbird, tending a garden, or caring for an animal or neighbors.

Grandchildren are a gift and God’s surprise reward in this lifetime. 😊 

I’ve learned that joy comes at unexpected times in unexpected ways and places. And at the age of “almost” eighty, surpasses any physical, monetary item.

One lesson has carried me through most of my life and some very difficult times: Faith is not the same as church or religion. The one is a relationship with a person, my Creator. The other is an activity

As I stumble into my eightieth year, I continue to learn that attitude is crucial. I am thankful and grateful—another thing I’ve learned— “Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” [1]

My life is rich in ways money cannot buy. I am blessed with a wonderful family and many friends. And as I look ahead, my future, just like my life, is not mine. I placed it in the hands of God many years ago, and in His faithfulness, He will see me through—not to the end, but to the beginning of the rest of my life—in eternity.

 

 

 

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[1] I Thessalonians 5:18 NLT

The Voice That Came Out of Nowhere

Imagine with me, if you will--You’re a 13-, maybe 14-year-old boy, walking home after school with your buddy. You pass a bank of mailboxes and open up one of them. You take the mail, and then you close it. BUT! . . . As you turn to head homeward you hear, out of nowhere, “PUT THAT BACK!!” You stop dead in your tracks as the two of you try to figure out where the voice came from. Unable to determine its source, you begin walking on down the sidewalk, envelope in hand. “THAT DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU!! PUT IT BACK!!” Somehow, this time that sounds like a good idea, so you backtrack and return the mail to its rightful recipient, in the mailbox. The voice isn’t finished, though—"DON’T YOU HAVE ANY MANNNERS? DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!! EVER!!”

The timing can only be called “perfect, impeccable, precise,” or even “divine.” A ten-second window existed that allowed me to be privy to the incident. The middle school is a block away, and kids flood the sidewalk at the end of the day. Typically, I do not spend my days looking out the front window, but I filled my bird feeder earlier in the day and was watching the sweet little birds enjoying their feast. I had opened the windows in order to revel in the fresh, fall air. The two boys just happened to enter my line of vision. 

In truth, I was more than privy. My voice was the one that came out of nowhere. Its volume and the wide-open windows allowed it to be heard.

I initially reacted to my outlandish response by concluding that I am, perhaps, a crotchety old woman. The sobering possibility gave me pause.

The outdoors beckoned me. I put on my walking shoes. I needed to quietly reflect on what had taken place. An afternoon walk sounded perfect.

Thoughts and questions filled my mind as I walked. What lesson was God wanting this young man to learn? Did he tell anyone, including his parents, about “the voice that came out of nowhere?” Probably not. He would have to admit his theft. Did it affect him, did the experience scare him? I have no idea.

I must admit that the voice that came out of nowhere surprised me too. I had no idea that I could be so aggressive in taking a stand against a wrongful act. What did I need to see about myself?

The walk helped to sort things out. I am not a crotchety old woman, but I am an instrument, a voice for the Most High God. Nothing is happenstance. All things in life are coordinated by our Creator. I said a little prayer for the young man, asking God to use a mailbox and a voice that came out of nowhere in ways only He can. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder if that poor kid is going to have nightmares, thinking a ghost is haunting him. :)

You just never know what your day is going to bring. I suspect the young man would agree.

On Just a Little More Time

             I awakened early this morning, though it wasn’t 0-dark-thirty—more like 6 a.m. I had been dreaming about my partner, who I endearingly called “Butthead.” He always responded with a smile and said, “Beavis.” He passed away a little over a year ago and, as I rose out of the fog of sleep, in my dream I had told my daughter, “I just wish I had a little more time with him.”

Eyes wide open, I gave the dream some thought and decided, No. That would not have been fair to him. He had suffered enough. And truth be known, had I been given more time, I would have wanted even more. We humans are like that.

From infancy on, we want to be given more time than allotted. Infants want more time to be held, to receive the full attention of Mom and Dad instead of going to sleep; toddlers ferociously fight nap time as they don’t want to concede their time of playing. “Just a minute,” is a familiar response from teens when their parents want them to stop their video game activities or time with friends.

We adults do not differ. We want “just a little more time” when our children need us as we socialize with friends. “Just one more drink” or “one more round” beckons while at the casino. It is hard to walk away when we are having a good time.

I maintain humankind does exactly the same thing when confronted with making a spiritual decision—Just give me a little more time, God, to think about you. I’ll get back to you later on these matters.

One basic problem exists, though. We have no control over the game clock in our lives. He does. When time runs out, it runs out. Extra seconds or minutes will not be added back on due to a mistake.

This takes me back to my dream. We always want “a little more time” with those who have passed. But that’s not how it works. There is “A time to be born, and a time to die.” [1]

And my final thought: “Seek the Lord while He may be found . . . “[2] We do not control the clock. Our Creator does. Do not be found wishing you had "just a little more time."

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[1] Ecclesiastes 3:2 NKJV

[2] Isaiah 55:6 NRSVUE

Cast My Bread Where??

I swear He snuck up on me before I was fully awake. My eyes weren’t even opened when I became aware of Him. My Heavenly Father often does that to me, giving me thoughts and ideas about the new day while I’m still half asleep. He knows I’m vulnerable, I don’t have my guard up, and I’m going to be more open to His whisperings.

He quietly suggested I write a statement and publish it publicly on social media. He supplied the opening words, which is always how I write—from His springboard. He also provided some “rules of engagement.”   

Father God didn’t demand or require I comply, as some might think. The suggestion wasn’t a “do or die” sort of thing. He simply presented it as a next step for me. I had the choice and the option to take it or leave it.

I crawled out of bed, all the while making sure I remembered the specific opening words and the instructions. God and I both knew that I would follow through on the directions of His Holy Spirit.

I have made a point of being reticent on social media regarding most things political and spiritual. I might hint at or insinuate my beliefs, but God forbid I should lay them all out for God and the world to see! After all, those of faith shouldn’t enter the political arena!

God asked me to make a personal statement regarding the one I am supporting in the 2024 Presidential Election for President of the United States. I was to cite five reasons why. The first two were set in place in my mind; the other three would follow. And so I sat down before my computer, still in my PJs, and laid out what I ended up calling my personal manifesto.

I wrote of my faith, of God, and of my country, listing the reasons why I supported one candidate over the other.

It wasn’t an easy task—not the writing of it, but the fact I knew I would be making a public stand and declaration. I don’t even speak of these things with my family, let alone others with whom I’ve fostered friendships over time, or strangers. I avoid confrontation like the plague and didn’t relish the potential controversy.

His specific instructions: “Do not defend yourself. Do not engage.” He pointed out I was to simply present a personal statement, not one to convince others or one subject to debate. Post it and walk away. Period.

I completed the project. The next step was to make it public, which I did—not only on FaceBook but on X, formerly known as Twitter, as well. That’s when hysteria took over my being. I’d kept my positions secret for a long, long time. The doubts and second-guessing flooded in.

I decided I needed to take a walk in the fresh air. Besides, I needed some milk from the store. As I walked, His reassurances calmed me down. He reminded me that I had done what He asked me to do. And I needed to stop wrestling with my imagination and leave it behind.

Then He spoke: “Cast your bread upon the water.” What??? Bread plus water quickly turns soggy before completely breaking down. I had a mental vision of a teeny, tiny raft with a loaf of bread on it to keep it from getting wet. 😊 Another version states, “Send out your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will get it back.” [1]

This was His idea, at His direction, and at His hand—not mine. I have cast my bread on the water. I still have no clue what He means, but perhaps in time I shall understand.

There is an advocacy amongst some believers that we should remain out of politics. Trust me, I’m not in favor of getting in the middle of everything that is knock-down, drag-out, but I’m often reminded of the promise of the coming Christ when “the government shall be upon his shoulders…”[2] It doesn’t get any more political than that.

In the meantime, I’m back to posting photos of flowers and family. At least until the next early morning surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] Ecclesiastes 11:1 NRSVUE

[2] Isaiah 9:6 KJV

Just Give Him Time

My impatience revealed itself when I spoke with God this morning. I didn’t 

actually demand, but the intent behind my request was that He would do 

something yesterday, if not sooner. Without words, He reminded me of the 

baking process—and it is a process. If I am creating an end product of food to 

be eaten, it takes time--the correct amount of time. When the directions on the 

recipe indicate I need to bake it for 40-60 minutes, those aren’t code words for 

30 minutes. Anything less than the allotted time ends up half-baked and 

inedible, needing to be tossed away. So, too, with us humans. He 

creates perfection. That takes time—His, not mine. It gives new meaning to

the phrase “He’s not finished with me yet.”

On Time and the Giving of It

time: n. The inevitable progression into the future with the passing of present events into the past.

 

Time: a universal commodity given to every man, woman, and child living on the face of this earth. The amount of time allotted to each of us adds up to twenty-four hours in a day. Sixty minutes in an hour. Sixty seconds in a minute. No more. No less. It can be called true equity.

Time takes on a different “feel” at various stages of life. For a child, time often moves at a snail’s pace as it seems they spend their life waiting—for a holiday or special event. Parents can’t find enough of it to get everything done while meeting the demands of a family’s rigorous schedule. Those of us living as senior citizens find ourselves dealing with the reality of time passing like a flash in the night. Many elderly folks live in a paradox. They have nothing but time on their hands as they live their days in solitude and loneliness. All the while, they have very little of it left.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, we as humans categorize and prioritize our time. We schedule time for work, family, and leisure; we set aside time for events, activities, and vacation. And--God forbid if an interruption occurs—time for sleep. Most folk, however, never consider including another important category in their daily life. I call it “people” time.

When I give my time to another, I gift myself. I share “me.” No one else can do that but me. Gifts can be purchased and delivered, but the gift of time carries no price tag. While volunteer work has a time and place, I am speaking of something different here.

“I’m busy now. I don’t have time.” How often do those words so easily slip off the tongues of family members or perhaps one in a position of authority or a leadership role? Consider the message and the feeling it evokes: You have interrupted me and my life. You do not matter enough for me to stop what I’m doing. Go away.

We deliver that same message, though unspoken, as we plow through our daily lives, making certain we do not interact with people we aren’t acquainted with. After all, we have things to do, people to see, and places to go. We’ll never see these strangers again, so they don’t really matter. Or do they?

Recently, I took a trip to visit a friend. I’ve known her for decades, and we have been close friends for the past several years. Neither of us has a sister. The term sister/friend fits perfectly.

After she picked me up, we stopped by the grocery store to get a few things. While waiting in line to check out, she quietly commented, “Just a minute. This lady needs some help.” She saw what I hadn’t. An elderly lady, so tiny a slight breeze could blow her away, struggled bagging her groceries. She had an over-sized container of detergent, far too heavy and bulky for her to handle. My friend stepped in, placed the items in sacks, and told her she would help get the groceries into her car.

“This is the last time I’m going to do this,” the older woman commented. She shared she was in the process of moving into a facility where meals would be provided.

We finished checking out and headed to her car, loading the items in the back. The little lady chattered the whole time, talking about originally moving from Rhode Island and her current move. She was grateful and thrilled to be the recipient of the gift of time.

This action wasn’t unusual for my friend. She gives time where and when needed as she gives of herself. And she does it quietly, never seeking attention. It is just the kind of person she is--her second nature--without effort or pretense.

We spoke recently of being available when called upon. Her comment has stuck with me: “You just have to make time. Loving the broken is loving God.”

Though often unnoticed, therefore not acknowledged, the gift of time is a gift indeed. You’ll not hear a public service announcement with grand accolades. Bells and whistles won’t fill the air, nor will any balloons be released into the sky. The gift of time consists of the act of being present, lending an ear and providing companionship and help if needed--without fanfare.

Each of us is given a certain amount of time in life. Perhaps you have heard the charge to use your time wisely and make the most of it. The context of that admonition generally relates to an activity or a goal.

I give that same charge: Use your time wisely and make the most of it. I ask you, however, to consider the value and importance of giving time as a gift. Give and share yourself. The world would be a better place.

 

And the king will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to

one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me."

Matthew 25:40