Last week I wrote about the morning after watching a favorite television program…how it settled and rattled my emotions….This morning is “another morning after”…but different today…I’ve divided my emotions between a fictional story that ended last evening along with the senseless reality of 15 children and two adults killed in Texas by an 18 year old. How do I respond….how do I react? To yet “another” heinous act of crime that is weighing heavily on broken hearts and topping the news headlines until the effects fade from our thoughts and life goes on….

In my anguish, in my sadness, in my anger I turn to You O Lord. The psalmist wrote in chapter 62:

“My safety and honor rest on God. My strong rock and refuge are in God. Trust in Him, people at all times; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.”

Scoffers will ask “where was God when those innocent people were gunned down?” My response…right in their midst.

“Then why didn’t God stop that kid with the gun?” My response: Because He has given us free will. And sometimes having the huge responsibility of choosing our own actions comes with a heavy price for others, especially when evil actions overshadow the obvious opposite choices in life…to live in love, peace, and joy.

Today, there is much I want to say on social media about what’s going through my mind this morning. I’ve kept my fingers off the keyboard. In the past, I’ve spouted off like a raging teapot whistling “I’m ready!” Often, my family and friends aren’t ready to hear my own opinions. Consequently, I am learning to remain quiet…choosing when to speak up, always asking God “am I supposed to say anything?” Does ANYTHING I offer on social media change a person’s mind anyway God? 

Oh, how I wish that this morning only held a sense of sadness for my favorite TV program that ended. But, that’s not the case. Instead, as I’ve already noted, our nation is reeling from more deaths in Texas…coming after the Buffalo killings….woven into numerous murders that unfortunately are common place in Chicago…New York…Los Angeles….there is a “spirit of death” that has been unleashed across our beautiful nation, at a level of swiftness I’ve never witnessed in my 68 years. And it appears to be swooping up our youngsters…..and it’s nothing new under the sun.

*Pharoah ordered all Hebrew baby boys to be killed at birth because the Hebrew people were becoming strong and he feared what they may do to revolt being in slavery to him.

*Herod ordered all baby boys aged two & under to be killed when he learned and feared that Jesus–the proclaimed “King of the Jews”–would take away his kingdom rule.

*Roman citizens often threw their unwanted babies into a river to drown.

*Mayan people sacrificed thousands of infants to their gods to gain favor.

*Hundreds of thousands of children died under the reign of Hitler.

*China had a one child rule from 1980 to 2015 when two children were allowed. In 2021 they increased it to three. (I checked internet sites: approximately 30 million girls who were born may NOT have been registered as live births, but hidden, because a male child was preferred in their culture)

*And then there’s aboriton on demand…..millions….from major countries around the world.

Hmmm…at the risk of being TOO bold do you think that there’s a demonic pattern of attacks on children for thousands of years? In my anguish, in my sadness, in my anger I can only answer “yes”…..and fall to my knees under the refuge of God even when I don’t understand His ways or comprehend the mind of anyone evil enough to be a pawn of Satan. 

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A note from the author: Normally, I desire to keep my blog postings lighthearted, uplifting or a source of inspiration with heartfelt memories or personal insights. Today is different. Today is a bit of boldness coming from a place of personal Truth which is grounded in Jesus Christ, my source of absolute Truth. There is a popular saying that goes like this: Sometimes the truth hurts. Today, please don’t be angry or hurt by my expressions of truth. Instead, ponder for yourself the reality that our nation and world are in a spiritual war, one aimed at our children, innocent men and women. Once you have viewed events with a spiritual eye, then decide if you’ll be a voice for Truth and action to protect the vulnerable in our midst.

It’s the morning after and I’m sad. It doesn’t help that the weather has flipped back to overcast skies with a sprinkling of rain falling through temperatures that have dipped back into the 50s after a weekend of high 80s. Yesterday was breezy with the sun poking out frequently through puffy white clouds. Yesterday, Tuesday, is a day of the week that holds a lot of anticipation for me. Admittedly, I am a “This Is Us” addict so knowing that the second to last episode would be airing had me full of expectation all day long as I went about my daily routine, getting in a walk, and presiding over a weekly ministry meeting, rushing home to tune in to one of my favorite TV families of all time, the Piersons. 

Second admission today…I’m sad. After a lengthy battle with Alzheimer’s disease the Piersons’ beloved mom and grandmother is laden with farewells by all she deeply loved. Coming to her bedside one at a time, family members said their goodbyes. In a dreamlike state Rebecca “heard” and “saw” each one as she lovingly remembered them through her years of parenting three beautiful children. With each quiet breath and subtle scene change she told William “I’m waiting for someone”..…that’s the part of the script that grabbed at my emotions and remains as lingering sadness this morning. 

I’ve had the privilege saying goodbye to my mother-in-law, my mother, my father-in-law, but not my father. I’ve also said “goodbye” to my youngest brother-in-law and my oldest brother. Sitting at the side of a loved one who is leaving their earthly home for one in eternity is an experience that I cannot put into words other than to say it’s remarkable that I am forever grateful I had these opportunities with my loved ones. Equally worth mentioning, is that I confess harboring deep sadness not being present when my father passed away. Dad never was one to “put someone out” with his needs or troubles…I guess that’s why he waited for my brother to leave the room, head home, and slip away quietly in the solace of his room. 

Watching as “Rebecca” made her way from train car to train car, each one giving her a different memory of her children, there was a speaker mounted in the corner of one such car. Pouring out of the speaker was the voice of her daughter, Kate. “I’m here mom. I’m here”. 

Science is showing us that the sense of hearing is still active in a dying person, even if they are non-responsive. I had heard this years ago and held firm to its claim. When we knew my mother-in-law was in her last hours, my husband and I read scripture to her. We sang songs. We prayed. We talked to her.

When my own mother lay non-responsive in her living room, all of us surrounding her bed, we laughed. We shared memories. We read scripture. We were careful about what we said. We gave her permission to “go” along with our strong promises to always take care of dad.

When my father-in-law was at the end of his life, all of us kids and most of the grandchildren were able to tell him their final thoughts, say our goodbyes. My husband was with him on the morning he passed.

It’s expected to lose our parents and though difficult, I think losing siblings is far worse. At least for me, for my husband, this has been true. Both John and Dave were taken by cancer. Both lingered in and out of being able to converse, but that didn’t stop us from being present when we were able. Visits to them prior to their death were important and timely. Both passed away without us being by their side. I don’t remember any of my last words spoken to either brother, but I take comfort knowing they “heard” my voice.

Rebecca repeated several times “I’m waiting for someone”. In a fictionalized depiction of a beloved character’s life cleverly and lovingly scripted by gifted writers, I got a picture of what her “waiting” looked like. In the lives of my moms, dads, brothers, I can only imagine what scenes brushed through their minds as they lay waiting for the final breath that would take them from pain to glory.  As much as I wonder what they “heard” in final moments, I marvel at the images they immediately saw when earthly breath was exchanged for heavenly breezes washing over their faces. 

Yes, I’m sad this morning. A good sadness, though. Without apology I’m thankful that a favorite television drama is able to weave a story in such a way that it causes me to reflect…to wonder…to be grateful…to shed a tear or two without shame…and most importantly, to prepare myself for my own departure some day, to love my family well, create memories that last a lifetime….and if I find myself “waiting for someone to arrive” my prayer is that he or she is able. I want to hear what they have to say.

When we moved to our current home in 1989 it was winter, January to be exact. Our community was covered with snow, it was cold. We had neighbors on both sides of our property…the land behind us was a hayfield field which could yield three cuttings during a “good” summer. Though we enjoyed our somewhat rural setting, we always knew that eventually our “hay field” would be sold in order for someone to build homes. That’s exactly what happened in the 90s…a local builder came along, bought the field and put up homes on a small drive that extended almost to a wooded area beyond the culvert where the last home was built. More development came later  and our neighborhood took on the appearance of a small subdivision.

Families have come and gone from several of the homes. When our first spring of 1989 arrived, we discovered that a woman to the north of us–two doors down–owned a small menagerie of animals. She had goats, ponies, and a few dogs. Our kids loved watching her goats and ponies graze in their small pasture; they’d stand at the fence and talk to them, pet their small faces when allowed. One of the ponies was blind and on one summer day had escaped through the fencing, becoming frantic, walking in circles until my husband rescued it, getting it back to the safety of the pasture. 

Fast forward to the 2000s and we’ve got the family behind us who have chickens and ducks. They are considered “cage free” I guess because with the arrival of warm weather they spend most of their time outside their shelters. In fact, these birds wander to our yard and devote a lot of time looking for bits of food…bugs (I hope)…and the ducks especially like our ditch when it has swelled with water from spring rains. Our frontage also collects a lot of water, creating a welcoming “swimming and splashing pool” for our roving ducks. Friends driving past our home have asked “when did you get chickens and ducks?”

The five or six chickens like our yard, too. I have found them on the deck, under the deck, walking all over the yard as they too peck the ground for bugs and seeds. We’vejokingly called them “our birds”…until we’ve now had to do some cleanup of the deck from their droppings….suddenly their cuteness is waning…

A warm welcome to the month of May has been the ability to open a few windows, leave the slider open to the deck, leave the front door a jar, all allowing warm fresh breezes to fill the house, emptying out the leftovers of winter’s staleness. Doing so has come with a minor hazard. Already a few ants have made their way into the house, probably looking for a small crumb to fill an empty belly. What they have found is an early demise under the weight of my big toe or foot.

All this wandering from  these critters has me thinking. Clearly, they have homes that were built for them, food sources provided by their owners, water…but they aren’t content to stay put. Because they are allowed to “wander” with no barriers in place, well their little feet  take them wherever and how far they desire, which is usually to our yard, even to two other neighbors’ front lawns on either side of our acre.

Which brings me to these musings….How often do I wander from the “things” that have been provided for me that offer safety, nourishment….a sense of staying inside healthy boundaries….how many times have I joined a conversation that isn’t mine? Asked a question in an attempt to prompt  juicy details to evoke gossip?  Giving unsolicited advice…trying to fix or rescue someone who is struggling when truthfully some of the best victories and healing come from having to face hard stuff on our own so we can fight our way out from darkness to light…or like my pesky ants, looking for “something” to satisfy my empty belly or heart in all the wrong places…

My windows are open this morning…I can hear songbirds…maybe some warning signals too? And, true to their habit pattern, our ducks have meandered from their shed, quacking their early morning conversations as they make their way along the north boundary of our yard to the ditch where leftover rain water awaits them for yet another daily splash-a-ganza. They will not only perform this small parade back and forth once each day but usually several times from sunup to sundown. 

As I listen to the beautiful songs…hear the rhythm from quacking visitors…I’ve enjoyed my own morning routine, too. Time has been spent feasting on God’s Word….writing my prayers for Him to receive and ponder His answer…reminding myself “to whom I belong”…offering gratitude for His provision and above all, HIS healthy boundaries…limits that keep me from wandering off to places, people or things where I don’t belong…keeping me out of dirty water, even when  having my own “splash-a-ganza” looks quite enticing.

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Goodness, I don’t know what make and model–even the year!–this car is but when searching for a photo to help highlight my thoughts today I found this hurt lil gem. It certainly doesn’t look like much now but I bet when it rolled off the assembly line its paint shone in the sun, the tires were black and glossy…every option it had was in perfect working order. Then use began to happen. It probably went through many seasons of sunlight, rain, snow, ice, even hail.

This tiny human has just entered the world. Once safe and growing in his or her mother’s womb, the beauty of birth has taken place. This child appears unblemished and every part of its tiny body is working. Lungs are sucking in and pushing out air. Crying has activated. A tiny heart  beating in the womb will continue to do so for about 80 years. Eyes are closed but soon will focus and take in thousands of images…millions by the end of life. Ears have been hearing mom’s heartbeat and her voice for nine months. Even if the family pet barked, this little person has heard it. Skin is wrinkly and pink but with each passing day the complexion will smooth out, brighten or darken a bit. Birth has given the world another beautiful new person. Then life will happen.

What does a crashed graffiti ridden car and an unblemished newborn have in common? Nothing actually. Except, yesterday as I spent the morning with my husband walking around a salvage lot looking at damaged cars, my time there spurred some thoughts about damages, wounds, declarations of being “totalled”. Based on past experiences with other salvage yards we’ve visited, yesterday’s findings shocked me. MOST of the vehicles we looked at were very new in comparison to your typical description of a running “junker”. And, MOST of them had damage to only one area of the body, a front hit…a sideswipe…a rear in…maybe a deer hit. My untrained eye kept saying to my husband “why would this car be totalled!?–it only needs a front clip or a new rear end….a hood and lights”. Well, that’s where hidden damage comes in….some of those unassuming vehicles needed engine repairs, new deck flooring, electrical work, air bag consequences…all which drive up repair costs that an insurance company may deem a complete “loss”. Total the car, give the owner a settlement. Put the car in salvage and allow someone with enough money to purchase it and make the repairs. Until a purchaser comes along, the car sits waiting. We saw every make. Chevrolets. Jeeps. Fords. Kias. Hondas. One Tesla–anyone have $22,000 to take that beauty home and sink in repair money? 

My inability to not see or comprehend the hidden damage to these cars reminds me that I–maybe even you–cannot see the hidden wounds in people we love or meet by chance. Men and women–each one of us  born without blemish or major turmoil–(God willing) carry hidden wounds as life begins to unfold and our chosen paths give us experiences–good and bad. For me personally, my childhood was wonderful. I was loved by both parents. I had two older brothers who doted on me. I had grandparents, uncles and aunts galore and a slew of cousins. I made good friends all through school. I dated way too many boys (in hindsight–that’s another topic)….I married–twice–and I became a mother of two. Life has blessed me, yet I have hidden wounds. Sometimes I over-worry. There are times I isolate and shut down rather than face a hard day. I overeat–indulge in sweets–too often because I find comfort in food. I battle being judgemental or critical because I like thinking I’m smarter than another person, or worse, that I’m always right. I guess that would be described as pride.  But, if you met me for the first time I’d really enjoy that moment. I love meeting new people. I love asking questions to find out what makes a person tick. I love encouraging others. I love making someone laugh or feel comfortable in a new situation. I love hearing a person’s “back story”…where were you born? Tell me about your family. What do you do in life for pleasure? Those are fun and easy questions most of us can easily answer. What about when it’s the opposite? What about those times I see the sullen expression on your face. The face that usually has a smile. What about when I see a bruise that looks suspicious? Or when you are considerably more quiet in a group setting or when you withdraw from social gatherings for a stretch of time? When you isolate. When you become defensive, angry…when you cry tears that have no words to describe what’s churning inside your soul. These, and more, are the hidden wounds in people that can easily be ignored, unnoticed or tossed up to “she’s having a bad day”. Let me say this. We all have bad days. But, when one bad day is added and multiplied by additional bad days, hidden damages can occur and until someone comes along to “see”, to “acknowledge”, to “rescue”, to “help”…a pile of bad days can consume and drag a person away to darkness instead of light.

Yesterday, it wasn’t enough for me to see the damages to the cars without asking questions of the salesman. In order for me to know the complete story behind each car, I had to inquire so he could check his files and give me the specs regarding what repairs were needed to restore it to “like new”. The same can be said  relative to my interactions with my friends who are in my circle. I can take note of outward expressions, verbal cues, and ask questions…”what do you need?….how can I help?…Can you tell me how you think your current or past wound is affecting your loss of joy? Trust. Feeling whole. Feeling safe. Feeling less a victim of unwanted pain? How can we get you to a place of pursuing victory over your hurts?

A brand new car hot off the assembly line. Such potential to give pleasure and practical use for many years. Until that distracted person or drunk driver hits it head on.

A brand new baby out of the womb. Such potential to bring joy to its family, give the same and so much more as it grows through childhood into becoming an adult. Until someone speaks a harsh word. Takes a spanking to the level of abuse. Seizes opportunity in secret to satisfy an addiction to lust. Fall to temptation with substances that alter the mind. 

Some wounds are very visible. Others are hidden. Both leave a lasting effect until someone takes notice, steps in to ask the right questions, and comes alongside to begin a  lengthy yet advantageous process of restoration that promotes healing and renewal. Broken cars end up in junkyards. People are deserving of more than that kind of fate. Instead of being written off or tossed away to the junkyards of brokenness,  they need that “someone” who will ask the right questions. Look up the correct specs for restoration and renewal. There’s a file for everyone, describing  the necessary repairs, too. It’s held in God’s system waiting to be opened.