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Journey of the Magi:A Cold Beginning

A cold coming we had of it, just the worst time of year for a journey.

TS Eliot’s journey to faith began with doubt. Just as many hardships challenged the Magi, many difficulties assailed Eliot as he attempted to leave his past life behind and seek spiritual truth. Eliot’s earlier works, such as “The Hollow Men”, refer to the afterlife as “death’s other kingdom” and imply that we are all living meaningless lives. But after converting to Christianity, Eliot’s works took on a more hopeful tone. “The Four Quartets” has been cited as being “overtly religious” while “Journey of the Magi” centers on the Birth of Christ and the meaning it gives to humanity.

Eliot always contended that he had no “conversion experience” but quietly became a believer.

REFLECT: While he considered his salvation a very private matter and kept this conversion secret, it had such an impact on him that he wrote a poem as an allegory. How do you honor and recall your own salvation?

Journey of the Magi: An Advent Pilgrimage

Journeys are never easy. Each year as I set up my creche, I wonder about the mysterious Wise Men who journeyed from the East. We have only a few scant verses from the Book of Matthew about them:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”

Tradition has it that they were three astronomers who had been tracking the moving Star and believed in the prophets who foretold the coming of the Messiah.

Surely, I would think to myself, these three men—not Hebrews—were changed by their journey. It was the idea that eventually led me to write a previous Christmas story, A Star for Zachary, which told the tale of an elderly man who was a shepherd on a hill the night the Heavenly Angels announced the Holy Birth. His life had been changed forever.

T.S. Eliot’s poem, “Journey of the Magi”, holds the same fascination for me. Eliot penned the poem in 1927, the same year he became a British citizen. While the poem itself tells an allegory of the Three Wisemen’s journey to the Christ Child, making frequent reference to prophecy and Bible verses, it was also written by Eliot as an analysis of his own conversion journey to faith.

For me, the last five years have been an immensely difficult journey, full of obstacles and doubt as I was plunged into widowhood and the single parenting of an autistic adult. Yet along with the difficulties were also amazing discoveries of my own abilities as a writer, the building of a readership, and the decision to make the 2023-2024 school year my last as a full-time teacher.

Please join me on this Christmas Journey as we follow the Wise Men along the route to Bethlehem and reflect for a few moments on the Great Gift that leads us to Christmas morning.

After the End: Finding Rest

And there was a certain royal official whose son lay sick at Capernaum. When this man heard that Jesus had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and begged him to come and heal his son, who was close to death.” ( John 4:46)

I leaned my head against the wall for a moment, pausing to try and infuse some strength into my weary body. The walk from the parking lot, through the medical pavilions, and down the long hallway to the main hospital seemed to get longer every day. There were times when I ran down the hallway at top speed, anxious to get to the trauma ward or the surgical unit, afraid it would be my last chance to see my husband. There were other days, like today, when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I felt exhausted, convinced I could easily melt into a puddle of tiredness onto the beige rug of the hallway. Desperately, I needed rest.

But after years of caring for a chronically ill husband, rest was not likely to happen.

The nobleman in John 4:46 would have known what I was talking about. While we are not told how long his son was ill, we can surmise it was not a sudden illness. Can you see him pacing the floor of his son’s room, sitting by his bed and holding the hand of his child? Can you imagine him calling upon all manner of healers and doctors to try and bring relief to his boy? I can; for years, we left no stone unturned to try and find a cure for Ron. We traveled up and down the East Coast, seeking answers to his chronic pain. I can empathize with this father, then, who likely had connections as a nobleman, perhaps was even in the employ of Herod.

Maybe he’d been given false hope. Maybe along the way a charlatan or two had promised a cure. In our twenty- year battle, we encountered more than a few of them as well.

Resources for Family Caregivers During the Covid-19 Crisis - IonaBut then the nobleman, this worried father, heard that Jesus was nearby, just 20 miles away in Cana. Had he heard of the first miracle Jesus had done at the wedding, turning water into wine? It is clear he knew something of Jesus; he addresses him as “sir”, which in the Greek is kyrie, meaning “lord.” It seems from what is told in the book of John that he had traveled alone; his servants later met him on the road. What is also clear is that he had faith that Jesus could heal his son. When Jesus said, “Go thy way, thy son liveth,” (John 4: 50) he did not question it. He knew it to be true.

Even as Ron suffered for so many years with so many maladies, I never stopped believing in God’s ability to heal him. I did sometimes wonder why He did not. It was often hard to reconcile that to a Father I believed loved Ron.

To me, the most important part of the story of the nobleman is not the healing of his son; we have many examples of Jesus’ ability to heal. What strikes me is this: This worried and heartsick father, probably weary from sleepless nights keeping vigil at his son’s bed, did not immediately run home. No. He believed what Jesus said. He believed his son was healed. I can hear across the years the sigh of relief he breathed. I, who have experienced the exhaustion that comes with caregiving, can also feel the weight of his body sag as his shoulders round, his head bows, and now bereft of the adrenaline that kept him moving forward, can now rest. That night may have been the first good night’s sleep he had in a long, long time.

Tag: sleep • Run Hard. Rest Well.And it happened because he took Jesus at His word, never doubting his son was now well.

I, too, take Jesus at His word. So many years of caring for an ill husband had left me depleted. During the years of caring for Ron, a restful night’s sleep was only a dream. According to Crossroads Hospice, “caregivers must sacrifice a great deal from their personal and professional lives.” I was among the 60% that still worked full-time (and often had two part time jobs as well). I can concur with the 55% of caregivers who say it is an overwhelming way to live. I need time to recover in body, mind, and soul.

God did not heal Ron. But God did take Ron home to heaven to live with Him. And it is now, as I approach the one year anniversary of his home going, that I am finding rest.

How can you take Jesus at His word? What promise can you claim today?

Ezer Kenegdo: The Power of a Woman

The Lord God said, “It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper(ezer) suitable (kenegdo) for him.” Genesis 2:18

March 3, 2000, 9AM

When Bonnie and I arrive at the hospital, we are still exhausted from the long night before, but propping each other up. The nurse I spoke with at 6AM told me that Ron had had a quiet night. My own sleep was punctuated by the cacophony of crashing metal and squealing brakes, an auditory reminder of my husband’s serious car accident. Later, I’d called various schools and reported absences, receiving murmurs of sympathy. We haven’t brought Allen with us this time; I want to be able to prepare him for the condition of his father. Last night in the trauma recovery room, Ron had been as still and gray as a waxed image.

My daughter and I hold hands and paste smiles onto our faces as walk down the halls of a hospital that is already too familiar, too overwhelming. We enter the ICU on tiptoe, loathe to disturb the silence broken only by the whirr of medical machines. Ron lies on a raised bed behind a blue curtain, his arms tied down with tubes and straps. The ventilator makes his chest rise and fall and emits the sound of wooshing air. I touch his hand. He stirs. Eyelids flicker. On the other side of the bed, Bonnie rests her hand on her father’s shoulder. He shudders, as he does sometimes in a bad dream.

We wait. We have been told by the surgeon who pieced together Ron’s broken body last night that his condition is serious, but his chances of recovery are good. Four weeks, Dr Huffman estimated, until he would be well enough to leave.

We believed her.

Crazy: A Diary: A story of faith and love (Life is Crazy: Living with Chronic Illness and Mental Disorder): Cobourn, Dr. Linda Waltersdorf: 9780692257487: Amazon.com: Books

The word “helpmeet” in the Book of Genesis is frequently read as “helpmate”, but both words in modern times have a demeaning connotation, implying that the Woman—Eve—formed from the rib of Man—Adam—was less than he, a sort of second-class human being.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

In Genesis 2:18, Eve is described in Hebrew as “ezer kenegdo”, difficult to translate because it’s two words. “Kenegdo” is pretty simple. It means “opposite, or alongside”; woman is equal to man, just different. “Ezer” is a bit harder. It is used 21 times in the Old Testament and according to Strong’s Concordance, means “to rescue, to save.” Ezer denotes strength.

Rather than being a mere “helper” to man, woman is to be his strength and his rescuer.

But I didn’t know this as a 21-year old bride, my handsome husband beside me, our lives before us. I didn’t know that the years after our marriage would cause me to grow in both strength and endurance, that the four weeks predicted by Dr. Huffman would become ten months, and then seep into nineteen years of continued rescuing from both physical and mental issues. I didn’t know the power that would become mine as I became both mother and father to my children, financial supporter of our family, and caregiver to Ron.

I grew into the role of ezer kenegdo. I pray that I did it well.

And on this, the anniversary of those long-ago vows we made to one another, I want to tell my dear Ron that, given the choice, I would gladly do it all again.

Despite the difficulty of so many years, I would still be caring for Ron if he was here. What is something that you would still be doing if given the choice?

Joy of the Spirit

AUTHOR’S NOTE: In December, the Lord convinced me that it was time for me to retire from fulltime teaching and focus on writing. Starting in January, when there were 100 days left of my 30 year teaching career, I started  posting “100 Reasons I’m Retiring” on my Substack. You can read them here. https://lindaca1.substack.com/

Some of the reasons were funny, some very serious. But as I moved closer to June 14, I became more and more convicted of the giant step I was taking.

This was Reason 101.

Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice! Philippians 4:4

I’m going to share a secret with you: My life has been full of joy. If you’ve followed my blog for more than a minute, you know that the past thirty years have appeared, on the surface, to be anything but joyful. Care of an ill husband for two decades, parenting an adult on the autism spectrum, coping with a rare visual disorder, and working too many jobs to pay a mountain of medical bills don’t seem to be causes for joy.

But they are. Because the Lord was always with me. Even in the darkest of times—the night of Ron’s horrific car accident, his sudden death—I was never alone. And now, as I enter the next chapter of my life, I am one hundred percent certain the Holy Spirit is guiding me.

Rejoice in the Lord always. Philippians 4:4 You may ask, “How can I rejoice  when everything is going against me?” Paul writes... – @thewordfortheday on  Tumblr

There is an intense connection between joy and the Holy Spirit. St Augustine calls the Holy Spirit, “the living love flowing between God the Father and Jesus his Son.” The Holy Spirit is God’s gift of love to us. John Piper says, “The Holy Spirit is God’s Joy.”

I will ask the Father and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of Truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him, for he dwells with you and will be in you. John 14:16-17

 

It’s hard to explain this, I know, but once I began to listen—really listen!—to the leading of the Spirit, I was convinced that the time to retire was now and that there was other work for me to do. There were some moments of panic; I had been a teacher most of my adult life. Could I be something else? I had supported my family on my teaching salary for a long time. Was there another way?

Charles Stanley has two pieces of advice when it comes to the Holy Spirit:

1. Say YES to the Spirit.

2. Believe and Obey.

Now that I have officially retired (as of June 14), I am saying YES. I am Believing and Obeying in the new work he has called me to.

It is Well with My Soul | Genesis Bible Fellowship Church

And in those simple actions, there is a deep sense of peace and joy. The Greek word is chara, and it is more than simple happiness; the word embraces an inner delight and gladness, one not based on our current circumstances but rooted in our souls. Commentaries state, “Joy is the deep-down sense of well-being that abides in the heart of the person who knows all is well between himself and the Lord.”

All is well. It always was. Even in the worst of times.

It is well with my soul.

Have there been times in your life when you felt or heard the calling of the Holy Spirit? What does the joy of the Spirit feel like to you?

The Taste of Communion: Reflections a Year Later

It was Communion Sunday, the first Sunday of the month, and on this day in June I was preoccupied with the end of the school year—my last—and the many plans I had both for the summer and retirement. My autistic adult son sat beside me quietly, waiting until the usher approached our pew and motioned us to the altar, where Pastor Amy waited with the bread and wine. I slid into the aisle first, Allen immediately behind me. He held his hand in front of the cup of wine, indicating to Tom that he did not want intinction. Tom nodded and Allen returned to his seat.

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And then it hit me: the grace with which Allen took communion and all its sensory parts had become commonplace to me. But it was just a little over a year ago when the act of walking up to the altar and accepting communion from someone’s hand was a challenge for Allen.https://lindaca1.substack.com/p/the-texture-of-communion?utm_source=publication-search

“The Texture of Communion”, written in May of 2023,  detailed the way in which Allen had to prepare himself to partake of this important ritual in the Christian faith.

My heart swelled with joy; my son was fully able to experience this moment, this fellowship, this reminder of the sacrifice of Jesus. Here, Allen belonged.

As an adult on the autism spectrum, Allen does not easily connect with things he cannot see or feel. While he and his siblings were raised to go to church and Sunday School, Allen attended more out of parental expectation than belief. According to a 2018 study done at Boston University, individuals on the spectrum were 20% less likely to identify with a church or religion. The reasons cited are not just a lack of intellectual understanding of the concept of God, but the social demands of church. Often, religious environments do not accommodate the sensory and learning needs of children and adults with diverse needs. Allen has, in fact, been known to walk out of a service if the sensory overload becomes too much.

In his book, Disability and the Church, Pastor Lamar Hardwick, an adult on the autism spectrum, speaks about the minority community of the disabled, a group anyone can join if they are differently-abled in any way. It is the way the church should seek to greet everyone, says Hardwick, being observant and considerate to those with diverse needs. Some people, Hardwick states, do not need fanfare to welcome them to the church; they just need quiet acceptance.

Here, at this little church in Claymont where Allen and I sought comfort and refuge after the death of my husband, Allen belongs. He is accepted. He is loved. He embraces the older ladies who tell him, “You give the best hugs.” He high-fives the men. He helps set up and take down the coffee for the fellowship between services and he assists with any dinner or picnic.

Here, he is not seen as autistic. Here, he is just Allen.

He turns to me in the pew, the taste of the Communion bread still on his lips, and whispers, “I never know what to do with the napkin.” Then he slides it into his pocket.

And this small act brings tears to my eyes because he did not hand it to me.

He took care of it himself.

Have you ever realized how difficult Communion might be for those that have sensory issues or are differently abled? How does your church welcome and support those who might be different?

Widow Work

Deuteronomy 10:18: “He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing.”

This is a sad but true fact: 97% of married women become widows. According to Gitnux Market Date Reports 2024, 7000,000 American women become widows each year. Widows are 30% more likely to die within six months of losing a spouse. And 50% of widows report a decrease in social support within three months of widowhood. Sobering facts when we consider what the Bible has to say about widows:

  • Deuteronomy 10:18: “He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing.”
  • Psalm 68:5: “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”
  • James 1:27: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
  • Isaiah 1:17: “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.

     

    Ruth: God’s Love for a Young Widow — Grace Baptist Church

But just WHO is looking after the widows and their children? The US Census Department reports that the median income of widows over the age of 65 is $17,000 annually. Many women stopped working to look after a family and now face a life of near poverty without social support.

Wow.

I was widowed at 65 but couldn’t receive widow benefits until I was 66. Luckily, I had a job as a teacher and while the first few months were a financial strain, my son and I survived. But it was the lack of social support that was the hardest to accept. The church my husband and I had attended and served at for most of our marriage had a lovely funeral and luncheon. And then? Well, nothing. Oh, the occasional, “How are you doing?” but no real support. I found myself sitting alone in the sanctuary, Sunday after Sunday. My best friend moved away. I made attempts to approach other women. I even set up an appointment with the head of women’s ministries to talk about the plight of widows.

She canceled the appointment and never rescheduled.

So, 18 months after Ron’s death, I left the church where we had raised our children and sought a new place for myself and my autistic son. I knew then that something was incredibly wrong with the way the church and society treated widows. But I was still too raw with grief, too new at widowhood, to be of help to anyone else.

Support Groups for Widows - Heartache To Healing

And now? Now I am stronger. I have not only survived but thrived. I have found a new and wonderful life with my son and I look forward to the next season, which may well include writing for or helping widows.

This is one of my favorite websites for widows. A Widow’s Might: Daily Christian Devotion for Women (awidowsmight.org)

If you’ve been widowed or know someone who has, what did you want people to know? What did you need help with? For me, it’s not having someone who can advise me about who to hire for repairs!

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I’m Not Always Good at Being Mom

I yelled at Allen last week. I could blame the lack of sleep, the arm that ached from the latest COVID-19 shot, or my very full class schedule. But the truth is that I was out of patience with my autistic adult son. I’d explained innumerable times over the past two weeks why his car was in the shop. That I understood he wanted his car back. That I knew it bothered his routine that his car was not sitting out front. I was calm. I was aware of the synapses in his brain that took longer to process information because the rich club network had failed to pare down the pathways when he was young. I knew his inability to multi-task resulted in a dogged determination to hang onto one thing at a time.

 

But I was tired.

“When will my car be done?” he asked the minute I walked in the door from a long day at school.

“I don’t know. They’re waiting for a part.” I dropped my schoolbag in the dining room and headed up the steps to change.

“Why don’t you know?”

“Because I don’t. Because I have nothing to do with the part. Please, please, stop asking.”

He didn’t. “I just want to know when I’ll get my car back. It’s MY car. I should know that. Can’t you find out?”

I paused halfway up the steps. “No. I can’t find out. I’m busy all day. The mechanic will call when it’s done!” I finished my climb and, totally over it all, leaned over the banister and shouted, “Sometimes it’s really hard to be your mother!”

I saw the shock on Allen’s face: eyes wide, mouth open. I seldom yelled. I went into my room and, for good measure, slammed the door.

I needed a minute. One minute away from parenting this wonderful but challenging adult. Maybe two. I sat in the rocker in the corner of my room, kicked off my shoes, and rocked.

 

Here was where I’d rocked all my babies to sleep. Even Allen, my youngest. I remembered the feel of him in my arms, all 8 pounds and 15 ounces in a blue sleeper, snuggled against my shoulder. I closed my eyes, remembering his baby smell, sweet and powdery, the warmth of him as he slumbered.

I regretted slamming the door. His brain worked the way it did. It was just the way he was born.

I rocked a little more, each motion the memory of a hope I’d had for him. He’d been a docile baby, easy to pacify. He would have friends who would hang around the house and go to school dances together. He was long and tall. Perhaps he’d play basketball. I dreamed of a career for him, a girl who would fall in love with his beautiful blue eyes. Grandchildren I could rock in this chair.

Not this. Not still living with me at past thirty, only able to work part-time at Walmart because social activities and sensory issues fatigue him. Not a brain that worked differently and confused both of us. Not a father who’d died too soon. Tears fell onto my lap.

 

One more minute, I told myself. I’d go downstairs and apologize. I’d be grateful to God for who Allen was, not what he was not. The rocking soothed me. It would be alright.

There was a soft tap at my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I said quietly, continuing my gentle rock.

Allen slipped in, his large frame filling the doorway. His beautiful blue eyes glistened with tears.

“It’s NOT hard to be my mother,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

I continued rocking, remembering the early diagnosis of learning disabilities, the years of special education classes, and the later news of autism. “Sometimes it is,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m very good at it.”

He stepped into the room and sat on the edge of my bed, reaching out a hand and laying it on my knee. “You ARE good at it.”

I kept rocking, the door slam still echoing in my mind. “Sometimes I don’t  understand you.” I sighed.

He nodded and moved to the floor, where he rested his head on my lap. “I NEVER understand me,” he said. “At least you do sometimes. But you keep trying. That’s what a good mom does.”

We stayed where we were, rocking. He let me smooth his hair back from his forehead, accepting my touch. There’d been no rules to follow after the diagnosis of autism and my husband’s death. We did the best we could. We would just keep doing the best we could. There might be other slammed doors, other loud shouts, and other feelings of not being up to parenting this autistic adult.

But Allen and I are in this together. With his older siblings off to their own lives, and his father living in Heaven, we continue to function as a family of two.

With an occasional slamming door.

A Long Journey

The “Magi from the East” probably took the same path Abraham traveled from Ur to Canaan. Led by the Star, Eliot makes it clear with these lines that the three travelers could not choose the time of their trip. Who would have intentionally set out in the dead of winter?

Eliot noted that he wrote this poem very quickly. ‘I had been thinking about it in church,’ he told his wife, Valerie, years later, ‘and when I got home I opened a half-bottle of Booth’s Gin, poured myself a drink, and began to write. By lunchtime, the poem, and the half-bottle of gin, were both finished.’

The Book of Matthew is the only one of the synoptic gospels to include the visit of the Magi. Scholars argue that it is possible because of the declaration of “kingship” that these three foreigners bring to the Infant.

 

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Another interesting fact about the opening lines of “Journey” is that they are an almost direct quote from a sermon given in 1622 by a preacher named Lancelot Andrewes. Eliot puts the lines in quotations since they are not his original words:

“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.”

How could a Magus. traveling to worship the Christ Child, quote a line from a 15th-century preacher. It and the use of Biblical quotations the Magi could not possibly know add to the mysterious narration of the story.

 

REFLECTION: These few lines make it clear that Eliot did not find the road to salvation to be an easy one. How hard—or easy—was it for you to accept the gift of Jesus? Were you, unlike the Magi, prepared for the journey?

 

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A Cold Beginning

A cold coming we had of it, just the worst time of year for a journey.

 

TS Eliot’s journey to faith began with doubt. Just as many hardships challenged the Magi, many difficulties assailed Eliot as he attempted to leave his past life behind and seek spiritual truth. Eliot’s earlier works, such as “The Hollow Men”, refer to the afterlife as “death’s other kingdom” and imply that we are all living meaningless lives. But after converting to Christianity, Eliot’s works took on a more hopeful tone. “The Four Quartets” has been cited as being “overtly religious” while “Journey of the Magi” centers on the Birth of Christ and the meaning it gives to humanity.

Eliot always contended that he had no “conversion experience” but quietly became a believer.

REFLECT: While he considered his salvation a very private matter and kept this conversion secret, it had such an impact on him that he wrote a poem as an allegory. How do you honor and recall your own salvation?

PRAYER REQUEST

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