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If God’s Love Is Unconditional, Why Isn’t It For Me?

Good News From a Leaky Pen

Today’s blog writer is Marian Humphrey who wants to share with us how she came to be a child of God. Thanks for sharing your journey with us!

There is no fear in Love, because perfect Love expels all fear…( 1 John 4:18)

THE LOVE TEST

Typing Love with a capital L in this scripture was no mistake.  Love is Jesus’ essential name because that’s the core of His nature; and He is the only one who can get rid of anyone’s fear.  I “speak” that boldly, because throughout 44 of my 83 years of life, I have tried all sorts of schemes using my own imagination as an atheist, and eventually thinking there might be a spiritual world, so trying out several gods who failed the love test before meeting Jesus and experiencing His “brand” of unconditional love over time.

My “other god” exploration ended abruptly when I was totally freaked out by a death threatening–allegedly “good witchcraft” meditation –while alone in my house.  That was 39 years ago when I felt desperate for a miraculous healing, so I invited myself to go to a friend’s church since healing took place there. I told her, “It seems since each human is unique, this thing, this spirit works differently with each one.  The methods I tried for fixing myself were not the ones for me. “ 

When folks were called up for healing at the church, the pastor said, “Jesus can heal anyone, but while you’re up here, if you want, you can accept a personal relationship with Christ.” 

 I thought, “This ritual is this religion’s custom, so I’ll repeat after him at his request.”  In my mind I was not hungry for God but for a quick fix; I was just following their rules like I did when experimenting with other gods. 

A FRESH NEW BABY

God knew what I was really seeking because I went home healed of my ailment and born again! I was a fresh new baby with a new heart. Even my husband noticed a bright new look in my eyes, one sign that Jesus is who He says He is. Thus began my perfectly joyful, problem free life in Christ as He was now in me as I was in Him, just as the Bible says in John 15:4 and other scriptures. Right? 

Somehow, I got the message life would now be a cake walk, as if I was now “fixed”.  After all, I was learning that Jesus had deposited love, joy, and all good traits in me when I invited Him into my heart and His love casts out all fear. I thought I would be in constant ecstasy with God.  

Of course, my joyful testimony about my new life would make my family and friends want to jump on my bandwagon.  What a shock to find that was not so!  In fact, I made those I loved the most think my God must be some sort of freak and with alien rules, as I preached and begged them to follow my lead so they wouldn’t go to Hell. After all, notice how righteous I had become.  I even suddenly insisted on changing the rules in our family, like no more Halloween after years of homemade costumes and plenty of candy.  All that was supposed to accept my loving God.

No one told me right off the bat, just as a new born baby, spits up, yells, and gulps down tons of milk and is very needy for constant care, so a new babe in Christ needs continual guidance by mature Christians and by hearing and studying God’s word.  It wasn’t clear to me that though I was born again with a new spiritual heart, my mind, my will and my emotions needed time; lots of time.  In fact, a whole lifetime to change, to grow up into maturity to be more like Christ. That’s just like a kid who has to grow with time and training to become a mature adult. 

THE HONEYMOON IS OVER

Experiencing the reactions I was getting from those I was hurting with my untamed power caused me to believe more in the old worthless image of myself than in the new person developing in me. The honeymoon with God was over.  My brand of brokenness had me struggling for years with retaining that joy that comes only with knowing just how much God loves me. If I wasn’t thinking and acting perfectly, then He had a right to be standoffish in a ready -to-punish- me-stance, I thought.   How could I come unabashedly into the lap of a father who might cast me off?  How could I truly rest behind His armor, His breastplate of righteousness and abandon my own defenses if I wasn’t good enough for His protection?

I felt for years needy to borrow other peoples loving faith in God and their listening ear to help build my trust in God. I was one of those who wasn’t “quickly getting over myself” so I was setting myself up for more feelings of aloneness. 

FINE TUNING MY EARS

Fortunately, at last I have that ongoing sense of joy and peace that comes with knowing that in all circumstances and all times God continually loves me even in all my moods and doings.  Because of my struggles, I am more determined than ever to meet each person I encounter with love and acceptance right where they are with encouragement.  That motivates me to allow God to fine tune my listening ears and loving heart through leaning into His still small voice or accepting His discipline.  

I always loved the first 2 sentences of the 1 John 4:18 scripture that began this message, but ignored the last one I left out.  It is often stated, “The one who fears God’s punishment is not made perfect in love,” which seemed to confirm how hopelessly worthless I was.  Now I understand it means that the fearful person has not yet “grown into a sufficient understanding of God’s love” (AMP). 

May we all continue to be encouraged and encouraging of each other to grow perfectly united in Love as the body of Christ! 

 

Have You Prayed for Your Pastors Today?

Musings from a Musician

By:  Valerie Pilkington

I just keep doing my best, pray that it’s blessed and Jesus takes care of the rest!

“But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31 NKJV). 

A few weeks ago I was signing in at the welcome table, and picked up a refrigerator magnet with the quote, “Have you Prayed for your Pastors Today?”  and I paid special attention especially to the benediction Pastor Amy gave, The Lord bless you And keep you... etc. WE HAVE ALL BEEN BLESSED for the coming week, a special prayer blessing right from the Throne of God HIMSELF.  For I will pour water on him who is thirsty, And floods on the dry ground; I will pour My Spirit on your descendants, And My blessing on your offspring. (Isaiah 44:3 NKJV).  Oh, may we always be thirsty for God’s WORD. 

Do we realize how much our pastors do for us,  and how they give their lives away?   Amy, as our Shepard and  preacher,  and our example of love for our congregation, cares about each one of us, and it shows.  Jeff as our Holy Ghost preacher uses Joy and enthusiasm as he preaches and prays,  and Cliff as our evangelist leader,   has the calling on his life to seek and save those who are lost;  let us go get the lost.  

Does anyone else remember the cards that Pastor Amy passed out to all of us?   There are 3 “ x 8” cards to keep in our Bibles,  with references such as:  Everyday Prayers for your Spiritual Battle,  Prayers of Repentance, Prayers for the Prodigals,  and many other titles.   

One such card is:  Scripture-Based Prayers to Pray for Your Pastor.  I love these cards:  this one has specific categories, to pray over our pastors,  such as Victory, Protection, Priorities and many more. I believe we should pray these over our pastors,  but  I noticed that there was no category for Rest and  Refreshing in the Holy Spirit. We all need this Rest and Refreshing,  especially our Pastors who take care of us and point us to Jesus, and send us out into the world around us.  (If you want a card, this is located in the hall between the main entrance and the nursery, go pick one up).  

I found some wonderful scripture on the rest and refreshing:  

  • And so it was, whenever the spirit from God was upon Saul, that David would take a harp and play it with his hand. Then Saul would become refreshed and well, and the distressing spirit would depart from him (1 Samuel 16:23)
  • He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. (Psalm 23:3)
  • The Lord grant mercy to the household of Onesimus, for he often refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain; 2 Timothy 1:16

 Even Paul needed this rest and refreshing.  Not to  mention as I pray for someone,(and  sing over them),  I also get from the Holy Spirit,  PEACE, JOY and an overabundance of God’s LOVE, and yes a Refreshing comes into my soul.  

Do you really want a refreshing?  Please listen to :  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnC7z03QkEM.  If the link does not work, please look up The Blessing, by Kari Jobe on You Tube. The lyrics are primarily taken from passages of Scripture: the priestly blessing of Aaron in Numbers 6:22-27 

  • The Lord bless you  And keep you  Make His face shine upon you  And be gracious to you  The Lord turn His  Face toward you  And give you peace  Amen.
  • May His favor be upon you  And a thousand generations  And your family and your children  And their children, and their children  May His presence go before you  And behind you, and beside you  All around you, and within you  He is with you, He is with you  In the morning, in the evening  In your coming, and your going  In your weeping, and rejoicing  He is for you, Amen.
  • “The LORD your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”  (Zephaniah 3:17).

Let’s pray and sing over our Pastors, the REST and REFRESHING comes on us ALL.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

Before my husband’s death in 2019, many of our holidays were spent in hospitals or emergency rooms. Despite the locale, we counted on Jesus to keep our hope alive. This post was originally published in December of 2014.

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Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.
“No. Your past.”

 

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST


The Ghost of Christmas Past greets me at the doorway of the Emergency Room. Instantly, I am catapulted back to other holidays spent in hospital, waiting for tests or surgeries or hope. The waiting room is almost vacant, and decorations of pink and purple hang on the artificial pine tree and from the ceiling. They are cheerful colors, but lack the warmth of traditional Christmas red and green. “Happy Holidays,” says the guard who takes my purse and asks me if I am carrying any knives or guns.

“Merry Christmas, ” I respond. “I am sorry you have to be here today.” She shrugs and beckons me through the metal detector while she rifles through my purse for contraband, then nods at me. The Ghost of Christmas Past, not used to such newfangled technology, has waited for me on the other side and joins me in my walk down the corridor I know only too well. Another urinary tract infection has sent Ron to the hospital early this morning and he now awaits a CT scan. Bah, humbug.

Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit’s eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me.

Christmas Present is waiting at the house. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, and the kids–all grownups–are coming at 3:00 for supper. I could call them and tell them not to come, of course, and they would understand. But life goes on. The lessons learned from the last fifteen years assures us of this: a holiday celebrated in hospital is still a holiday. And my grown-up offspring have not all been in the same place at the same time since October.

Ron is relatively cheerful. The morphine infusion helps. There are times I wish I had one. He may or may not be home in time for dinner. In the meantime, plans will go on. I will, as usual, balance it all out. I leave before he comes back from the CT scan. I will check back later to see how he is doing.

There is no parking charge today, a Christmas gift from the good people of Colonial Parking. I have probably paid enough in parking fees over the last fifteen years to warrant my own VIP spot. On the drive back home, alone, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come hovers over my head; is this, then, what my life is doomed to be like? Will I forever be trying to outrun the shadows of Ron’ illnesses?

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME

“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed downward with its hand.
“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Scrooge pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.

Back home, Allen and I turn on some Christmas music and start dinner, trying to keep our own Christmas spirits alive. Allen wishes for “just a little snow” to make it look more like Christmas, but we agree that Christmas is more a feeling than scenery. “Sometimes,” says my son, “people act more like Scrooge.” And as I prepare the potato casserole for the oven, I think this over.

For those who have never had 9th grade English, let me give you a brief lesson. Ebeneezer Scrooge is the protagonist of Charles Dickens’ 1843 story, “A Christmas Carol,” an essay written for the dual purpose of paying off debts Dickens owed to his publisher and bringing to public attention the plight of the poor in Victorian England. In fact, while Christmas has been celebrated since the fourth century when Pope Julius I chose December 25 as the day to mark the “Feast of the Nativity,” it was Dickens’ story that shaped much of our Christmas traditions of today, such as “goodwill and peace to all men.” Since the publication of  “A Christmas Carol”, the story has never been out of print and has been adapted for 22 stage productions, 2 operas, 4 recordings, at least 10 radio broadcasts, 49 loosely based TV show adaptations and 20 film versions. “Carol” is a story of redemption, of the ability of one man to remake himself with the help of supernatural beings. Dickens himself was not overly religious in the traditional sense and the birth of Jesus as the reason for Christmas is only referred to in Bob Cratchit’s comment about Tiny Tim:

“Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.

The story of redemption is prevalent this time of year; just look to the black and white Hollywood classics to see what I mean. Beginning with “Penny Serenade” in 1941, all the way through 1946’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” and ending with “Miracle on 34th Street” circa 1947, the story of redemption through the elusive Christmas spirit is clear. We may all, as Allen observes, act a little like Scrooge at times, but with a little help from our friends–even supernatural ones–we can change.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT

And this is what carries me through another Christmas Day, waiting for a call from the hospital, humming Christmas Carols as I spike the punch bowl. (Hey, spirits can help in more ways than one.) Redemption is possible. Change is possible.

“What’s to-day?” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
“Eh?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
“What’s to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge.
“To-day?” replied the boy.  “Why, Christmas Day.”

“It’s Christmas Day!” said Scrooge to himself.  “I haven’t missed it.  The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like.  Of course they can.  Of course they can.  

There is always, then, hope. The Scrooge who exclaimed “Bah, humbug!” to nephew Fred’s invitation to dine is replaced by the man who  “knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.”

Redemption of any kind does not, Ebeneezer reminds me, depend on snow or presents or turkey dinner or the date on the calendar. It depends on how we view and hold Christmas and all its meanings forever in our hearts. It is purposeful; we make the choice to keep it, or not to keep it.


“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!” Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed.  “The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.  Oh Jacob Marley!  Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this.  I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!”

May all of you keep Christmas forever in your hearts!
Even in hospital.

Pocket Prayers

By Linda Waltersdorf Cobourn, EdD

 

Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. (I Thessalonians 5:18 NIV)

An Unexpected Call

My cell phone rang, interrupting the presentation I was giving in my graduate class. I looked at Dr. Beeghly apologetically. “Only my kids have this number,” I said. “And they know I have class tonight. They would only call if it was an emergency.”

My instructor nodded. “Take it in the hallway.”

I felt my heartbeat quicken as I stopped out of the classroom. Ever since my husband’s car accident several years ago, emergency phone calls had punctuated my daily life. I had learned to live with the storms.  I pushed the answer button and said, “Hello.”

“Mom,” said my daughter Bonnie, “we’re at the Emergency Room. Dad’s incision opened up and started to bleed. The doctor says it looks bad.”

I forced myself to remain calm. I got the information from my daughter, ended the call, and walked back into my classroom. Quietly, I approached the professor.

“I need to leave,” I told her. “My kids have taken my husband to the hospital.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll finish my presentation next week.”

Well aware of Ron’s health issues, Dr. Beeghly  said,  “Go take care of your family. And you have your A.”

I quickly gathered my coat and book bag and left Radisson Hall. Crossing the quad to the parking lot, I began reciting Max Lucado’s “pocket prayer.”

God ,you are good. I love you. I need help. Please handle this. Thank you.

 

A Night at Sea

Ron’s frequent hospitalizations often left me feeling as if I was in a violent storm with no end in sight, and as I headed towards Crozer Chester Medical Center that night, I recalled the story of the Apostle Paul in Acts 27. Despite the violent seas that threatened to end the lives of all on board the ship, Paul insisted that thanks be given to God. While the Nor’easter beared down on them, Paul urged the sailors to eat and keep up their strength for what was going to be a long night. He took bread and “gave thanks to God in front of them all. Then he broke it and began to eat “ (Acts 27:35, NIV).

The ship survived the night. When morning came, land was spotted and the sailors tried to run the ship aground but were prevented by a sandbar. All aboard, including the prisoners, were instructed to jump overboard and swim. All 276 souls survived and made it to the beach. 

Paul’s prayer was not a magic formula for success. He offered his prayer in the midst of dire circumstances. He didn’t need to be thankful for the storm or the possibility of drowning. He needed to be thankful for God.

LISTING MY THANKS

As I pulled into the parking lot of the Emergency Room, an all-too-familiar setting, I listed what I could be thankful for. I had no idea how Ron was doing or what was happening to him, but there were things I DID know.

  1. Bonnie and Allen had been home when Ron’s incision split open.
  2. Bonnie had a car and Allen was able to help get his dad into it.
  3. My kids knew what to do in an emergency. They did not panic.

And I, too, knew what to do in an emergency. 

God, you are good. God, you are great. I love You. I trust You. I need help. Ron needs help. Thank you for handling this.

I had no idea what awaited me beyond the doors of the hospital but I did know that I could continue to trust and thank God for His presence in this latest storm.

ALL THE TIME

As Pastor Cliff pointed out to us this past Sunday, we don’t need to thank God for the storms of our lives. During the long years of Ron’s illnesses and surgeries, it never occurred to me that they were things I needed to be thankful for. But I did–and continue to–thank Him for His abiding presence in my life, the strength He gave me to survive so many of  life’s storms, and the love for my husband that continues three years after Ron went Home to Heaven.

In all things, we can thank God. Just because He is God.

 

A PILGRIM’S PROGRESS (PART IV): ENDGAME

After this, I beheld until they were come into the Land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Pilgrim’s Progress, John Bunyan

Allen adjusted the telescope and aimed it into the northern section of the night sky. “It’s somewhere up there,” he said. “I read about it. There’s a whole big space up there where there’s no planets or stars, but there is gravity. Scientists say it’s where Heaven is.” He peered through the lens. “Just think, Mom. That’s where Dad is right now.”

“That’s true,” I told him. “Dad is part of that great cloud of witnesses the Book of Hebrews talks about. He’s watching us, knowing that one day we’ll join him.”

“That’ll be great!” says Allen. “I’ve missed him. I have a lot to tell him, but I guess it’s stuff he already knows because he can see us.”

I nod my head in agreement and look up at the starry sky. Is Heaven an actual place? Or is it a spiritual plane? It doesn’t matter to my son, a young adult with Asperger’s Syndrome. The acceptance of his father’s death was a journey that took eight months; his easy way of talking about Ron now, with joy and not sorrow, was our endgame.

An endgame we should all be aiming for each day of our lives.

Paul Bunyan’s group of travelers in A Pilgrim’s Progress had many trials on their way to Beulah Land, enduring loss and hardship before they finally arrived at the deep river that separated them from their goal. Each person had to make the journey across on their own. With the encouragement  of Hopeful, his companion, Christian is able to make it to the other side and arrive at the gate, fully transfigured as he enters eternity.

“Dad won’t look the same,” my son reminded me. “God gave him an all new body because the old one was really sick.” He frowned. “It was terrible what Dad had to go through. I’m glad he’s not sick anymore.”

Tears began to form at the corners of my eyes. Ron’s long road to Heaven had been difficult on all of us as we tried to heal the injuries caused by a careless truck driver and find some cessation to his physical and emotional pain. “No,” I said, “in Heaven there is no more pain. No more suffering. Dad is well again.”

This is the truth that has guided Allen to this point; his dad no longer suffers. Ron’s long road ended at the gates of Heaven.

Allen packed up the telescope a half hour later, putting it in the carrying case. “I didn’t see Heaven,” he said. “But that’s alright, because I know it’s up there. And I know Dad is there.” He sighed. “Dad made it to Heaven.”

It’s the endgame, isn’t it? The reason we struggle and wrestle and continue to plod upward, one step at a time. Even if we don’t see it, we know Heaven is there. We know the sun is shining there, night and day. Each day, we come a little closer, knowing that, “Our salvation is nearer than when we first believed” (Romans 13:11, NIV).

The great orator Jonathan Edwards wrote in 1733: “Resolution One: I will live for God. Resolution Two: If no one else does, I still will.” As Christian found in his journey to the Beulah Land, we each must walk our own path.

Here are six suggestions from Edwards to help us on our path:

  1. Trade Earth for Heaven.
  2. Travel the road that leads to Heaven.
  3. Seek strength for the journey from God.
  4. It will be a long journey.
  5. Act always like a citizen of Heaven.
  6. Make Heaven your priority.

Allen carried the telescope  up to the porch. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe in things I can’t see.” He casted one more look up at the sky. “But it’s easier to believe in Heaven because now I know Dad is there.”

I gave my son a quick hug. “We’ll see him again.”

Because that’s our own endgame. 

A PILGRIM’S PROGRESS (Part III): A NEW JOURNEY

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)

 

I was worn out from teaching all day and trying to take care of all of Ron’s needs, so in January of 2019 I began the lengthy process of enrolling Ron in the County Agency for Seniors and Aging (COSA). Eventually, Ron qualified for 77 hours a week of nursing care and we moved him and a hospital bed into the dining room since he could no longer walk up the stairs. While the aides were not always reliable, their presence did allow me some breaks away from spousal caregiving. One Friday  night in July, I kissed Ron good-bye, told him I loved him, and drove to Rehoboth Beach with my daughter Bonnie to visit my 91 year old father.

We walked the boardwalk, listening to the roar of the ocean, enjoying this too-rare respite, when I made a confession to my daughter.

“I don’t know how long I can go on doing this for your father,” I told her. “I’m exhausted. This could go on for another twenty years. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Always the voice of compassion, Bonnie put her arms around me and said, “God knows how tired you are. You will do it as long as you have to do it because you have always counted on God for your strength.”

We left Rehoboth around 7PM and arrived at my house about 9:15. While she usually said good-bye to me at the car, this time Bonnie came in to say good-night to her father. 

And we found that God had called Ron home to heaven. 

Dennis, Bonnie, Allen, and I were unprepared for Ron’s sudden death, but we knew that his suffering and pain was at an end. My heart had a giant hole in it that God needed to fill.

The years of serving in the mission field of hospitals had come to an end. God opened up a brand new chapter in my life, and set me on another journey I had never expected to take. My youngest son Allen, an adult on the autism spectrum, could not grasp the finality of his father’s death. The week after Ron died, Allen informed me that the trees  in the park were whispering Ron’s name and saying that Ron was still alive. 

Allen was convinced we needed to find his father.

There is very little research about how adults with autism react to death. Lacking information and aware that Allen needed to prove to himself that his father was now in Heaven, we began a search for Ron that led us to parks, and beaches, and rivers, and railroad stations. One night we even set up a telescope in the front yard so Allen could try and find the location of Heaven. 

This journey took eight months and while Allen looked for places where his father might be, I began to remember Ron as a young man, long before he became so ill. Eventually, Allen came to understand that while his father was now in Heaven, both God, his heavenly Father, and Ron, his earthly dad, still loved him. And I was able to say a proper good-bye not just to the sick man Ron had become, but to the funny, loving, and wonderful man he had been. I chronicled our grief journey in my blog, and recently completed a book called Finding Father: A Journey of Faith on the Autism Spectrum. My hope is that any who read this book will know that there are many ways to grieve. God accepts them all. 

I am on a new journey now in my walk as a widow and as the mother of an adult on the autism spectrum. Part of that journey led Allen and I to the Church of the Atonement in Claymont, Delaware, and to share our story of grief and healing with others. Along with writing the weekly blog for Atonement and sharing our lives on my blog on Substack.com, I long to help others tell their own God stories. 

The journey I shared with Allen was unique, but God hears the echoes of our hearts.

All of them.

“Write all the words that I have spoken to you in a book” Jeremiah 30:2

A Pilgrim’s Progress (Part II) For Better or Worse

I met Ron when I was 20 and continued to endure the painful cornea treatments. We married a year later, postponing my return to education yet again.  By our 19th year of marriage, I’d borne three children, had two cornea transplants, and earned my BA in education. The last feat was accomplished only because my husband went to my college classes for the first two weeks and recorded the lectures since I was recovering from my second transplant. For better or worse, right?

 I was happily teaching at a small Christian school and I thought I had found my mission field. I’d even started working on a graduate degree. But my usually cheerful husband, Ron, began to have problems with depression and was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder. That began a round of mental hospitals–very foreign places to be–and  led to a long stay in Friends Hospital in Philadelphia the summer of 1999. We’d been studying the Prayer of Jabez in Sunday School, so I counted on God to enlarge my territory (I Chronicles 4:10). I was led to a Quaker school in West Chester with the offer of a salary that would support my family.

It had been a long road, but Ron was recovering from his battle with depression when on his way home from work on March 1, 2000, his car was broadsided by a truck driver running a red light. The damage to Ron was immense: his chest was crushed, his lung was punctured, his liver was damaged, his spleen was ruptured, and his left arm was almost severed. He also suffered a traumatic brain injury.

 Ron was in the hospital at Crozer-Chester Medical Center  for 10 months and there were many times during those ten months that I wondered if I would have the strength to go on. There is a long corridor at Crozer between the parking pavilion and the hospital. Every afternoon after school, I would lean against the wall and feel as if I could just melt into a puddle. I would pray for the strength to just make it to my husband’s room. I would recite Isaiah 41:10 and ask God to uphold me. I’d  feel a surge of energy that kept me moving ahead. The hospital became my new mission field. Ron’s room was always decorated with cards from my students and as much cheer as the kids and I would provide, even a small Christmas tree. Again and again, plans for Ron to come home were thwarted by another emergency surgery or a mysterious infection.

I feared he might never come home.

But he did. We were even able to celebrate our 25th anniversary by renewing our vows in a beautiful service. Ron tried to return to work, but his energy was depleted and physical problems still existed. He developed chronic regional pain syndrome, which spiraled him back into depression. Over the next 20 years, Ron was hospitalized 46 times for both physical and mental problems and had 36 major surgeries as we tried to repair the damage done by a careless driver. 

No matter what hospital Ron was  in, we found a way to witness to others. My daughter and I would bring our knitting projects to wait out the many surgeries, and always someone would come over to talk to us and we could share our belief in Jesus. During one long stay at Eagleville, a doctor asked me this question: How have you continued to stay with your husband through all of this? And I told him, “I made a vow to both Ron and God. I do not take it lightly.” The doctor told me, “You must serve a big God.” 

Yes. I do. And He is good. All the time.

Even when the worst happens.

A PILGRIM’S PROGRESS (Part I): Seeing is not Always Believing

 “But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7, NIV)

 

I was raised in a Christian family, although we did not always attend the same church. My mother was Catholic and my brother and I went to mass with her on Sundays and attended catechism classes on Wednesdays. My paternal grandmother was Methodist, so when we visited her on weekends,  she took us to Sunday School. My father hardly ever attended church unless there was a wedding or when my brother and I made our First Communion.  I always felt there should be something more than the prayers I learned and recited from my little white missile.  Through most of my early school years, I wanted more than the same rote prayers. I needed something to believe in.

In high school, I found some friends who were Baptist  and I started attending Sunday evening services with them. The Baptist church was much different than the Catholic Church! I could just talk to God without an intercessor or a specific prayer.  At an after-school Bible study, I accepted Jesus as my personal savior and desired to follow Him. My favorite verse at the time was I Corinthians 12:22, “ For as in Adam all died, so will all in Christ be made alive.” Christ had made me alive!

Like many of my high school friends, I thought God might call me to the mission field. I went on my first mission trip when I was fourteen, ministering to children on the beaches of New England with the Children’s Sand and Surf Mission. I liked teaching and I was good at it. I could become a missionary teacher! The mission field God ultimately called me to was not in another country, but was just as foreign.

After high school, I went to Millersville State Teachers College, preparing for where God would send me.  I found myself walking into walls, tripping over sidewalks, and dealing with constant headaches. At Christmas break, I came home and drove my dad’s car into a telephone pole I just did not see. My concerned  parents took me to Wills Eye Hospital in Philadelphia where we were told I had a rare and painful genetic disorder called keratoconus that was slowly destroying the corneas–the clear coverings–of my eyes. The corneas of the eyes should be curved, but mine were forming points and flaking away.  Without proper treatment and eventual surgery, I could lose my vision. 

I was nineteen then and books had always been important to me;  the threat that I might become blind meant I would lose the ability to read and never be able to teach. I needed to leave Millersville and return home so I could be at Wills Eye Hospital every week while a series of hard contact lenses were inserted into my eyes to hold my corneas together. 

The hard contacts were over-sized and painful to wear. They severely limited my vision, but they did seem to be helping my corneas to conform to a cylindrical shape. After a year, I was able to go back to college part-time at West Chester Unversity. My vision remained distorted, but I told myself that spiritual sight was more important than physical vision. I took heart from the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who said, “Seeing is not always believing.” 

I still desperately wanted God to use me as a teacher , even if I needed to use a magnifying glass to read my books, even if I needed to learn Braille, even if it took longer for me to attain my degree.

I had no idea just how long that would be.

 

A New Name

By Linda Waltersdorf Cobourn, EdD

 

“To them I will give a new name within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters, I will give them an everlasting name that will endure forever.”  Isiah 56:5

 

I am wrung out with emotion. Today, eighteen months after my husband’s death, I have moved our queen-size bed back into the spot beneath the double windows where it had been until the day he died. On that awful night, I’d shoved his side of the bed against the wall, piling pillows around it to fill the empty space. I slept on my side, facing away from the void. 

I am stronger now, I think. Ready to move the bed back. I have found a new life for myself and my autistic son; I have written sixteen chapters of a book I hope will impact the way people view autism and grief; I have dared to envision a life without Ron.

But after I move the bed back and rearrange the pillows, I collapse onto the bed and cry. I have moved into a life without my husband. The knowledge holds both joy and sorrow. When my tears are spent, I get up and look at the room we have shared for 44 years. It is my room now.

Maybe I’ll paint it.

Evening comes. Allen and I eat and play a board game, a new routine in our life of two. We watch an Avengers movie while I knit. We talk easily of Ron, how he cheated at Monopoly and loved Iron Man, how his smile was slightly crooked and he yelled at the television set.  Allen’s acceptance of Ron’s death took time and patience. Ron is not forgotten. I think of the Egyptian proverb: You are not dead as long as someone remembers your name.

We remember.

I have said goodnight to my son; he gives me the rare hug he saves for bedtime and follows me into my room where he plops down on Ron’s side of the bed.

“You moved it back.”

“It was time,” I say and he nods. He grabs a pillow from Ron’s side and holds it to his face.

“It still smells a little like Dad.”

“A little,” I agree. I have washed the pillow and enveloped it in a new case, but sometimes I think I still detect Ron’s lingering scent.

“Can I sleep with it tonight?”

I shrug. “I guess. Something wrong with your pillow?”

“No,” he says. “I just sort of want to be close to Poppa tonight. I thought it would be nice to sleep with his pillow.”

“Alright.”

Happily, he gathers the pillow in his arm and squeezes it, then rises from the bed and walks towards the door.

“Allen,” I say, “you’ve never called Dad ‘Poppa’ before. Why now?

He turns back to me, this man child who only knew an ill father. “Well, Mom,” he says, “Dad has a new life now. He’s not old and sick anymore because God gave him a new body and took him to Heaven.” He grins. “And I thought Dad’s new life deserved a new name.”

An everlasting name.

 

RSVP: I’m Coming

“When one of those at the table with him heard this, he said to Jesus, “Blessed is the one who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God.” (Luke 14:15 NIV)

 

I nudge my son and whisper, “What do you think?” He looks around at the wooden pews, the stained glass windows, and the wooden cross up at the altar. 

“I like it,” he says. “It’s calm here. I can think.”

I give a sigh of relief. God had led me to a church where my needs as a recent widow and my son’s needs as an adult on the autism spectrum could be met. Here there are no flashing screens with neon letters, no loud bands on the stage, none of the sensory explosions that trigger Allen’s meltdowns.

Here we can worship.

It is a sorrow to me to realize that in the Jewish customs of the Bible days, Allen would have been excluded from the Temple. The poor, the sick, the maimed, the disabled–including those with neurodiversity–would not be welcome. In “Disabilities in the Bible ”, (Bible Odyssey, 2022), Henning explains the standard of “bodily normativity” and its relationship to religion. The blind and the lame could not enter the Temple (Samuel 5:8) and a woman without children was considered “barren” and likewise excluded (Deuteronomy 23:1). Even King David’s desire to honor the family of King Saul could not under the law give a royal title to Mephibosheth, who was crippled in his feet (2 Samuel 9:3).

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.

That’s exactly what my son found on his first visit to the Church of the Atonement in Claymont. Those who offered to shake his hand did not look askance when he simply said “Hello” or nodded, disliking physical touch. No one commented that his hair was uncombed or that he was wearing his favorite sweatpants. No one ever has. And in that quiet acceptance, Allen has been able to grow both socially and spiritually. He serves as a greeter at services, does clean-up on the hospitality committee, and has joined the Young Adult Group. He’s even started returning handshakes.

We’ve been at Atonement a little more than a year now. Allen and I have both found a home here. He has now included Pastor Amy as one of the few people he will hug. One day, I asked him why she had joined the select group.

He thought a moment, cocked his head to one side, and said, “Well, Pastor Amy’s sort of like you. She understands me.”

Isn’t that what we all need?

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