Genesis 6:17-18 [God said to Noah] “Look! I am about to cover the earth with a flood that will destroy every living thing that breathes . . . but I will confirm my covenant with you.

When she was 16, Karis believed God made a covenant with her. It consisted of a promise and a prophecy. From then on she viewed her life through that lens. She called it “being in cahoots with God.” She made decisions and indulged in what many of us who loved her and cared about her safety considered recklessness. She seemed to have no fear.

I didn’t know about the promise and the prophecy. When I learned about them and their influence on Karis’s life through reading her journals, I finally understood the bedrock of Karis’s choices and attitudes.

As time went by, though, the circumstances of Karis’s life seemed to contradict the promise and the prophecy. Nothing worked out as she anticipated. She experienced one loss after another after another. It seemed God was destroying everything she cared about and hoped for. Had she really understood God? Or were the promise and the prophecy products of her romantic teenage imagination?

To find out, read Karis: All I See Is Grace when it comes out in August!

(That was a shameless plug for my book!)

But I am challenged to think: What is God’s covenant with me? How have I seen him confirm it, even when circumstances seemed contrary? More about that in another post, because I want to give you time to think about these questions for yourself.

Jesus mediates for us a far better covenant with God, based on better promises . . . Hebrews 8:6

I haven’t slept well for many years. My mind doesn’t turn off. I go through the night in a mix of dreams and partially awake trying to solve problems or make things happen in my dreams. I’m usually unsuccessful in the problem solving, sometimes losing control of the most simple things. I’m sure psychologists would have fun diagnosing all kinds of things about me based on my dreams!

Along with that, I’ve gotten into a habit of playing games on my laptop in bed as I go to sleep. Life doesn’t always work out the way I’d like during the day. Ha! So playing games that I can usually win is a nice way to wrap up the day. When I’m too tired to keep playing, I go to sleep.

I think there’s a connection between the games and the difficult nights. And a lack of connection with Debbie and with God.

So, over-all not finishing my days well and not sleeping well.

BUT GOD!

He’s so incredibly patient! Normally, he seems to wait until I’m ready for change before he steps in. Another way of putting it is that he seems to limit stepping into my life until I ask.

Last Monday I asked some dear friends for prayer ministry. I listed a number of areas they could pray for related to ministry and other good things, along with my need for deliverance from the above. They focused on the latter. God took me into a place of resting, pretty much synonymous with abiding and with waiting on him. It was a precious time! It included laying on of hands and anointing with oil.

Four nights have passed. Blessed nights. Nights of rest. No computer games before bed. I have both a conscious and an unconscious sense of resting. Of being at rest. Each night has been quite different, but all of them have been characterized by resting and by enjoying God. My dreams have been blessed, even sometimes humorously lighthearted, encouraging.

I am incredibly grateful for God stepping into my life in such a tangible way, meeting me where I need him, bringing Psalm 23 to life yet once again. Thank You, Lord!

Memorial Day of 2014, we made the decision to move from Baltimore to Pittsburgh. What? And Where? Can anything good come out of Pittsburgh, the depressed steel city? Even though I knew it was the right decision for many reasons, the thought of leaving our lifelong friends and church community was heart-breaking! I still remember the sad feeling of pulling out of our driveway for the last time on July 31, 2015 with my girlfriend driving and our dog in the back seat headed to our new home. I knew two people in Pittsburgh that I could call on if needed, but it felt so lonely!

The beginning of a new adventure happened in September at a “silent retreat” of just eight women, one of which was my girlfriend from Baltimore. During meal time we were able to talk and converse and I met Mandy, a young doctor’s wife like myself. She invited me to an every other week Bible study of doctor’s wives called Side By Side. How likely is that for me to meet another sister in Christ who understands the ups and downs of being married to a physician at such a small retreat? Little did I know how God was already moving.

Not only is there a daytime Side By Side group, but also another group of young moms who meet in the evening. Immediately, I had at least 30 young women who became very dear to my heart! Only God could have orchestrated this as I didn’t even know such a ministry existed! God blessed me more than I could have imagined or even asked for! These young ladies, who are in the earlier days of marriage and raising children alone with a husband who is in demand, are my new community. We do life together, side by side, encouraging, praying, worshiping, crying and all that life demands of us as doctor’s wives. It can be a lonely life, but what a gift from the Lord that we have each other! And it only took six weeks.

Hebrews 1:8-9 But to the Son God says . . . “O God, your God has anointed you, pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else.”

In Karis’s journals I discovered that she believed God had poured out the oil of joy not only on the Son, Jesus, but on her as well. In high school she was captivated by the expression “oil of joy.” Here are three sample quotes from her journals:

Mar 22, 1998 (age 14) Yesterday the joy-oil that’s deep down in my pan always just started sizzling and popping and pretty soon boiled over. One of those moments when I WISH I had a gloriously beautiful voice to praise You with  . . . I understand that, somehow, the pain is there to make me strong. I know how Your joy can be strength. How I can go to school and work and talk and laugh even when my body says “Go lie down OR ELSE!”

                Mar 26, 1998 (age 14) I didn’t write to You yesterday, Father, because I was too sick. It hurt so much that I rolled up in a ball and cried. . . I wasn’t happy. In fact it would have been very hard to smile last night. But I was so covered to the ears in that peaceful kind of joy that You give me, and I felt as though I had a glimpse of heaven. My joy-oil wasn’t sizzling or boiling over, but it was very, very much there. It was the most beautiful time.

                Sept 4, 2000 (age 17) Joy is a constant presence, like oil inside me: sometimes a silent lubricant, sometimes sizzling and popping to the surface. God, You are with me—that is why I smile. I wonder if my friends understand our secret, Yours and mine. Of how I am safe in Your arms, how I watch You work around me, how I thrill to be with Your beloved people, how we talk, joke, laugh together, rejoice in being.

I am writing this post the day after Trinity Sunday, the day we celebrate and think deeply about the relationship between God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Yesterday I came to this passage from Hebrews as part of my daily Scripture reading, and  the timing gave me goosebumps. We are allowed to listen in on an intimate conversation between God the Father and God the Son. Just so, Karis’s journals invite us into her intimate conversations with her Father. I am so grateful for the vision of Jesus, more full of joy than anyone else in history, and of Karis, blessed with joy despite her suffering.

How good You are, Lord!

More than two decades ago we had a dog named Cleo who I would take out for a walk each night via our usual route. The sidewalk next to the street sloped down. Across the street the land was uphill. The land next to the sidewalk was level for a few feet and then sloped steeply downward. No residences were on either side of the street. Some distance into our walk I unleashed Cleo. Shortly thereafter a small group of high-school boys came down the sidewalk. I thought I should go over to leash Cleo. As I squatted down to gather her leash one of the boys came up behind me and shoved me down the hill. I tumbled down head over heels. I quickly climbed back up and yelled at the boys, adding that my glasses were lost. The pusher ran off, BUT GOD motivated the others to search for and find my glasses. They also apologized for their buddy’s action. I was about to give them a robust thank-you, but Cleo barked. They abruptly hurried away. What I learned was that if some one (or few) in a group does or says something nasty, not everyone is necessarily partner with the wrong; some might be kind, generous, good hearted.

In 2 months I will be 80 years old. I don’t feel old and I never thought that added years would bring dramatic changes to my life. I was healthy, my mind was clear, and I was able to live happily and quite independently. One morning, overnight, all of that flew out my window.

I got out of bed and had body tremors that rendered me unable to function as I had only the day before. I was terrified. I had so much fear I thought I could not contain it. I could not control the shaking and I sat in my apartment by myself not knowing whether or not I wanted to live. My head was shaking with such force that my hair flew before my eyes with each turn. I thought of how owls can spin their heads nearly 360 degrees without moving their bodies. I waited a couple of days before saying anything to anyone thinking it would all go away. It didn’t.

My shaking legs and arms woke me at night. My shaking head made it impossible to drink water except from a straw. Texting brought phone calls from grown children. My daughter said “Have you talked to God about this? Maybe, just maybe you could tell God you accept this condition that He has sent you.” Those words raised a panic in me that maybe this condition would never go away. And then I thought about my surrender to God. I knew if the surrender meant anything at all, this was a time to put it in action. My daughter’s words were a perfect reminder.

The next day I read my meditation books that inspire me each morning. I prayed. I told God it was all OK. I said to him I could live with this and if he wanted to take me this way, that was OK too. I didn’t realize until I said those words to God that I meant it in my heart. My whole body relaxed a little. I knew I would be OK. I felt a comforting connection with God. Ease and comfort surrounded me like a blanket.

My daughter flew from Florida to help me. My daughter-in-law flew in from Washington State. Like God’s angels, friends called and wanted to help. Arrangements were made for services designed to aid seniors to live independently. I saw several doctors. I tried different medications. I became like a robot, almost, going from here to there, listening but not always hearing. I followed directions, but didn’t necessarily connect with reason. I stayed in motion as I was directed, but the tremors continued to demand all my attention. In one doctor’s office I began crying uncontrollably and could not stop. The days marched on like the desk calendars where a page gets ripped off only to find another day underneath.

Each morning I said to God “Thank you for sending this help. It gives me hope. God, I’m not well yet in the way I want to be, but I have great faith today that everything will be okay and that You are guiding my life the way it is supposed to be. You are opening new worlds to me. You ease my fears as I gradually surrender and have faith.” I didn’t always believe it fully but I said it anyway. I knew that God was the only reason I could be present each time a calendar page changed. The family help, the doctors, the medications, whirled around me like a merry-go-round that wouldn’t stop, but I knew God’s hand was on my shoulder and I would be OK.

Romans 1:18, 2:4-11 But God shows his anger against all who suppress the truth by their wickedness . . .

One day I was walking home with my kids from their school in São Paulo when we witnessed a theft. A short distance in front of us, a young man grabbed a woman’s purse and took off with it. In a flash, my young son Danny took off after the robber, but his shorter legs were no match for the robber’s long ones. When I caught up with Danny, he was shaking with anger at the injustice of the situation and his helplessness to do anything about it. We circled back to the distraught victim, and Danny offered her his allowance. His pennies didn’t concretely solve very much for her, but I bet she has never forgotten his generosity and his anger on her behalf.

A similar thing happened one beautiful sunny afternoon on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro. My parents were visiting us, and after seeing the major tourist sites in Rio, we relaxed at the beach. Dave and the kids were swimming, my dad was taking pictures of them from the shore, and I sat chatting with my mom on a blanket further up on the sand. Suddenly from every direction a gang of teenagers armed with long knives swooped down on us. One grabbed my mom’s purse while several others knocked down my dad and pulled his wallet from his pocket. They all pounded down the beach, with Danny and my husband Dave in hot pursuit.

Having seen the knives at close range, I was relieved that Danny and Dave didn’t catch the robbers!  As they ran, the thieves pulled and tossed from Mom’s purse and Dad’s wallet the things they didn’t want—pretty much everything, other than money and credit cards. Danny and Dave picked things up out of the sand as they ran, including a number of quetzal bills (the currency of Guatemala, where my parents lived), which the thieves didn’t consider worth keeping.

This time, I was the one shaking with anger. Stealing is one thing, but knocking down an old man in order to do so is another. The violence was totally unnecessary to their purpose.

In my work with sexual abuse victims, many times I was flooded with anger at the perpetrators and the damage they caused. The only way I can handle all of the violence and abuse and injustices I have witnessed and heard about is to remember that God cares enough to be angry when he sees people intentionally hurt each other. Unlike us in the stories I’ve mentioned, he CAN and WILL do something about it. And in his wisdom and compassion, on the day of judgment, he will judge wisely and fairly, taking all the factors into account. At that “but God” event, the world will be set right!

P.S. Interestingly, this month our son Dan graduated from the Metropolitan Police Academy in DC!

Sometimes I can feel very alone in life. That no one is really looking out for me. But God surprised me this week when I went outside and found that my back yard was full of forget-me-nots and violets that I had not planted.  God had prepared a field of flowers for my heart.

“And I will satisfy the hungry with good things…”

Psalm 31:22 In panic I cried out, “I am cut off from the Lord!” But you heard my cry for mercy and answered my call for help.

A friend invited us to participate in her niece’s wedding. So Dave and I and our four young kids traveled many hours over rough roads to a remote village in the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais. We stayed in the bride’s modest home; seventeen of us in a two-bedroom cottage!

Rain poured down, so the passel of kids chased each other through the house, around and between and over the cement furniture. (Yes, all the furniture in the house was made from cement blocks!) Their games threatened to upset the ironing board and the aunts cooking the wedding feast and the bride packing her honeymoon suitcase. Every time someone went in or out, rain blew in. Our five-year-old Rachel, in hot pursuit of another child, slipped on the muddy floor and cracked her head against the cement sofa.

Rachel wailed from the pain of her injury, of course, but even more distressing, the concussion blinded and confused her. The bleeding and swelling within Rachel’s brain prevented her from realizing I was right there caring for her. Panicked, she threw herself around, crying “I want my mommy! I need my mommy!” as I tried to calm and comfort her. All the way to the nearest hospital I held her and tried to soothe her with my voice, singing to her as tears streamed down my own cheeks.

I remember this story at times when I feel hurt and panicky, cut off from the Lord’s care. Bad things do happen, and sometimes in the midst of the shock and pain, like Rachel, I can’t find the Lord. I can’t see or feel that he is right there, loving me and providing for me. Sometimes later on, in prayer, he has given me the gift of seeing that he was right there with me, and the excruciating wound of abandonment has been healed.

Rachel and I missed the wedding, and our family stayed in Minas Gerais an extra day while she was in the hospital. But the tender care of the nurse nuns at that sweet little Catholic rural hospital, the medications and rest, brought Rachel back to us, and brought me back to her—or rather, brought back her ability to know that I was there with her. I cherish the memories of those hours and days when my entire focus was my precious daughter. Lord, thank you that you do hear my cry and respond to my call for help, even when I am not capable of perceiving your presence.

Gen 2:16 Then the Lord God planted a garden in Eden . . . [He] made all sorts of trees grow up from the ground—trees that were beautiful and that produced delicious fruit . . . The Lord God placed the man in the Garden of Eden to tend and watch over it. But the Lord God warned him, “If you eat [the tree’s] fruit, you are sure to die.” Gen 2:8, 15-17

One day in São Paulo a woman clapped at our door (a Brazilian substitute for ringing a doorbell). As I walked toward the door, my nine-year-old daughter burst into the living room yelling, “If you let that woman in, I’m running away! This is not a home; it’s a ministry center!” Valerie pounded up the stairs and slammed the door of her bedroom.

Enticed by the pleasure of serving, giving, caring for the many needs around me, I was saying too may yeses to people outside of our home, and thereby saying too many no’s to my own four children.

The price became too high for me, too: I came within a breath of emotional collapse. But God warned me through Valerie. And he intervened through mission leaders who placed me on a ministry sabbatical. For six months I was allowed to care only for myself and for my family while I studied books like Cloud and Townsend’s Boundaries and Swenson’s Margins. I began to know God as his daughter, not just his servant.

Slowly, as the sabbatical was extended from six months to twelve to eighteen, I learned to say yes and no more appropriately. “No” protects not only me, but also those who have the first call on my heart’s resources. There is not enough of me to go around for all the needs I see around me. And when I try to live beyond healthy limits for me, I die, emotionally and spiritually if not literally.

“No” is not a dirty word.