Revelation 3:5  All who are victorious will be clothed in white. I will never erase their names from the Book of Life, but I will announce before my Father and his angels that they are mine.

Breaking news: My seven-month-old grandson Caleb cut his top two teeth last week. He now has four! Not exactly a headline, you say? But I’ve excitedly told this to several people. Why? Because he is mine.

I watched Caleb on Thursday trying over and over again until by late afternoon he was able to push himself from his tummy into a sitting position. The next morning he performed this new skill with ease, and turned his focus toward mastering forward instead of backward movement when on his hands and knees . . .

Watching Caleb fascinates me. He’s doing normal baby things, but for me each new conquest is cause for celebration. Why? Because he is mine. Is he the cutest and smartest baby ever? Of course! Objectively, that question is irrelevant. Because he is mine.

I watched Caleb more than usual last week because his mom, my daughter Valerie, was studying for and taking her exam for certification as a critical care nurse. She now has more letters after her name: CCRN. She’s the best nurse in the pediatric ICU of Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. Is that objectively true? It doesn’t matter! Because she is mine.

Last month my son Dan graduated from the Metropolitan Police Academy in DC. He was the most charming and handsome new police officer participating in the graduation ceremonies. Objectively true? It doesn’t matter! I was proud to point out to the people sitting near me which one was my son. Because he is mine.

A woman I met at a church picnic Sunday said, “Oh, is Rachel your daughter? She has been so sweet and helpful to me.” I responded with thanks, but inside I was more than just grateful for the woman’s comment—I was proud to be linked to my daughter. Because she is mine.

This is how Jesus feels about you. And about me. He’s delighted to claim us. Because we are his, in a covenant of belonging and love.

Psalm 42:1, 5, 8; 43:2 As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God . . . Now I am deeply discouraged . . . But each day the Lord pours his unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing his songs, praying to God who gives me life . . . For you are God, my only safe haven.

I turned 15 the week before I boarded an airplane to live with a family I didn’t know. Our missionary kids’ boarding school in Guatemala only went through eighth grade, and after a year of doing ninth grade at home, my parents wanted me to experience “normal American high school.”

I recognized my new “foster mom” at the Kansas City airport only because she held a sign with my name on it. On the way to her house she drove me by the 2,000-student high school where my new “brothers” were practicing football. There were more kids on the field, wearing funny helmets and uniforms, than had been in my entire school in Guatemala, grades 1-8, where my class of five had been together for years.

The first evening in my new home, my foster parents explained to me that no one at my new high school knew or cared anything about Guatemala. I was to forget where I had come from, and as quickly as possible transform myself into an American teenager. I had no idea how to do that! How to dress, how to talk, what to talk about since everything I had experienced didn’t matter here, how to carry myself . . . . I didn’t know American music, or slang, or food, or anything about suburban middle class U.S. culture.

A week or so later, my first letter from home described a terrible car accident involving my parents and my four younger siblings. They were OK, but I suddenly realized that everything I knew, everything that made me, me—even my family—could be taken from me.

I went into my room, locked the door, and to the distress of my foster parents, didn’t come out for two days. For those two days I didn’t eat or sleep. I alternated between emotional paralysis and uncontrolled weeping, carefully muffled by my pillow and blankets so the strangers I was living with wouldn’t hear me.

Psalms 42 and 43 (originally a single psalm) were the words God used to bring me out of this crisis. “Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior and my God!” (Psalm 42:5, 11 and 43:5). Over those two days I realized clearly that what I had not lost was God. He was my safe haven. I determined I would put my hope in him.

During the next days and weeks of confusion and culture shock,  I learned what to do when “day and night I had only tears for food” (42:3): return to my safe haven; sing his songs through the dark nights. My theme song was “You are my hiding place . . . what time I am afraid, I will trust in you” (not Carol Cymbala’s song, which was written later). Again and again I cried, “Lord, I don’t know how to trust you! Teach me to trust you!”

God began building a habit in me at 15 that would literally save my life in the challenges of the years to come. His love poured out to me daily became a vital part of his covenant with me.

Genesis 7:24-8:1 And the floodwaters covered the earth for 150 days. But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and livestock with him in the boat.

I’m intrigued by this phrase. How can we use the phrase “remembered” to describe someone who never forgets?

“The Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on them in their suffering. Yet they say, “The Lord has deserted us; the Lord has forgotten us.” “Never!” [says the Lord]. “Can a mother forget her nursing child? . . . But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.” Isaiah 49:13-16

I bet, though, that during those 150 days trapped in that boat, Noah had moments of forgetting God’s faithfulness. I’ve been there.

In 2009 I needed to know God remembered me. Out of all the millions and billions of people who have walked this earth down through the centuries, if God didn’t remember me, I was toast.

I felt alone in 2009, as trapped as Noah must have felt inside that boat. I hit a wall; I had nothing left to give. Whipped. Done in. At the end of my rope.

Feeling desperate, I did something desperate. I left Karis with inadequate care. I patched together a Karis-care team without sufficient training or supervision or communication with each other. I got on a plane and flew a continent away from hospitals and IVs and meds and therapies and little sleep and relentless setbacks and crises.

In the confusion, Karis almost died. Could have died. And I lost a precious friendship.

But God remembered me, and the people under my care. In his mercy he preserved not only Karis’s life but mine as well. He gave me some rest, and a glimmer of new hope. The ability to come back and start again. To face what I had done, how I got to that place, and what I had to do next.

This is one of the promises that is part of God’s covenant with me, and with you:

He does not forget me.

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!