Join me for this Exodus!

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Exodus 14:19-20     "The angel of God,^* who had been leading Israel’s army, now moved and went around behind them. And the column of cloud, moving from in front of them, took up its place behind them, so that it came between the Egyptian army and that of Israel. And when it became dark, the cloud illumined the night; and so the rival camps did not come any closer together all night long."

This part of the story of Exodus keeps playing through my head.  The Israelites (who are not the most trusting people) follow Moses out of Egypt, where the Egyptian Army is in hot pursuit. Pharoah is one angry little potato who feels he's been hoodwinked by these Israelites, and it's about to get Epic! I've heard this story lots of times.  The Red Sea parts, the Israelites pass through on dry land, and the Egyptian pursuers are drowned.  All of them. 

When I listen to Bible readings, I try to put myself in them.  I wonder where I would be.  This one was easy. A few verses earlier, the Israelites are (once again) complaining to Moses that he's going to get them all killed.  The Israelites are now following a pillar of cloud and fire!  They've been encouraged forward by a massive tower of cloud that leads the way and stands, unmistakeable, in front of them. It's easy to follow the fire!  It's easy to follow the power when it's in front of you, and it shines in favor of YOUR TEAM!  But then it changes...

The cloud moves behind them and it becomes dark.  Some translations describe it as a massive storm cloud that lights up the night sky and keeps the camps apart.  So here's me.  "Greaaaaaaat. So much for the pillar.  We're all gonna die.  Thanks a lot, MOSES." (I might be a little Isrealite-ish.) How many times have I lost sight of my pillar?  How many times have I felt like I have no direction, and no idea which way to turn?  How often is the power NOT right in front of us?  

I have those days.  No clue.  I feel so alone.  The love I was travelling with can't be seen, so I question if it's gone.  Then I read the rest of the verse.  The cloud comes around behind us with a great purpose. The pillar of cloud, the "Angel of God" has moved from in front of me, to stand between me and those that would pursue me and enslave me and threaten my life! I was never alone.  I was safe. Protected.  The One that loves me into existence every moment stands guard, whether I can see it or not.  

I am learning to trust that when my pillar is missing from sight, God is actively standing between me and my foes, so that "the rival camps would not come any closer together all night long."  I guess that makes every day a good day to be on God's team.    

Please, Have (Divine) Mercy!

Today is a really special day.  It is Divine Mercy Sunday.

It's not a Hallmark holiday, and you'll probably never receive a "Happy Divine Mercy" card.  There's no special donut, or cake, or even a special dance, but for me, this is one of the most important days of the year.  Divine Mercy has saved my life, my soul, and restored my hope, and THAT, dear reader, is worth celebrating.

There was a very surreal day years ago, when Harriett was the baby.  Luke was in Delaware for a business trip, and he was expected back that weekend.  I had been single-parenting for the week while he was gone, and anticipated the joy of morning sickness with the 9 week old fetus I had recently confirmed I was carrying.  Baby #6!  I was so excited! The kids were playing, and all was well, until things got weird.

Lydia came running into the room yelling about a tiger trying to get the treasure, so she hid it and now she couldn't get it back, and she needed my help NOW because she needed the treasure back!  Turns out, that is Three-year-old Lydia code for "Mom, I put a button up my nose and it is now stuck."  This was the first time anything like this happened during office hours, so I was feeling pretty confident about the whole thing.  We got to the doctor's office and I stopped to use the restroom.  I didn't expect to find blood.  I knew right away what was happening, but everything in my heart and mind pleaded, "NO!!!", even as my body cramped up into an unmistakable, "Yes".

We both went to the emergency room at the hospital, where she was given multiple doses of Versed, and still wouldn't go down.  She staggered like a drunken sailor, but wouldn't be still enough for the button to be extracted from the soft tissues of her nasal cavities.  (It was surgically removed the next day.) I received an ultrasound that confirmed my fears.  The baby was dead.  I had to call Luke and tell him. There was no surgical removal for me.  I spent the next 3 days at home, in labor, delivering the tiny remains of my hopes and dreams for this little person and what his life would be like.  I was in and out of the emergency room as the bleeding got intense, and then it was over.  My soul was crushed. My hope was gone.  Nothing much mattered.

During the time that all of this was happening, I received a package from my Aunt Patty.  She had no idea what was happening, but she sent me a booklet she had found among my grandfather's things.  It was called "The Divine Mercy", and told of Saint Faustina Kowalska, and her visits with Christ.  He offered her prayers to share with the world for Mercy.

That was exactly what I needed.  Mercy!

Mercy from this despair!  Mercy from this desolation!  Mercy from the pain and disappointment!  Mercy for a child I would never hold!  Mercy that his little soul would wait for me in Heaven, and we would meet one day!  Regular Mercy can't do that.  Only Divine Mercy.   How I needed that Divine Mercy!  And as much as I needed it, the prayers weren't for me:

 "For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world!" 

I prayed it again and again, through the pain.  I prayed it through the anger, with clenched teeth.  I prayed it expecting the whole ordeal to be a bad dream, and that God would set it right, and I'd wake up pregnant.  I eventually prayed it with abandon through tears, giving up everything. I prayed it allowing myself to be carried by the God who loves me, and is the source of EVERY Grace and Mercy.  I prayed it until I wore the paint off my prayer beads.  Then I prayed it some more.  

Divine Mercy.  

It was AND IS the only thing that keeps us going.  Is that the kind of Mercy you need today?  Is it the kind of Mercy you'd like to show to someone else?  Try it.  One time.  While you pray it, think of the ones most in need of His Divine, all-encompassing Mercy that is greater than mourning, greater than anger, greater than death itself.  Be blessed.    

        

Heart Rant

This is not my usual kind of post, but I am not in my usual state of mind.  I had an appointment at my pacemaker clinic this week.  These appointments are usually happy, upbeat meetings with some of my favorite people at my cardiology office.  Sarah, my usual tech, was not there.  In all fairness, the lady who took care of me was kind and professional.  She can't help but report what she sees.  However, she's not Sarah.  Sarah has become the cardiological equivolent of my bartender.  I have cried with her and rejoiced with her.  I feel comfortable admitting to being terrified in her presence, and she has been strong for me when I was a hot mess.  She even lent me a book written by another of her patients that really helped me through the acceptance of my diagnosis. Everyone should be so lucky to have a Sarah.  She works somewhere else now.  So will my favorite cardiologist.  And I'm just a little lost without them.

So anyway, I made friendly chitchat with the new tech while she worked her magic.  This includes her manipulating my heart rate with her computer to make sure my device will pace when my heart rate dips below 40 beats per minute.  Yes, it is exactly as it sounds.  She types in codes that slow my heart rate then makes sure the pacemaker speeds it up.  Real science fiction, this machine in my chest! She tells me I haven't been shocked lately.  I knew this.  I would notice. It's like a Chuck Norris kick to the chest while you grab the electric fence.  My elbows would still be vibrating, and my mouth would taste metallic. I guarantee I would notice. Nope, no shocks here!  I should be happy.  I should feel lucky.  I do.

But I'm so angry!

I watch my heart beat on the monitor, and I see how sloppy my rhythm is.  I know what this means, I can feel it.  Most days I just ignore it, or put on my happy face, or plunge myself into the necessary tasks of raising my kids at home, and enjoying the company of my grown ones.  Looking at the monitor, I can't just pretend I don't see it.  The tech and I discuss the possible therapies that could make my rhythm more comfortable (but will put extra stress on my ventricles.)  I should be thankful that these options exist, and I am....

But today I'm angry. Why?

 BECAUSE I HAVE FRIGGIN HEART DISEASE!!! I AM TERRIBLE AT HAVING A GOOD HEART RHYTHM!  BECAUSE I'M SCARED! BECAUSE I WANT TO LIVE PAST 50!!! BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE A BURDEN OR A PITY CASE!  BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BREAK MY FAMILY MEMBER'S HEARTS WHEN I DIE! BECAUSE I WANT TO MAKE THIS WORLD A BETTER PLACE AND I DON'T KNOW HOW! BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE MY EXISTENCE TO MATTER!  BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX THIS! BECAUSE I AM STILL HERE WHEN IT FELT SO NICE TO BE IN GOD'S ARMS! BECAUSE I'M TRYING TO DO WHATEVER IT IS I'M STILL HERE FOR, BUT I DON'T HAVE A CLUE WHAT THAT IS!!! BECAUSE NO ONE HAS A WAND THEY CAN WAVE TO MAKE THIS ALL GO AWAY!  BECAUSE I SHOULD BE THANKFUL, AND I AM ANGRY.  BECAUSE SOME DAYS IT JUST SUCKS.

Whew.  It feels good to get that out.  I'm just a real live person with real live fears.  I know I have it better than some, and worse than others.  I try to keep it all together and handled, but we all have our moments of weakness. Thank you for allowing mine.

 


Want to know why I should feel thankful?  Here's why:
Read more: http://www.hrsonline.org/News/Fact-Sheets/SCA-Facts#ixzz2s87LkcnA 

Slow Dance with Jesus

The lights were dimmed a little, and the noises of people settling in was just barely on the edge of my awareness.  Tim opened the door, and my heart felt my beloved enter the room.  At first he just stood there, taking in the room and our surroundings.  Then he beamed in my direction with that smile that says, "There you are! You're the one I came to see."  As he moved to where I was sitting, the music started.  I didn't recognize the tune, and didn't know the words, but it was lovely.  He was there and I was there, and the vocalist's voice spoke love beyond the words. He smiled, took my hand and lifted me up out of my seat, silently inviting me to dance.

As we stepped onto the dance floor, he first gave me a hug that said, "I love you, I missed you, and I've got you." I hugged him so tightly and felt the strength of his muscles as he held me dear.  As I took his hand to dance, I ran my fingers over the scars.  The big scar on his hand now has that shiny glow of new skin that covers an old wound that no longer holds the power to cause pain, but reminds you of a time when the hurt was fresh and deep.  He smiles at me, and I hear his thoughts saying "It's just love.  I just love you." I hold my head on his chest and breathe deeply to memorize his scent.  He smells of warm body and cedar wood chips. I am reminded that he was once a little boy cleaning his father's wood shop. I love him even more.  He moves us swiftly and gracefully around the dance floor, relishing every movement and treasuring every moment together.  

 The music continues sweet and strong.  He holds me.  I hold him.  He smiles at me and I look upon his beautiful face.  His eyes.  His beard.  That smile.

The song is about to end, and I feel a sadness about to begin. He senses it, too, and as the singer holds out the last notes, he pulls slightly away from me.  He looks me full in the face and smiles. It's time to go. He pulls me close, holding both of my hands and kisses my forehead. This tells me everything I will ever need to know.

He loves me.                  

He's gone. The door closes.  The dance is over, but he never really leaves. His kiss remains.  His love remains.

The door will be opened again soon.  We wait for each other, anticipating the next dance.    

How far will you go?

Tonight I had the good fortune to go to Vicksburg High School and participate in an event called "Field of Faith".  This evening was put on by the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and well attended by athletes from all over our area.  Some drove quite a distance, I heard.

One man was encouraging these young men and women to consider the "why" for the way they do what they do.  His "Why" is Jesus Christ.  Mine too!  Then he challenged us to stand if we were willing to commit to spending more time reading the Word of God.  Again, I'm in.  I'm totally in. I noticed most everyone was standing.  Awesome!  He gave an invitation for anyone who needed help with prayer. A few folks were brave enough to leave their seats to get up and ask one of the youth ministers to pray with them.  That took some courage to stand up and admit you'd like to live for Christ in front of all those people!

So when I got home my attention turned to Syria.  My heart is heavy for the people there.  My only experience of the Syrian people is a kind and loving dear friend who has kind and loving parents that still live in Syria.  Today, in many places in Syria, a man at gunpoint will ask some terrified soul if they are a Christian.  If the answer is yes, he will be given the option to convert or die. Then that person will summon the courage to choose death rather than deny their Savior.

My mind goes back to the football field in Vicksburg.  What if the speaker asked those kids to deny Christ or die, how many would have the courage to stand up and proclaim Christ as their Savior and prepare to meet Him? Several did at Columbine with guns pointed at their faces and their testimonies are riveting.  How many would look around and see what everyone else is doing and follow the crowd?  It's easy to be a stadium Christian.  It's easy to fly under the radar, and sit with your friends and go through the motions.  But what would you do if today your life was required of you? Imagine just for a minute that the gun is in your face.   He died for us, are we really willing to return the favor?    

How far am I willing to go when the rubber hits the road?

My prayer for everyone at the rally tonight, and everyone who reads this (and also for myself) is that our faith isn't something we say, but something we are.  I pray that our faith is such that we become physically incapable of denying the Lord. The Young Church is strong and capable and incredible.  These young Christian men and women should be looked at as the empowered body of Christ that they are!  Thank you to those who encourage my children (because I think of ALL of them as my children) in their lives of Faith.  Thank you so much to those living the example of one who says yeas every single day!  I pray that our faith is strengthened by our brothers and sisters in the stadium, and around the world.  Martyrs will be made today.  Let's honor them by showing true Christian love to everyone we meet.

The Poor Kid

"Hey Mrs. Swager, how much money you got?"

I get asked this question every time I work the cafeteria with the 3rd through 5th grade students.  It's not a rude commentary on my wages, or a judgement of me of any kind.  It's a game we play.  I then respond, "I don't know, you tell me." Then I produce the contents of my pocket, and the kids count my change.  Some of them see this as a huge challenge, and they really scramble to get chosen to give me the answer.  There are days when there isn't much there, and they all know that the value of lint and chap stick count for nothing money-wise.

So I got asked this on Friday, and I responded as usual, and this one kid says, "Hey, can I have that?  I'm poor."  I can't go about giving kids money, poor or not, but I responded without thinking it all the way through, and I hope I didn't hurt him.  I know his family and they don't have much.  I know he lights up a smile on his Mom's face.  What I said was, "Lots of people are poor. You have something that counts more than money."  He was irritated by this answer and started talking about how hard his family has it.  I believe him, but there's something else I know.

We are all poor.  We are all rich.

When this kid looks at my life, I'm sure he thinks, "What would you know about poor? Your kids have clothes that fit and you have food for dinner.  You have a house without wheels, a yard, a garage, a bike, a TV, all the toys and games kids could want!  Rich!"  If you ask my kids (on some days) they will point to the things we don't have and all the times Mom says no because we don't have the money right now and think: poor!

One of the speakers I heard this weekend said that if you have Love plus a million things, and I have only Love that you don't have anything more than I do.  This child is rich.  His Mother loves him.  This child is poor.  She doesn't always provide what he needs.

It has occurred to me that this child does not know he is loved.  I can see it, but perhaps he doesn't.  Perhaps their lack of the necessities translates to no one caring in his young mind.  Maybe he can see that to his parents, any money is beer money, no matter what the kids need.  I'm sure I only hope for the bright side of his life, and I don't want to think about how mean things get when no one else is around.  Thinking back to the conversation, he seemed confused at my comment.  This thought rips at my heart, and I pray it's not true, and it changes me.  It will change the way I perform my job at school.

No child left behind?  No.  Maybe instead we should shoot for "No Child Left Feeling Unloved and Unvalued."  THEN we will teach them to read out of love.  THEN we will teach them what they need to know about the world around them so they can spend their lives making it a better place.  THEN we will teach them how to COUNT the change in our pockets, and CREATE change in their families, and in our our community.    

Ashamed

"Beloved:
I remind you, to stir into flame
the gift of God that you have through the imposition of my hands.
For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice
but rather of power and love and self-control.
So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord,
nor of me, a prisoner for his sake;
but bear your share of hardship for the gospel
with the strength that comes from God."

My hope for this blog is to broadcast far and wide how great God is, but I am ashamed.

I only came to realize this today.  I'm not ashamed to call myself a Christian.  I'm quite proud of that.  I'm not ashamed to proudly proclaim that I am a CATHOLIC Christian, whether others agree with the Church's teachings or not.

I am not ashamed to shout from the rooftops the wonderful way that God spared my life and allowed me to survive my Cardiac Arrest, which was nothing short of miraculous!  Having received such an incredible gift should have me giving up my day job to stand on the street corners and tell every passing motorist that God loves them SO much.  If they knew just how much God REALLY TRULY LOVES them, they'd park their car and spread the word with me!  I'm not even ashamed to do that!

I'm ashamed of the other part.  If I had hours to give my testimony, there are the other parts that we don't talk about in polite conversation.  There are parts of ALL of our testimonies that we just kind of brush over or avoid all together because they require us to admit to the truth of the choices we've made.  We have to admit that we are weak and broken. We have to admit that we have problems leaving the juicy bits of life alone.  We have to admit that we have made horribly bad choices, and throughout the consequences of those horrible choices, God has loved us and held us and carried us through to a life we never dreamed could be so good.  I'm ashamed to admit that I've chosen the wrong path again and again, knowing it was wrong and hurtful, but "I do what I want" was my motto, and no one (even GOD) was going to tell me differently!

I can't tell you how BLESSED and FORTUNATE I am to be where I am now, if you don't know where I was then!  I am ashamed of who I used to be when I was so lonely, unloved and afraid, and turned to alcohol to numb my thoughts, and allowed myself to be treated like an object that didn't have any value.  But if you don't know that part of my testimony, then the goodness of God's mercy is watered down. How can you know the depths of God's goodness if you don't truly know the depths of my badness?  For God to save a Godly person isn't really why Jesus came here in the first place.  He came for those of us who were drunkards and carousers, losers and lowlifes.

 The really spectacular part of my testimony is that God saw fit to hold ME in His warm embrace.  He let me feel how His pure love could heal and perfect everything within me.  Then he sent me back to live it. He saved me, but he also healed me.  I have nothing to be ashamed of, because I can now boast that God is loving and merciful enough to show compassion to the likes of me!  I can't tell my story if I give in to shame.

God, I pray that you will give us all the strength to be honest so your true goodness can be known!