Sit

 Sit with Me, child. 

But God, I’m too anxious to sit. 

Sit with Me, child. 

But God, surely there is 

     something to do

     somewhere to go

     someone who…

Sit with Me, child.  

You are the someone.  

Sit with Me.  

Stay with Me.  

Let yourself be loved. 

Let yourself be... 

     

ER Sit 10/18/19

9:15 a.m. phone call at work. (My last day with my employer before starting a new position elsewhere.)

Mom was being taken to the emergency room. After calling my manager to see if she would extend my last day with the company to October 21, I drove to the hospital.

She was awake and aware, and expressed guilt about interrupting my workday.

What could be more important than this?

A-fib and low blood pressure. A tricky medical situation that scored us a room in ICU. Not at all what I expected.

Jewels

My mom strings her memories on a figurative necklace, and I continue the tradition.

The jewels of 2015 included:

January
We visited our dear friends, Sharon and Michael Mbabazi, in Uganda. Time spent in homes of their friends and family, worship and commissioning service at Deliverance Church Mukono, and a three-day safari to Paraa Lodge in northwest Uganda made it the perfect way to learn about the culture and beauty of this African nation. God gave us a rainbow at Murchison Falls National Park.

July

I had the opportunity to spend several days in Colorado with my sisters-in-law. We had daily devotions together, relaxing on the deck. We laughed and cried as we talked about what God has been doing in our lives. How gracious God is to give me seven beautiful sisters in Christ! And who could forget the HATS at Glen Eyrie teatime?

August
We welcomed our third grandchild, Elizabeth Lynn.

October
My oldest nephew, Noah Alexander, helped me finish my first marathon. Couldn't have made it without Bruce, Jerry, Jef, Sara, Lizzy, Phil, Katie, Charlie and Allie cheering me on at the 17-mile mark! (Thanks, Jerry, for the sign - "Eats miles for breakfast!" It's a long way to run for a banana.)

he's.back.exclamation!

I told Bruce he had to stop the car and let me out.

Because I saw Don standing by the AFC house.

He's back.

***

This was my challenge awhile ago, to learn the names of the men and women who sit on plastic molded lawn chairs on the front porch of the Victorian house around the corner. Because when the Pharisee asks, "Who is my neighbor?" it smacks of being nice only to those who are like me.

I felt a little scared at first. I started with saying "Hi" and smiling when I saw Don on the sidewalk. Sometimes he shuffled with his head down as if counting the cracks in the sidewalk. Other times he was dressed in a heavy coat despite the warmer weather, carrying a stack of folded clothes.

One day I said, "Hi, my name is Susan - what's yours?"

We never had a long conversation but I learned that he walks to the Clark station every morning for a large bottle of Pepsi. His thick winter hat was knitted by his sister-in-law, Toni. And he really enjoyed the big canister of assorted popcorn that I gave him for Christmas.

One day, he was gone.

And the next day. And the next.

As days turned into weeks, then months, I wondered and prayed. "Dear God, please keep Don safe. Please help him wherever he is."

***

Bruce stopped the car. I got out and ran down the block.

"Don, it's Susan! I'm so glad you're back!"

Ah, so good to shake the hand of my friend and see his smile again.

He had been in the hospital, and when I told him I'd prayed for him, he said he thought that probably helped.

As I turned to leave, Richard shouted from the park across the street, "HI BARBARA!"

But that's a story for another day.

Thanks, God, for bringing Don back. Let me bring Your light to him.

Now.it's.you

It's strange, grief.

He looked me in the eye and said, "He's gone. Now it's you."

I felt the catch of breath and filling of tears. Three words. "Now it's you."

It's the weight I've felt, the sense of responsibility for leading the family even before he died. It came with taking on their bill paying, advocating for him during hospitalizations, watching to be sure that she wasn't overdoing it in her role as caregiver.

It never felt right from the sense that the roles flipped. Parent became child and child, parent.

It was right, though. It was love in action, and who better than his child to love him in that way? Who better than his wife to love him through the final years?

With my birthday coming, I feel the loss more acutely. On the gray, drizzling Tuesday one week out, I cried most of the way to work.

It's this simple: he's the guy who witnessed my first day in this world. He's the guy who taught me to ride a bike. He's the guy who was proud of me, who I could always count on. He's the guy who told me it was the best sermon he'd ever heard preached, the day I first spoke at church. He's the guy who came to hear me again last summer, when he was so exhausted from the debilitating illness that he didn't think he could make the 45-minute trip.

And he's the guy who always sang "Happy Birthday" with Mom on my birthday, his tenor harmonizing with her soprano - giving his dry comment, "There she goes" when she dissolved in tears partway through.

This year, there will just be a sweet soprano.

And someday there won't be a sweet soprano. (Though I hope that's a long time in the future.)

Then it will be fully true.

"Now it's me."

mothers.day.

(Brief thoughts originally posted on FB)

I'm not a birth mom. And it's Mother's Day.

I've been blessed through the years by women who shared their children with me…To name just a few... Patty Reitzel shared her son, Jonathan Reitzel as well as her other children. I have many memories of time spent with Jon… Marilyn Hendricks shared her daughter, Sharon Mbabazi, now grown up, a dear friend and soul sister. By marriage, I have the stepsons I dearly love - Jef, Phil, Jerry. And their wives - Sara, Katharine, Candice Norcross. My sister-in-law, Deborah Zimmerman loans the BoyzZ out (it's a win-win for all, as she gains adult time with my brother). And of course, now I add Katharine Szabla-Fennema who entrusts us with Charlie!

These are just a very few… And so I offer this witness to say that God has fulfilled his word. He has given me children - children of my heart.

For those of you who are longing for children… May God bring you the birth children - but may you also have eyes open wide to see the children of your heart.

Noah.The Movie.

Sadness. That's what I've carried this week after leaving the movie, "Noah", before it ended. (There was more going on with me that just a bad movie, but that's for another post.)

The essential message of the Bible account was lost somewhere between the gigantic stone fallen angels and the evil king, Tubal-Cain, hacking his way into the ark to stow away.

The movie's message was: God wanted to destroy mankind because of its evil behavior and return the earth to the animals because of their purity and innocence. Noah tells his sons that each will in turn bury the elder folk until Japheth alone remains - until he, too, dies.

The Bible account is about three pages (not burdensome to read and study) - and while the moviemaker needed to fill in the gaps to make a two-hour movie, it's difficult to understand how it went so far off track. Had it been billed as a science fiction or action movie, I would not have these issues, but pretending that the movie is a historical account? Let's tell the story that God tells.

God wanted to destroy mankind because of its evil behavior. Genesis 6:6-7

God was sad about this and found a righteous person and his family to save. Genesis 6:8-10

God instructed Noah to build an ark, and brought Noah, his family (including his wife, sons and their wives), and the animals into it. Genesis 7:11-16

God makes the water recede and then blesses Noah and his sons, and places the earth under their authority. Genesis 9:1-2

God makes a covenant with Noah that He will never again destroy the earth with a flood. Genesis 9:12-17

That's good news. We can count this all joy.

bees.be.

I walked to the patio and heard the low hum.

Bees.

Busily moving here and there in the tree overhead that shades my chaise. They moved incessantly, restless as the anxiety pulsing within me.

Regret.

I didn't carve out time for what I craved on this vacation. Time to think, write, rest. Did I truly crave it, then? Isn't it easier to be busy than to be?

"Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God. (Psalm 46:10a)

the dream

I find that it's hard to get out of the shower. The warm water and its sound soothe me.

I expected to cry more, but I haven't. Other than Christmas Eve, which was hard; and a couple of weeks ago when I had a difficult day at work and the tears began a slow glide down my cheeks.

I expected to cry more, but you see, it was such a long good-bye. Five and a half years. Watching his world shrink from world travel to trips to dialysis. Seeing his body dwindle so that I stooped to hug him. Noticing the frailty of his shoulders as I hugged him.

It didn't come as a huge shock when Mom called at 5 a.m. one morning to say, "Honey, Dad's gone to heaven."

And there were so many, many things to do. There was a memorial service to plan and decisions about the music and the scriptures and eulogies to write and thank you notes afterwards and seeing the lawyer and figuring out how to make the insurance claim and suddenly weeks had gone by and I am just beginning to understand that he is really gone, that he has been gone for a long time because of the illness and what it took from him. But. He was there and there was the fact that I was always his daughter.

The first dream came last night, a dream of him and Mom and the elation that I felt when Mom said they had prescribed a new medication that would give him more energy. There was new light in his eyes and greater strength in his voice. They had come to hear me perform with an orchestra; I had come out to see them at the car, then went back inside to wait. And wait. And wait. Fifteen minutes until curtain and I heard the orchestra begin.

I went outside and saw Mom coming up the walk (pushing a bicycle?) and went to see where Dad was. She followed me to the sidewalk and we saw him fall at the edge of the curb. I was shouting and he got up. Confused, he staggered into the first lane of traffic. He fell again. Still shouting, I watched helplessly as he got up, reeling, and stepped into the next lane of traffic as a car turned left into that lane.

I woke up. It was unbearable to watch.

I woke up to the reality that he is gone.

The one who believed in me.

The one who cheered me on.

Gone.

Until we see each other again.

Wiedersehen, Daddy.

new.year.new.word.

Before morning coffee, I am typically bleary and incoherent.

That's why it was so unusual to have the following thought drop into my head, clear and fully-formed - as I woke on New Year's Day:

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him." (Romans 15:13a)

I've never been a New Year's fan. Maybe it's because we always went to visit friends on New Year's Day, where we had a buffet meal including ham (which I dislike) and watched football (which I don't understand).

In recent years, I've come to appreciate the day because I'm looking for a new word, a next word - from God. I have expectancy and anticipation - what will He do this year?

The clarity of the scripture verse stayed with me. What was the word God intended? Was it "filled"? Was it "overflow"? Neither rang true, and I could not share the word until God settled it for me.

This morning, I asked again - what is the word? Hope, I sensed in my spirit, confirmed with tears. Why tears?

For years, I struggled with depression, anxiety, pessimistic thoughts. If things were going well, I believed I had God's favor and love. If things didn't go well? Then God must be displeased with or disappointed in me. It was a flickering sort of faith, not fully founded on God's unchanging character.

The tears came from - well, hope. Hope that I will grow in knowledge and understanding of God's character. That I will have a confident expectation of the truth: God loves me and has a good plan for my life.

Wikipedia describes Christian hope this way:

"According to the Holman Bible Dictionary, hope is a "[t]rustful expectation, particularly with reference to the fulfillment of God's promises. Hope, is the anticipation of a favorable outcome under God's guidance[;]... the confidence that what God has done for us in the past guarantees our participation in what God will do in the future."

Romans 15:13 in its entirety is this:

"May the God of your hope so fill you with all joy and peace in believing [through the experience of your faith] that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound and be overflowing (bubbling over) with hope."

Amen.

the ache.the filling

I carried it with me today.

It's an ache... absence... exhaustion. I think maybe no one notices.

And what I carry makes me think that maybe -  just maybe - there are others like me who are missing someone they loved, someone who loved them.

The world didn't stop to acknowledge death, any more than the world stopped to celebrate birth. A time to be born, a time to die.

Don't get me wrong. I am grateful that he did not have one more hospital visit or a difficult choice (hospice)?  I'm thankful that he is with those he loved and those who loved him, and that he's gone ahead to heaven. It's just a little while in eternal terms before I'll see him again. But I miss him. My daddy. My dad.

So when this person is cranky with me or this person seems not to be listening, maybe I'll pause to wonder if that person is missing someone, too.

The beautiful gift in my sadness is this - perhaps my word for 2014 is filled. Perhaps the God of hope will fill me with all joy and peace as I trust in Him.

Perhaps the fruit of trust is being filled.

Filled.

With God Himself.

'bye.for.now.

(the eulogy I delivered 12-21-2013)

I am thankful. It has been my joy and honor to help my dad write the last chapter of his life. After all - he helped wrote so many, many chapters in my story. I'm not going to lie - it was hard and sad and beautiful and heartbreaking. 

I am thankful. Out of all the possible people God could have chosen to be my dad, He chose Chuck Zimmerman. God chose him to be the daddy who taught me to ride a bike, loved to jump out and yell "boo!" when it was time for him to put me to bed, and watched The Wonderful World of Disney with me on Sunday evenings while we ate popcorn. 

I had a recurring dream as a child - that I was upstairs in bed and someone bad was there. In the dream, as in life, I knew if I could just get to my daddy I would be safe. 

When I was sad or upset, Dad always tried to get me to laugh. I remember getting mad and saying, "It's NOT funny!" but I could never resist, and laughter always won. 

Dad was there for me. Ballet recitals, piano recitals, school choir concerts. I remember a track meet at Houseman Field - I looked up and surprise! He was in the stands. He never missed a graduation - even though it meant traveling to Norway because I spent my senior year as an exchange student. High school, college, graduate school - he was there. Several years ago, he was at mile 10 when I ran the Riverbank Run. This summer, he used some of his precious remaining strength to come and hear me give the message at my church in Kalamazoo.

I treasure the lunches Dad and I had as adults - he was a sounding board and wise counselor. And and then there was the trip to Chicago when I had to get my passport for a business trip. Didn't matter that I had successfully driven to Chicago by myself on a number of occasions - he insisted that he would go with me. I drove - Dad rode shotgun and told me about his childhood. Those are the moments that some might say are co-incidence, but I would call God incidents. 

Dad walked me down the aisle when I married Bruce. I remember leaning over and whispering, I'd better stop crying or people will think I'm not happy. The tears were happy tears - thankful for Dad's strong arm linked with mine, thankful that he was "giving me away" - but I have to say Dad didn't really get rid of me!

Call it chip off the old block or kindred spirits, my dad was the person who knew and understood me like no one else. (He jokingly offered my husband a retention bonus for our 10th anniversary). The courage of convictions - humor - love of family - not to mention black olives and Brussels sprouts - live on in this female body. 

I will miss the sound of his voice leading grace, Bless the Lord... I won't pick up the phone to hear him announce - "This is your fah-ther..." His tenor won't provide the harmony in the parental birthday serenade. Bruce and I carry on the tradition - we tried to top it this year with an original composition, Happy Birthday" sung to the tune of Stars and Stripes Forever, with Bruce doing the piccolo part. 

My dad leaves big shoes to fill. You all can read the list of his accomplishments in the obituary. But his biggest accomplishment is us - our family. The love of his life, my mom. My always younger brother, Bill. His beloved grandchildren, Noah and Ethan. The in-laws, Debbie and Bruce - he loved them as his own. 

My dad didn't preach often with words. He preached with actions. The book of James, Ch 2 describes how Dad lived -
14 What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith, but does not have works? Can his faith save him?
15 If a brother or sister is without clothes and lacks daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, Go in peace, keep warm and eat well, but you don't give them what the body needs, what good is it?
17 In the same way, faith, if it doesn't have works, is dead by itself.
18 But someone will say, You have faith and I have works. Show me your faith without works, and I will show you faith from my works.

We didn't really talk about faith a lot. I saw it in his actions in the way he loved us and cared for people and served in so many organizations. But the first time I realized the incredible depth of his faith was at Christmas. With tears in his eyes and voice, he quoted this verse from O Little Town of Bethlehem- 

O Holy Child of Bethlehem

Descend to us we pray

Cast out our sin and enter in

Be born in us today. 

My dad carried a strong conviction of the sin we struggle with as human beings - and yet he held a deep gratitude for God's grace and forgiveness. He believed that Christ died for him - and that he would spend eternity in heaven because of it. I know that I will see him again in heaven - because I believe Christ died for me and has forgiven my sins. 

I doubt it's possible for me to leave bigger shoes than Dad's to fill - but I'm going to try. And I'll leave you with this question - what size shoes do you want to leave?

one.word

2013 was a hard year, but oh, so worth it.

Trust. That was my one word. (Psalm 112) God even gave me art.

I said good-bye to a company I loved because God made it ever-so-clear that the work environment was killing me. The despotic, disrespectful, dysfunctional director was not moving. I was.

I said hello to a smaller, family-owned company where I am treated with kindness, respect and professionalism. They welcomed me with a Harry and David Tower of Treats - it arrived on my last day with my former employer. They didn't know - but God did.

I said good-bye to another beloved companion, Dylan. He was a true snuggler.

And hello to Henry, the birthday kitty. So small that his eyes were still blue. He has grown into a 15-pound Hun.

I said good-bye to my wild and wonderful, wacky (and weedy) garden.

I said hello to a re-structured garden - one that better displays its beauty. Blooming Groovy!

I said hello to this little guy, our first grandchild.

I said good-bye to this guy, the one I've never lived without.

 

Trust settled me in this truth - "Be still, my soul - in every change, He faithful will remain."

On this day, 01/01/14 - I look forward to a new word and a new year.

Clear words dropped into my mind (unconsciously) when I woke this morning. "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him..." (Romans 15:13)

Will you join me in the one-word adventure for 2014?

One word.

Be inspired.

Happy New Year!

Make Room

Last night at the Living Nativity, the innkeeper's words lodged in my heart. He said, "Always make room." At this time of year, with crowded schedules and crowded stores and crowded thoughts, who doesn't long for some "room" - room to think, breathe, rest?

There is miracle and mystery to the Christmas Story... A virgin birth. All powerful God, taking human form as a powerless infant. Angelic choirs singing Gloria to shepherds in a midnight field. A bright star guiding wise men on a two-year journey to find this miraculous child.

In this story -
We see God reaching out to the willing - a teenage girl who said, “Lord may it be done as You have said.” A young mother who pondered the very words of God spoken over her divine child.

We see God reaching out to the ordinary. Shepherds were in a lowly, lonely vocation. (Yet Jesus described Himself as a shepherd). The shepherds responded - "Let's go see this!"

We see God reaching out to the humble. The wise men were wise, but not too proud to go in search of Jesus, bringing gifts to the child who embodied the King of Kings.

As I look at my very ordinary life - am I willing, am I humble? Is there room in my heart to worship my Savior?

Mary—Elderly Woman (Light of my life, Light of the World)

I’m old now. I find that somewhat surprising; I wasn’t sure I’d survive Jesus’ death. The grief bent me double, and I thought I would never stop crying. “How does a body create so many tears?” I wondered. It just seemed like I’d shrivel up and blow away.

Since Jesus died, John has taken such good care of me; he has been like a true son to me. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Jesus, my firstborn. He was and still is the light of my life. My vision has dimmed over the years, but He gives light to my heart and thoughts. He is, after all, as He said, the Light of the World.

He was the light of my life even before He was born. The Angel that told me about Him was so bright, completely illuminating my room. During the days of my pregnancy—and my concern that Joseph would divorce me—I thought back on that light and it reassured me that everything happening to me was from God.

On the night Jesus was born, there was a star, the brightest star I’d ever seen. It was like a pure beam that told me God was watching over us.

That star was a symbol of Jesus, the Light of the World. He would draw so many people to Himself during His life. First, the shepherds. The brightness of God’s glory had shone on them out in the field when God sent an angel to tell them about Jesus. The star guided the shepherds from the field to the dark and smelly stable. They told us the message of peace and goodwill toward men; the message that was wrapped up in Jesus.

The star directed the wise men on their long journey to visit us. Jesus was two or three years old by the time they actually found us. They brought gifts that seemed strange for a child; gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Spices used for burial? It was as if a shadow dimmed the light for a moment. I stored the memory, for that was my habit.

It was years later when Jesus said to the crowd, “I am the Light of the World. He who follows Me will not be walking in the dark, but will have the Light which is Life.” I’m not sure everyone understood it; the Pharisees told Him that His testimony of being Light was worthless! That it wasn’t valid!

I knew it was true that Jesus was the Light of the World because I saw it. He gave light to people who needed physical healing. He restored sight to the blind. He healed paralytics and lepers. He raised people from death itself. I remember the look of wonder on the faces of the people who saw for the very first time. I picture the jumping—dancing—whirling—and running of those who hadn’t been able to move. And unless you’ve seen it yourself, you can’t imagine the color and breath returning to those who lay still in death; or know the sound of joyous shouts replacing wails of mourning.

Jesus didn’t only give physical light. He gave it spiritually. He lit the way to the Father by the way He lived. People who looked at Him could see God—their blinders were removed! He illuminated truth, forgave sins, and removed spiritual chains.

Jesus. Light of my life. Light of the World. My Jesus.

Egypt

Sometimes we long for Egypt. Finding ourselves in a dry and desolate wilderness, we want to return to the familiar. 

It really wasn't so bad, we say. We had jobs and houses and food. Sure, we built bricks without straw and were beaten regularly, and there was that time when Pharaoh commanded all the male children to be killed, but it really wasn't so bad. 

Egypt really wasn't so bad, we say. Not in comparison to this rocky wasteland where we don't know our next step - and must depend completely on God to rain manna from heaven to feed us or bring water from a rock to quench our thirst. 

Thoughts of Egypt are death. We look back, and miss today. If we look ahead, it is in fear. Despite day after day after day of God's faithful provision, we question.  What if He stops? What if He forgets us? What if it is not enough?

The fact is - in Egypt, we wore chains. Heavy, unbearable, unbreakable chains. We have forgotten our hopelessness and cries of despair. We forget so easily that we asked God to deliver us from evil. We forget that He answered our prayer. 

Just over a year ago, I returned to Egypt. It was the only thing that made sense to me at the time. I prayed and sought godly counsel, and God opened the door.

I was not fully aware that it was a return to Egypt. It felt more like coming home. 

Building bricks without straw felt fine in the beginning because it was so good to be home. The stern taskmaster was glad to have me back, but the honeymoon ended quickly.  I rapidly tired from hauling heavy expectations (some his, some mine). I was frustrated by last-minute increases to quota (didn't he see that we had no straw, and that it took time to get the straw AND build the bricks? It takes a certain amount of straw to build a good and lasting brick.)

After a year, the taskmaster told me I wasn't doing a good job. He gave me a plan to improve my performance, adding tasks and increasing my responsibilities. He said it would help me focus. If I didn't get it all done, I would be killed. 

His perspective was the only one I saw, the only one that mattered. Others tried to tell me that it wasn't true. Pleasing the taskmaster, no matter how impossible, seemed like the only way to move on. 

God had a different plan. My mind was so scarred that I couldn't see how to start again. All I had was a mental picture, like a Coast Guard helicopter rescue, of myself harnessed to a long cable and lifted from a raging Lake Michigan. I accepted an offer to leave Egypt.

I find myself in the in-between, a wilderness of sorts. Will I stay there? Will I move into the land of Canaan? Will I, like Hagar, have my eyes opened to see the well next to me? Will I trust Him as The-God-Who-Sees-Me?

All I know is that God spoke to my heart and said, "Start from where you are." He is the God of Beginning-Again. He is the God of Unlimited Do-Overs.

And that is joy. 

wanted

Source: Uploaded by user via Susan on Pinterest

I'm finding that my mom's saying, "Like using a hammer to crack an egg", has many applications.

Someone used a hammer when a gentle tap would have been entirely sufficient.

On February 18 the word came alive to me, clearly, as if spoken aloud:

You will go out with joy and be led forth with peace. (Isaiah 55:12)

I didn't see how. I was in deep water, drowning in the desire to win.

It's not mine to win, not mine to fight. The battle is the Lord's.


Fighting the inevitable exhausts. Living in tolerance drains.

And today, my step is lighter for I know.

I will go out with joy.

courage

""May your weekend be filled with courage. May you choose to honestly confront the competing voices in your head, and may you decide today to listen only to the true ones. Go ahead a take time off from your self-doubt for the weekend. May the break be so freeing that you decide to make it permanent."

It's embarrassing at age 55, being unable to please boss' boss and expecting a sub-par review.

Never mind that boss' boss does not communicate.

Husband posits that I should pursue teaching - I'm passionate about it, good at it, and teaching energizes me. Hey, students are starting to recommend me!

Competing voices. Boss' boss voice - "You are a failure. You cannot please me."

Voice of Truth - "I created you, fearfully and wonderfully. I filled you with skills and talents. I am pleased with you."

It all comes down to the "T" word - Who am I going to trust?