Hope, Expectation, Faith and Belief

I have a habit of asking the Lord to lead me to what He would have His word say to me as I take my Bible and randomly open it to read it each day.  A couple of days ago I opened it  to Matthew Chapter 8 and read the story of the centurion whose servant boy was lying paralyzed at his house and in intense pain.  The Lord told the centurion that He would go to the boy and restore him.  The centurion told Jesus that he was not worthy or fit to have Him come under his roof, but if Jesus would only speak the word his servant boy would be cured.  Jesus replied to the centurion, “Go! It will be done just as you believed it would.”

I have spent the past few days pondering hope, expectation, faith and belief.  The definition of hope is to wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment. Romans 8:24-25 “For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one also hope for what he sees?” Romans 15:13 “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”  The definition of expectation is eager anticipation of something wished for. So, expectation is a step beyond hope. Romans 8:19 "For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God."  The definition of faith is belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence and is synonymous with belief. Hebrews 11:1 "Now, faith is the substance of things to be hoped for, the evidence of things that appear not.” The definition of believe is to have firm and unquestioning faith to accept something as true.  Matthew 8:13 “Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go and it will be done just as you believed it would.” And the servant was healed at that very hour.”

I spent the majority of my weekend ponding this and wondering why it was in the Bible that so many asked Jesus to perform miracles and they were granted immediately yet, I ask for miracles and it seems I spend so much time waiting for God.  Ecclesiastes 3:17 tells me that God has an appointed time for everything; every purpose and every work that He has planned for me and Psalm 46:10 tells me “Let be and be still, and know that I am God.  I will be exalted among the nations!  I will be exalted in the earth!

I realized that though I have hope for better things in my future such as my husband to be able to come home to be with us; and though I expect the Lord to make a way for that to happen; and though I have faith that He has a plan for us; I had not truly BELIEVED with all my heart and soul that it IS going to happen and instead have been very fearful of what the future MAY hold in store for us.  I now BELIEVE with my whole heart and soul that the Lord will answer my prayers based on my faith for the plans and purpose He has for me; as I await His timing expecting great things in regard to those things I hope for.  May God bless each of you today.

Dealing With The Death Of A Loved One

My mom called me last night to tell me the last of my father's siblings had passed away.  I was glad to hear her say that the pastor from Hospice had visited with him several times and he had begun to leave his television on a channel broadcasting a local preacher.  I hope and pray he had accepted the Lord as his savior prior to his passing.  His wife had passed away years before and he never had any children.  I was glad my cousin, my mother, my sister and brother along with their spouses were with him and he wasn't alone.

I've spent the night reflecting on the loved ones I've lost over the course of my life.  I remember one of my father's brothers who sang in a country music band.  When he would come home to visit he would spend the night playing his guitar and singing with me sitting on the floor in front of him.  I remember him playing one night until his fingers began to bleed from the guitar strings and he reached down into his guitar case to retrieve guitar picks which he placed on each finger and continued playing his guitar and singing for me.  I was young when he died but his passing away was the first sense of loss I experienced.

My mother's mother, passed away when I was seventeen.  I loved her so much. I loved spending time with her over the summers.  She always made me feel so grown as a child because she would allow me to drink coffee with her each morning, but most importantly she communicated with me.  She talked to me, she listened to me, she made me feel that someone cared for me, her.  She had developed the symptoms of Alzheimer’s before they ever named it that.  She would go through the names of all the grandchildren before she ever got it right.  Most of the time you would have to tell her who you were and she still wouldn't remember it. She eventually began living with my aunt and uncle and they eventually had to come up with some creative means of keeping her in the house at night after finding her out by their pond and tobacco barns looking for my grandfather who had passed away many years before.  She was such a strong Christian woman so when she died regardless of my sense of loss I knew she was finally at peace.

I remember the day I received the call at work informing me that my dad had been taken to the hospital and the doctors weren't expecting him to survive, therefore had suggested that my mother notify family members.  After arriving at the hospital my dad looked at me and said, "If you will stay with me I'll make it through the night and part of the day tomorrow".  I think it came as a surprise to everyone else as well as me that he wanted me to stay with him.  I surely thought he would have wanted my sister to stay with him.  He and I had butted heads and exchanged angry words on so many occasions because of the way he would curse my mom as she bathed, shaved, dressed, feed and cared for him for a number of years during his illness.  Prior to that night I wasn't sure what I was going to feel when he passed away.  I knew I longed for my mother to have some peace and happiness in her life which I knew she would never have as long as he was alive.  One of my siblings once made the comment that the only sense of loss they would feel when he passed away would be "the father he could have been but never was."  (If you read my story you will better understand these feelings.)

I'm very thankful for that night with my father.  We shared so much during the night.  He told me that one thing he admired about me was the fact that I was outspoken and he never had to wonder where he stood with me. He pointed out to me many characteristics which we shared and said, "As much as you may hate to admit it, you're a lot more like me than you might want to admit, but atleast you got the good ones."  We read Psalm 23 together.  I remember hearing the birds the next morning and he said, "Well, we made it through the night."  My dad shared so much with me that night, including the fact that he had made his peace with God and he knew he was ready to go.  I was so thankful for that.  I was also thankful that my dad and I had made peace with each other.  I left to go home to get a shower the next morning after my mother arrived.  When I returned to the hospital shortly after noon my mother, sister, both brothers and a sister-in-law were in the room.  A few minutes after I got there my father died.  It was almost as though he was waiting for me to get there.  My father, the man who had been so afraid of dying alone died peacefully with wife and all of his children in the room with him.  He had made it through the night and part of the next day just as he had said he would.

The loss of my oldest brother was the one that really hit me the hardest.  He died in May of 2008 at the age of 57.  I experienced an enormous sense of loss when he died.  The finality of it seemed so hard to grasp.  For weeks I felt like it was just a bad dream because it couldn't be real. 

After my father died I was spending the night with my mother and awoke gasping for air because I couldn't breathe.  I had been dreaming that my mother had passed away and was consumed in grief.  I went into my mother's room and got into bed with her, holding her and crying.  She asked me what was wrong and I shared my dream with her and told her I couldn't take losing her.  She replied, "Honey, you wouldn't want to deprive me of going where I've lived my whole life to be would you?"  I said, "Mom, you make me sound selfish."  She didn't reply.  As painful as the loss may be and believe me I pray I never have to go through the experience of losing some loved ones, there are those that are inevitable.  II Corinthians 5:8 tells us "We have confident and hopeful courage and are pleased rather to be away from home out of the body and be at home with the Lord".  Amplified Version

I have a dear friend who is caring for her terminally ill mother and is having a difficult time facing the loss of her mother.  Please remember Dianne and Ms. Helen in your prayers.  Who have you lost?  How did you deal with it?  What gave you strength?

Mema or Mama: Trying to Find the Balance

When Steve and I got married in 2001 we discussed the option of me having surgery to reverse the tubal ligation I had done when Lauren was born.  We both agreed it would be wonderful to have a child together, hopefully a boy.  We dreamed, joked and laughed about the experience.  After a great deal of consideration we knew there was no guarantee the surgery would be effective or that we would have a son. With us already in our thirties we considered how old we would be before we would ever have an "empty nest".   When we were married we were an instant family with three daughters and had never had "just us" time and decided against it and decided to get a dog instead.  So on our first Valentine’s Day Steve presented me with our 'son', Magnum, a black miniature schnauzer.

Raising three girls has been a challenge, a blessing and sometimes seemingly a curse (lol).  So many fights over the invasion of one’s privacy, the calls to their dad to stop by the store for feminine products which he declared he would never do but so graciously performed the task multiple times.  I think back over the years and smile as I remember some of the conversations and experiences.  There were struggles with each child, each being so different and unique and so many wonderful memories as well.  Memories that they probably don't even realize mean so much to me.

It's amazing how different each of the girls are.  Holly, the oldest is very independent and self-sufficient.  She's the prim and proper one, the lady of the three.  She's the 'princess' of the three.  Heather is the one who has given us a run for our money so to speak.  It seems she has fought us every step of the way along life's journey.  She's 'trouble'.  Regardless of all the challenges she has presented us associated with her mental illness, there is a very loving, warm and protective side of her.  She just doesn't make the best decisions in life and of the three reminds me of myself the most when I was her age.  Lauren is our 'little redneck girl".  She likes trucks, camouflage and getting muddy on a four-wheeler.  She's just very down to earth.   It's amazing how they were all raised in the same house but are so incredibly different. 

After Holly and Heather had moved out Steve and I joked about being on the 'downhill swing' toward our empty nest.  We were looking at four more years before Lauren would be ready to venture out into the world and though I've always liked the idea of having my children close to me where I can keep an eye on them and know they're okay, I was really looking forward to Steve and I having some "just us" time.  I think God sometimes looks down on us though and kind of chuckles at us and the plans we make for ourselves just before He laughs and says, "Oh, but your plans are not the plans I have for you".

I remember the overwhelming sense of grief I felt when Heather informed me she was pregnant.  I remember saying, "Oh my God, what are you doing?  You know she's not capable of providing for and caring for a child.  She can't even take care of herself."  I was angry and upset.  I couldn't for the life of me understand why God would allow her to conceive a child.  I knew that Steve and I were going to have to raise this child and that was something that I quite honestly didn't want to do.  I wasn't sure how Steve really felt about it except that he really didn't want to either.  Would this be the final straw with him?  Had Heather finally gone to the limits of inflicting more on us than our marriage could handle? 

My first reaction was to run from it, naturally.  I told Heather I didn't want to see her, talk to her.  I didn't want to know what she named the baby.  I didn't want to know if it was a boy or a girl.  I suppose it was an 'out of sight out of mind' kind of thing.  If I didn't know, I wouldn't care and would be free to assume everything was okay without being burdened by it all.  I remember sitting in our living room one night and I commented to Steve, "You know no matter how hard I try to ignore it and put it out of my mind, I'm falling in love with this baby and it isn't even here yet."  He said, "Yes of course you are, it's our grandchild.  You also know that we are going to have to raise it, don't you?"  That was the first time it had ever been spoken. 

I eventually began having to drive 126 miles one way to pick Heather up and take her to her OB/GYN appointments.  The first time I took her, the doctor performed a 3D ultrasound and for the first time I saw Joshua's precious little face and began crying.  I couldn't help but be afraid for this precious, beautiful, innocent little child who didn't ask to be brought into this dangerous, angry and cruel world.  I knew he was going to need me and I knew that I was going to have to do whatever it took to help him no matter what the costs may be.

After Joshua was born, Steve and I were both unemployed but did everything we could, even more than we really could to try to help Matt and Heather with Joshua.  We spent money to make sure Joshua had everything he needed and to make sure Matt and Heather had what they needed.  We had hoped that being parents would help them to mature but knew they were going to need a lot of help.  However, the calls kept coming during all hours of the day and night from Heather for us to come get her and Joshua because she and Matt were fighting again.  I was terrified Joshua was going to be accidentally hurt or killed by these two.  Steve and I discussed it and did what we felt we had to do and notified the proper authorities.

Heather out of anger, frustration, immaturity and lack of understanding accused Steve and I of trying to take her son because he was "the son we had never had".  What she couldn't see was how much doing what I felt I had to do to protect Joshua hurt me because she was my child and I never wanted to hurt her.  She wasn't aware of the feelings of resentment I had toward her because I wasn't supposed to be having to take on the responsibility of raising a child at my age.  Steve and I were supposed to be thinking about our retirement.  She didn't realize how much I envied my friends who had grandchildren and 'lived in a perfect world' where they could be mema, grandma, mimi, nana or whatever their grandchildren called them and they just got to be grandparents.  They could visit them, take them home with them for the weekend, love them and spoil them and get to be the 'special' person in their grandchildren's lives that when they arrive, the grandchildren run to them and say "Mema!!!!"  I was angry with Heather because she was depriving me of that. 

Matt and Heather eventually signed custody of Joshua over to Steve and I in January of 2010 and Matt's parental rights were terminated later in the year.  Though Heather calls to check on Joshua regularly, the only time she sees him is when I take him to see her.  As much as I try to encourage Joshua to call me 'Mema' he continues to call me "Mama" and though I refer to Steve as "Poppa" Joshua still calls him "Daddy".  As a matter of fact, when Steve was at home on his last R and R we kept calling Steve "Poppa" and Joshua was on the couch with Steve one night playing and took Steve's face in his little hands, looked Steve in the eyes and said, "u my daddy".

How do I handle this?  What do I do?  I try so much to respect the fact that Heather is his mother and I want Joshua to grow up having a clear understanding of whom everyone is and where we all fit into his life and where he fits.  I want him to know that he is loved so very much and is the most precious thing in the world to me.  If Heather were to hear him calling us mama and daddy she would have a fit but I can't tell him not to call Steve daddy when he seemed to be so determined to do so.  I'm just really torn over this and trying to find the balance between being Mema but filling the role of Mama.