In anticipation of mother's day

Dr, Joyce

For the next few weeks, in honor of Mother's Day, we are going to be talking about Godly women.  First, those Godly women in our lives who shaped us - could be our moms or other women whose love and influenced help make us who we are.  Next week, our focus will shift to the heroes of faith in the Bible who are female.  We'll look first at those from the Old Testament and then those from the New Testament.

While writing has been slow by your KBers, and we apologize, let me give you a brief update.  I finished my doctoral degree completely - no more hoops or obstacles, I'm Dr. Joyce now.  My graduation ceremony was last Saturday and on that day we had a HUGE banquet type party to celebrate that, and our 35th Wedding Anniversary that is actually in February.  I've been exhausted.  And no break from work, so, I apologize again for being slow with writing.  I got to see all my children and hold for the first time my two great granddaughters, the twins.  I also got to see again one of my other great granddaughters - the other two great grandbabies couldn't make it -- Most of the grandkids were there as well!

Super Nana Joyce

Linda is here with me in Tennessee.  I've exhausted her as well.  Hopefully she'll recover enough to resume writing this week.

Jenna is taking a break from KB.  She is going to be using her time for other writing efforts.  We will miss her strong positive outlook and fun approach to life.  We wish her all of God's best in everything she does.

Rather than write a new post, I invite you to read a former posting about Godly women - you can read about her here.

Meet the Author(s)

It’s Monday and time for another full week of writings from your faithful Kingdom Bloggers.  Tony is taking a sabbatical, and Joyce (that’s me) has rejoined us.  Joyce is taking the lead each week with the Monday postings.  

This week, we return to a topic we’ve done before: if you were to write a book (or are writing a book) what would you write, what would the title be, would it be adult or children’s, etc?  We might surprise you, there might be some changes AND we have some new voices on Kingdom Bloggers, so you are sure to enjoy this week’s writings.  

We write for the glory of God and hope you’ll add us to your regular reading and tell your friends about Kingdom Bloggers.

I’ve been talking about writing a book for FOREVER.  When I was in High School, I read an essay in our textbook.  I have no idea what the essay was, or who wrote it.  What I do remember was writing a reflection on it.  In that reflection, I said that I liked the essay because it was about a writer and that was what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Well, I guess I haven’t grown up yet.  That’s good because I hate the thought of being old.  Recently, I had to write something for graduation about what I learned in the doctoral program.  I said that I learned that age was a number, it didn’t define me, or limit me.  That means there is still time to write and be an author.

Once upon a long time ago, I was very much involved in children’s ministry.  One summer, our theme was Psalm 150.  It’s a great Psalm that serves as the finale crescendo to the book of Psalms.  It sums up all the praises and laments of Psalms with three words:

PRAISE THE LORD!

To help with teaching the children about praising God and the book of Psalms I had a little finger puppet – he was a field mouse named Selah.  I told the children that there was a funny word in the book of Psalms.   No one knew for sure what it meant – I told them it was a secret.  The word really was the name of a field mouse that King David found when he was a shepherd boy.  When David was praising God, he’d call Selah.  David carried Selah with him everywhere.

What a great children’s storybook series I thought.  Selah, the mouse in King David’s pocket would tell the story of the life of David from the eyes of a field mouse.  That was my book.  A children’s book!  Somewhere, I might still have the beginning manuscript for that book.  Someday, maybe I’ll still try to write it.

Since then, I’ve developed several deeper theological type books in my mind.  One was on a fresh look at those verses most women love to hate – or at least wonder about – The Virtuous Woman of Proverbs 31.  I did a paper on this and developed the idea that this could also be interpreted as a look at the mature “wife” or church.  That was my next idea for a ground breaking book.  A book quickly followed this on the difficult passages in Genesis surrounding Hagar and Ishmael.  I preached a sermon series shortly after 911 on the Intercession of Hagar.  I thought it would make a great book and later did a lot of theological work and even translations of Genesis 16 from Hebrew to English.

There have been lots of books; all in my head.  I recently finished my dissertation, soon I’ll get a bound copy of that and I guess then I can say I really wrote a book.  But the book that is yet to be written is a book about my life. 

I have had several working titles and none I really like – but my story is one of being a high school dropout who every one saw as a loser – of being a welfare mom living in a trailer – of being a single mother after being beaten and abandoned by her husband – of being a child bride and so much more who through the grace of God has had a marriage of 35 years to a wonderful husband, bore and raised 8 beautiful children, had several successful careers and now is getting her doctoral degree. 

That’s the story I am compelled to tell and will.  The day will come when I will be an author.

Pastor Joyce the Teacher

I have taken a lot of spiritual gift inventories in my life.  I am one of those people who love to take these type of inventory things, it doesn't really matter whether they are true or not.  It's also pretty easy for me to be able to manipulate them.  I usually can figure out where it is going and skew my answers.  Now why I do that? I don't know. Perhaps it is the challenge of it.

I usually end up on spiritual inventories with one of my strengths being pastoral ministry.  I also end up high on the teacher scale as well.  All that makes a lot of sense I suppose and seems to fit me.

Those of you who are my friends in real life, or on Facebook, know that I have been very frustrated that no one seemed to accept or receive my gifts.  I had a LONG talk with God a while back. Oh it was a talk all right.  I cried.  I argued. I sort of told God just how I felt.  I said God - this is just not right.  You've given me these gifts and yet You open no doors for me.  I went on with how I did everything I thought He told me to do.  I went back to school.  I'm a very well prepared unemployed, unused but willing vessel.  I really just want to serve and when the one giving out the assignments doesn't give you one, what do you do?

I've found that it is one thing to reach the end and it is another to reach the end and tell God what you think.  Okay, for those of you who have never wrestled with God and wonder if it's okay to do, let me tell you this. I've found that sometimes it is the only way to get the answer.

It wasn't long after this "conversation" with God that I got an email from the Pastor of the church to which I belong.  He wondered if I would teach the Book of Acts to the Adult Bible study on Wednesday night.  I was like HUH?  Really? Of course I would.  That's like asking a kid if they want candy.

Finally, a place to use my gifts. I love it!  I love teaching.  I love digging through the scriptures and getting all nerdy - then I have to work to break it down so I don't bore the folks with all my nerdiness...The folks seem to like it. I'll miss them tomorrow night while I'm at my summer residency at school.  But a few weeks has turned into the end of August. Woo-hoo!

Not only am I teaching but I'm actually beginning to feel a part of this little church I belong to... that's a plus!  And, I get to preach for them on an upcoming Sunday - I think I love preaching as much or probably more than teaching.

In two weeks, I'll start a job.  I haven't had a job in years.  I'm going to get paid for what I love to do - okay, it's not a full-time pastor job - but it's a close second.  I'm going to teach at a Technical College - they'll even pay me!

And last, but certainly not least - pastor ministry.  Now you don't have to have a church, or a title, or a paycheck to engage in pastoral ministry.  Every day I find opportunities to minister to people.  It happens on line a lot.  Sometimes I wonder - where are the pastors?  Perhaps they are too busy to be with the people who hurt and have needs - so they find me.  And that's just awesome!

It's all because of my Dad

It’s interesting that this was our topic this week.  On Sunday, the sermon was about boasting.  It was an interesting take on the passage in 2 Corinthians 5:12.  In some interesting homiletical work, the pastor tied this in to how our father’s (it was Father’s Day last Sunday) would boast on us.  He said that we should recognize the impact of our “fathers” and boast in their impact on our lives.

I’m going to follow that advice.  My father was not an educated man.  However, I think he probably was brilliant.  I recently looked at the 1940 census and saw that he listed himself as having finished seventh grade.  My mother often said that she doubted he got that far as he “went to sea” at the young age of 13 or 14.  By the time I came along, he had a job as a night janitor at a major bank in NYC.

My father stressed education.  I don’t remember specific conversations about college nor do I remember pressure about my grades.  But somehow, the idea that we needed a college education was impressed on my brothers and I.  Of my two brothers, only one graduated high school by finishing the 12^th grade.  The other, like me, got a GED (equivalency diploma).

But this is not about my brothers.  This is about me.  This is about my boasting on the imprint of my father that led to something of which I am very proud.

If you’ve read my blogs either her on Kingdom Bloggers or on Sounds of Hope, you know I am working on my doctorate.  You know that education is very important to me.  If you’ve read Sounds of Hope for a long time, you know about my early marriage at the age of 16, becoming a mother at 17, and you know about my childhood, etc.  For those of you who haven’t, here it is in a nutshell.

I married at 16.  I became pregnant immediately.  By the time, I was to enter my senior year of high school, I was dealing with first trimester exhaustion.  I quit school.  My peers graduated and I changed diapers on a beautiful baby boy.  The next fall, I tried again.  I tried to finish my senior year.  I remember falling asleep in class.  I couldn’t do it.

My dad, who was still living at the time, consoled himself with comments about how I always loved my dolls and seemed destined to be a mother.  By 19, my father went home to Jesus and my second child was born.  Still no diploma.  Abuse, abandonment, divorce, remarriage to the same guy, and another pregnancy followed.  Five months pregnant, he beat me for the last time.  The day my first daughter was born was the same day as graduation at the University of Missouri.  Three kids, one in the ICU nursery maybe dying, living on welfare and alone, I cried as I watched my peers stream out of commencement with their caps and gowns.  However, by this time, I had gotten a GED.

Three and a half years later, I finished college.  Something rose up within me that day as I cried and grieved over my life.  Yes, it was God but it was also my dad.  It was all those times that he instilled in me that education was important.  I was so proud.  Three kids and three and a half years later, I had a Bachelor of Science degree.  My only regret is my dad didn't see that day.  When I walk with my doctoral tam and academic regalia next May, I hope he's looking down from heaven and saying, that's my girl!  I knew she could do it.

Movie Guilt

Movies and I have an interesting history.  Every time I go to a movie I have this odd sense of guilty that washes over me for a second or two.  I grew up in a rather strict Pentecostal home.  My parents weren’t strict about everything, but when it came to the evils of the movies, playing cards, make-up, and dancing, they were strict.  All these thing were strictly forbidden.

When  I was seven, Disney’s Sleeping Beauty came out.  Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE of my friends (except the church ones) were going to see it!  My BFF was Catholic so movies were never an issue for her.  Her Aunt was taking her to see Sleeping Beauty and I was invited to attend.  I can remember laying in my bed with my ears perked up.  My parents were deciding whether I could go or not.

I prayed.  I prayed hard.  The logic that we had a television in our house and that I watched endless hours of movies from the 30’s and 40’s was lost on me.  I probably would have used that argument if I were older than 7.  Then I heard it.  There may be nothing wrong with the movie but they didn’t want me to think that going to the evil movie theater was right.  You can read more about my Sleeping Beauty story here.

By the time the Sound of Music came out, my father had pronounced that movies were okay.  All was fine until we moved to Missouri where the question was asked – when Jesus returns (or the “rapture happens) do you want to be found in a movie theater.  Of course not!

These experiences and more leave me with a twinge of guilt that I usually laugh off internally so I can sit back and enjoy the show.  I have a varied taste in movies, and like songs, it is always hard for me to say – this is the one – or even two – favorite.  I like so many!

But let me narrow it down to two – both oldies – both some of the first movies I was every allowed to see.  The first one is the very first movie I actually saw on the “silver screen”  The Sound of Music.  I still remember the thrill of the big screen and Maria singing The Hills Are Alive…  I was in awe and mesmerized. 

The other movie is Fiddler on the Roof.  Oh how  I love Tevye.  He is probably one of my all-time favorite characters in a movie!

In the last decade, my favorite movie(s) was the Lord of the Rings Trilogy.  The most recent movie I’ve seen is The Best Marigold Hotel for the Aged and Beautiful – the language and some of the themes might not be your taste but I loved the movie!  What was the first movie you saw?

Next time you curl up with popcorn and a drink in a theater as the lights go dark think about me.  That’s the time my guilt pops up.  Then do what I do, laugh inside, and enjoy the show.  

Laugh and Sing

As I’ve thought about this blog, I feel a bit like I do on Thanksgiving when we go around the table to say what we are thankful for … Usually, I mutter something about health, and family.  You can hear (and it is just audio, even though it is a video) a sermon I preached once talking about this ritual here.

I don’t suppose I have anything much more original to say today.  It is always those intangibles that really make us happy and satisfied in life.  So to divert from the obvious, let me offer a few things that might bring a little variety to this topic.

Laughter – yes, laughter makes me happy.  I went through a period where I realized I hardly ever laughed.  I have found that over the years, because of circumstances and all the stuff life throws at you, that I had forgotten how to laugh.  Laughter is a gift.  It releases all sorts of happy stuff through your body.  Recently, on my trips back “home” to Brooklyn I have found myself and found my laugh. 

Singing – I love to sing.  I don’t have a bad voice but living in Music City I tend not to offer it as much as I did when I lived in the Northeast where not everyone was a would-be country star.  Singing makes me happy.  Singing lightens my seriousness.  Like laughter, I used to sing a lot. And like laughter, I sort of “lost” this along the way.  Singing also reminds me of my dad who would often break into song and sing about Jesus in our house.  Anything that reminds me of my dad makes me happy too.  

Brooklyn makes me happy.  Okay, so I have already mentioned Brooklyn.  Tt brings things out of me that I thought were lost.  Seriously, there is no place that makes me happier than Brooklyn.  Some internal switch comes on when I am there and I’m alive again!  And while we are talking about Brooklyn, everything about NYC makes me happy, riding the subway, walking through the crowds, street vendors, and don’t forget a Nathan’s Hot Dog bought at Coney Island!

Last but not least, being Norwegian makes me happy.  I just love to embrace my Norwegian heritage.  I love everything about being Norwegian.  Funny, all these go together – while the Norwegians are known for being “jovial”, they do have a strong wit about them, and do like to have a good time with laughter.  And sing? Oh yes, they love to sing!  I remember watching the Olympics when they were in Norway in the 90’s – every time you turned around some group of Norwegians were singing something.  And of course, for me, Brooklyn and Norwegian go together.  You can see a little clip of my recent trip to Brooklyn to celebrate the Syttende Mai (Norwegian constitution day) here.

Okay, maybe these seem trite and they are compared to my husband, kids, faith, health, etc.  But, if you want to see me really happy – come with me to Brooklyn and we’ll laugh and sing.

Are We In Heaven?

Protection… I love what Andrea wrote yesterday about how God protects us from ourselves.  I think that is so true – and sometimes we realize it, and sometimes we don’t.  The – there but for the grace of God go I – is always operating in our lives.  Protection is one of those things that sometimes we don’t know it’s there.  It is so effective that we never see the danger that almost came our way.

Perhaps because I’m pre-occupied and a bit more stressed than usual, I am a bit stuck.  I lack eloquence or even a good idea of what to write today.  Perhaps that’s okay.  I think the greatest times of protection are those times I had no idea how close I came to danger of one kind or another.  I think those things happen probably every day.  While I don’t honor angels over Christ – I do believe that we are surrounded by them and they watch over us.

There was one time that came to mind.  I was pregnant with my second child.  My youngest one was in the back of a classic 78 Volkswagen Beetle.  Oh the stories that car could tell if it could talk...My ex-husband was driving.  Seatbelt laws or car seat laws were yet to be enacted.

We were on our way to visit my mother in the hospital.  It was Christmas and the road was a solid sheet of ice.  Our windows were clear.  We weren’t slipping.  We came to an intersection where we had the right of way.  All of a sudden, BANG!

A car that had barely a circle cleared from his windshield not only skidded but ended up hitting us head on – he said he didn’t see us.  Okay, I was alive.  That I figured out right away – no blood – no gashes.  Ex-husband seemed alive, but what about my son in the back seat.  Then I heard his two year old voice ask – 

Mom, are we in heaven?

Whew – 

I said no son, we’re still alive.

Other than explaining to my mother why we had wrecked her car, all was well.  Coincidence or good luck? No, it was God’s protection. 

That day, the car hit us – I wonder with all the miles I put on the road driving here and there and everywhere, how many close calls I had that I never knew about.  I also, know that when a car is about to hit me, more than once I’ve just said Jesus (not as a curse word but as a prayer) and within inches, we move right through.

Preparation for Joy

I’m experiencing life in a more liturgical church.  It’s been an interesting journey, one that I have written about a few times.  Last year I experienced my first Maundy Thursday service.  You can read about the experience here.

Growing up in a classic Pentecostal home, the anticipation of Holy Week was keen but different.  Being a “Norwegian” Pentecostal meant certain differences.  This oxymoronic coupling of culture and faith continues to shape and define my life.

There were no Palms distributed in our congregation.  I was jealous of my friends with their Palm branches twisted into crosses.  My mother would shake her head and say, “Oh, we don’t do that.”  Nevertheless, there was a joyous anticipation in church that was palpable. 

My Easter outfit was usually finished.  My mother’s sewing expertise would create beautiful garments for me to wear.  Matching shoes and purse completed an outfit that rivaled (and exceeded) any designer’s wear.  I remember vividly being in the 4^th grade and begging my mother to let this be the first year I could wear “nylons” (aka hose or stockings).  She relented and much to the dismay of older friends who had not yet been allowed to wear this sign of mature (and torture).  I learned how to handle garters and a garter belt for Easter. 

 

Preparations for Easter included the joint Passion Week service with the “released time” programs on 4^th Avenue.   (As a kid, every Wednesday we were released from school an hour early to attend religious instruction – thus the name “released time”).  For several weeks, my mother had met with local pastors to plan the Holy Week program.  I marvel now as I think back of this woman with a 10^th grade education sitting with pastors with Master of Divinity degrees from the Lutheran churches, the Methodist churches, etc. to plan observances that were more liturgical in nature. 

As was typical, I usually had a long narration or selection to memorize for this event.  I remember the power of reciting the Passion narrative from the Gospels in front of children and leaders from those various churches.  Perhaps that was a forerunner for my journey to liturgy – the cross so prominent, the words so powerful, the beautiful of the sanctuary, all formed lasting impressions about Jesus and sacrifice.

Most powerful of my recollections was the hours between 12 and 3 on Good Friday.  As Good Friday approached, you could feel the tension in the air.  If I were Jewish, I might have asked – why is this day unlike any other day?  It would have been an appropriate question.  As noon approached, everything halted.  The stores normally bustling with business would lock their doors.  The busy sidewalks were empty.  It seemed nothing moved.  

The tension was so deep that I expected the ground to shake, or lightening to appear.  I also thought that maybe Jesus would return sometime that weekend.  In my childish mind, Easter or Good Friday seemed good candidates for this.  The thought was sometimes greeted with fear, other times with joy. 

It was as if the whole world was stopping as a remembrance of Jesus breathing His last.  I would recite in my mind the words I’d memorized for the program on Wednesday.  I would hear Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani in my heart. During the silence of those three hours, I would ponder what it meant for Jesus to die.  I would wonder, even though a small child, would I be like Peter and deny Christ.  Could I be the one who like Judas would betray Him?  These questions are still appropriate for all of us this week.

As the clock struck 3 p.m., the stores opened again.  The world seemed to go one with the frenzied last minute preparations for the celebration of Easter.  Eggs would be colored on Saturday.  Candy would be hidden from view until Easter morning.  I hoped for the big chocolate bunny that was SOLID… I didn’t want a hollow bunny.  I wanted to gorge myself in chocolate and jelly beans.  Sometimes I would have a live baby duck, or chick included in my “basket.”  One year my basket included two live white bunny rabbits to live in hutches in my backyard in Brooklyn.

This year, I’ll go to Maundy Thursday service.  I’ll go to Good Friday services. I’ll reflect on the Passion of Christ with prayer and reflection.  With anticipation, I’ll pause to remember that without the cross there is no hope.  Without the cross, there is no resurrection.  Without the cross, without “waiting with the Lord in the agony of Gethsemane” the joy of Easter is less meaningful.  I will pause between 12 and 3 and remember the agony on the cross so that as I sing ‘UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE” on Sunday, my joy will be full.

Always the Nerd

I never used to see myself as nerdy. Now I think it totally describes me. On one hand, I was told by this prophetic type one time, with his finger sticking in my face, "You think too much." And yes, that's true. Sometimes you can think a thing to death. I've been doing that for several years about writing a book but that's not the topic this week.

I rarely read for pleasure - the last book I read for "pleasure" was The Glass Castle by Janette Walls. I had been told by a friend that this woman's life had been so messy but it was nothing compared to mine. Seriously, I am not sure about that but I did enjoy the book a lot. I think that was about four or five years ago that I read it.

Actually right now I am reading three books that aren't for school. To say it is pleasure reading might be a stretch. They are Miraslov Volf's Allah: A Christian Response, Lodahl's Claiming Abraham: Reading the Bible and the Qur'an Side by Side and Rob Bell's Love Wins. Not exactly easy reading. I recommend all of these books for their ability to enlighten and cause one to think. Volf gives you much to chew on from a theological perspective but is not an easy read for the less theologically minded. Lodahl is not as challenging but equally enlightening and thought-provoking.

In our world, with the conflicts we see every day, it is good to get the right information rather than the political hype and lies. Both Lodahl and Volf are solid CHRISTIAN theologians. Volf, currently at Yale Divinity, is from the former Yugoslavia, and is the son of a Pentecostal preacher. Lodahl, currently at Point Loma University (a Church of the Nazarene school) is a leading theologian in the Wesleyan Holiness movement. Both attempt to bring some sanity to the lies and distortions we find abundant as we come to grips with the challenges of a post 911 world.

Then there is Rob Bell.

I love Bell's Nooma videos. I had heard so much about his book - mostly criticism that I wanted to read it for myself. So far, it has made me think and remember, I like that.

If you want to know my all time favorite author - at least from a theological perspective it is Walter Brueggemann - again, he isn't for the faint of heart. He challenges me constantly. Amazon has 71 books listed by Brueggeman; I've read maybe 10 plus I have his commentary on Genesis (EXCELLENT). I have a long way to go on my Brueggemann reading list. Most recently I read Journey to the Common Good.

Yes, my reading list is heavy - Bell is the easiest read. But this is what I love. This is what makes Joyce tick. These are the things that God has been using to feed my mind and my soul and transform me.

Free Falling

I am a realist.  I think sometimes I come off as if I don’t have faith, or I’m not as spiritual as some because I just like to tell it like it is…  If I hurt, I hurt.  No sugar coating, "glory hallelujah everything is fine" from me.   Sometimes I wish I could be less like this… I read Merlin Carouther’s Prison to Praise when I was younger but somehow or other, I’m more like Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof.

I’m more willing to tell my details too.  May not be wise and certainly isn’t the best route for most of us, but… it’s me.  One of the biggest compliments (at least in my mind) is for people to tell me I am real.  Now that doesn’t mean if you don’t tell the details that you aren’t real.  It’s just I am either stupid enough or brave enough (there is a fine line between these two) to tell details.

I’ve said a lot in my blogs about these times, these struggles, the pain, etc.  I have found that it has been good for me and from what I hear from readers, many have been blessed and helped too.  When I am in pain at the end of my rope, about to slip, I write.  My writing serves as a prayer.  Writing however, is a newer approach for me.

There have been times, when I’ve let go of the rope.  I used to think you had to have white knuckle faith and persevere - holding on to the end of your rope.  I remember writing about this before here on Kingdom Bloggers.  I remember it sort of had a mixed review.  People thought maybe I lacked faith then too I think.


A lot of people don’t want to hear that you can sometimes let go and go into a free fall.  Trust me, it is scary, even terrifying but you know what? You never hit the ground.  I think sometimes when we are at the end of the rope we hold on in our own strength thinking we have to be strong, we have to have faith, etc., etc. and in reality, we can let go.  Why?  Because Jesus wants us to know that when He said He’d never leave us or forsake us He meant it.  You can let go and Jesus will catch you. 

Okay, here’s the skinny on one of those times.  Several years ago I went through a house fire, serious illness in the family, being without my family through Christmas, death of a grandchild (story starts here), son seriously ill, false accusations and investigation at work, and a very serious problem in our marriage – all these things and more – in less than a year.  I finally gave up.  Formerly the “spiritual spark” in my church, I dragged myself there and sat on the floor during most of the service as if I were Job sitting in sackcloth and ashes.  


It was horrible.  No one truly understood – some would come and try to “raise my hands.”  Some would pray – some would just shake their heads – most loved me anyway – one dear woman sent a card to me in the mail without her name (I knew who it was anyway) every week for almost two years… I lost a tremendous amount of weight as everything in my life also disintegrated because I was starving myself and by all accounts, I looked terrible.  And I almost died. I was free falling.

But Jesus never left me.  He sat in sackcloth and ashes with me.  He never stopped loving me.  Even though I almost died several times, I didn't die.  He walked with me through the dark night of the soul.  I didn’t crash and burn.  I never lost faith – I had to stop – I had to grieve – I had work to be done inside.  

Right before I finally let go and started falling the Lord spoke to me and said I had things in my life that had to be dealt with, He said it would be difficult, but He also said, I’ll never leave you, I'll be there all the way  – I thought it was sin.  Why is it our mind always goes there – I thought what did I do?  I couldn’t imagine what it might be – it was sin, but it wasn’t my sin.  The sin had been committed against me by a neighborhood pedophile when I was about 8 years old.   If you haven't read my series on Sounds of Hope about this time in my life, it actually starts here and goes forward.  You'll read about a child bride of 16 who marries an abuser and what God has brought her through...lots of details, painful details.

I’m whole because I allowed myself to free fall so Jesus could catch me.  I am free because I was willing to go through the dark night of the soul and be honest about hurting.  It was hard.  Foolishly I thought it was the only time I’d go through such an experience.  I thought dark nights of the soul were a onetime deal – they aren’t.  So when I am not always seeming to be “happy” and full of faith it’s because I’ve learned the value of being real and honest. 

As the Spiritual says …

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Nobody knows my sorrow

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Nobody knows but Jesus

Sometimes I'm down

Oh, yes, Lord

Sometimes I'm almost to the ground

Oh, yes, Lord

And yet, I stand today as a testimony that you never free fall without being caught by the Lord.

AHA-AHA

The Psalms are good medicine.  They are soothing and inspiring.  They speak to the deepest levels of our lives.  I am not sure I have a favorite.  However, I do have one that I have returned to many, many times in my life.  It's Psalm 70.

I've had a lot of turmoil in my life.  I have had a lot of times when it seemed the whole world was coming crashing down on me.  The first time I used this Psalm as medicine was in Hannibal Missouri.  I've written some about Hannibal on my blog (you can read the beginning of that series on my blog here)- but I've shared with only a few select people the true horrors of Hannibal.  There were destructive people in our lives that I still have a hard time forgiving.  There were days I thought my family would disintegrate.  There were days I thought I'd be alone raising six children.  There were days I despaired for the well being of our youngest child.  All I can say is however horrible you think it was, it was worse.

During that time, every night I'd get out my Bible and read Psalm 70 aloud.  Every night I'd declare "May those who say to me AHA-AHA turn back because of shame."  And with tears streaming down my face I'd cry out to God - Come Quickly!... Do not delay.

In 1997 I returned to this passage for another year long daily recitation and declaration of my needs.  False accusations, a career crumbling, more family issues that most people deal with in a life time within a few short months - death, fire, illness, etc. all while evil people plotted my ruin because I prayed every day.  Sounds dramatic? It's true.  All I knew to do is come back to Psalm 70.  May those who say to me AHA-AHA...

God didn't seem to come fast enough during these two crisis periods of my life, but He did come... and He delivered me.  Those who sought my ruin are a distance (although painful) memory.  They didn't win.  God did.

Eat the scroll

The he said to me, "Son of man, eat this scroll I am giving you and fill your stomach with it." So I ate it, and it tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth.  Ezekiel 3:3 (NIV)

I have discovered that I am a nerd.  Like Ezekiel, I feel compelled to eat the scroll, the scripture.  At times I devour it like a meal eaten too fast.  Other times, I do a slow careful read. I love to ponder what the first hearers of the word thoughts.  I love to understand the context of the time.  I have many commentaries on my bookshelves to help me.  They are like cookbooks that further define the ingredients of the sumptuous feast before me.  I see studying the word of God as a feast with many courses or a multi-faceted diamond that to be appreciated must be viewed from every angle.

This weekend I was told by my former New Testament professor, someone I highly respect, that the reason I struggled in the EdD program was that I was capable of much deeper theological thought and I wasn't getting this in that program.  That's true and quite a compliment.  He also told me he thought I was at least a decade younger than I am - woo-hoo!

That said, it was with some conviction that I read Andrea's comment yesterday about studying ABOUT the Bible but not reading it.  I can fall into that trap very easily.  When scholarly Biblical study becomes your discipline and academic pursuit, devotional reading can get neglected.  After all, you have your nose in the Bible all the time.  The two however, are not the same.

So what do I do?  Right now I am doing devotional reading with YouVersion on my iPhone or iPad.  If you aren't familiar with YouVersion which can also be used on your computer, I have a tutorial I prepared for a class that you can view here.

In my younger life I used the ABC method I learned in HiBA:

A - a title
B - best verse
C - confession/commitment

Not a bad method - there are other variations of this one available online, like this one available here.

My preferred way of bringing myself back to devotional reading of the scripture is the ancient practice of Lectio Divina.  This method does not treat the scriptures as texts to be studied but as the living word of God.

Lectio - reading/hearing
I like to read the text aloud - faith comes by hearing and hearing by the word of God - HEAR O Israel, etc., I read slowly so I can consume each morsel of the fine feast in front of me.  I listen for god to speak directly to me from His word - to nourish my soul with sweetness as honey would my mouth.

Meditatio - meditation
Once the Word has been heard by not just my ears but my heart, I meditate on what it means to me.  It is hard for me to still the voices that wonder and clamor for my brain to be filled - but this time is for my heart.  It is the time I focus on what "I" hear - what does this mean to ME, TODAY, in the hear and now of the world I live in.

Oratio - prayer
This is not my laundry list prayer time.  This is not the time for petitions.  This is a prayer of consecration. This is a prayer time of deep communion and submission to the things I have heard from God as He spoke to me.

Contemplatio - contemplation
In some circles, you would call this "soaking."  This is the time to just relax in the presence of God.  This is the time to drink the experience of precious time with the Lord.  This is when the thinking stops.  This is when you get off the hamster wheel of striving and just be.  It is a time of transition from the holy sacred time you have just experienced so that you can return to "ordinary" time refreshed and fed.

Faithful

Yesterday I stood at the cemetery over my parent’s grave.  I gave thanks for their life.  I rearranged the flowers.  I thought of the day two years ago as the matriarch was laid to rest joining my father in the presence of the Lord.

I had written her eulogy.  It was pretty much a stick to the facts type of eulogy.  It said little of the day-to-day struggles and joys that made up a life of nearly 92 years.  As we stood there, my husband and I discussed our own mortality.  We agreed it was time to purchase a burial plot as my mother had done.   

I imagine my eulogy will be like my mother’s, a stick to the facts one.  It will read something like this:

Joyce Ann Johannesen Lighari born November 8, died ___________.  Born in Brooklyn NY she was the daughter of Elsie and Olav Johannesen who preceded her in death.  Also preceding her in death are her two brothers and her granddaughter Rukhsanah Israel Lighari.

Joyce was the married to Latif Lighari for _____ years (I'm hoping for a minimum of 60 years).  Together they had eight children, ?? grandchildren (there are 12 so far), ?? great grandchildren (there are 2 so far) and ? great-great grandchildren (I plan on living a long time). I am so proud of my beautiful family.  I  hope everyone is named and their location given when this is read.

She was a graduate of the University of Missouri.  Later she obtained her Master’s degree in Biblical Studies from Trevecca Nazarene University.  She also completed a EdD from Trevecca in 2013.  She held numerous jobs in various careers throughout her life. 

Joyce greatest joy and deepest desire was to be faithful to her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  She loved and cared for her family with all of her heart and energy.  She loved to study.  She loved to preach.

I imagine my eulogy will say something about where I lived and maybe how I died.  I don’t imagine it will say much other than a few short paragraphs.  I don’t expect there will be honors and accolades.  I don’t think there will be a large crowd other than my immediate family gathered as I’m laid to rest.

If they write a word on my tombstone, I hope it’s Faithful.  If when I’m gone those that knew me described me as faithful, that’s enough.

Esse Quam Videri

There was a time I felt I had my finger on the pulse of what God was doing.  I thought I knew which way the river was flowing or the wind was blowing.  I wasn’t presumptuous thinking I knew everything.  I just had an inner sense of knowing.  I suppose if I spent the amount of time in prayer now, that I did then, I might have something more to contribute this week that spoke to the flow of the Spirit nationally or even globally.  Rejoicing, I jealously read David’s blog yesterday.  I always said David was a hard act to follow here on Kingdom Bloggers.  But I do have my passport up-to-date and may just head out on a mission trip with him.

Saturday, I went to a meeting of the Education Committee for the church.  I was asked to draw a timeline of my spiritual development.  Over the last few years, for various assignments, I have had to do my spiritual autobiography, as well as draw charts and diagrams similar to this one.  My spiritual timeline moves upward– I am getting closer to God but it also has bumps and spikes.  So does everyone’s if they’re honest.  

No, this isn't mine but you get the idea 

What I have noticed is that often before and after I spike there is a bit of a plunge.  I seem to go downward but really, I am going inward.   I find it’s time to go deeper.  When you go deeper into God, you give up more of yourself.  When you do that, He gets deeper inside of you to clean out the rubbish.

I am beginning to learn to be content.  I struggled and fought the call to be.  Esse Quam Videre – to be rather than to seem.  God, whose name is Yahweh – I am – the great I AM – wants us to join with Him to just be – to just drink in His love and grace and give it out.  That’s where I’m at and where I see God working. 

You're Still the One

Someone once told me “yours is a great love story.”  It has taken almost all 34 years we’ve been together to realize that this person is right.  And it happened because of Valentines Day.

I was a single mom.  I was divorced after being abandoned by an abusive alcoholic husband.  I was living on welfare in a trailer trying to get a degree at the University of Missouri.  He was an international student from Pakistan who had only been here a couple of years.

We saw each other first at church.  He’d come with his adviser.  He’d sit in the front.  I’d sit in the back with my wiggly children.  Then one summer, both taking summer-session classes, we met over the soda machine in the Commons.  A daily hello and a smile was followed a week later by him asking to join me as I poured over my Spanish text.  Two hours later, our engaging conversation resulted in my saying yes to a date that weekend.  We’d watch a Bollywood type movie (before Bollywood was big) with English subtitles.  My children would come along as “chaperones.”

He bribed the chaperones with large bags of candy.  He won my heart that night.  Yet, a few months later, I ran.  My brain said no even though my heart said yes.  It was a very snowy day in Missouri in early February.  There was a mounting pile of snow.  The University shut down.  I was home in the low-income projects having upgraded from the trailer.  I was cooking tomato sauce.  The kids clamored as the knock came at the door.

I’ll never forget the sight of him.  He was shivering.  The weather was hard on his skinny Pakistani bones.    He had bags in his hand.  Inside were three small Valentine candy heart boxes for the children.  There was a larger one for me.

In astonishment I said, what are you doing here? 

He said, I didn’t want you to not have anything for Valentine’s Day.

I followed up with, how did you get here? He said, I walked. 


WHAT??? You walked?  You walked three miles in a foot of snow? 

He said: Yes.

Of course by this time he was already in the apartment and I was worried he’d die from pneumonia. My head spin, now what?  Could this be the love of life?  Could I dare trust a man again? And there were other issues, so many issues...

He shared supper with us.  I said: Yes, and within a few weeks I said, I do.  We’ve had a lifetime of joy and sorrow, pain and gladness.  He took on three children, loved them, and raised them with me as we added five more children of our own.  He’s not perfect.  Neither am I. Nor is our marriage. But we are in love and we're still together. 

All the odds were very much against us.  No one thought we’d last.  No one saw any hope for this odd couple who were now Mr. and Mrs. But they were wrong.  We both thank God for our lives together.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions but at the beginning of this year I made a decision to be more thankful for the wonderful man I married.  He is a good man.  He’s been a great father to our children.  He’s a blessing.  He deserves honor.

We have two songs – at least I think we have two songs, he didn’t stay as romantic as he started J.  The first one is the one I walked down the aisle to when I said “I do.” 

The second one is one that sums up our life in many ways:

I've come this far by faith

It’s hard to condense a “testimony” into a few lines. There are so many facets of my life. Recently I wrote on my own blog Sounds of Hope about The Circles of Life. My life is like a kaleidoscope of circles. Sometimes they intersect and blend but mostly they are just random circles each with its own color and intensity.

I was born in a Christian home, grew up in church, and never left it. Okay, done. That’s my testimony. Seriously, I guess you could reduce it to those three phrases. My parents were both Pentecostal believers who loved Jesus with all their hearts and were faithful in every way. Like Andrea, there is never a time I didn’t know Jesus.

My mother would tell how she taught the Cradle Roll class in Sunday School. Before their were infant seats she would lay me on the altar in the prayer room while she taught her class of wiggling babies and toddler. She seemed to grow with me and as I got older, she was in charge of the “downstairs section” of the Sunday School. By school age, she was in charge of Released Time, the program on Wednesday afternoon where we were released from school for religious instruction.

I had many “come to Jesus” moments as a child. I feared they didn’t stick. A good sermon about “you need Jesus” would cause my sensitive heart to raise my hand, or go to the altar. I was “saved” many times. I was baptized twice. First, I was baptized as a teen. Always sensitive, always worried it wasn’t enough, I did it again as a young adult.

When it comes to my testimony of coming to faith, this just about sums it up. It is the walk, the journey of faith which is more interesting and full of inspiration. God is faithful. I have placed my hand in His and gone through abuse and divorce, life and death. In the midst of my childhood, I was molested.  I have given birth to and raised eight children. I have buried my father, my mother, and my granddaughter. I have been a welfare mother with no future. I have been a high school drop-out. I have been married to a wonderful man for 34 years who does not share my faith. I am a doctoral student – from high school dropout to doctor. I have answered a call to ministry and know my life’s vocation is to service Christ by serving His people. And I’ve just scratched the surface.  If you want to read more, read my blog.  I have told almost all this story in detail there.

There’s much I could say. Much I could write and much I have written – but it all boils down to this:

We Fight

As I have thought about this week's offerings, I could not help but think of the quote from Lord of the Rings

Aragorn: Stand your ground, stand your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves, and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight!

I love that quote - I've used it sermons and other blogs. I love the imagery of not letting fear take hold of us and carrying on. But what are we fighting? That's the big question. The scripture tells us that we do not fight against flesh and blood (Ephesians 6:12)- in other words, we do not fight other people. We fight against spiritual forces. Of course, then we must ask, what does that mean? At different times in my life, my understanding has been different and my answers would have been different. But this is not today's topic.

Several years ago I was at a prayer meeting. One woman who I barely knew at the time but is now is one of my dear friend, arrange to have two other women pray with me. I was struggling in a lot of areas, and while I didn't know the other two women, I trusted that my new friend would not steer me wrong. One of the first things that was said by my friend was she saw me in a war room - she saw me standing over a battle layout. I'd seen a lot of old war movies so sort of pictured a large version of the game board for Risk - the conquer the world game. I saw canons and military armament and generals pouring over it, looking at strategies.

I think she saw the same thing. She said, "Joyce, I don't see you as a general, but you are a strategist. YOU know the strategy that the other's can't see." She went on to say I was not being heard. That seemed very true to me. So many times I offer what I can see, or what I know and no one listens to me.

I've learned a lot more about myself and what makes me tick since that day in Connecticut. I see more and more that I do understand strategy. I see a bigger picture than most. Because I do, I understand our battle differently. I understand that the best way to defeat the enemy is to love your enemy.

That's radical - that's hard. That's the hardest way to win a battle. It is counter cultural. It causes us to die to self and to esteem others more than ourselves. Even the "other" - that one that doesn't look like us, smell like us, or think like us. It means we go as the body of Christ in incarnational solidarity with them. You know, just like Jesus did.

Now that's scary, isn't it? It just goes against everything we've thought before - that's the call of Christ. This brings us back to the quote from Lord of the Rings... the fear in our hearts. The fear to love. The fear to show mercy. The fear to go where people live and love them as your neighbor. To embrace your enemy... That's scary - that's more scary than picking up a sword or gun. It's standing totally defenseless with nothing but love in front of your "enemy."

There is a place for spiritual warfare, I understand that. But as I think of it, I am reminded of the words of Paul in 1 Corinthians 13 -
 

1 If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing. 3 If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it;[a] but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing.

 4 Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud 5 or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. 6 It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. 7 Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

 8 Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages[b] and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever! 9 Now our knowledge is partial and incomplete, and even the gift of prophecy reveals only part of the whole picture! 10 But when the time of perfection comes, these partial things will become useless.

 11 When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. 12 Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.[c] All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.

 13 Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

My strategy is love.

Worshiping at the Throne

I have written so much about my parents already it is hard to know where to start or what to add.  I thought about adding previous blog links and call it a day.  But no, I want to reflect in just a few words on my parents.

I was the mistake that wasn't suppose to happen.  I was the oops in their plan for life.  My father was nearly 40 when I was born.  He was a bachelor who remained that way in part because he was helping a sister and her children.  Once they were secure in Norway with family, perhaps it was then he thought of marriage.  A Norwegian immigrant, he found a young American from Pennsylvania who had come to Brooklyn New York to work as a domestic and help her former pastors who had also moved from small town PA to big city Brooklyn.  She was 19 years his junior, but love bloomed and they said I do.

Perhaps as newlyweds or during their earliest years of marriage.

Two sons came along quickly.  Their family was complete.  Or so they thought.  Then surprise, with the youngest son almost 10, another baby was on the way.  That was me.

I came into my parents life at a different time than my brothers.  When my brothers and I have gotten together in the past, they speak of a childhood I didn't know.  They speak of parents I didn't know either.  Particularly when they laugh at my dad's idiosyncrasies and "cheapness,"  I grieve and wonder.  Could this be the same dad that raised me?  Could this be the same dad that called me Lilla Venn and held my hand to explore all NYC had to offer?

Of late, I've encountered people who knew me as a child.  One thing they all comment on is my dad's pet name for me, Lilla Venn.  They tell me how much my dad loved me.  My dad died when I was 19 years old.  At the time, I had no idea how deep that loss was - now it becomes deeper and deeper every day.

My mother was laid to rest almost 2 years ago.  I miss her.  Some mornings I imagine the shuffle of her feet as she would get up and get her coffee in the morning.  God blessed her with almost 92 years of life and for the last 25 years of that life, she lived with me.

My mother's love for me was more complicated that my dads.  I wondered for many years if she loved me.  As she aged and mellowed, she told me often how much she loved me and appreciated me.  Those memories help fill the loss.

One night, a few years before she died, I was up all night working on a paper for school.  Prone to procrastination, I usually do my best work under the stress of an all nights (or at least so I think).  It must have been around 3 a.m. and I heard that shuffle.  She came to the dining room table and said

"I'm worried about you."
I said "Oh, I'm just working on a paper."
She said "You need some sleep."
I said, "I'm fine."
She said "I've been up praying for you.  I just wanted to tell you to get some rest."  

I smiled.

I was very blessed that both my parents were people of prayer.  I was very blessed that they brought me to church as an infant and kept bringing me to church.  There was never a time I didn't know Jesus.  Jesus was present in our home.  My dad would always be heard, throughout the house, whistling or singing a hymn.  My mother would sit with me at the piano and we'd sing Sunday School songs and hymns.

Now they are whistling and singing around the Throne.

This blog: No Room for Christmas Child, gives you another glimpse of my parents and my birth.  It has been translated into Norwegian and has appeared in an online Norwegian magazine as well.  My saga and my recollections of my parents are all over my blogs - I encourage you to check them out:  Sounds of Hope and Storehouses of Snow.

It's not just a thrift store

This is a repeat but many of you weren't reading Kingdom Bloggers when I wrote this in 2009.  I have since learned that Girli Johnsen moved to California and has indeed gone home to be with the Lord.  Her influence is very strong in my life.

Christmas isn’t Christmas without Salvation Army bell-ringers and red kettles. When I was a child in Brooklyn, those bell-ringers were usually Salvation Army (SA) officers in full uniform. Sometimes there was a small brass ensemble playing Christmas carols rather than a simple bell. They were usually outside of the Woolworths on Fifth Avenue BROOKLYN (not Manhattan).

I knew the Captain of the local Salvation Army Corps. Like most everything we associated with in the neighborhood, she was Norwegian. My first memory of the leader of the local corps was walking with my father and coming across a street meeting in progress. Street meetings had a little music, a short sermon, an invitation to receive Christ right there or to the local church.

Captain/Major Girly Johnsen

When I was five or six, I first met Captain Johnsen. It might have been Lieutenant Johnsen then but mostly I remember her as Captain. While we were not Salvationists, my father loved to go to different churches when there was a service in Norwegian. My father was an immigrant from Norway. So with my hand tightly in my father’s we walked the 3 ½ blocks to the SA Corps once afternoon. I was to become a Sunbeam.

Sunbeams are a scouting type program connected with the SA. I met Captain Johnson. She knew my dad and this was pre-arranged. She smiled at me and welcomed me with her strong Norwegian accent. I remembered her from the images of her in uniform, standing on the curb, Bible in hand, preaching. Captain Johnson was a single woman who was Pastor and leader of that Norwegian SA Corps in “Norwegian” Brooklyn NY.

I got my drab grey Sunbeam uniform with the complementary beanie. Soon my sash was filled with badges for my mother to sew on my uniform. When I was seven, Captain took me to Manhattan with her. I do not recall how we got there, probably the subway. As every true New Yorker knows, you do not drive in Manhattan.

We walked into a big auditorium with a full brass band playing the songs of spiritual war. My uniform was freshly pressed and every badge straight. Soon an impressing SA officer announced that they were giving the Commissioners medal to me. He further explained that normally you had to be 8 years old to receive this medal but that I had completed all the requirements. They were making an exception for me. I walked to the front of the auditorium and saluted the officer. He returned the salute and pinned the metal on my uniform. I was the only Sunbeam from our Corps to receive this medal.

Captain took me to summer camp in the van, drove me back. She took me to rallies of various sorts. I went to VBS all through my childhood there and later was a helper. My reward for helping was a SA flag and American flag on a small stand. She took me to the officer training school. I wonder, did she see the call of God in me? Did she think I should be an officer? It was never spoken, but I think she did.

Later when I was old enough to be a Girl Guard (GG), the scouting program for older girls, I was asked at times to lead the meeting. Captain didn’t lead the Girl Guard’s. Kari, her young assistant, fresh from Norway, led it. She was amazing with the tambourine with streamers. She tried to teach me but I never excelled.

One GG meeting I decided we had become too “worldly.” I took it upon myself to preach a short sermon from John 3, Ye Must Be Born-Again. I must have been 11 years old. I even gave an invitation. At the end, Kari smiled at me and prayed. She thanked God for the reminder of God’s love for us. That was my first sermon.

I have so many wonderful memories of Captain (and later Major) Girly Johnson. I imagine she has been promoted to glory as they say in the Salvation Army. When asked what ever gave me the notion that a woman could serve in ministry I mention Captain Johnson.

Girly Johnsen is in the bad row, just under the picture of Jesus.
This is the Sunday School at the Corp where she ministered
as Pastor.