... there is a deeper need yet, I think, and that is the need--not all the time, surely, but from time to time--to enter that still room within us all where the past lives on as part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are most alive ourselves to turning and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember--the room where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we remember consciously to remember the lives we have lived. Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember: Uncollected Pieces
How beautifully written! And yes, how true!
But I do not exactly wish to go back and live in the past seasons of my life. Not only is it impossible, the past for me represents a season of accomplishment, of learning, and of growth.
It is because of the past seasons that I am what I am today.
But from time to time, as Buechner writes, it is good to remember what the past was like.
November for me, since my husband passed away fourteen years ago, is inevitably a month of remembering. It is Ernie's birth month, and it is also the month that God called him home.
There are times when I do enter that room called Remember, and my heart is filled with nostalgia.
I remember my childhood years, with me and my sister and our parents sitting around the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, opening gifts, and a breakfast table laden with hot chocolate, bread, butter, ham, fruit cocktail salad, homemade meat loaf, and many other goodies.
I remember my years as a young mother of three children, also on Christmas morning, also sitting on the floor beside the Christmas tree, me, Ernie and our three children, opening gifts, and then a late breakfast of hot chocolate, bread, butter, fruit salad, ham...
Other beautiful memories come floating in. Christmas eve dinner together with Ernie's family. Easter sunrise service at a nearby stadium. Family vacations in Baguio City. A well-tended garden. Young couples' weekly Bible studies with dear friends from church. Among the precious memories that I cherish are the 18 years I spent as principal of the Christian Academy of Bacolod.
In a previous post, I called those years my "snag-free, carefree," years.
For sure there were troubles, but when I look back to those years, trouble is not in the picture, only smiles.
Fast forward to today. I leave the room called Remember and enter the front room called Present Reality.
My husband is no longer around. My two sons are married and have lives of their own. My only daughter lives in a city far from me.
A number of dear friends have also gone home to heaven.
Beneath the surface are my ongoing internal battles which only a few close friends know about.
Indeed, life today is so different from what it used to be.
There are splashes of joy in between. Family lunch and dinner together with my children and grandchildren. Sleeping over at my son's home and having a Lord of the Rings movie night or playing Tetris with my grandchildren.
But sitting in my front room also means coming to terms with these more recent painful events.
Three years ago, death revisited our family and claimed another life, that of my fifth grandchild two weeks after she was born.
Then early this year, the pandemic knocked at our door. My second son Worshiper and his whole family got hit. Eventually all of them recovered, or so we thought. Just when it looked like he was on the mend, he woke up one morning and he was not his usual self. He had to be rushed to the hospital where he stayed for a week for a battery of tests, including a spinal tap. It turns out that he had developed a viral complication that affected his central nervous system. It was a long journey to recovery.
In the middle of it all, God called him to move his family out of this city to another city down south of our province. They now live about a hundred kilometers away, two hours by car. That meant we could no longer have impromptu family times as easily as before.
While second son was recovering, my daughter in law Chosen One was the strong one. She manned the fort, so to speak. For sure it wasn't a walk in the park, but she never wavered. God gave her the strength she needed.
Then just last month, the biopsy result confirmed our worst fears. Chosen One was diagnosed with cancer. She has begun with the treatment, and we are all encouraged by what the doctor said, "It's treatable."
We are all in this together; nevertheless each one of us in the family is also fighting his own battle.
It is another long journey, and only God knows how it will end.
This world is not our home, therefore, this earthly life offers no guarantees that we can hold on to.
Through all the ups and downs of my life, there has only been one constant in the equation: God.
God has proven Himself to be the only guarantee that we can hold on to.
I can never overlook the fact
- that God is good, and His mercies never end,
- that in all things He works together for the good of those who love Him,
- that the plans He has for us are meant to give us a future and a hope,
- that nothing can separate us from His love.
We all have our places of comfort, where everything is working just the way we want it. But such spots are few and far between.
Sooner or later, sometimes in just a split second, we are called out of our comfort zones, and we find ourselves in the wilderness.
The natural reaction is fear, or doubt, or blaming God.
When I turned the ownership of my life back to Jesus 49 years ago, I gradually understood that I no longer called the shots, God did. Thus began the process of living a life that was being transformed from glory to glory.
I remember the earlier years when life was "good," but I never lose sight of the fact that God reserves the best wine for the last. In Revelation 21:5 we read, He who sat on the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." This only means that the life we live is in a state of flux, it is constantly changing. As a Christ follower, I am constantly being made new.
And, needless to say, this includes my whole life.
In the wilderness, the Israelites lived in tents and they always watched for the cloud of God. When the cloud began to move, they had to fold up their tents and follow where the cloud was going.
They could not drive their stakes too deep, because life in the wilderness was one big transition process.
Where were they headed? They were going to the Promised Land.
And that is the very picture I never want to forget.
I am in the wilderness, and I must never drive my tent pegs too deep. Because when the cloud moves, I have to be ready.
Live life with open hands, ready to let go, ready to move on. That is the precious lesson I have learned through all these years.
The Israelites probably did not understand the process, because the Bible says they were a stiff-necked generation, and were always complaining, grumbling, and murmuring.
What a sad picture! I certainly do not want to be like that.
Abba Father time and again teaches us the best response, for our own good.
Thanksgiving.
Just today, a friend wrote this on his timeline:
Jesus gave thanks before the miracle. Thanksgiving is an expression of joy. Our joy comes not from what we have but from who He is, and giving thanks opens our eyes to see more of Him. The prophet Habakkuk also struggled to see God's provision in his life. Finally he surrendered and chose to rejoice. He chose to give thanks when there was nothing, trusting God for the something.
When all is said and done, we will always find ourselves in a not enough situation. No matter how good life may be, there will always be a morning when we wake up and suddenly realize that life is not good. We find ourselves in a seeming dead-end, or rock-bottom.
This is Reality.
It is the stuff that this earthly life is made of.
Because in all the uncertainties of life, the purpose of God is to draw us to Himself and get to know Him the way He wants to be known. He alone is the Solid Rock, the unshakable foundation, the Unchanging One.
For many years, I have not experienced true joy because I was connecting joy with my life running smoothly.
I am learning to thank God for the questions that have not yet been answered, the not enough situations in my life. As one author so beautifully puts it,
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. - Rainer Maria Rilke
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