Happiness and God's Purpose

Such a trivial assumption, when we ask, "Doesn't God want me to be happy?" Our personal happiness isn't where God starts.   Though, He is a good God, as when we yield our lives and purposes to Him, a fruit that results is joy and peace, among others.  God calls individuals for His distinct purpose, which may or may not immediately manifest as  stereotypical "happiness" or comfort in you, in your life as you planned it. But its results are eternal.
Certainly, when He spoke of Abraham, he said, "For I have known him, in order that he may command his children and his household after him, that they may keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and justice, that the Lord may bring to Abraham what He has spoken to him," which was his son, Isaac, in the years of Abraham and Sarah's old age, to produce the Hebrew people, through which God would bring about His intentions for the world.  God had his Own purpose, and He chose Abraham  through whom to achieve it. (Gen.18:19)
God did not blow sunshine on Paul when he got his attention by blinding him on the road to Damascus.  "But rise and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to make you a minister and a witness both of the things which you have seen and of the things I will yet reveal to you." (Acts 26:16)  God chose Paul as a witness - not so he could make him feel good and find stereotypical happiness with a life of no challenge.  Paul faced many challenges - yet as expressed before, so also came joy, as a result of his obedience to, and participation in, God's purpose.
Each of us may choose to live out our life reaching for what we, in our limited vision, perceive as happiness; or giving the wheel to One who sees all, and can make us part of a story that is far bigger than ourselves.

Poison

Fitness to a task (or a relationship) - it's there or it's not.  It's not always that another person is a horrible monster. Sometimes it's that you yourself are not fit to abide them.  We're all on this earth for a purpose. We must find our purpose, what we are fit to accomplish, and apply ourselves to the task.
When we take on a task or relationship that exceeds our strengths, the task/relationship can poison our effectiveness, thwart our progress, and leave us damaged, unfit for our God-given task, which then does not get done, or done well.
It is not a failure to acknowledge our limitations, but a triumph, and a necessity.  We may wish we were fit to a particular task, but we abandon our real mission if we allow chasing the diversion to weary us into ineffectiveness.
Don't give in to the tendency to see it as failure to reject the task or relationship in favor of your primary purpose.  See it as having been led to the best path, while rejecting what was never meant for you to begin with, or which now exceeds your ability to  maintain.

Bulletin Board

It's alive - an expanding, changing, rarely neat, appendage to my pantry door.  It smiles at me with the faces of my children, my in-laws, my grandbabies and my mom. It's a collection of the fragments of my life - each piece expressing a sentiment I hold.  It may appear to be attacking you when you turn the corner into this room, but I assure you it's built with love. It's my bulletin board.  And now.....well, it's empty.
I'm not sad.  It's time.  It will be lovingly removed and brought along to our new home, after 24 years of residence in this one.  I've no idea where I'll put it, but it will have a place.  The sentiments accumulate where our family resides - it's a living thing, its life consists of the lives it reflects.  The smiles will once again accumulate.  The home is not the structure. It is the people.  And therefore, it travels with us.... our home.... and our bulletin board.

A Healing of the Heart

I have gone through a tangled jungle spiritually the last 6 months. First it was the church that I attended for 24 years, worked in for 3, led worship in for 7, which I'd so recently posted that I loved.  Through events that I won't share, the previously unthinkable became apparent:that my time there was coming to an end.  I held on with all my strength; I turned myself inside out in an attempt to secure what had served as a cocoon for so long - a place that housed my family, both literally and spiritually; a place where I'd grown mature in my faith and unshakable.  When God means to move you on, the unshakable can surely be shaken.

After we left, when asked how we were doing, I described it to those whom I love as "ripping my heart out," but, also, that I knew it was right to leave.  I've since spent time recuperating from what felt like an amputation.  The greater part of my life and identity was in that church. But I knew my Savior goes with me wherever I go - it's not about the church - it's about Christ in my heart.  I learned long ago that I am never never alone.

Since leaving, there followed a dizzying sequence of major decisions, both glorious and heart-wrenching.  We decided to sell our home of just as long and move into another large enough to give both us and our daughter's family our own space; this was in order to hasten our retirement savings, and their move-to-their-dream-home savings.  It has involved gutting and redoing the new home, and that has been therapeutic and intense. 

Still, in the midst of these two major changes, we also outgrew a family dynamic of codependence with different branch of our family.  It was abrupt and startling and not pretty.  But we came to realize that it was time.

I was churning, anxious, reliving the not-pretty parts of these changes in our lives that we had not really seen coming.  As I was relating this to my best friend of 25 years, the pain started out as a kindling fire inside that just kept burning.  And then.......it lifted.  We continued to talk, but I felt a distinct difference - and I told her, "Thanks so much. I can just move on now. It helped to tell you."  I was now peaceful - about all of it: About the changes, the loss.  My grief and loss, stirred up all over again by the family conflict, seemed to have passed.

That night, as I drifted off to sleep, my cell signalled an incoming text from my Charlie, who is married and is on staff at a church in Kentucky, where he also plays guitar for their worship.  "Do you have a heart condition?  And did Dad pray for you tonight?"

Half asleep, I responded, "Not that I know of....," completely forgetting that I'd sobbed under the weight of the stress that morning, and the tenderness in Dan's eyes as he patiently waited for me to pull it together.  He does pray for me, I know. He wants me to handle these things, and that they won't overtake me.

"Okay, I know that was random. It's just that we are at a conference our pastor is hosting, and a prophet from England called me out and told me, "Your mother.....Gail, has a heart condition.  But as you are playing guitar, she is being healed.  Then he asked who "Dan" was.  I told him he was my dad.  He said that he (Dan) was praying for (Gail),  as you're playing your guitar, she is being healed.  So yeah - may be metaphorical? Not sure but I figured I'd ask." Charlie texted.

"Gosh I hope not." I said, but when we said goodnight, I thought of the condition of my heart; of my exit from the church, and how I'd felt like a body part had been removed - I so loved that church, the people; how I'd almost felt the world had an aggressive character to it throughout that experience.

And then what I'd just gone through with family members - the realization that no matter how much you love someone, no matter how much you want growth, independence, and good decisions to guide them, there comes a point when nothing will help them but that they step up for themselves. I had withdrawn my willingness to be a safety net. My hands were weary and I could not hold up their net any longer.

And I remembered my conversation with my friend, when suddenly, inexplicably, a peace had come over me.  It was a heart condition - a condition of my heart, so that I had literally used the words "It ripped my heart out."   This conversation  with my friend took place in Virginia, while Charlie played the guitar for that service in Kentucky.

"How did he know our names?" I texted Charlie.  "'cause God told him, I reckon! lol, I've never met the guy in my life - he's from England so there's no way he could know us.=P"

Well, by now, I was surely awake, so I got up, grabbed my Bible and crept out of the bedroom so as not to awaken Dan.  My Bible opened to Deuteronomy 4:35: To you it was shown, that you might know that the Lord Himself is God; there is none other besides Him.

Earlier yesterday, after my breakdown, but before the Kentucky service, this song was on my mind. I found the lyrics and chords online, and transposed them 3x until I found the key I was most comfortable with.  I'd laid it aside before bed.  When I woke this morning, the song was again running through my mind, this time through a mind that was comforted by a miracle of heart-healing through my Godly boy Charlie.

You are my Shepherd Who cares for me
You lie me down in fields of green
By quiet waters restore my soul
For Your Name's sake guide me on righteous roads

Oh my Jesus You know me by name
You will lead me in kindness and grace
I will follow wherever You go
All my life I'll trust You, heart and soul. 

from "Heart and Soul" by Josh Fox/Paul Mabury

Death - the door to something better

I've been at the side of a handful of people whom I love, at the time of their passage on to Heaven. My mother has given me many lessons of life that I'll never forget, and one of them is her perspective on death.
My father passed when I was in college. I recall her fear and uncertainty the day he took off on his dirt bike and did not return.  She stayed in our home, as asked by searching friends, family and rescue personnel, to receive him if he came back, though I know every fiber of her wanted to join the search, and she kept saying, "Don't go out there alone, Gail - it's late and dark - I'm worried for you," forever concerned about us, not herself; gathering who she still had close.  I thought at the time that there must be some misunderstanding, and that Dad would be found alive, or that he would walk back in the door with 3 flavors of Haagen-Dazs and say, "What's going on?"
But he didn't.  When my mother was told that one who loved him deeply found him, I don't think I was in the room - much of that day is a blur. But in those that followed, she modeled an attitude entirely unexpected.  Now one might say it was shock, but I've been there since, and no. My mother grieved, certainly, as a woman whose man was so good to her, so perfect for her, unwilling that it should end so soon. But she also has a life force I've only seen in a few people in my lifetime, and a positivity that I pray I carry on as well.
Later, there was my stepfather. Harry came into our lives when I had teens and elementary age children. He related to them lovingly as if he'd been there all our lives.  His eyes lit up when we came to visit.  And he made my mother happy..... and mad ..... and happy again - the two of them were a pair.  We all loved Harry, and were unsurprised when my mother told us she planned to marry him.  A diagnosis of esophogeal cancer preceded the wedding, however, and he lasted only a few more months.  My mother's renewed sense of marital happiness turned to attentive care-taking, and she loved him all the way to Heaven - cooking for him, conversing with him as she always had, with her characteristic energy and love, welcoming anyone from his past who wished to be there, keeping him warm when his body began to lose heat, all those things - everything he needed at what state he was in.
Then my brother, who lived with her at the time: My brother had a companion, his mate, a lovely soul, Brenda. Together, Brenda and my mom cared for him following his diagnosis of cancer - continually responsive to his needs, setting the atmosphere in the house, which was palpable love.
In all these experiences, there was not a whiff of foreboding - sadness, yes,  and acknowledgment of the reality, but not as one who believes they end at death.  My mother knows, and taught me, that the soul lives on, and that death is not the end, but a passage, which in our experiences so far, has been a passage to something more beautiful than anything the earth offers - and even Earth is a Masterpiece. So my mother and Brenda fulfilled his need for an escort - they went with him to the door.
I have experienced 3 similar passings in the past 3 years, and I feel as if, because of my mom, I've been apprenticed.  I respect the experience of death - knowing it is universal, and for myself, I'm unafraid.  Further, death is an opportunity to go ahead of others fearlessly, as I know where I am headed, and that there is nothing to fear - my Savior will meet me, and my brother, and my father, and Pattie, Dick, and Pa.  I'd prefer not to be in a lot of pain, of course, but what will be will be.
But meantime, I've had modeled for me that when the end is apparent, the dying can darn well have what they ask for, be it a salt shaker, a bowl of ice cream or a tenderloin. Or they can eat nothing, if they don't want it, dagnabbit! Don't stand between my loved one and the bag of Taco Bell I bring them. I've made a pact with all my loved ones that I will assist them in rebellion, and I expect them to assist me. I don't mind being the heavy when necessary, and I expect them to rise to the occasion if I need them to.
I've also found that there is an organization that is fully supportive of such a respectful, dignified and permissive approach to death - Hospice.  I've heard people criticize Hospice, but I've also seen their compassion in action at the inevitable end, when without them, a strong-willed loved one would be required, and not everyone has the strength at that time, or has my mother at hand.  I fully support the assistance of Hospice in those circumstances, and I'll not forget what they have done for people I love.
If my decline is slow, I want someone like my mother by my side, and I hope that I am her to others.  I thank you Mom, for your example. How was I blessed, and this is only one way, with such an excellent mother? If I ever whine or complain, someone slap me, and ask me that - give me some perspective. What a gift you are, my Mommo.

Third-Second-Chances

I'd wanted babies from my babyhood.  I was the kid who had so many baby dolls I'd line them up and count them, then forget how many I had, and I'd willingly do it again.  I couldn't part with a one of them.  I had several I was totally devoted to.  As I became an adolescent, my desire was to be married and have real babies.  This outweighed my common sense, my wisdom, and my desire for an education, which my father insisted was important.  I only wanted to be a mom.
I tripped my way into the adult world, and found that you don't know a person until you've gotten past the front they present; that sometimes you lie to yourself about who you are with because you fixate on their qualities that are admirable - everyone has those; that for a time, a person can change, but that you need to know their relaxed off-guard self before you know if you're really compatible.  We weren't.  I tried, again and again, to make myself equal to the task of being his wife.  It was following a time of turmoil, when I came back to try again, that you were begun.
You presented yourself when I was a young, chaotic, traumatized, confused, disheartened, hopeful 22-year-old.  And from your very existence forward, everything changed. Once I knew you were coming, everything aligned.  There was still a new direction to take, to bring you to healthy adulthood, but I began to know my purpose, and who I was, and what my priorities were.
The marriage didn't last much longer after that. It was gut-wrenching to leave, but impossible to stay.  We did everything we could to make it amicable, and suffered the most from the parting when the other was spending time with you.  But I am positive, looking back, that leaving was right - that if I hadn't left on my own power, I would have self-destructed.  I would not have had the strength to raise you with love if I was with him, and your future trumped everything.  Yes, I was selfish to conceive you in that state, but I already revealed that I was confused and chaotic then.  As a very wise person once told me, "Desperate people do desperate things."  As it turned out, you are the best mistake I ever made.
It was you and me in the years that followed.  We had bunk beds in my mom's home. She lovingly, and uncritically took us in, and she and my sister watched you while I realigned my life, coaching gymnastics to provide for us, and re-starting my education by taking a Psychology Through the Lifespan class.  I related everything I was learning to you, and I was fascinated.  I'd take you to class  and to the library with me when I didn't have a sitter and you were so well behaved.  I continued until I got my degree in psychology.
I wish I could say that I made no more mistakes, but that would not be true.  But in my Junior year of college, I met Dan. Again, my life aligned with my dreams and you and I became settled into a family.  Joining with a man with two boys of his own was not easy by any estimation, but oh, it was worth it.  He was totally devoted and focused on the success of our family, and we met any challenges as a team, which gave strength to our family. 
It's been 26 years since our family was joined, 22 years since our Charlie, and then our Sam came and blessed our whole family with a unity we may not have achieved without them; a focus, a shared love.  The meandering path I took in this life brought me you and then Dan, and then two boys and two babies.  Is it not obvious? It was all right - it was ALL right.  Despite that crooked path, I have everything I wanted as a little girl.
The picture is of me holding you on the black sand beach in Hawaii, a beach that no longer exists, covered over later with lava from a subsequent volcanic eruption.  And like that beach, you and I are not what we once were - embroiled in a life of doubt and confusion - but we've realized our first dreams.  The expression on my face of total contentment with you in my arms doesn't reflect the challenges that followed, but the sureness of the path I was on, however indirect.  I, in mine, soon with the man of my dreams and precious family around me, and you with your Jimmie, who blesses us all in so many ways as a positive light, a reliable father, who brings laughter and kindness.  I am so grateful for the life that I've lived, in its totality. I don't focus on the challenges that brought me here - it's God's hand - the blessings and second chances and third-second chances that renewed it and allow me now to look back and know that it's been good....wonderful-good, and that He began with you.

Outward Appearance

To be misunderstood is incredibly disheartening.  There will be times in your life in which you know that you have been.  No amount of discussion will amend it.  This is the limitation of man, who filters everything he receives through his past and experiences.  Your seemingly flimsy skills of  persuasion are not nearly so convincing as a life of concrete emotion-inducing experiences.
First, appeal to your Savior. Ask Him to reveal your part in the misunderstanding.  Sin has great force in this world, and carries ramifications that live on, regardless of whether you've asked and received forgiveness from your Savior.  So does the perception of sin.  It seems unfair until you realize that salvation is only a get-out-of-jail-free card in Heaven, not to the perception of those who feel wronged by you, as Satan is the god of this world (2nd Corinthians 4:3,4.) Yes you are forgiven now, but those your sin has affected are hobbled by the memory of your sin.  It is only Christ, you and time that can heal those memories, and that is actually best, since the memory is a warning to yourself and others that a better route should be taken.
But back to misunderstanding. Some people's hearts are too busy dealing with their own inner chaos to even consider your request for forgiveness, much less reframing the offense.  They simply cannot produce it.  Be sure you have done what you can. Then move on.  In time, your words may produce the forgiveness you so desire. But don't let Satan, the accusor, get a foothold in your heart, doing collateral damage to your walk.  Move on with your Savior so that your life can be a blessing to others, and pray for that relationship.  One day, it may be given back to you.
For the Lord does not see as a man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.  1st Samuel 16:7
For the Lord searches all hearts and understands all the intent of the thoughts.  1 Chronicles 28:9