Christmas Redeemed

Christmas Redeemed

     Phone calls in the middle of the night seldom bring any good news. So, when the clanging of the phone awakened our family in the wee hours of a Monday morning in early December 1969, we knew something was terribly wrong. My maternal grandmother frantically delivered the news that Grandpa was seriously ill and needed to be transported to the hospital. His illness turned out to be a particularly virulent form of diverticulitis requiring major surgery and an exceedingly long hospital stay. A shadow was cast over the coming Christmas celebration, but He who came to redeem our souls works in our lives even to redeem sad situations.   

      Grandpa’s surgery had been successful, and a temporary colostomy was in place, but he still faced a lengthy recovery. After spending long days at the hospital, Grandma usually came home with us rather than returning to her rambling house in downtown Winston-Salem. It seemed to ease the emptiness and fear for everyone. Staying with us especially helped her pass those long nights of uncertainty; even though we knew the One who had sent His Son to redeem us from sin could work in all things-even Grandpa’s life-threatening illness.

       Christmas evening was no exception; however, on this particular night, we had a few extra people joining us. My aunt, uncle and two cousins had stopped by the house since they had been visiting Grandpa in the hospital. Despite the circumstances, my parents attempted to create a festive mood conducive to fellowship and relaxation, just as they had they had earlier in the day for our immediate family. Dad had a roaring fire going in the fireplace; the Christmas tree was lit. We had enjoyed a light snack, featuring Mom’s spiced tea. Yet, a spirit of weariness hung over the gathering.

       In attempt to bring cheer to the seemingly sad and obviously weary adults, we three cousins got together with an impromptu re-enacting of the Christmas story. Our indulgent parents and grandmother, encouraging our creativity, graciously endured our play as we acted out each scene and sang the usual Christmas carols, often a little off-key, but with great fervor. Unfortunately the entire play unraveled when the director attempted to lead the Magi to the manger rather than to the family dwelling place. At that point one of the cousins stopped the play dead in its tracks with the words, “Stop, they didn’t go the manger.”

         Moments later we erupted into in a family discussion concerning the Christmas story that resulted in my seventy-year-old grandmother having to be convinced concerning Biblical accuracy. At that point neither the cast nor the audience could contain their mirth. Not only had three children acted in innocent confusion trying to bring joy to their parents, but a seventy-year-old woman learned truth for the first time in her life even though she had at first exclaimed, “Aw, I don’t believe it!  They ‘come’ when He was in the manger.”

      God was good; we were joyful.  Grandpa was on the road to recovery, albeit a slow recovery. It had been good Christmas after all.

       I believe it shows that truly as the lyrics of the song reveal, “Nothing is wasted in the hands of our Redeemer:”[1] no laughter no tears and certainly no pain.  In His hands they are tools for His glory and the healing of the hearts of His children.

Bibliography

Gray, Jason.  “Song of the Week: Jason Gray -'Nothing is Wasted' (Remix).”  The Rabbit Room.  February 12, 2013. Accessed May 26, 2013. http://www.rabbitroom.com/2013/02/song-of-the-week-jason-gray-nothing-is-wasted-remix/.

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[1] Jason Gray, “Song of the Week: Jason Gray -'Nothing is Wasted' (Remix),” The Rabbit Room, February 12, 2013, accessed May 26, 2013, http://www.rabbitroom.com/2013/02/song-of-the-week-jason-gray-nothing-is-wasted-remix/.

Jaguar!

Jaguar!

       Today a fine dog died. She had suffered with congestive heart failure for over a year. This afternoon she went to sleep and never woke up. Jaguar was special to us; she and my dad had formed a special bond. She was not our dog, but she belonged to neighbors who shared her freely.  There were  numerous sleepovers as is evidenced by this picture.  Jaguar was a joy bringer; she made my dad happy.  They shared numerous Ritz cracker bed time snacks on those sleepover nights – those were before she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  

 Jaguar felt deeply she had a special friendship with an elderly neighbor, that my dad had helped forge.  This neighbor and his wife kept a jar of animal crackers just for Jaguar.  Daddy would take Jaguar to their house where he taught her to announce herself by barking at the door.  He would also insist that Jag bark her thanks for the cookies.  Jaguar would amuse us all by rolling around on the carpet. Yes, she was spoiled there and allowed on the couch.  Jaguar could work her way into the hearts of anyone who truly loved dogs.  

When our neighbor passed away, Jaguar grieved with the rest of us.  As soon as she arrived at their house, she would run to the bedroom – looking for him.  Looking back it was what we call foreshadowing.  Jaguar was affectionately known as “Therapy Dog,” because she brought so much happiness to people who seemed to be hurting.  As Daddy struggled with health concerns of his own, Jaguar became a frequent companion. 

Then in May, 2012 the unthinkable happened; Daddy was in ICU for many days and was then transferred to Palliative Care. We managed to get Jaguar in to see him on the last of his life – what a joyful reunion. After Daddy passed away, Jaguar would search the house for him and the bed.  I would try to reason with her that he wasn’t coming back.  When I moved to a smaller unit, Jag seemed to accept it was just me.  Jag loved my cooking – that’s more than I can say for me; she ate most of my rejects.  Jaguar was a true friend.  One of our last times together I had an asthma attack, and she followed me as I tried to regain my breath. Even as she was weakening, she remembered that she was Therapy Dog!  The Thursday before she died, we went to the Festival of Lights and of course we took Jag who was enthralled with them. I explained the various displays to her. It was a great memory. Today Jaguar lay down to take a nap and never woke up.  Her passing was peaceful, and her owners were spared the painful decision that many with ill pets have to make.  Her passing did call to mind the passing of  Mom and Daddy – peaceful and in their sleep.  Yes, God is good even as we count our losses. 

                                             

Thanksgiving Reflections

Thanksgiving Reflections

       Throughout my childhood, Thanksgiving was normally spent at Grandma’s house.  She would cook the turkey and we all would bring different side dishes. She lived in a somewhat sizeable house between the Washington Park and West Salem communities – it was really the old family home. The family had moved there during the depression when my mother was four years old and had remained there for forty years. Ah, there were memories in every nook and cranny, but on those Thanksgivings the memories slept through the noise and confusion that resulted from so many people in one place and we created new ones. Yes, we were together and that’s all that mattered.  Then slowly our ranks began to dwindle – Grandpa went to Heaven in 1976.  The last Thanksgiving was celebrated there in 1978, because it was to become obvious that Grandma could no longer live alone; she moved in with my aunt – her oldest daughter. Then in early 1980, Grandma joined Grandpa in Heaven.  Our Thanksgiving celebrations continued at various locations. Since Grandma had a family of ten children, we usually had a crowd; however, not everyone made it home every year. It was great fun snapping pictures by family units, by groups of siblings – and oh the food and fellowship with one another.  Then our ranks began to dwindle in the 1990’s as first one and then another stepped into eternity, and yet our seasonal gatherings focused on the joy of family and provisions of our God.  We lost an aunt -- an uncle – a cousin in the early 1990’s. Thanksgiving 2000 is forever engraved on my heart and mind. After battling heart disease and being oxygen-dependent for the better part of three years,  she began to fail in a real way.   Added to her other issues were frequent nose bleeds that often resulted in emergency trips to the hospital.  It happened again on this Thanksgiving Day, and we were in the ER hoping it could be stopped. It was , but this was Mom’s last family Thanksgiving – her next was spent in the unbridled praise of Heaven. It seemed that a succession of sisters followed her in subsequent years.  Other family members have also followed – sometimes it’s difficult not to contemplate, “who will be missing next year?”  Yet, that’s foreign to spiritual thinking and a mindset of true thanksgiving.  We will meet again this year and perhaps give thought to those who’ve gone before. We will share … we will laugh…we will bear one another’s burdens.  That’s a real Alspaugh family Thanksgiving. Perhaps our family theme verse for the season should be Romans 11:38, “For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory forever. Amen” (KJV).  We praise God for His bountiful blessing and we look to Him for sustenance in the future … because we are Alspaughs and that’s who we are

But Father What ARE You Saying?

But Father What ARE You Saying?

C.S. Lewis penned the words “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” I was a cherished child, but I was also  a gratefully passive child. I had great difficulty articulating my desires. Despite this trait, throughout most of my life I have known the voice of God through my pleasures. Life has been good … almost too good.  My conscience, strong yet sensitive was awakened early in my life; the voice has been often deafeningly disturbing. I have worried about EVERYTHING.  For not only has God spoken through my conscience; the enemy of our souls has hissed through my conscience his tales of deceit. For years though, it would seem God has been shouting through my pain.  This begs the question, “But Father What ARE You Saying?”

As I seek to ascertain the voice of God in this milieu of pain it occurs to me that perhaps He is shouting for me to take note of which He is—He is faithful. As the pain deepens and there is no recourse or relief, the path seems to grow darker, but God is there. This is a silly illustration and somewhat out of context. I was watching a movie about a boy, his dog, and his attitude which arose out of a heart of pain. His grandfather whose expertise appears to be ill disguised tough love obtains the dog for him because he “needs a friend.”   There comes a day when in series of really bad choices emerging from that pain within, he leaves his canine friend by the side of the road to go fishing with a group of juvenile delinquents.  It is through that experience he learns the meaning of loyal love as his canine companion “stays” where he was left despite a torrential rain storm.  He and his grandfather retrieve the drenched dog amidst a torrent of tears—perhaps for the first time in his life, the boy understands loyal love that will not leave him.  This loyal love would be proven once more when the dog would attempt to cross a busy thoroughfare to come the aid and defense of his young master.  In my journey with pain, I have done incredibly stupid things and thought incredibly stupid thoughts. Yet through this megaphone as Lewis calls it, God is shouting, “I am faithful. My loyal love will pursue where you go and will not let you go.”

The voice of God cries out along with David, “Let your heart be undivided.”   For years I have feared being alone at the end of my life. I never married, but I always worried about my parents.  Worry divides the heart and mind. Worry is essentially misplaced fear which leads to misplaced worship … God’s megaphone of pain is sounding forth, “Unite your heart to fear my name” (Psalm 86: 11. Actually it’s the prayer of David that God would unite his heart, but it is often pain that drives us to the point that we utter such a prayer.

God’s megaphone of pain reminds us that we can’t do life on our own – that we absolutely and undeniably dependent upon Him as He shouts from Scripture, “without Me you can do nothing (John 15:5)”.  Pain puts us there – helpless and in need of another to succor… to bolster… to mend our flagging faith.

Yes, my pain reminds me that I need a Savior not only from my sin, not only from my fear, not only from my great propensity to do life on my own --- but at the my deepest level from myself.

National Nurses' Week

National Nurses' Week: A Tribute

This is National Nurses' Week, and it culminates in Mother’s Day. Before all you purists freak out and inform me that Sunday is the FIRST day of the week, just go with me on this one. These two special days together stir feelings of extreme nostalgia in me… you see my mom was a nurse of the very best caliber. She received her training in the hospital --- City Memorial Hospital in Winston-Salem to be exact. Her dream was to complete nurse’s training and then go to Bible College – all in preparation for the mission field. However, that dream would be dashed in the dust when a doctor looked at the chest x-ray required of all student nurses entering the program and brusquely said, “Miriam, with this heart you’ll never make it through nurse’s training.”

Yet Mom persevered through the intense training, receiving her pin and her cap. She graduated with her heart intact –physically and emotionally. Yet deep with was the stir to answer a call, and yet she knew it was not in the best interest of the mission board who would spend a vast sum of money to get her to the field --- perhaps for one term? It really was not in her own best interest; for climate and hardship would likely break her health. She knew that God had other plans.  So she stayed and waited on God’s best.  Meanwhile, God was turning the heart of a young man in her direction.  At that time her family was in turmoil, because her brother was terminally ill.  That same young began to court her while at the same time offer encouragement to a young man who was losing his battle with illness.  To the chagrin of those who were championing the entrance of mom to the ranks of missionary service, Mom and Dad were married on December 25, 1957.

Two hearts became one … one in service for the Savior. I write of them both here …in addition, this weekend is the second anniversary of Daddy’s home going. For the first 10 years of their marriage, Mom worked part time in various nursing venues. Then when I was nine, she returned to work fulltime as an occupational health nurse.  She was beloved by all – she knew she was the hands of Christ ministering to those who needed a kind and gentle touch.  She was the family medical expert; everyone leaned heavily on Miriam for advice and help in times of crisis.  In my elementary years, our home served as a site for a Bible Club for children on the way home from school.  In my younger years our car was filled with children going to Sunday school and other children’s programs at our little Alliance church. We entertained numerous missionaries and guest speakers in connection with with the church. They modeled for me lives where Christ was unquestionably and irrevocably number one.  Life has not been the same without her (or my dad) … since their home goings in 2001 and 2012, respectively.  They each had a badly diseased physical heart, but their hearts toward God told a different story. They weren’t perfect, but they were holy and wholly … His. That’s a legacy to which I cling on this special weekend. May Jesus Christ be Praised!