Master Class
With a light knock at the door and a quick, "Hello!" I entered, balancing the teas I held in my hands. My friend heard me from her armchair just around the corner. "Come on in," she called. Her voice, once sweet and crystal clear as she commanded her household, betrayed weariness today.
I asked how she was, but it was evident. Her expression was dispirited, her shoulders slumped, and I didn't miss the diamond tear that glistened at the corner of one eye. I had arrived on a stressful day.
I set down our paper cups of tea, took off my coat and sat down in the chair opposite. Our weekly visits together are usually happy, with loud peals of laughter, but there have been increasing days like today. Our conversations may cover the past, family news, anything of interest I've read or heard, or deep mutual ponderings on big questions. To me, she is a safe place. I came to her at a time a few years ago, when I felt like a misfit in my church family. As I poured out my heart, she listened and tried hard to understand my point of view. I needed someone just to hear me without preconceived judgement, and she gave me that gift. I am honoured to be her safe place, too, when she shares her questions and ponderings.
She married young, to a fledgling pastor who came one day to preach at her church. Later she was looked up to in "the church" both as the wife of a dynamic, visionary leader with a strong personality, as well as for her own sake, a quiet soul who preferred the background. A widow now for over thirty years, her life in many ways is still defined by who she was to him.
She took pride in her housekeeping and often mentions his complimenting her on a tidy and welcoming home if he popped home for lunch. Sometimes he'd leave her a note saying how much he appreciated it. Her gifts complemented his needs in many ways.
But with age, in spite of her natural determination and creativity, she is increasingly unable to do the tasks in which she finds meaning, self-worth, and joy. Although I am often amazed to see her with duster or broom in hand when I arrive, those tasks are getting more complicated. She has waged the battle against physical weakness and decreasing mobility with courage. Now though, she feels defeated.
She has made her peace with many aspects of ageing, and with the end of her earthly journey, but it feels like a long wait, with ever diminishing purpose. I listened and empathized as she expressed her feelings, but I would not give platitudes in response or make light of her reality.
We define ourselves by our roles, and to let go of them is a difficult adjustment--a loss of identity. A writer I admire wrote of retiring at age 65 when it was mandatory, from the role of a beloved university professor. She felt sidelined, relegated to a role she didn't welcome, of "old person." Of course, she was far from "done," and had a productive writing life, into her 90's, but her writings on this topic are poignant. Even becoming an empty-nester can be devastating. One by one, it seems as life progresses, our roles of value, even just to ourselves, are stripped away.
It was time to leave, and I gathered up my coat and purse, feeling like a failure at bringing hope when suddenly, like being given a Divine shake, I remembered the words I'd read that very morning in Oswald Chambers's My Utmost for His Highest. The devotion that day was titled, The Habit of Rising to the Occasion, and from the Kindle, on my phone, I was able to read it out loud to my friend. In it, Chambers quotes from the book of Peter, in the New Testament, about the fiery trial the Christians were enduring at that time and continues by writing that "It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Himself in your mortal flesh."
"Manifesting Jesus in mortal flesh" does not require any competence or skill, except that of "letting go" and emptying out of self. It merely requires a cup upheld for him to fill. You would think that after a career working in the field of disability, this would be obvious to me. Some of the people that impacted me most in life manifested a vibrant, and sometimes holy. spirit in bodies with limited communication ability, mobility, or mental capacity.
At the end of the gospel of John, the risen Jesus has a conversation with the same Peter who later wrote the New Testament Epistles: 1 and 2 Peter. Peter was "action man," building a tent during an encounter with two old testament heroes and Jesus, and the only disciple to leave the boat and walk on water. Yet Jesus questioned him three times about loving him and feeding his sheep--simple tasks of the heart. Then Jesus says something strange. He talks to him of old age, when the capacity for action is gone, and "someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." Although this was a prophecy of Peter's martyrdom, still he commands him to "follow me." Through all the ages and stages of life, then, it is possible to "be" for Jesus.
Hope and purpose--to manifest God, even in a chair in the corner of the room! My friend, who is also my mother-in-law, nodded in assent. "Yes, that's good," she said, her chin and resolve firm again.her courage regained, at least for another day.
With gratitude, I prayed for her to be a bright light until her course is run, a mission--and commission that we share. How am I defined? I am a Writer, Pie Maker, Worship Team Member, Small Group Hostess, Writers' Group Leader, Friend, Mother, Daughter, Grandmother, God-Mother and Wife. The most essential definition, though, is A Follower of Jesus, and that one cannot be stripped away--it may even grow more brilliant in weakness and old age.
I asked how she was, but it was evident. Her expression was dispirited, her shoulders slumped, and I didn't miss the diamond tear that glistened at the corner of one eye. I had arrived on a stressful day.
I set down our paper cups of tea, took off my coat and sat down in the chair opposite. Our weekly visits together are usually happy, with loud peals of laughter, but there have been increasing days like today. Our conversations may cover the past, family news, anything of interest I've read or heard, or deep mutual ponderings on big questions. To me, she is a safe place. I came to her at a time a few years ago, when I felt like a misfit in my church family. As I poured out my heart, she listened and tried hard to understand my point of view. I needed someone just to hear me without preconceived judgement, and she gave me that gift. I am honoured to be her safe place, too, when she shares her questions and ponderings.
She married young, to a fledgling pastor who came one day to preach at her church. Later she was looked up to in "the church" both as the wife of a dynamic, visionary leader with a strong personality, as well as for her own sake, a quiet soul who preferred the background. A widow now for over thirty years, her life in many ways is still defined by who she was to him.
She took pride in her housekeeping and often mentions his complimenting her on a tidy and welcoming home if he popped home for lunch. Sometimes he'd leave her a note saying how much he appreciated it. Her gifts complemented his needs in many ways.
But with age, in spite of her natural determination and creativity, she is increasingly unable to do the tasks in which she finds meaning, self-worth, and joy. Although I am often amazed to see her with duster or broom in hand when I arrive, those tasks are getting more complicated. She has waged the battle against physical weakness and decreasing mobility with courage. Now though, she feels defeated.
She has made her peace with many aspects of ageing, and with the end of her earthly journey, but it feels like a long wait, with ever diminishing purpose. I listened and empathized as she expressed her feelings, but I would not give platitudes in response or make light of her reality.
We define ourselves by our roles, and to let go of them is a difficult adjustment--a loss of identity. A writer I admire wrote of retiring at age 65 when it was mandatory, from the role of a beloved university professor. She felt sidelined, relegated to a role she didn't welcome, of "old person." Of course, she was far from "done," and had a productive writing life, into her 90's, but her writings on this topic are poignant. Even becoming an empty-nester can be devastating. One by one, it seems as life progresses, our roles of value, even just to ourselves, are stripped away.
It was time to leave, and I gathered up my coat and purse, feeling like a failure at bringing hope when suddenly, like being given a Divine shake, I remembered the words I'd read that very morning in Oswald Chambers's My Utmost for His Highest. The devotion that day was titled, The Habit of Rising to the Occasion, and from the Kindle, on my phone, I was able to read it out loud to my friend. In it, Chambers quotes from the book of Peter, in the New Testament, about the fiery trial the Christians were enduring at that time and continues by writing that "It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Himself in your mortal flesh."
"Manifesting Jesus in mortal flesh" does not require any competence or skill, except that of "letting go" and emptying out of self. It merely requires a cup upheld for him to fill. You would think that after a career working in the field of disability, this would be obvious to me. Some of the people that impacted me most in life manifested a vibrant, and sometimes holy. spirit in bodies with limited communication ability, mobility, or mental capacity.
At the end of the gospel of John, the risen Jesus has a conversation with the same Peter who later wrote the New Testament Epistles: 1 and 2 Peter. Peter was "action man," building a tent during an encounter with two old testament heroes and Jesus, and the only disciple to leave the boat and walk on water. Yet Jesus questioned him three times about loving him and feeding his sheep--simple tasks of the heart. Then Jesus says something strange. He talks to him of old age, when the capacity for action is gone, and "someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." Although this was a prophecy of Peter's martyrdom, still he commands him to "follow me." Through all the ages and stages of life, then, it is possible to "be" for Jesus.
Hope and purpose--to manifest God, even in a chair in the corner of the room! My friend, who is also my mother-in-law, nodded in assent. "Yes, that's good," she said, her chin and resolve firm again.her courage regained, at least for another day.
With gratitude, I prayed for her to be a bright light until her course is run, a mission--and commission that we share. How am I defined? I am a Writer, Pie Maker, Worship Team Member, Small Group Hostess, Writers' Group Leader, Friend, Mother, Daughter, Grandmother, God-Mother and Wife. The most essential definition, though, is A Follower of Jesus, and that one cannot be stripped away--it may even grow more brilliant in weakness and old age.
Ephesians 1:18 New International Version (NIV)
18 I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened so that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people,
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