Change happens. Sometimes it holds great promise and improves the lives of those experiencing it. Other times, it brings sorrow and distress. Rarely does it affect us in no way. And it almost always holds some aspect of fear, and anxiety even when it is change for the good.
One of the hardest things in my journey from guilt to grace has been the change. I have left old ways, and I am embracing new ones. But I spent the better portion of fifty years in those old ways. They are familiar and sometimes cozy, and well . . . . easier to handle because they are so familiar. I made only a few major decisions and left the rest to the leaders I had chosen to trust. Actually that trust in leaders was one of the decisions. They already had studied the Bible, they were in an authoritative position, and I could trust what they said with no question and apply it to my life and be a good Christian and be submissive and . . . go to Heaven based on what they taught. Right?????
Not really. Our relationship with God is personal. A biblical pastor's prayer during a service is not our own prayer. Our leaders do not speak to God for us, we must do that ourselves. He longs to hear OUR voices praise HIM. He uses Godly leaders to teach us, but He wants to have our hearts and our ears for Himself. We are God's very own. Each of us who believe Him. That just makes me shiver with delight.
So, as I realized that not all of the teaching I received was Biblical and might indeed have been only the personal opinion of a fellow sinner, I started on this rather frightening journey. The familiar landscape of fundamentalism fell away, and the narrow road of God's grace rose ahead of me in what seemed to be a glorious, but formidable and steep climb. I felt weak in my beliefs. I was unsure of what I actually did believe, and I wondered if I could truly break away. As I've said before, I've almost turned back several times. But that glorious road rising ahead and the warm light of God's grace shining on me, a sinner that He loved and wanted, beckoned me forward, and I can't look back.
Some of you are wanting to break away into the freedom of God's grace, but you are afraid of what your church friends will say, what your pastor will think, what your parents will do. You're right, this is scary. It really, truly is. We're human and most of us want to please others. But our main goal as Christians must be to please Him and develop our own relationship with Him. All those people must make their own personal decisions, and they may not like the path you chose, but if God is in this change, He will guide you. I would say "I promise" but I don't have to, because God already said that He promised.
If the Lord leads in some of my next few entries, I'll get into some of the specifics of things that frightened me as I have journeyed these last few years. Some are funny, some are considered controversial, and others are still, frankly, scary. Since I won't be perfect until I reach Heaven, I guess that's how it will be until then.
Look into your own heart, seek out wisdom from God's Word, talk with those who have started the journey before you and ask questions. It's okay to be frightened, but don't let fear keep you under cloud of guilt. When you're ready, come join me and others on this glorious high road to Heaven and grace.
Warming on the narrow way in the light of God's Grace,
Teapotjan
Showing posts with label Heaven. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heaven. Show all posts
Friday, June 28, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Teapot's Mama, Angels, and a Wonderful, Terrible Night
It's almost mother's day. I see the ads for businesses claiming they have the perfect gift for every mom. Roses, and aprons, and cards, and bowling balls, and gift certificates for oil changes and manicures are sure to please the lady who gave you life, wiped your nose, and taxied you about through snow, hail, wind, and rain.
My mama succumbed to breast cancer in January of 1999 just a few days before her 65th birthday. The day of her funeral was warm and bright and I was happy that she was laid to rest in the shadow of the mountains where she was born. But I cried. My sweet mother was gone and I could no longer seek her counsel and love. She was out of pain, so my tears weren't for her, but for my own loss.
I look back on the time of her illness and can see the hand of the Lord at work many times. Today, I want to share some of what He did for our family in the days just prior to taking my mom home.
Mom's cancer had spread to her bones, liver, and lungs. Her three years of chemo prolonged her life, but she constantly suffered from intense pain, nausea, and difficulty breathing. Her sweet spirit drew the admiration and love from the nurses and doctor that cared for her. So, it came as a blow to them when she finally decided that she wanted no more treatment. We all knew this was a death sentence. The doctor said she had maybe six weeks to six months without any more treatment. My dad left her and me in the hospital to go home and prepare the house for the hospital bed and equipment needed to keep her comfortable under the care of Hospice personnel. She made this decision on a Friday, and her hospice care was to start on Monday.
That weekend, I spent Friday night and Saturday with her in the hospital. We talked about people we knew and family. She told me who she wanted to sing at her funeral, and chose the songs. I did her nails. And she made me promise to buy her a new outfit for her burial. I think she may have said something about haunting me if I didn't get something new, and to make sure her neck was covered with an attractive bow or scarf. We laughed and cried.That was just like her, and I promised.
I left her on Sunday morning to go home and rest. She asked me to stay, but I told her I had to get a little rest in order to help on Monday. She agreed, and I left her with a kiss and hug. Early Monday morning, I returned. The pastor's wife had spent Sunday night with her. When my dad and I walked into the room, the pastor's wife told us that it had not been a good night, and that mom wanted to see us right away. We both went to her, kissed her, and hugged her. She looked at each of us with her big, brown eyes and told us she loved us, and that she had been waiting for us to get back. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and went into a coma.
We sat with her through that day and into the night, singing her favorite songs, and talking about the things the Lord has shown us, and how faithful God had been. Tears sometimes flowed down her cheeks, but she didn't wake up. So we sat, and sang, and listened to the soft sound of the machine that helped her breath in the little air that she could. In the early hours of Tuesday morning, I felt a comforting presence behind my chair. I turned to look at the pastor's wife and thank her, but she was across the room. I felt it a few more times, and was about to mention it, when my husband asked why I kept brushing past him. My dad also turned around to look behind him and then back at me puzzled. Mom's breathing became more shallow. I leaned over and told her it was okay to go and that I would miss her, but we would all, see her again. Her face relaxed into a smile, and she drew her last breath. I knew then that the comforting presence must have been God's angels sent to take this sweet saint of a lady home to Heaven.
I still miss her today, everyday. I hear her voice come out of my mouth, and I see her expressions on the face of my children. I remember what she taught me, and how she prayed. I cry and the tears are for my own loss. I thrill to think what her big, brown eyes must see, even at this moment. And I praise the Lord that He allowed me to feel the presence of those angels on the most wonderful, and terrible night of my life.
I lost my mama, and Mama gained Heaven. If you don't have assurance that you will join us in Heaven, let me know. I'll be glad to share how you can know. If you are sure, look me up when we get there, and I'll introduce you to my mom. She's waiting for us and I bet her big, brown eyes are smiling.
Looking for His coming,
Teapotjan
My mama succumbed to breast cancer in January of 1999 just a few days before her 65th birthday. The day of her funeral was warm and bright and I was happy that she was laid to rest in the shadow of the mountains where she was born. But I cried. My sweet mother was gone and I could no longer seek her counsel and love. She was out of pain, so my tears weren't for her, but for my own loss.
I look back on the time of her illness and can see the hand of the Lord at work many times. Today, I want to share some of what He did for our family in the days just prior to taking my mom home.
Mom's cancer had spread to her bones, liver, and lungs. Her three years of chemo prolonged her life, but she constantly suffered from intense pain, nausea, and difficulty breathing. Her sweet spirit drew the admiration and love from the nurses and doctor that cared for her. So, it came as a blow to them when she finally decided that she wanted no more treatment. We all knew this was a death sentence. The doctor said she had maybe six weeks to six months without any more treatment. My dad left her and me in the hospital to go home and prepare the house for the hospital bed and equipment needed to keep her comfortable under the care of Hospice personnel. She made this decision on a Friday, and her hospice care was to start on Monday.
That weekend, I spent Friday night and Saturday with her in the hospital. We talked about people we knew and family. She told me who she wanted to sing at her funeral, and chose the songs. I did her nails. And she made me promise to buy her a new outfit for her burial. I think she may have said something about haunting me if I didn't get something new, and to make sure her neck was covered with an attractive bow or scarf. We laughed and cried.That was just like her, and I promised.
I left her on Sunday morning to go home and rest. She asked me to stay, but I told her I had to get a little rest in order to help on Monday. She agreed, and I left her with a kiss and hug. Early Monday morning, I returned. The pastor's wife had spent Sunday night with her. When my dad and I walked into the room, the pastor's wife told us that it had not been a good night, and that mom wanted to see us right away. We both went to her, kissed her, and hugged her. She looked at each of us with her big, brown eyes and told us she loved us, and that she had been waiting for us to get back. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and went into a coma.
We sat with her through that day and into the night, singing her favorite songs, and talking about the things the Lord has shown us, and how faithful God had been. Tears sometimes flowed down her cheeks, but she didn't wake up. So we sat, and sang, and listened to the soft sound of the machine that helped her breath in the little air that she could. In the early hours of Tuesday morning, I felt a comforting presence behind my chair. I turned to look at the pastor's wife and thank her, but she was across the room. I felt it a few more times, and was about to mention it, when my husband asked why I kept brushing past him. My dad also turned around to look behind him and then back at me puzzled. Mom's breathing became more shallow. I leaned over and told her it was okay to go and that I would miss her, but we would all, see her again. Her face relaxed into a smile, and she drew her last breath. I knew then that the comforting presence must have been God's angels sent to take this sweet saint of a lady home to Heaven.
I still miss her today, everyday. I hear her voice come out of my mouth, and I see her expressions on the face of my children. I remember what she taught me, and how she prayed. I cry and the tears are for my own loss. I thrill to think what her big, brown eyes must see, even at this moment. And I praise the Lord that He allowed me to feel the presence of those angels on the most wonderful, and terrible night of my life.
I lost my mama, and Mama gained Heaven. If you don't have assurance that you will join us in Heaven, let me know. I'll be glad to share how you can know. If you are sure, look me up when we get there, and I'll introduce you to my mom. She's waiting for us and I bet her big, brown eyes are smiling.
Looking for His coming,
Teapotjan
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