Twenty-nine years ago my father passed away quite unexpectedly at the age of seventy-one. Sitting patiently, waiting for my lovely step-mom to serve him dinner, he took his last breath. He didn’t know he had dressed for death that day. His sudden absence hung heavily and mornings had me asking, “Am I dressing for death today?”

Fast forward more than a quarter century and I’m three years beyond my father’s age when he went home. My conversations with God in the early mornings are open-handed as I say, “When you say it’s time, Lord, take me home.” I trust His timing.

Now I think of a different death. Death to my “self”.

Eugene Peterson once said, “The kingdom of self is heavily defended territory.”

I can attest to that. There were (and still are) many times my “self” bursts forward to defend MY territorial thoughts, MY actions, and MY (not-so-well-thought-out) words. Today’s culture has given us a long rope when it comes to spewing out our beliefs, and fiercely defensive shouts go out to all the world on social media platforms. Sadly, this foolery is exercised by non-Christians and Christians alike.

But there is a better way to live. And surprisingly, that way is through death.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” Colossians 3:12

Notice this verse does NOT say, “Therefore as God’s chosen people, you ARE compassionate, kind, humble, gentle and patient.” Oh, if only this were true! How beautiful our world would be if we, who love Jesus and desire to be like Him, were automatically all these things. To everyone! The most overlooked words in this verse may be “clothe yourselves”. We must consciously put on these characteristics EVERY DAY, dressing ourselves to look and be more like Jesus. Doing this does not come naturally to us. It may take a child two years to learn how to dress himself, but it takes us a lifetime to learn how to dress like Jesus. It’s not easy to dress for death. Death to indifference. Death to cruelty. Death to pride. Death to harshness. Death to impatience.

In other words, death to “self”.

Lord Jesus, it is only in You that I can truly live and look like You.

It is only with Your help that I can say, “I dressed for death today.”

The joke goes that if you sit in the back pew at church it’s because you want to be the first one out the door when the service is over. Well that may hold true for some but not for our family.

Forty-six years ago Clark and I began sitting in the back pew at Emanuel Church. Married a year, we could keep baby Claire content without worry of distracting others. Worshiping was easy with Claire in my arms. Gratitude for a loving husband and sweet girl overflowed, and hymns remembered from my own childhood long ago, I sang then as a mother in praise to my God.

Three years later God blessed us with twins, Emily and Jennifer, and the back pew became our home littered with books and squeaky toys. Three little girls soaked in God’s truth as Clark and I sat under solid teaching. Without understanding what it meant to worship, three pairs of little lips mouthed the songs of love to the Jesus they knew from Sunday School and Bible School, and the seeds of faith began to sprout in their tiny hearts for the next five years. And then…

Our youngest of four daughters, Mallory, was welcomed with joy as we bumped yet another worshiper out of the back pew. Shushing voices that were a little too loud, drying tears, and settling “territorial” disputes were at times distracting, but we were learning the “discipline” of worship – presence. We were there and our souls were being fed, our hearts were being filled and our mouths sang out praise.

Yet again our family (and our pew) grew by one. A baby boy, Jonathan, brought laughter and delight to our bunch as he was passed back and forth from sister to sister. More than likely it was the giggling and the too many trips to the bathroom that forced the last “non-Schlender” holdout from the back pew. He gave us a wink and a weak smile as he moved ahead to a quieter seat up front.

As years passed I learned valuable lessons from those sitting ahead of us – how to “mother” noisy children, how to grieve, how to celebrate, how to remain steadfast in the storms. Our children grew in faith and in struggles as the elementary years melted into high school years. Too soon, good-byes were achingly said as college beckoned our children one by one, and the once crowded back pew became open pasture as loving members of our extended Emanuel family filtered in. And we were comforted.

Three weddings and twelve grandchildren later we now spill out into the two back pews. Books and squeaky toys once again are squished between tiny bodies, and territorial disputes are settled by our kids-turned-parents. Clark and I do no shushing of grandchildren. After all, “Grandchildren are the crown of the aged.” (Proverbs 17:6) and wisely we have learned that the joy in worship is beautifully noisy. Young voices ring out with the old. Squeals intertwine with amens, and God smiles as we sing to Him.

One by one we approach the altar to share the body and the blood of Christ. As I watch my Emanuel family, my children and my grandchildren solemnly reach out to receive the elements I’m flooded with visions of past generations who were faithful examples to me: our first pastor’s wife who encouraged me as a young mother and new member of the church to teach Bible School, the young mothers who encircled me as we met monthly, laughing and crying with each other through the child rearing years, and silver haired saints whose marriages were still strong past their 50 year wedding anniversaries teaching us about enduring love. And my own family starting with my parents who wrestled five busy children to worship service every Sunday, my grandparents who dressed us up and drove us down the gravel road to their small country church and my great grandmother who would not allow farm work to be done on Sundays. They all, through their lives lived for Jesus, made Jesus real to me.

For our family there has been a lot of life lived in the back pew. As I look out over the people of Emanuel ahead of us and at my children and grandchildren surrounding us, I am filled with love and gratitude. “Thank You, God, for placing me in this church in my lifetime, with these souls. May their hearts be strengthened in You and may their needs be met to Your glory. Amen”

Gravel roads were not a rarity in Illinois. Our little town was surrounded by them.  Blacktop roads connected neighboring burgs, but if you wanted a shortcut – gravel roads were the way to go. Farms sat still in weighted clouds of dust as yellow rock twisted its way around green yards and bean fields, past white farmhouses and barns. Today I would call this the scenic route. But in my mid twenties it was road therapy as I tried to self-heal the wounds from four years past.

Early mornings found my little car and me dilly-dallying on these back roads as I headed to work at a nearby land development. Camera ready on the seat next to me, I looked for metaphors of my mood. As fog hung heavy one morning, I pulled over to capture a lonely tree stranded mid-field. A rusty watering tank sat off to its side. (I’m empty.) A stormy morning brought a huddle of cows to shelter under that same tree. Heads hanging low, they seemed too tired or too afraid to look up. (I’m weak). Though cloudy days are my favorite, it was a sunny morning that shone on a most tender snapshot.  Around the final curve a white two story farmhouse brought to mind pictures of my grandparents’ home. A young mother, on her knees in the grass, planted flowers as her two young children toddled nearby. They were living lives of love. (I’m hopeful).

I did not pray that morning for a life that mirrored what I saw, but an unspoken yearning cried out from deep inside. And the God of my childhood heard. He paved a road to the Way and my emptiness was filled. My weak soul was nurtured to strength by my newly found Hope. My God lifted me up and gifted me with a new life – a life of living Love.

“In the day when I cried out, You answered me, And made me bold with strength in my soul.”  Psalm 138:3

There’s a story behind the words below. One morning while downloading solo guitar music, I happened upon the hymn “O My Father”, played beautifully by guitarist Ryan Tilby. The melody was sweet and peaceful, and I played it on repeat more than I’m willing to admit. (Ok, more than seventy times.) Wanting to do more than hum along, I decided to search for the lyrics so I could sing along in praise. As it turns out the song is a Mormon hymn and some of the lyrics are in contradiction to my Christian faith. So I continued to hum.

Weeks later I was slicing strawberries in my kitchen, the hymn playing in the background. Words began spilling into my mind. I quickly wiped my hands, wrote them down and restarted the song. Back to the berries. More words. Stop, write, rewind. Back to the berries. Repeat again and again. Tears blurred my eyes. In the end, words fit the song perfectly for Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

I do not write songs. And I do not write poetry. But that day as I read the finished words, I realized this song was my story. The gift that I wanted to sing to my God, became His gift to me as the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart. Funny how that works:)                                                                              

O loving Father, Creator and King

Your wonders surround me,  Your glories they sing. 

My heart wants to join in but I am held back.

My sin keeps me silent, my soul is but black.

My Father says, “Child, My heart yearns for you.

My love’s for the taking, I’ll carry you through.

I gave you my Son to make your heart clean,

No longer apart, child, come to me.” 

O, my sweet, sweet Jesus purest of love,

You came to us bringing Your Father’s deep love.

You open your arms and with mercy and grace,

Invite me, “Come.” I leave my disgrace. 

I touch your hand and I am made clean.

I lift my eyes and Your face I see.

A rushing of tears, a blanket of peace.

Softly You call, “Child, come to me.”

O Holy Spirit breathe in me fire

That makes my heart one with His desire.

Speak to my soul now, words He would say

And make my heart burn for His will, I pray.

O move my heart to His perfect love.

Fill me overflowing, mercies pour from above.

Make me His hands, make me His feet.

Through me He pleads, “Child, come to Me.”

Lord, make me Your hands.

Lord, make me Your feet.

Plead through me,

“Child, child, come to Me.”

                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                        

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

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Cried out in stadiums, “Can you feel the love?” is more worthy of an exclamation point than a question mark. In whispered conversations it’s grumbled with deep sarcasm and a roll of the eyes. Forget the question mark. Finish it with a period.

That same question rises earnestly from deep inside me as I look into the eyes of my grandchildren. Silently I ask, “Can you feel the love? Can you see in my eyes how much I love you? CAN – YOU – FEEL – THE – LOVE!”. My throat clenches and I want to cry.

I love conversations with my older grands. They casually tell me about their lives         and what their interests are at the moment. School. Friends. What’s fair and unfair.  Likes and dislikes. Parents. (I smile.) How my phone works – yep. But then I find myself lost in THEM. “Remember this face,” I think,  “this smile, in this moment at this age. Their eyes – can they see my love pouring out for them?” I reel it in, bringing myself back to our conversation, feeling like I’ve just entered into it from another room.

With the younger grands I’m free to be bold. “Come here for just a sec! Let me see those eyes!” I cup their face in my hands, willing them to peer deep. They smile at me, expectantly, quizzically. Are they able to see in my eyes the wonderful hurt that comes from a love that I can’t explain? Does that piercing love, when it goes out from me, ache in them when it’s received?

God questions me, “Can you feel the love? Can you see in my Word how much I love you? Search deeply, receive, and live!”

Jesus was pierced for my sin because of His love for me. Now I ache with a deep love for Him. Will my grandchildren ever understand the depth of my love that I have for them?  They may some day when they are grandparents. In the meantime I will continue to love them without measure. Because that is how my God loves me.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!  1John 3:1

 

I don’t remember much about Sunday School and church, but we went. When five years old, I once had a difficult day with my brother. Crying, I ran outside to swing and started pumping. I vividly remember pressing my shoes to the sky, thinking, “I’m going to swing  HIGH, so I can get close to Jesus.” Why did I think that?

Fast forward to my sophomore year in high school. I fell quickly for the star of the football and basketball teams. We were the couple. By our senior year, he was pressuring for a more intimate, physical relationship. As we sat in the car one night, I remember telling him, “I don’t know why I feel this way, but I think I’m supposed to wait until after marriage.” Why did I feel that?

At age 20, we married. I watched as he was unfaithful in our marriage, thoughtless toward me, and selfish in his “all-about-me” lifestyle”. I silently yearned to make a home for a loving husband and children. We divorced after four years. I remember weeping, crying out to God, “Why is this happening to me? I’m a nice person!” But I had been unfaithful too. Not in my marriage, but to my God. I had been thoughtless, not toward my husband but to my Lord. I had been selfish in my “all-about-me” lifestyle, not in my marriage but to the One who gave His life for me – Jesus Christ. It would be years before I realized this.

Looking for a new home, I drove into a little town in Wisconsin. I told my sister, “This is where I’m supposed to be.” She asked me how I could know – it was dark! I couldn’t answer then – I just knew.

I can answer now. God.

I was broken, disillusioned, haggard, hardened. But God gently led me here, where I met and fell in love with the kindest young man I had ever known in my life. A patient young man. A balm to my soul. He mirrored Christ to me.

We have been married for 41 years and blessed with five wonderful children.

What have I learned? God is very real. He loves. He pursues. He Heals. He blesses. He saves. He wanted more than my Sundays. He wanted a relationship. That day on the swing as a child, seeing my shoes in the sky? Now I know. He wanted ME.

      “He reached down from heaven and rescued me; He drew me out of deep waters.  He led me to a place of safety; He rescued me because He delights in me.”    Psalm 18:16,19

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton