The goodness of God

There is a song, "Goodness of God" by Jenn Johnson that I play over and over on Spotify. The lyrics sing to and soothe my soul:

I love Your voice:

You have led me through the fire,

and in darkest night you are close like no other.

I've known you as a Father,

I've known you as a Friend,

And I have lived in the goodness of God.

My one and only post of 2018, in January, declared that family and faith would make it an amazing year. How overly confident and presumptuous, because in many ways, 2018 was an absolute disaster. Then again, it was a triumph in how God showed His goodness to me. 

In April 2018 I suddenly entered a series of scary, painful, and life-threatening health issues. From a kidney stone, to septic shock due to medical negligence, to an infected knee requiring surgery to flush it and 21 stitches to close it, I endured a physically miserable summer. The unknown world of home health care, the E.R. and I.C.U., infectious disease doctors, orthopedic surgeons, physical therapy, and prescription meds became the norm. I had no energy, no appetite (except for coconut cream pie!), no focus for reading, and a lousy attitude. Bill and Katie took over all my household tasks, the family I work for showed grace as I healed, and our extended and church family supported us. I absolutely hated being so dependent.

The spring and summer days slid by and bed became my retreat from constant pain, from the reminders of my limitations. Every step, every turn of my body, even standing to make eggs and toast, were reminders of my weakness. Some days it took me to a dark place of self-pity.

To add insult to all the injuries, the avalanche of medical bills began. Because of the nature of my insurance and the fact of several hospital stays, doctors, and surgeons, we were soon tangled in an indecipherable web of bills, statements, and phone calls that took a full ten months to completely sort out. It was, truly, almost worse than all the physical healing.

And yet. Now, with almost all of it behind us, I see much more clearly. Could God have prevented the sepsis? Yes, I believe He could. Instead, He used it as an opportunity to draw my family and me closer to Him. God doesn't "give us only what we can handle," quite the opposite. He allows trials that we cannot handle, that are far too big and hard and painful for us, so that He will be shown strong in our very weakness. 

I had a 50% chance of living or dying that April weekend and only now, more than a year later, do I see the goodness of God in sparing me. I've always been a stubborn rebel at heart, self-sufficient and for many years not thinking I needed God. "Thanks, God, but I've got this." Well I didn't have it last year, and in my darkest moments I realized it with clarity. Not only did I need a physical rescue, I needed a spiritual rescue as well. 

'Cause your goodness is running after, it's running after me.

With my life laid down, I'm surrendered now, I give you everything.

I had no choice but to give God everything. The pain, the fear, the depression, the mounting bills. It was so very hard, but it was so good. His goodness ran after me and showed me His big love through a big rescue. Is life perfect? No. We are still stumbling financially a bit, and I will probably never chase my grandchildren like I used to. But in that, a greater good has come: eyes to see God's goodness. 

And all my life You have been faithful.

And all my life You have been so, so good.

With every breath that I am able,

oh I will sing of the goodness of God!

Had I succumbed to sepsis, would God still be good? Why do children die and mothers get cancer? Why did my friend's teen desert her family? Where is God when Alzheimer's derails retirement plans? Even the most faith-filled cannot know. But in the book of James, we are told to "Consider it joy [JOY!] when you face trials ... because the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work  so that you may be mature and complete ..." [That is, complete in Christ.] (James 1:2-4) WOW I go back to this passage time and again. So much there.

I sense a quiet stirring in my spirit. I am almost 65 (yay, Medicare!) and I think God has more for me. I am excited for what lies ahead.  

Even if tomorrow is my last day, I have seen the goodness of God. And it is enough.

Ten little Indians! Now there are 11, since the arrival of Jude William last month.
L to R: Jake, Ari, Noah, Ethan, Peter, Jordan, Lily, Maddie, Ashlyn, and
I'm holding Simon.  (Photo by Katie Haller)

no more belts

I've embarked on a de-cluttering, down-sizing campaign in the house. Several friends have offered this advice: if you think there's ANY possibility of moving, start NOW to sort, toss, organize, de-clutter and toss some more. Because it will take a lot longer than you can imagine.

We're on year 25 in our house and poor Bill is on the receiving end of my rants to SIMPLIFY. What is it with men? He seems very lukewarm about the whole idea but I'm telling you, the massive overhaul of our stuff is going to take awhile.

I've made a list to break down areas of the house. Closets (many), garage, files, laundry shelf (I have a laundry closet, not a room), and the biggest junk-collectors of all, the BASEMENT and CRAWL SPACE. I don't care to ever have a basement again since it's just a convenient place to put stuff we don't use: furniture, books, sewing machines, toys to be passed on, camping equipment, my mother-in-law's treasures, and Christmas stuff. No lie, we could easily let go of 90% of the basement.

Being in charge of the house, I made a rule a few years ago. As each of the kids moved out permanently (ie, marriage and/or house), they had to take all their stuff: baseball cards, school and sports memorabilia, clothing, etc. It worked like a charm with the boys, but daughter isn't permanently settled yet. And does she have the STUFF!

Oh and a side project is now on the dining room table: organizing 30 years of photographs. Can you spell O-V-E-R-W-H-E-L-M-I-N-G???

In an effort to self-motivate, I'm tackling easy areas first. Yesterday was the back door closet. This morning was our closet. Over the last couple years, I've whittled my wardrobe down to a minimalist level and to tell you the truth, it's wonderful. How much clothing do I really need? Liberating!

I did discover something that reminded me of my age: belts. The middles of middle aged women thicken, they just do. And a belt on a thick waist, if you ask me, resembles a cord around a flour sack. I mean, what's the point of calling attention to my grandma waist? I birthed four children for crying out loud, so I accept it and move on.

So out go the belts. And the unused shoes and sweaters. And on goes my campaign to simplify! I give you permission to ask me how it's going!

Where's happy? I'll take joy

My dad has been  placed under Hospice care. They believe he's bleeding internally, and if that would stop on its own, Dad could possibly come off of Hospice. There are many criteria needed for Hospice to be recommended and I don't understand them all.

What I do know is that I feel a large cloud enveloping my heart. Dad is 87 and his health is deteriorating. While none of us knows the future, it's evident that he's declining.

When such a cloud rolls in, I usually get busy. I garden. And work on an article that's due. I plan meals and grocery shop. I cuddle my granddaughter Lily and marvel at new life while an aging one is slipping away. My father's life. I go about my life, but the dread of Dad's condition jerks me back. It certainly doesn't allow for happiness.

The good news is, happiness is so temporal and external.

It's what we can see, touch, taste and experience.

In the long run, despite what the world may say,

happiness really doesn't amount to much.

But joy! Joy is ever-present. 

Joy comes in the deep peace of knowing God is in control.

He works all things for good for those who love and  trust him. (Romans 8:28)  

He uses challenges for his higher purpose of molding me to be more like him and to serve him.

He doesn't leave us, ignore us, or stop caring about us. (Hebrews 13:5) Ever.

We see but a footprint of God here on earth; in heaven we'll realize all of who he is.

(1 Corinthians 13:12)

Wow. 

And so, though I don't like this road, it's one we all must walk.

Sometimes the goodbye is short or long or non-existent.

This one is long and hard, but not without joy.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Hebrews 11:1

a handbreadth

I drove home alone with my thoughts last Thursday.
Winding through Kentucky and across the Ohio River, I didn't listen to much music as I typically do.
Seven hours, just me and my thoughts.

I was coming home from visiting my dad.
There is still laughter and recognition and love. And his wittiness.
But in the two days I spent with my father, I was sucked into the vortex of his increasingly confused mind.

How he wants to be engaged in life and work.
He plans to buy a horse so my sister (age 51) will have an after-school project.
He sees parades of bugs on the ceiling.
He wants to buy back the property he farmed 60 years ago.
"I know how to run a farm," he said.
He wondered aloud why I didn't bring my babies, my boys, with me.
I am not even sure he differentiates my deceased mother from my step-mother.

When I left Dad on Wednesday evening, he was curled on his bed,
eyes locked on me and an opaque-skinned hand cupped in mine.
I asked him if he loves Jesus. He nodded.
I told him to love others like Jesus. Plain and simple.

His eyes, his hands, they aren't my father's.
After 87 years, they are aged and delicate.
And they serve to stir up gritty emotions in me of the loss that is sure to come.
That in a sense has already come.

"He's in a good place, the right place," people reassure me.
And he is.
But I'm not.

Then I remember, such is life on earth.
The tighter my grip on this life, the less I will look forward to the next one.

I am here for you now, Dad.
But we'll always be together.

You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Each man's life is but a breath.
Psalm 39:5

kinder and gentler

I guess it had been awhile since I'd gotten gas at Speedway. In any event, the pump wouldn't recognize my rewards card. Not willing to forfeit the 3-cents-a-gallon savings, I walked inside.

Young clerk: "Do you want me to come help you at the pump, honey?"

Me, slightly startled at her endearing term: "Uh, I don't think so, thanks, my rewards card just isn't working."

When she couldn't get my card to work, either, she said, "Well, you let me know if you need help, dear," as if the problem was my senility.

I've noticed: people are treating me differently. Subtle at times, but definitely a noticeable change. I don't ever remember people being so - nice - to me in the past. Holding doors, "oh, you first." Kinder, gentler. It's funny, I still think and feel young, like in my 20's or 30's. But obviously I don't look so young. Hair, body shape, wrinkles, whatever.

Maybe some would be bothered by this deferential treatment. But I'm not bothered, just humored. I wonder if women my age who, um, haven't yet "gone gray" have a different experience?

There you have it. Aging has its perks so I'm not about to cover it up! Wouldn't it be great if we could all treat each other in a kinder and gentler fashion?

Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.

Proverbs 16:31

deference

Deference: a yielding in opinion, judgment. Courteous respect. - Webster's

In the middle of a mad shopping dash yesterday, I stopped at Wendy's for my new favorite burger, the "W". A woman approached the door just ahead of me, opened it, and allowed me to enter first. And I couldn't help myself.

"Thank you! Gray hair has its privileges!" I chirped.

She smiled. "Oh, nothing of the sort!"

I am noticing that people do tend to defer to people who are older. Not that I am older, mind you, but the little gray nest on my head might lead someone to that conclusion.

My husband had a similar experience at the grocery store. A mother with a young child approached the door and as Bill tried to open it for her, she opened it for him. "Oh, no, you first, sir!"

Being called "ma'am." Young clerks nodding and giving me that "oh, you cute Grandma" look. Being asked if I need help carrying my groceries out.

While my spirit feels as it did when I was twelve, my body looks pretty much, well, older. I'm a little shocked at photos like this: my hair is white! But I'm really ok with it. You can hold the door and carry out my groceries any time.

Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.

Proverbs 16:31

big birthday coming up!

four generations

This lovely lady (the elder) has a birthday this month, on September 20. Bill's mom, my dear mother-in-love, will turn 95! Elizabeth is still living somewhat independently and spends her days reading, working jigsaw puzzles and watching the Cleveland Indians & Browns, Ohio State, and - this week - professional tennis. She's quite a lady with a young spirit!

If you know Elizabeth and would like to send her a card, email me at hallerbarb@yahoo.com and I'll send you her address. She doesn't want a fuss made over her, but who doesn't like getting mail?

my gray is here to stay

I'm going gray. I mean I've gone gray. Way gray. But when I look around, I see a lot of beautiful dye jobs on women my age, and a lot of gray roots, too.

"I'm gonna wash that gray right outta my hair." This peppy little jingle from 1985 seemed to turn 'gray' into a four-letter word. Clairol told us that gray was terribly, obviously undesirable. See a few strands? Wash them out!

In the last forty years, it seems to me, our culture became one of youth-is-best, advertisers instructing us to reverse the natural progression of aging. I remember an advertising class in college, impressed by "bandwagon" advertising in which the advertiser convinces consumers that "everyone's doing it, so you should, too."

I was amused at an article in the paper the other day: "Wash away touch of gray? No way!" Apparently the young and chic are showing off "gray lights" and "skunk streaks" as the hippest of fashion statements and breaking a fashion taboo. The likes of Kate Moss, Daphne Guinness (an apparent trend-setter), Pink, and American Idol's Siobhan Mangus have all caused a sensation by going gray.

Well, maybe I'm chic after all. Whew, what a relief!

I think what really drives my gray-all-the-way attitude is laziness. Had I begun covering the gray when the first ones appeared 20 years ago, well, the investment of time and money would be staggering. And had I decided mid-stream to cease with the dye, I can only imagine the weird patchwork of colors as it all grew out. The notion of regular dye jobs seems so ... tiresome.

Ok, I'm a rebel. And gray. My gray is here to stay.

Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.

Proverbs 16:31