A stark revelation hit me tonight. We are told that if we have "faith as small as a mustard seed you can move mountains... Nothing will be impossible for you" (Matthew 17:20). Picture this. Here's the analogy that came to my head. The mustard seed may as well be the size of the new Dallas Cowboys football stadium (no, I am not a Cowboys fan). My faith is a tiny blade of artificial field turf. My faith is lost within that mustard seed. My faith is a whole order-of-fries-short of a happy meal. I am missing the mark. I have truly received so much grace over the past several months. But I have not walked by faith. I have walked by sight. What I see, I do not like. I have become judgemental, cynical, pessimistic, skeptical. Definitely not the way Mike would be.
When we started this decade, the whole Y2K caused great concern and uncertainty. We weren't sure if all of our grand technology would hold up under the change. Came and went without a hitch. We just kept on going. I look back and it seems like it all kept going downhill. We just got more complacent, less concerned. Then 9/11 hit. We had a sudden change of heart. Lasted a year or so. Then the world just moved on. The economy crashed. Jobs lost. Nations at war. Murder. Rape. Abortion. No God in schools. Don't say Merry Christmas. Blah blah blah.
Mike is gone. World goes on. It's harder and harder to see God in anything. I have innumerable mountains that need to be moved or at least climbed, and my faith is lost inside that mustard seed.
The good news of this revelation is just that. It is the Good News. I do believe the Good News and He loves me enough to bring my lack of faith to my attention. But placing all my cares and worries in Him, my faith is lost in that mustard seed.
I am so grateful He saves by grace and not by works or immeasurable faith. I am no example, no model, not worthy.
I realize the more I learn, the more I need to learn. I have grown in knowledge but not faith. One of my favorite quotes is "Never let your schooling get in the way of your education," by Mark Twain. Pretty smart biblical principle.
I miss Mike. He changed my life by being my brother. He turned it upside down by leaving this world. God tells me there is something good to come of that. Pray that I have faith enough to not miss it. Please keep us all in your prayers as we begin a new day, a new year. I will continue to pray for each of you reading this, also.
Rhonda
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Mike Time
Mike time on earth was often leisurely, laid back and not necessarily on schedule. When you were on Mike time, the world kind of slowed down. It seemed to savor the moment. Mike time was fun, silly, sometimes serious, but mostly, lively. Thirty nine years of Mike time was not enough. Just a drop in the bucket for this life. I got to thinking about how much time has gone by since Mike time stopped...eight months. Seems like forever and just yesterday. The watch according to Mike. Ha! I keep thinking "if I just go here or there, he'll be here or there and I'll be on Mike time." No matter where I look, there is no way to get on Mike time. I have traveled through numerous time zones, towns, states, stayed awake, slept, dreamed. No more Mike time.
But where Mike is...every moment is Mike time, eternal Mike. Now there's a thought! That makes me smile. Eternal Mike time. Mike has barely blinked an eye and these eight months have gone by. He knows only Mike time. No watch, no schedule, no timelines. Just eternity.
Rhonda time is often selfish. I spend a lot of time sad, wondering, missing, pondering. I am slowly learning to remember things. Focus on positive, fun memories. But I keep thinking he's somewhere, if I can just get to him. He'll be there. In this, I am trying to realize "Mike time, eternity," not earthly. Such a hard concept to grasp. I cannot touch it. I cannot grasp a concept. I cannot touch Mike. I cannot see him. I cannot talk to him. I cannot find him. I want him on my time, on my watch. But my time is fleeting, a vapor.
So I'll ponder my time and what I have to do to get to Mike time, eternal. Eternal Mike time. Eternal Mike. Eternity. Through my tears, that makes me smile. An eternal Mike. Wow! Thank God that is possible.
But where Mike is...every moment is Mike time, eternal Mike. Now there's a thought! That makes me smile. Eternal Mike time. Mike has barely blinked an eye and these eight months have gone by. He knows only Mike time. No watch, no schedule, no timelines. Just eternity.
Rhonda time is often selfish. I spend a lot of time sad, wondering, missing, pondering. I am slowly learning to remember things. Focus on positive, fun memories. But I keep thinking he's somewhere, if I can just get to him. He'll be there. In this, I am trying to realize "Mike time, eternity," not earthly. Such a hard concept to grasp. I cannot touch it. I cannot grasp a concept. I cannot touch Mike. I cannot see him. I cannot talk to him. I cannot find him. I want him on my time, on my watch. But my time is fleeting, a vapor.
So I'll ponder my time and what I have to do to get to Mike time, eternal. Eternal Mike time. Eternal Mike. Eternity. Through my tears, that makes me smile. An eternal Mike. Wow! Thank God that is possible.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
A foreign land
As you well know, I have to put words to my feelings, mostly for my benefit (and for my husband). I need to be able to describe how I feel so I can understand and cope. I had a strange experience tonight. I was in a coliseum full of people. As I looked around, all I could see was a different me in a strange place full of strange people. I did not recognize anyone but those I sat with. If I had a mirror, I would have seen a stranger. I realized that I have been seeing the world differently. Your first thought may be, "of course because things are different." Again, I need to be able to describe those feelings. I realized that I have never known the world without Mike. You see, he was my older brother. There was no life, for me, before Mike. There are a few of us in our family who probably feel the same way. And I can remember some looks on Laura's face that would make you believe there was no life, for her, before Mike, either (like the first time I met her and she glowed in his presence!). Suddenly, I am in a foreign land. I am learning a new language in this strange place. My thoughts, routes, interactions, body language, diet, and habits are all changing. My responses are changing. I don't remember applying for a passport to this land.
Fortunately, I chose to accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour as a young girl. Do you know what He reminded me of with this new "foreign land" revelation? That I AM in a foreign land. I am not home, yet. I do not define myself by this world or by who or what is in it, but by who I am in Him. Isn't He sweet to come along side me and gently remind me of this? I am not supposed to feel "at home" in this world. I am just passing through. "I am the way, the truth, and the light," says the Lord. That's my passport. My passport to eternal life with Him, with Mike, and all the Saints that have gone before us.
The roller coaster continues. Just when I am feeling down and having these hard, seemingly sad revelations, He pushes (and pulls) me up out of that valley and reveals HIS mountain. I am glad He wants me on the mountain. I like the mountains!
Rhonda
Fortunately, I chose to accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour as a young girl. Do you know what He reminded me of with this new "foreign land" revelation? That I AM in a foreign land. I am not home, yet. I do not define myself by this world or by who or what is in it, but by who I am in Him. Isn't He sweet to come along side me and gently remind me of this? I am not supposed to feel "at home" in this world. I am just passing through. "I am the way, the truth, and the light," says the Lord. That's my passport. My passport to eternal life with Him, with Mike, and all the Saints that have gone before us.
The roller coaster continues. Just when I am feeling down and having these hard, seemingly sad revelations, He pushes (and pulls) me up out of that valley and reveals HIS mountain. I am glad He wants me on the mountain. I like the mountains!
Rhonda
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Things that make you go hmmmm....
My Granddaddy is 93 (soon to be 94). Mike was 39 when he died. Flip the numbers. Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.
Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...
The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.
I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.
What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.
What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. I read this in reference to the shootings at Fort Hood. When one is lost, we all lose. The brokeness of the world overwhelms me. Mike made this world a little better for a lot of people. Why is he not here? Hmmmm.
Questions without answers. The "hmmmms" of the world leave us empty, longing, hurting, searching.
My faith has not waivered. My "hmmmms" are human. Contemplation, not condemnation.
Hmmmm.
Rhonda
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Power of a Handkerchief
I love to write. Not because I am profound or a great writer but because I love words. I love how words come together to speak to us in so many different ways. I love word origins and history. When they join to make phrases, sentences, and sayings, they light a spark I can't explain. I love how there are so many ways to say the same thing. And the source/sender of the writing or words have a big impact on the receiver. Some prefer eloquent, poetic expressions. Some prefer straight to the point. Take the following example. One of my favorite sayings from my husband is "it is what it is." It took a couple of years of being married to him to understand and accept the importance and profundity of this statement. It was too simple, for my brain. Surely there is more to it than that. That great, precursor to the English language, Latin, has a similar saying, res ipsa loquitor, translated, the thing speaks for itself. Both say the same thing. The latter is often used in the field of law. My husband would not make a good lawyer because he would probably say, "It is what it is, judge," versus an eloquent counselor who says, "your honor, the thing speaks for itself." Both say the same thing but the sender and receiver need to speak and hear it a certain way.
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
I write all this to preface this entry. I have not written for a couple of weeks, hoping that the events of today would strike some profound, new thoughts, feelings, or enlightenment. Today was All Saints Day and recognized in the church by those that have gone before us. I went to two services, today, that graciously recognized Mike. With that, I share the following:
Have you ever pondered the power of a handkerchief? It's a thin, square of cloth, flimsy in appearance. It can be pretty and dainty and fit neatly in a purse or plain and simple and fit in a pocket. Some are a little bigger and used as bandannas. They are strong enough to contain the unmentionables from our nose, just thick enough to absorb the tears from our eyes, the right size to conceal a sobbing face , tough enough to withstand the tight squeeze of an anxious hand, durable enough to bind wounds, and tightly woven to withstand the years of washing. My Dad always carries a handkerchief, so does my husband. There is something very comforting in that little cloth. A simple thing, really. Just knowing it is available if any of the above occurs is a source of comfort. It kind of reminds me of Jesus. Now, I am not saying Jesus catches my snot, but He would if I needed Him to. He is not above it. That's why He gave somebody the brains to create that little cloth. Thank you, Jesus, for the handkerchief.
The next entry is not my own. While I was looking for or hoping to receive some powerful message, it stared right back at me from the church bulletin. There is no need to re-invent the wheel. Someone else already wrote, so eloquently, what I wanted to say. So here it goes...
As written in the Morris Chapel United Methodist Church Hymnal, November 1, 2009, All Saints Day, A Service of Remembrance, Recited by the Congregation
"A Prayer for All Saints"
Ever-living God,
this day revives in us memories of loved ones who are no more.
What happiness we shared when they walked among us.
What joy, when loving, and being loved, we lived our lives together.
There memory is a blessing forever.
Months or years may have passed, and still we feel near to them.
Our hearts yearn for them.
Though the bitter grief has softened, a duller pain abides;
for the place where once they stood is empty now.
The links of life are broken, but the links of love and longing cannot break.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We see them now with the eye of memory,
their faults forgotten, their virtues grow larger.
So does goodness live, and weakness fade from sight.
We remember them with gratitude and bless their names.
There memory is a blessing forever.
And we remember, as well the members
who but yesterday were part of our congregation and community.
To all who cared for us and labored for all people, we pay tribute.
May we prove worthy of carrying on the tradition of our faith,
for now the task is ours.
Their souls are bound up in ours forever.
We give you thanks that they now live and reign with you.
As a great crowd of witnesses,
they surround us with their blessings,
and offer you hymns of prayers and thanksgiving.
They are alive forevermore.
Amen
It is what it is. I can't improve on it or the day anymore than that. This is how the Lord spoke to me.
Missing Mike,
Rhonda
Monday, October 19, 2009
The lighter side of random thoughts.
I don't recall Mom asking if Mike was wearing clean underwear.
Mom and Dad will have to come to me to talk. Who am I gonna talk to about Mom and Dad?
Hunter turns 13 in 2 years. I sooooo wanted to be a fly on the wall watching Mike get his!
Mike and I will not get to play Jesse and Maude Phillips! Very disappointing!
What does normal mean, anyway?
It took Mike's death to realize he is the sane one!
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich tastes much better after it has been thrown against a refrigerator.
Some of this will only be funny to a few. I apologize for that. Maybe those stories will be told another time.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Mom and Dad will have to come to me to talk. Who am I gonna talk to about Mom and Dad?
Hunter turns 13 in 2 years. I sooooo wanted to be a fly on the wall watching Mike get his!
Mike and I will not get to play Jesse and Maude Phillips! Very disappointing!
What does normal mean, anyway?
It took Mike's death to realize he is the sane one!
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich tastes much better after it has been thrown against a refrigerator.
Some of this will only be funny to a few. I apologize for that. Maybe those stories will be told another time.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
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