Hope in the ‘Let Not’

Do not let your heart be troubled” (John 14:1). The Amplified version describes this ‘troubling’ as being ‘distressed, agitated, fearful, disturbed, intimidated, or unsettled.’ Quite a list of troubling adjectives.

And sometimes, each of them describes how I feel. The real problem comes when they all bundle together to make a giant troubled heart.

Image Attribution Shon Ejai

We may think God should keep us in the place of joy, even when bad things happen. ‘Count it all joy,’ James said.

I plan to have a conversation with James someday about this idea. Wondering how James and his cohorts in the early church managed to have joy when they were in danger of having their heads chopped off.

If it is not God’s responsibility to keep us in joy, then the task must be up to us. To ‘not let’ the struggles of life overwhelm us. How we react to challenges determines how we ultimately feel about them and how long we stay in that place of agitation.

A deeper study of John 14 reveals some action steps we can take to ‘not let’ our hearts be troubled:

  • Believe in God. Doesn’t everything always come back to trust?
  • Rely on God. Lean in hard.
  • Remember everything will be resolved in the future. The ultimate place of peace is within the next timeline. After we’ve used up these earthly bodies and are zipping around in the spiritual world.
  • Pray for the grace to endure. I pray for the Ukrainian people almost every day. Maybe some of them are praying for us, too.
  • Ask God to help return the joy. My experience of God’s love is that he truly does want to help us.
  • Remember the Spirit lives in us and is always just a whisper away. This amazing Spirit is always available with multiple attributes. He has several names:
    • The Comforter – that sweet warmth that pours over us when we are at the end of ourselves
    • The Counselor – listening to our struggles and giving us guidance
    • The Helper – even the most basics of how to help us make it through our challenges
    • The Intercessor – I love this one! When I’m beyond myself, I ask the Spirit to pray for me
    • The Advocate – fighting for us. Always on our side.
    • The Strengthener – troubles stretch our faith muscles and can ultimately make us stronger
    • The Standby – always ready
    • The Teacher – helping us learn more about the Divine Three and how God works in us and through us
    • The Giver of peace – we can actually own this peace

So how do we find this place of peace? We do ‘not let’ our hearts be troubled. We focus on the above bullets and stay in hope. We keep gratitude as the main outpouring of our hearts. Talk less about the problems and more about Who God is.

Will more troubles come? You can bet on it. But you can also hang your hope on the One who loves you enough to help you through those troubles and bring you out on the other end — filled with hope and peace.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Hope is a daily discipline. Check out some ways to keep hope in front of you. Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope’s Interpretation

As my son deposited his first check from a ‘real’ job, I encouraged him to give some away. “Even if you think you don’t have enough to spare, give anyway. You’ll discover God’s math is different from our math. He can make money multiply out of nothing.”

Through the years, I have underscored this principle in various Bible studies I taught or printed articles I wrote. God’s math is indeed different.

Image attribution: StockSnap

But God’s interpretation of our language is also different. Scripture uses phrases to indicate time as ’soon’ or ‘in a little while.’

We think of ‘soon’ as at least within the week if not the day. But Jesus promised to come back ‘soon’ — thousands of years ago.

In Psalm 37:10, the poet David states, “A little while and the wicked will be no more . . . but the meek will inherit the land and enjoy peace and prosperity.”

‘A little while’ from the writing of David’s words has now been a very long while. Generations of innocents have been affected by wickedness. The meek folks still do not enjoy peace or prosperity.

Perhaps these time-sensitive statements are merely metaphors and not to be taken literally. Or maybe when they DO come true, looking back — we’ll forget how long they took to actually happen.

Sort of like that last month of pregnancy that feels like you’ll be pregnant forever. Until you hold your newborn in your arms and realize those nine months of growing another human inside you are finished.

God reminds us that his ways are not our ways. His thoughts so far above us. Like his interpretation of math, the timelines of language differ within our finite minds.

And since God is timeless, our role is not to determine the times and seasons, not try to figure out if these are indeed the ‘last days.’ But to just live patiently each day, doing our best to love God and love others.

We can only leave the math and the timelines to an eternal God whose final use of superlatives promise hope:

  • I will NEVER forsake you (Hebrews 13:5)
  • We will be with the Lord FOREVER (1 Thessalonians 4:17)
  • Surely I am with you ALWAYS (Matthew 28:20)

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

We cannot live with a self-imposed timeline. We can only live Day by Day.

Hope in Thanksgiving Prayers

A good friend recently reminded me to check out Philippians 4:6. Those of us who have lived a lifetime of faith-walking sometimes forget the most elemental principles. We need to be reminded—and often—of how to continue growing as disciples, even if we are now at the point of discipling others.

Image attributed to Reena Black

The section I focused on was a quote from the Apostle Paul, “. . . With Thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (TNIV).

God knows, of course, what the requests and desires of our hearts involve. He knows even those most mundane requests or the entreaties we beg answers for. You know, the ones we hide when people ask us, “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” Interpretation: I’m hiding Feelings I’m Not Expressing.

So when we soften our deepest requests with thanksgiving, it feels more plausible to express them without fear of judgment. For me, journaling with Thanksgiving helps to avoid those hidden lies that might turn inward and rust my soul.

Here’s how it works:

“Thanks, God, that you already know my secret desires. I’m going out on the limb of vulnerability to express them here in my journal. Trusting that you will keep them safe and do something about them.

“Thank you for being so merciful to all of us. Although I would like to see more of your justice in a particular situation, I also want your mercy for my own offenses and shortcomings. I guess I need your mercy today for this situation, because I am so angry about it.

“Thank you for giving me patience for the above request.

“Thank you for the provision of new clients that you are already working to make happen. I would appreciate knowing about them soon, because you know—I’m a planner and that’s not my fault. You made me one.

“Thank you for protecting my back later today when I need to pull more dandelions out of my parsley bed.

“And thank you in advance for sending a gentle rain shower to water said parsley. Your water is better than what comes out of my spigot. No hail or damaging storms, please.”

By preceding the request with thanksgiving, we build up faith muscles. We’re already believing God will answer our requests—before we even express the need.

And by giving thanks first, we avoid the pit of worry. We already believe the deed is done. The request is answered by our proactive God, so we can release it into his timetable.

By following the order of Philippians 4:6 — Thanksgiving first — then the request, we bathe our needs in hope. And when the answer comes, it’s a kick in the gut to satan or to our propensity for doubt.

We can tell ourselves, “See? God already did this. He’s ahead of the game.”

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Mother’s Day is coming, and many mothers like books. Check out Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom. And tell your Mom “Happy Mother’s Day” for me.

Though and Yet

‘Though the fig tree does not blossom and there is no fruit on the vines. Though the product of the olive fails and the fields yield no food. Though the flock is cut off from the fold and there are no cattle in the stalls . . . ’ (Habakkuk 3:17 Amplified).

Sometimes we think the Old Testament has little to offer in our modern 21st century world. I beg to differ. Most of us are living in some sort of ‘though.’ Some more intensely than others.

Image attributed to: Geralt

Below is my offering:

  • Though the Oklahoma wheat crop — our family farm — is dying, turning yellow from the drought
  • Though counties around the farm grow lush and green from clouds of rain while our county remains cracked dry
  • Though evil continues to win its earthly battles
  • Though groceries and gas prices continue to rise but income does not
  • Though chaos explodes around us every day
  • Though government systems still do not ‘get it’ and fill the air waves with empty promises
  • Though babies are shot through car windows
  • Though deception digs deep and destroys logical thinking
  • Though groups of believers suffer from the consequences of one person’s sin
  • Though my prayers go unanswered after years of lament and pleading
  • Though illness threatens the corners of life in spite of healthy lifestyles
  • Though God continues to practice patience when everything in me screams for justice

‘Yet I will rejoice in the Lord. I will exult in the victorious God of my salvation. The Lord God is my Strength, my personal bravery, my invincible army. He helps me make spiritual progress even in the places of trouble, suffering, and responsibility’ (Habakkuk 3:18-19 Amplified).

  • Yet the true God is the One I have chosen to believe
  • Yet Jesus is the final vindicator
  • Yet justice, mercy, and peace will eventually define us
  • Yet God can restore what has been stolen
  • Yet the provisions I need will somehow show up just in time
  • Yet government systems are mere shadows of God’s eternal design
  • Yet truth is still stronger than deception
  • Yet God can heal at any time and in any way best chosen for the situation
  • Yet the Creator God creates in me
  • Yet God’s patience is a precursor to his merciful justice
  • Yet the Almighty Peaceful One sustains me within the chaos
  • Yet God loves every one in the entire world
  • Yet God can rain down his blessings of moisture at any moment and create a storm out of a tiny cloud
  • Yet even when the harvest does not show up, God can still provide
  • Yet even though it sometimes feels naïve, I will continue to believe in the abounding love of God

The Old Testament prophet concluded with his belief system, and so can we. All it takes is merely gutsing out a germ of faith. We can find our hope by living in the ‘Yet.’

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For more information about faith, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

Hope Offers Support

A fist of fear pummeled my soul. I was startled by its intensity and for several moments — forgot to breathe. Started to feel dizzy. Finally gulped draughts of fresh air.

Why the fear? A doctor visit was imminent. One of those visits that might be serious or only slightly serious — depending on the results.

And I knew I could not do this alone. So I called my son. “I need a favor, honey.”

Image attribution: ua_Bob_Dmyt_ua

“Sure.”

Even the sound of his bass voice reassured me. “Would you go with me to the doctor? I don’t know why. I just need someone with me today.”

Again, “Sure. Glad to.”

My heart stopped its thumping romp as fear eased.

He stood with me as I checked in, followed me into the sterile room, and provided another pair of ears to listen carefully to the doctor’s orders. Then he helped me gather my purse, all the paperwork, even my water bottle.

The prognosis, “Nothing serious. We’ll try the pills first, and then go from there.”

Did my son hear the same words I heard, the ones I hoped for? Yes. It was good to have another voice to confirm the answer.

At the pharmacy, he helped me pick up the meds. Then we shared supper and watched Sports Center back in my living room.

Somehow, just having another human being beside me to share in the fearful possibilities lightened the load. Felt like healing itself.

“It will be okay, Mom.” The same words he spoke fourteen years ago when I held his hand before brain surgery. When they cut open his precious head and removed that nasty tumor.

When life hands us its unraveling, we tend to suck it up and march forward. Find power in our own strength and the fortitude it takes to just keep living.

But sometimes — when the possibilities of a painful test loom big, when the trial unravels into fragments of unknowns and sucker punches us into silence — we need someone beside us.

Yes, we trust God. But we also need living, breathing human beings to encourage us. To hold our hands. To tell us it will be okay. To love us with the love of Christ.

I was so grateful that day for my boy — this now grown man whose presence exuded strength and calm. This tower of humanity who has himself survived cancer and experienced his own miracle. He did not laugh at my need or seem distressed when I swallowed tears and hung on to his arm. He simply let me ride through the storm with his presence beside me.

Every day since then, he checks on me. “Do you feel better? Are the meds working? Are you being careful to monitor reactions?”

This reversal of roles seems too soon in my journey. I do not yet feel old. I only feel older.

But every day I give thanks. Treasure the gift that is my son and remind myself again — I am not really alone.

Hope breathes through connection.

For those who live in a secure relationship, be grateful. For those who soldier on in solitude, find a connecting place. An encouraging pilgrim. And if you know another soul who marches with an individual beat, offer to be there when needed. To provide the reassurance that someone cares.

We need each other, even when we feel strong and healthy. Vulnerability will inevitably intrude. That is when we find out who really cares.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Check out the book my son and I wrote together. Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

Three Steps to Hope

Psalm 37 has long been a favorite passage. Outlined and highlighted in various versions of my Bibles. A familiar place to reflect on the variety of its meanings.

This year I returned often to verse seven and found a three-step formula to ease me through the cold gloom. A stairway opened toward Hope.

Be Still. The exact opposite of how so many of us live our lives. Until we are forced by sickness or vacations or circumstances to stop the frantic pace.

But more than a physical slowing down, this concept shifts us back to first gear. The ‘Be Still’ step indicates a mindset reboot.

  • To cease striving for perfection
  • To stop trying to figure out why prayers are not answered
  • To trust that a higher motive will provide the acceleration when it is time to move or change

Being still is that place of ultimate trust where we rest in the love that will not let us go. And know that God’s desired outcome will be the best for us.

Wait Patiently for God. Many Type A’s like me do not do well with the idea of waiting. It feels too passive. Too scary to wait until someone else or something else determines a direction.

Yet this waiting is not a passive work, for patience requires an inner ‘whoa’ when we most want to act.

Patience again reminds us to trust the process. To be careful with our interpretations of ‘Go.’ This waiting determines to be grateful for the pause. Sincere about letting God’s work have its ultimate timeline.

This step forward lives without regret because we anticipate the day we can say, “Oh, that’s why it took so long.”

Do Not Fret. ‘Fret’ is rather an old-fashioned word, but I like it better than ‘worry.’ It implies more anxiety, an actual mind-racing and finger-snapping type of stress. Like the worry stones we used to wear down with our thumbs.

Like when my mother said, “I’m sure stewin’ about that.”

To cease from fretting means we inwardly step back. Let our worried souls unplug. We purposely commit to be still. To wait patiently. To move to the place where we no longer even think about the problem.

To not fret takes an intentional leap toward a trustful gratitude. It releases the problem and refuses to grab it back. It believes the issue will eventually resolve as all problems must — one way or another.

Be Still. Wait Patiently. Do Not Fret.

Three steps that lead us toward a hope-filled peace. A result that creates healthy soul care when we need it most.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Follow these three steps through the devotional book, Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Searches for a Song

My deck umbrella waves in the slight April wind as I ponder in its shade. God has granted a beautiful spring morning. A time for reflection.

So beautiful outside yet not so lovely within.

Image Attribution: drabbitod

Every stinkin’ day for several weeks, some type of something has gone wrong. It seems as if my life is shadowed by chaos.

  • My dryer stopped heating.
  • My emails stopped sending.
  • The cat’s breast cancer rapidly accelerates. Grief threatens.
  • I miss my son.
  • My team lost in March Madness.
  • My back fence succumbed to the Kansas wind and collapsed in the grass.
  • Identity Theft from my taxes has caused a whirl of challenges.
  • My car developed a strange online feature that needed a reboot from the mechanic.
  • My phone is elderly and starting to show its need for a younger model.
  • A client is suffering, and I grieve with her.
  • Et cetera

And yes, I know others are struggling with much worse. Whenever I see a report from Ukraine, I want to grind my teeth. Except the dentist said I should not.

‘Count it all joy,’ the book of James demands.

I am not in a joyful place. It worries me that my joy is so affected by temporary circumstances. How will joy then appear when something more dreadful happens?

‘Come unto me,’ Jesus said, ‘all who are weary and heavily burdened. I will give you rest.’

Not the rest that revives during a week in the New Mexico mountains. But the emotional and lovely rest of a contented soul.

I think of several brave women I know who live with chronic pain. They must find their joy even within the midst of the struggle. Every. Single. Day. They give and live and do what they can while setting healthy boundaries. My she-roes, every one of them.

But I cannot reproduce what they own. My joy button needs to be re-set, and I cannot find the mechanism.

I DO know joy resides within me. This fruit of the Spirit is guaranteed to Jesus followers. So I struggle to find it on this beauteous April morning. Somehow, just knowing God is present with me and around me causes a sudden blip of peace.

The author of Psalm 68 urges me toward nuggets of hope:

  • Let the uncompromisingly righteous be glad. Do not compromise my own joy with a focus on the bad stuff.
  • Let them be in high spirits. Maybe a piece of chocolate or a glass of red wine will bring those high spirits? Neither of these treats grace my pantry, and I don’t feel like driving to get some.
  • Let them rejoice in God. Keep journaling about gratitude for what DOES work in my life.

So I try to ignore the taunts of discouragement, realizing writers often morph into melancholy. Especially when we are about to write something important. Hmm – maybe this is a spiritual attack on my creative juices.

Instead, I focus on the positives of my life. Speak words of gratitude for a beautiful day, for seeds sprouting in my window, for the promise of spring flowers that will cheer me.

Ignore the frailties of my humanity and instead remember ‘the same power that raised Jesus from the dead lives in me.’ Awesome thought.

There it comes —a bubble of joy. It resurfaces and lights my inner core with its purity.

God sends the sound of a goose to make me laugh. A chickadee feeds on my deck, his black and white wings beating in worship. God’s presence begins to rise within. I praise him for this alpha moment and hope it will keep rising.

Joy responds as Hope returns.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re a writer, but you’re struggling with marketing . . . check out my newest book. Marketing for Writers: How to Effectively Promote Your Words.

Hope Within the Emptiness

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we focus on gifts, decorations, activities, and family gatherings. Many denominations make Christmas the most ‘wonderful time of the year.’ Yet for Jesus followers, our focus should be that empty tomb. The Lenten season leads up to the hosannas of Palm Sunday, the tragedy of Good Friday, and the silence of a grief-filled Saturday.

But Easter Sunday is much more than a smoked ham, deviled eggs, and children searching for hidden treasure all over the yard.

Image attribution: TC_Perch

The reason we celebrate Easter is because it represents the most amazing and highest form of miracle we can imagine. Death loses. Life wins.

I have often wondered how the Resurrection of Jesus actually happened. Did Father God come down and peer at the bedraggled and bruised body of his son? Then breathe life into him like he did for the first Adam?

Did Jesus begin to feel each cell take on energy and warmth, wake from his stupor, and climb out of his grave clothes? Or was it truly like what is often depicted in pageants and films?

The huge stone rolls away and SHAZAM! Out pops the actor who plays Jesus. No longer bloodied and battered. Clothed in a startingly white robe with a cheesy smile on his face.

Did the real Jesus jump up and run around, so glad to be out of that cold sepulcher? Or did he quietly emerge, notice Mary Magdalene’s sobs, and slowly approach to comfort her?

The point, of course, is not how but Who. Of all the religious leaders throughout history, Jesus is the only one who came back to life. The only one who even dared to prophecy that he would be raised after three days (Mark 9:31).

If it wasn’t true, surely by this time, someone would have traced down his DNA and speculated where his body lies. But for those of us who have experienced the soul-saving love of God, we are certain of the facts. The baby of Bethlehem’s Christmas became the Savior on the cross and the resurrected Jesus who is still alive.

But an even greater truth brings me pause. The same power that brought those cells back to life lives in each of his followers (Ephesians 1:19,20). We, too, can look forward to a stunning resurrection, to leaving our fragile bodies behind, and springing forward into eternity. SHAZAM!

On the hard days when life’s chaos seems too heavy to bear, I think about that truth. Sometimes, I even speak it out loud, “The same power that catapulted Jesus out of that tomb lives in me. In the end, life wins.”

So let’s celebrate the eternal hope that the empty tomb offers. Let’s spend Easter as a day of gratitude. A day when we remember that because of Jesus — we live.

He paved the way. He made it possible for us to live in freedom. He offers eternal life to anyone who dares to believe.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

While you’re waiting for that final resurrection, find encouragement in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope in the Cross

Throughout history, man’s inhumanity to man has manifested in various ways: the Trail of Tears, the Holocaust, and brutal executions such as crucifixion.

We sometimes glorify the cross as a beautiful symbol. Symmetrical. A lovely collection of cross décor on our walls. Jewelry we wear to show what we believe. Decals on the car.

But to move through the Lenten Season and truly understand what it meant for Jesus to complete his mission, we must pay attention to the horror of crucifixion. When we know what Jesus suffered for us, we can be more grateful for how he died.

Dr. Cahleen Shrier, associate professor in the department of biology and chemistry at Azuza University, presents an annual lecture: The Science of Crucifixion. Based on historical data during the time period of Christ’s death, Dr. Shrier lists the following:

  • In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus sweat drops of blood. This condition, hematohidrosis, breaks down the capillaries that feed into the sweat glands. The result is that the skin becomes more tender, which would later exacerbate the pain Jesus suffered.
  • Pilate ordered Jesus to be flogged, whipped with leather strips that contain metal balls and sheep bone. The flogging left Jesus’s back in ribbons. His blood pressure plummeted, so his body went into shock. Extreme thirst was a natural response to this loss of blood.
  • The crown of thorns, pushed into Jesus’s head, caused more blood loss. It also likely affected the facial nerves, causing pain in the neck and head.
  • The Persians designed crucifixion between 300-400 BC. Usually reserved for slaves, revolutionaries, and vile criminals.
    • The victim was thrown to the ground where dirt mixed with his blood.
    • His arms were stretched across the horizontal beam and spikes (7-9 inches long) were nailed into the wrists.
    • His knees were bent, then his feet were nailed to the bottom of the T-frame cross.
    • As he was lifted, the weight of the body dislocated the shoulders and elbows. Talk to any athlete who has suffered a dislocated shoulder. They will tell you about the excruciating pain.
    • To breathe, the victim moved up and down, trying to fill the diaphragm with air. Carbon dioxide built up in the blood, and the heart beat faster. Since Jesus had already been flogged and his back opened, splinters and dirt from the wooden beam likely entered his system, causing sepsis.
    • Fluid built around the heart and lungs causing more damage to the heart. In severe cases, the heart burst.
    •  With collapsing lungs, dehydration, a failing heart, and the inability to breathe — the victim basically suffocated or died of a heart attack.

Because Jesus was a flesh and blood human being, he suffered all of the above. The fact that he survived for approximately six hours is due to the fact that as a craftsman of wood and stone, he was in good shape. He was a young man who walked many miles with his disciples and ate a Mediterranean diet.

But crucifixion was designed to kill, and Jesus died on that cross. Add to the physical side effects, he also suffered emotionally and spiritually. An innocent victim of proud religious leaders and a culture that did not understand the purpose of his mission. Throughout decades of prophecy, the Messiah was designated as a great leader who would free his people. However, the Jews misunderstood what type of freedom Jesus would win for them.

It was not a freedom from their Roman occupation. It was not a miracle of moving them from poverty to prosperity. It was an eternal hope that would destroy forever the need to be perfect and keep all the religious laws.

The writer of Hebrews says it well, “We have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ — once for all” (Hebrews 10:10 TNIV).

Because Jesus became the perfect and final sacrifice, all people of the entire world have an opportunity to spend our eternities in a perfect environment of love and grace. The crucifixion — as horrible as it was — offered us a gift. A once-for-all-time invitation to believe in a better way.

During this Lenten Season, spend some time in gratitude. Visualize the cross, not as a beautiful symbol, but as the weapon used to kill your Savior. Listen to He Loved Me with a Cross by Larnell Harris. Then do what Jesus asked on his last night with his friends, “Remember me.”

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For an easy-to-understand manual about the love God offers, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.  

Hope in the Humanity

We do not focus a great deal of theology on the humanity of Jesus. Yet we know he lived and died as a human being.

The television series, The Chosen, has brought more of the human physical and emotional characteristics of Jesus to the forefront. Maybe this series has become so popular because we needed to experience and understand that Jesus was more than the Son of God.

As we move through the Lenten Season, let’s focus on some of the main themes in the humanity of Jesus.

Family. Jesus lived in Nazareth in the middle of a family unit. Scholars believe his step-father, Joseph, died young which would mean Jesus was raised by a single mom, Mary. He was the firstborn which carries a heavy load of responsibility, especially if he took on the role of man of the house after Joseph died.

Did Jesus teach his brothers, James and Jude, about the craftsman trade? Did he make toys for his sisters and tease them like brothers often do? I like to think he acted like a normal boy, adolescent, and teen.

What were the family dynamics he experienced? A normal family deals with arguments about who does the chores, teasing siblings that turns ugly, laughter and sorrow, visits with cousins and other family, holiday celebrations especially the many Jewish traditions such as Rosh Hashanah and Passover. Jesus would have experienced all these and more.

We know his family did not readily accept him as God’s Son nor follow him as disciples (John 7:5), which brings us to another aspect of his humanity.

Rejection. Most of us have experienced rejection of some sort. The bullies who tormented us at school. Not feeling ‘in’ with the popular crowd. The date for prom that never happened. The rejection slip from a publisher after years of effort crafting our words. Divorce. Downsizing at the job. Children who turn away from our kisses as we drop them at school.

Rejection hurts and can result in emotional scar tissue.

What did Jesus do with those moments of rejection, especially the final betrayal of disciples not brave enough to follow their Master to the cross? And because he was considered an illegitimate child, he experienced the rejection of his community, especially the religious leaders (John 8:41).

I’m sure rejection hurt his heart. Like us, he had to learn how to deal with rejection and not let it change his authentic nature. He had to learn how to hold his own when others betrayed him. How to be who God created him to be. How to move past the deep hurt and not let it sway him from his mission.

Was there another human who could speak into his hurt and help him deal with it? Or did he have to struggle alone?

Loneliness. Multiple scriptures underscore the isolation of Jesus. Alone in the wilderness with Satan’s constant attacks. The times Jesus left the crowd to be alone and pray. The loneliness of the garden when his buddies could not stay awake and pray with him.

The fact that he was a maverick with a different agenda fostered the loneliness. No one quite understood what he was all about and what he was trying to do. He was alone in his commitment to follow God’s will. Being alone, whether physically or philosophically, fosters loneliness.

His plaintive cry shows evidence of that loneliness during the last supper. “Remember me,” he pleaded with his friends.

Jesus becomes more of a personal Savior when we realize he suffered like we do. He lived as a human, so he surely struggled with childhood illnesses. Growing through the hormonal ups and downs of puberty. Struggling to breathe as the sepsis of crucifixion took its toll.

God did not rescue Jesus from the ravages of being human. In fact, Jesus was perfected because he suffered as a human, experienced the hurts, and completed his mission.

Before we can understand the totality of his sacrifice, we need to realize how fully human Jesus was.

Then it brings our relationship with him into greater focus. He understands us. He gets us. As fully human, he chose to live with us and become brother, cousin, friend, son, and craftsman. To place himself under the tutelage of Joseph and Mary. To be trained as a creative artist in wood, stone, and clay. To endure the same things we are asked to endure simply by being human.

This human Jesus willingly chose to spend 33 years on earth so that we could experience the expanse of God’s love.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a simple way to examine faith topics, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

Hope in the Ashes

Ash Wednesday this year, 2023, was the first time I wore the ashes cross on my forehead. It was deeply meaningful.

I did not grow up in a religious tradition that included the ashes-on-the-forehead practice. In the buckle of the Bible belt, it was considered too ‘Catholic.’ But many of those traditionally legalistic beliefs have changed, recognized for what they were — a type of judgment and spiritual abuse.

Now that I attend a more liturgical and inclusive community of Jesus followers, I am open to accepting new ways of growing my faith. So I attended the Ash Wednesday service with my son and found it to be spiritually uplifting while at the same time a poignant reminder of what the day means.

Our service was filled with beautiful music and a sense of emotional loss. We were, after all, entering the season when that incredible God/Man died a brutal death so that we could be accepted into God’s loving arms.

Then toward the end of the evening, each of us walked forward to receive the ashes. The gentle touch of my pastor’s thumb pressing into my forehead. The warmth of her flesh against mine. Her soft voice, “From dust you came. To dust you will return.” My imagination of what the cross must look like on my skin. The tears that caught in my throat.

Then later, looking at the reflection of the cross of ashes in my bathroom mirror. Accepting the truth about the final state of my body. Having just completed all the paperwork for where and how my own ashes will be buried, this cross was a visual of my final act.

A reminder that death precedes eternal life. But ashes can also evoke a positive response. Used as mulch to produce new life. Beauty from dust. The ending and the beginning. Alpha and Omega.

Still, the writer in me wanted to know more. What was the origin of this practice? What is this visual and sensory act intended to mean for Jesus followers?

With a bit of research, I learned the following:

  • The practice of a cross of ashes on the forehead began in the 8th century with the Gregorians, a community of Anglican friars.
  • It did not become a widespread part of American religious tradition until the 1970s.
  • The ashes symbolize penitence, being sorry for how we have ignored God and mistreated others — the basics of sin.
  • They are also a reminder of the brevity of our lives, of our mortality. We are not self-sufficient enough to forgive our own misdeeds. Jesus alone owns the power to transform us.
  • The ashes are made from the previous year’s Palm Sunday branches. Oil is often added to make the ashes stay on the forehead longer.
  • For many people, the ashes are an outward sign of their faith walk. An organic method of exhibiting our beliefs. A bit more meaningful than random cross jewelry or cross tattoos.
  • People often begin religious conversations when they see someone with the ash cross on foreheads.
  • The practice has become a symbol of the beginning of Lent. A time to remember what Jesus did for us. How much he gave up for us. What the cross truly symbolizes.

We should never look at a cross without remembering how it represents a brutality of torture unacceptable in our world of civil rights. The ashes bring us into the Lenten season as a more gentle reminder of what Christ’s sacrifice means.

And for me, that cross of ashes on my forehead represented a type of spiritual growth. Of accepting one of the more traditional practices within a modern world. Of opening my soul even more to consider the liturgies of other denominations.

Of expanding my intention to make this year’s Lenten season a time to remember Jesus.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Consider the women who loved Jesus and followed him to the cross. The Women of Passion Week

Hope Conquers the Chaos

As a writer, observation is one of my tools. Awareness of this tool causes me to listen for dialects as people talk and later incorporate those rhythms into the characters who people my novels.

Observation notes interesting quirks such as the depth of a dimple, a spontaneous laugh, or fingers drumming on a barn wood plank. The benefits of observation add color and texture to my words without plagiarizing on the lives before me.

Observation also pays attention to whatever presents itself. Sometimes a graphic or a word suddenly surprises with its potential. I see it, reflect on it, and journal through it. Soon it becomes a theme, a sentence that stretches into a paragraph or a graphic that morphs into a blog post.

A recent graphic read, “All great changes are preceded by chaos.” No attribution, but the words pummeled into my soul like a snare drum in the early morning fog of band practice.

Chaos in the Journey. How appropriate is chaos for describing the journey so many travel. Years ago, the chaos of searching for a church forced me to consider the depths of my spiritual hunger. What my faith taught me, either wrongly or with stunning accuracy.

The journey and the change — the processing of who I am at the core flattened me. I landed on my knees. An appropriate stance for any soul-seeker living in chaos.

Gradually, the chaos eased as I settled into a choice. Replaced by the peace that passes all understanding. My decision radiated with joy, maybe because of the choice. Maybe because the search had ended — for a time.

Many of us live in various chaotic circumstances. We find ourselves restless, seeking change yet dreading the chaos. We feel the rumbles of chaos in our nation. Within our churches and our jobs. Within the rollercoaster of the stock market.

We face the certainty that the current chaos will indeed result in some kind of change.

Chaos in the Circumstances. Aging seems to magnify change. The power of observation settles more deeply in my soul as I recognize the changes.

As Mom journeyed through Alzheimer’s, changes in her routine created anxiety. So we had to carefully monitor her daily choices, then made the choice of assisted living that took most of her options away.

The chaos of her changes continued even as we walked through that final change of moving Mom from the facility to the cemetery.

The Divine One warns, “Everything will change. The foundations are shaken.” (Psalm 11:3)

Perhaps the circumstantial chaos that threatens our world these days will result in a global revival where we perceive each other through a different lens. Would it not be wonderful if skin color no longer divided us into urban and rural, poor and rich, dead and alive?

Would it not be beautiful if denominational chaos resulted in the search for the depths of God’s love rather than the judgment of our religious differences?

I so wish change would eliminate broken children, abused women, and toxic relationships. Please God, let it be.

Yet experience teaches that change cannot occur without some sort of chaos. Change implies growth and as we stretch — albeit with resultant pain — we can eventually grow stronger.

May God help us as we face whatever chaos is ahead. May each of us find our own place within this changing world and make it a better place to call home.

And may we stay in hope that after the chaos fades, peace will be restored.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

As we move into the Lenten season and you seek a reflective heart, check out The Women of Passion Week.

Searching for Hope

A massive earthquake in Turkey. Another black boy murdered. The diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer. Alzheimer’s. Kidnappings. The war in Ukraine.

It’s enough to keep us from watching the news. In fact, I am limiting myself to only one short news show per day. Check out the 1440.com for an alternative. 

Sometimes life unravels a world away as we watch, and sometimes it knocks at our door. What do we do when the unraveling becomes personal? When we cannot find hope? When we’re ‘supposed’ to know the answers and walk a life of faith with a smile on our faces and hope in our hearts?

We Grieve. We admit the truth to ourselves . . . that life on this earth is a struggle. No matter how we try to protect ourselves or our loved ones from tragedy, it WILL eventually find us.

So we take some time out and grieve. Whatever that looks like. Tears. Screaming into a pillow when the children are asleep. A bag of dark chocolate or a gallon of ice cream — no judgment here. I have tried both.

Vomiting our guts out with words in our journals. Sometimes my journal page ends up with holes in it because I press my pen so hard into its lined relief. Searching to find a bit of solace. Tearing out pages and burning them to eradicate my angry words.

When we fail to grieve, we internalize the sorrow. Then depression and life-long anger can claim our souls. Bitterness begins to shadow us, and we isolate in fear.

Better to admit it when we’re trudging through the pit. And find some relief in letting the pain go.

We Find a Friend. During the last few weeks, I have needed the company of friends. One day was particularly difficult. But I knew I had to get out of the house and connect with another pilgrim.

So I texted a friend for a lunch date, and we met at Third Space in Bonner Springs, KS. If you’re in the area, plug this amazing coffee shop into your GPS and drive there immediately.

Over plates of turkey-avocado-spinach-wraps, I shared my struggle. My friend listened. Understood my grief and my anger at the injustice. Gave me some ideas for how to deal with it. Promised to pray.

The release of sharing helped me make it through the day. And the warm spinach wrap was also a comfort. Sometimes all we need is a good friend and some good food. In that order.

We Admit Our Helplessness. Sometimes we can follow our to-do list and resolve whatever is happening. But often, we find ourselves unable to do anything to solve the particular problem. The systems work against us. The mountain is too tall and too cold to climb.

As one of my friends says, referring to A Tale of Two Cities, “It is certainly not the best of times. It is also not the worst of times. But it is a time we have not experienced before.”

It is much easier for me to figure out Plan B and make sure it happens. As a firstborn with an extra dose of life-long responsibility, everything in me wants to solve this problem. I am willing to do anything to make it go away and restore what has been stolen.

But I cannot solve it. The systems are stronger than I. The dynamics must work themselves out, and I must let go of Plan B, C, D, . . . . My self-sufficiency has met its match, and I lose. Pluck another grey hair. Plaster moisturizer on new wrinkles. Grind my teeth in frustration.

Maybe my letting go will release other powers to do what is right. If only they will choose the right way. But what if they don’t? So I go back to grieving, journaling, finding friends who promise to pray, stay busy, and try to find the zipper that releases hope.

Yes, I know many of my followers are thinking, Why don’t you just trust God? I do trust God, and I know that ultimately he is the one who restores our broken lives.

But a lifetime of experience has also taught me that restoration does not always happen in this lifetime. Sometimes the eternal plan is the outcome, way beyond my Plan B and much deeper than I can even imagine.

And that’s when the pain intensifies. Even as I repeat Bible verses, engage in my personal communion time, and beg God to show himself mighty. A sliver of hope seeks a good result. Logic reminds me that the resolution may remain hidden.

One step closer to vaulting over that mountain does not mean I will conquer its summit. But at least in the trying, the energy required for movement can elicit some hope.

Ultimately, we just keep breathing, living, and praying that the God who knows all things will somehow make a way through. And that what is broken will eventually be fixed, even if it takes eternity to finish it.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Living day by day requires a daily reboot. Find yours in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope in the Silent Timing

Since God is timeless, it is always a sweet surprise when I discover him working — right on time.

A year ago, I bought a lovely journal to add to my stash. Never enough journals for a writer, you know. This particular journal caught my eye because the cover was a quiet country scene with wildflowers and the verse from Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”

In one version, the imperative is to “Cease striving.” Still another version underscores the words, “Let be and be still.”

But my favorite is the Amplified version of a parallel verse in Psalm 37:7, “Be still and quietly rest in the Lord, wait for him, and patiently lean yourself upon him.”

Just before one of my New Mexico vacations, God pointed me toward this verse. It became a visual for my morning meditations and a jumpstart for hope.

Be still. As I sat beside the clear mountain stream and listened to its melodious splashing over smooth rocks, I practiced being still. I allowed the sounds and textures of the Southwest to speak to me, to bring solace to my stressed soul.

No need to utter a prayer. Just sit there and enjoy God’s presence, highlighted by his creation. The stillness became its own prayer.

It is an important spiritual practice — and an emotional gift — to be still. To shut out the noise. Turn off the TV. Set the phone aside and be still. Solitude is a friendly teacher which often reveals the exact message our souls need. In the perfect timing.

Rest quietly. In our electronically-designed world, we have lost the ability to rest quietly. It takes intentional purposing to retrieve it.

During my time in the mountains, cell service was sporadic. A gift. No need to watch TV when we could go hiking on mountain trails or fish at the stream. On vacation, I leave my laptop at home. No Facebook posts, tweets, or emails reach me.

The monastics called it “The Grand Silence.” Every evening they disciplined themselves to cease speaking and curtail activity so they might clearly discern the Divine Whisper.

Saint Benedict, the father of the monastic way wrote, “Therefore, because of the importance of silence, let permission to speak be seldom given to perfect disciples, even for good and holy and edifying discourse.”

In silence, we learn more about ourselves. Why we fidget. What stimulates us and prevents sleep. Which noise-makers plant seeds of anger or cynicism which affect our faith.

On Sundays, I observe an internet Sabbath and the last hour before bedtime is a time of silence. It restores my soul and prepares me for the new week.

Wait for him. As we rest quietly and wait for God to share whatever secrets he wants, the discipline of patience asserts itself.

God’s timing is, of course, perfect. When we step out of his boundaries, we find ourselves stressed, burdened, and puzzled that our peace is disturbed.

But as we wait, our souls anticipate when God WILL speak, how he WILL instruct us, and show us the way that is best for us. He always has our best in mind. As the Alpha and the Omega, he determines the end from the beginning. Then he fills in everything in between.

On the last evening of that vacation, God showed up. I walked past the river and around the man-made lake where other vacationers fished and fed the ducks. In the movement of walking, I thanked God for the week of quiet and opened my soul’s heart to hear his response.

Several paragraphs of instruction flowed through my soul, along with the warmth of divine love. A reminder to obey the final phrase of Psalm 37:37, to patiently lean on God for future plans and next steps.

As I pulled out my journal to write and process God’s promises, I glanced once again at the cover. The country scene with wildflowers in the foreground. A quiet setting, serenely focused on the surrounding land, far from the noise of the city and its fast-paced intensity.

And that verse, engraved boldly on the grey background, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Yes indeed. God showed up — right on time — with an underscoring of hope. He will do the same for you, as you quietly rest in him.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

On this Valentine’s Day, consider sharing hope with a single mom. Just for Today: Hope for Single Moms.

Hope Nudges Forward

When we wait on God for answers, it often feels like a test of patience.

Throughout my journey, experience has taught me to wait on God. When I step forward too soon and try to force something to happen — it ends in lost revenue, additional stress, or a clunky mess. Then I am filled with regret and play the “I should have” game.

My answers do not end as well as the divine ones.

But within those waiting times, it feels better to sense a nudge forward. Sometimes God puts on his loving Father hat with a gentle push in the right direction. As I tiptoe forward, the way opens.

When faced with major decisions, I often journal through the issue using five questions:

  • What do I sense God is telling me about this decision?
  • What does scripture remind me to do or instruct me about this decision?
  • What do other godly friends say and how do they advise me?
  • What do the circumstances tell me?
  • Do I have peace with this decision?

When the majority of these questions point in the same direction, then I know I am probably on the right track. I say ‘probably’ because life is still an adventure. We can be deceived or influenced by desires that lead us away from eternal destinies.

Since peace is one of my core values, it rarely fails me and serves as a symbol of the right direction.

On a quiet January morning, I watched the snow-flocked trees soak up the day’s warmth and gracefully release their burdens. Once more, God watered the earth with his mineral richness of powdery grace. We farmers and gardeners know how snow blesses the soil and enriches future crops.

But in the solitude of those moments, the Spirit reminded me of several promises:

  • God will guide me toward the best possible direction (Isaiah 49:10)
  • While strengthening me for the journey, God enlarges the place and even the way I might help others (Isaiah 54:2)
  • God himself anoints and qualifies me for the work he has designed for my last act (Isaiah 61:1)
  • The Master Gardener plants me where I need to be (Isaiah 61:3)
  • The acceptable and most opportune times are in the hands of my loving God (Psalm 69:13)

A final promise whispered, “Then shall your light break forth like the morning, and your healing (your restoration and the power of a new life) shall spring forth speedily; your rightness, your justice, and your right relationship with God shall go before you, conducting you to peace and prosperity, and the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard” (Isaiah 58:8 Amplified).

I sat on my bed, journal and Bible spread open, and wept at the beauty of this final promise. God heals and restores the weary soul. He provides power for whatever new life we walk into. He reassures us that we do not travel this journey alone. He goes before and behind us. As he takes care of us, the result is peace.

God never fails, even when we do not understand. Are there still unknowns? Of course. The faith journey always occurs in steps — never in one giant leap.

But for now, this nudge forward challenges me to believe the next step will be revealed at the right time. Where God places me and what my role looks like is listed in his job description, not mine. He will steady me throughout the journey, and the end result will be bathed in peace.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If we have defined our life by a faith walk, then we continue to do what has always worked — day by day. Check out these devotions in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Creativity Spawns Hope

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity. Partly because I’ve started a new group called Creative Connections. Partly because I learned more about creativity through the books and presentation of Julia Cameron. And partly because I like the topic.

After pondering about creativity, I’ve come up with two definitions:

  • To make something out of nothing
  • To repurpose something for another use

Writers understand the whole making-something-out-of-nothing every time they face a blank page. When creativity thrives, that blank page soon fills with words, paragraphs, and chapters. Or it becomes a blog post such as this one.

Repurposing plays a major role in my life. I’m always repurposing something for another use. Why buy something new when you can nurture your creativity and repurpose?

Such as redesigning the décor on my living room mantel. Or creating a gluten free recipe from the usual wheat-filled and processed foods. Finding a treasure at a flea market.

But isn’t our personal creativity something more? Can our souls fill with hope when we realize more of our creative design?

Each of us became real living and breathing human beings because God took a bunch of dirt and created a man. Then he repurposed a rib to create a woman.

But beyond the physical, the Divine Three also placed within us special giftings:

  • Intuition that notices when something is out-of-sync
  • A caring spirit that recognizes when another human is hurting
  • Inner sensors that discern a wrong direction leading to destruction or despair
  • A reproductive spirit that helps plants thrive and grow
  • An ability to understand animals and become a whisperer that causes them to trust

These are just some of the creative giftings that move beyond the usual gifts of the Spirit. The beautiful thing about creativity is that it can be different in every human being. And it can develop over time.

Many of us facing the last act may notice we have a bit more intuition these days. The wisdom we have grown into helps us discern what is important and what can be ignored. These creative giftings help us do life safely and find more security in how we grow and thrive during our last years.

It also gives us the ability to help youngers on their journey. One of the saddest things in our world is when the elders no longer believe in themselves or in their creativity — when they give in to the “You’re just too old” mentality, sit back, take their medicines, and rock away their final years.

But as the youngers listen and observe our creativity, they can also spur us toward hope. As I observe my son and daughter-in-love working and thriving, I see a new generation of hope-filled creatives. They will have to redesign our broken political system.

They must be responsible for how we will use the internet and the AI configurations. They will be forced to figure out better ways to stay healthy as the medical systems face more conflict. And to survive, they must find creative ways to save the planet.

And these amazing young ones will need to move us toward peace.

Why has God given us creative gifts? Because we are made in his image, and he is the first Creator. Because he tasked us with the job of taking care of the earth. Because we are made to love the Trinity and love others.

Creativity can lead us toward more ways to love.

My definitions of creativity lead me to ask myself a question, and also to share it with you. What is your creative role in God’s love story?

And how can you use your role to make a difference this year?

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

My newest e-book addresses a difficult topic from a different point of view. Check it out: To Be Alive: The Hidden Story of Abortion.

Hope and Our Stuff

She was a lovely woman and an expert in her field — the stager who came at the request of the realtor. At the outset, she warned me, “I’m not here to offend you. I’m just doing my job.”

I was prepared for her to move things around and give me some decorating ideas. But I was emotionally blindsided by the amount of my treasures she declared, “This has to go.” Basically, she dismantled my house and my personal stuff.

She left piles of things in every room to get rid of, and I learned a great deal from her choices. Spacing, color, lighting, even the size and placement of pictures. The home I worked so hard to make personal and cozy soon became neutral and bland. Generalized to appeal to anyone.

I learned how important my stuff is to me. Most of my things are the early attic variety: garage sale finds, flea market deals, the repurposing of items thrown away by someone else. Nothing has great intrinsic value — except in my soul.

While I know we are not defined by our stuff, in a way — yes, we are.

The quilt my grandmother and her sisters made for my wedding still hangs in my bedroom. The cradle, designed and crafted by my dad, held my newborn son as we rocked him to sleep his first Christmas. The Southwestern puzzle I worked on one winter to avoid seasonal affective disorder and think about Santa Fe.

None of these treasures made the cut. “Get rid of them or find a place to store them out of the way,” the stager instructed.

How can I shove my lifetime out of the way?

As she finished her work, we learned a bit more about each other. Both of us write. Both of us journeyed through divorce and experienced judgment by the established church. Both of us love cats.

On one level, I knew she was right, and I was glad to have made a new friend. But I also felt violated and discouraged, wondering how I could decide what to let go.

The piles of my life’s debris reminded me how mortal we are. How fleeting is life — a mere breath. A candle that should be given away to bring another person joy. A sofa table so out of date no one would want it even if it was free.

Although the purging pained my soul, my journal entries spoke the truth. Some things need to be given away to make way for something better.

In the end, I did not sell my home. The market prevented a move. But the experience with the stager reminded me to purge more, buy less, and make way for more space to live in.

In “Jesus Calling,” Sarah Young writes, “Anticipate coming face-to-face with impossibilities: situations totally beyond your ability to handle . . . When you see armies of problems marching toward you, cry out to God. Allow him to fight for you. Watch him working on your behalf.”

Great advice. Purge what can bless someone else. Mourn the loss of personal stuff. Wait for next steps. Cling to God and find Hope.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

My newest e-book addresses clinging to the past. Check it out on Kindle: To Be Alive: The Hidden Story of Abortion.

Hope Identifies with the Sparrow

One of the joys of my life arrives every morning when I feed the birds. My place has a large deck where I’ve hung three bird feeders. Every morning, I pour out the seed, call to the birds, and watch these amazing creatures float toward me.

Flashy cardinals, raucous blue jays with their silver details, sweet chickadees who fly up and down, an occasional woodpecker, and lots of sparrows.

Most days, we don’t pay much attention to sparrows. We are attracted to the more colorful species and their domineering personalities. Sparrows are just the extra birds that fly near, their plain brown feathers almost an invisible blend on weathered decks. Perhaps an afterthought in the creator’s mind. The bird with which to compare all the others.

Sparrows don’t seem to matter much. Unless you’re one of them.

I empathize with the sparrow. The flashy authors of the world pass me by while I try to catch up. Try not to compare my sales with theirs, my words with their paragraphs.

“Bless me, too, my Father,” is often the cry of my heart.

Somedays within this last act, I feel even more sparrow-ish than before. My drab browning pales in comparison with those who seem to live a more flashy existence.

I want to see my dreams come to pass even as I know the desires of my heart may not necessarily sync with the whispers of the Divine Three.

Like the hawk who casts its shadow over my sparrows, predators of discouragement and fear stalk me. So quickly they sharpen their talons. Wait for my most vulnerable moments to swoop in and destroy hope.

Yet most days — praise God — I remember how God cares for even the lowly sparrow. How Jesus mentioned this particular bird, recorded in Matthew 10:28-31.

Not one of us falls without God’s knowledge and empathic tears. Each of us, though feeling drab, are still painted with divine art — with physical and emotional details like delicate feathers in his design.

And every time a sparrow comes to feed on my deck, I remember the old hymn, His Eye is on the Sparrow. Then my heart feels more secure in the knowing of how much God cares for me.

Sparrows of the past are mourned. Each one a creation missed, a relationship betrayed, an opportunity denied. Yet the One who created them in the first place still exists. God promises an even better life to come.

Here’s to all of us sparrows. We occupy important spaces in the universe, each of us here for a purpose — for a time.

May we embrace our lives and this new year for what they represent, a glorious praise for each day’s opportunities and a supreme hope for a better tomorrow.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Check out my new e-book, To Be Alive: The Hidden Story of Abortion.

What Hope Learns from the Pharisees

We rarely think of the Pharisees as the good guys, in spite of the fact that Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, and Gamaliel seemed to believe the message of Jesus. And who knows how many other Pharisees were secret believers.

Yet, we can learn from these guys. Take some of their behaviors and flip them into more valuable learnings. How did their beliefs affect their culture? Are some of their attitudes still at work in our current world? What did the Pharisees focus on?

Study. Years of study in special schools with respected teachers. Boys were chosen for these schools in light of their intelligence, diligence, and sometimes — their finances.

They resisted any form of intellectual laziness as they trained to become the next generation of Pharisees. They learned all the rules and regulations of the Torah and expected perfection from themselves and others.

What can we Learn? We learn by studying how Jesus acted and what he shared. We can also learn from other resources, online and printed materials. We learn as we study our own leaders and those who teach us each week. Life-long learning keeps our brains fresh, ready to accept new ideas and reflect on what we truly believe.

Hopefully, we have also learned that study, training, and education of all kinds needs to be offered to girls as well as boys. Any country or religion that ignores half the population ends up being short-sighted and cruel.

Patriarchy keeps women in bondage, uses and abuses their gender and their giftings. When we refuse to let women use their spiritual gifts — including leadership — we delete the beauty of what Jesus taught us about respecting all people, no matter the gender.

After all, he shared his Gospel truth with a Samaritan woman, then commissioned her as the first evangelist. He appeared first as the resurrected Lord to a woman and gave her the task, “Go tell the boys I’m alive.” And he nestled in the womb of a woman to become a human like us.

Exclusivity. The Pharisees stayed with their people, taught only the Jews, married and lived only with people from their same culture. As such, their traditions and rules had no chance of learning about other cultures or appreciating the varieties of society. This was one reason why Jesus angered them, because he refused to exclude anyone.

Father Richard Rohr writes, “Jesus lived among the rejected. He ministered among the rejected. He died and was crucified as rejected, as somebody who was outside the political power structure. But early Sunday morning, from the grave he led a resurrection movement—a revival of love, a revival of justice, a revival of mercy, a revival of grace.”

What can we Learn? When we exclude others, we underscore the religion of isolation. We stay in our own safe groups and become stale in our outreach. Our religion becomes us versus them.

It is only by inviting others into our sphere that we can impact the entire world and fulfill the Great Commission.

The marginalized of society are all around us, yet how many of them feel comfortable entering a church? Through social media, political platforms, and the very ugliness of our attitudes we have often excluded the people God loves. We judge them by their clothing, their jobs, their cars, their homelessness, their gender, their politics, their station in life. Because they are not ‘like’ us, we ignore them or let the social services do the work of the church.

Again, Father Richard offers his advice, “The best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better.”

Spiritual Superiority. As learned men, the Pharisees knew their stuff. According to their traditions, their interpretations were always right. But Jesus forced them to consider other ways to interpret Torah. However, thinking of their scripture in a new way took away their control and weakened their system. Their anger and fear led them to murder the One who came to save them.

What can we Learn? I believe spiritual superiority is one of the most dangerous tenets of our church systems. We have been taught certain beliefs through the years, so of course — they must be true. We know the Hebrew and the Greek meaning of various words, so of course — we also know the intent of those words. We ignore the cultural context and pick out phrases that describe what we want to believe is true. We find Bible verses that justify our political and personal bondage.

Yet believers with open minds who truly study with question marks in their hearts may find new truths and new beauty in what Jesus meant, what Paul chose to write about, what the scriptural metaphors really stand for.

When we stop asking questions and blindly accept what we are told, we stop growing.

And with our spiritual superiority, we feast from the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Then we settle into the biggest problem of the universe: pride.

I am grateful to the Pharisees for what they teach us — how NOT to react to new interpretations, how to study for ourselves and seek out those teachers who have open minds and hearts.

Ultimately, we learn and we grow, we impact our world when we focus on only two topics: Jesus and Grace. Anyone who teaches a different Gospel runs the danger of becoming a Pharisaical rascal and tainting the message Jesus came to share with us.

I hope to keep learning and keep growing. To study who Jesus was and what he taught, how he lived in his culture. And to face my culture with the same unconditional love Jesus has shown me.

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a study on simplified faith, check out Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

Intentional Hope

The days are long but the years are short.”

According to Google — that great know-it-all in cyberspace, Gretchen Rubin is the author of the above quote. It perfectly describes how it feels to jump into a new year. 

I wonder if Rubin is a harried mom who feels as if she is working a 30 hour-day yet somehow, her sweet babies grow faster every year.

From my perspective, as a mom with a grown son, I can attest to the truth of Rubin’s quote. It seems truly impossible that my baby boy is now an incredible grown man.

But reality proves it to be true.

What this quote underscores is the importance of living each day to its fullest, giving to others, and saving some joy for ourselves. Because soon we will be looking back on this particular day, this harried year, hoping we lived it well.

As we begin a new year, how can we determine to make each long day matter most?

Remember People are Important. Being kind to others and helping the needy keeps us focused on the importance of other human beings.

The book of Proverbs reminds us to “Defend those who cannot help themselves. Speak up for the poor and needy and see that they get justice” (Proverbs 31:9 TLB).

Begin each day with the determination to be aware of other people. Smile. Speak kind words. Encourage others on their journey through life.

Search for Joy. What is it that fills your heart with the warmth of joy? Do more of it.

Take photos of nature, pets and family. Paint a sunset. Restore an old bookcase. Write your memoir. Sing your favorite song.

Each of us is equipped with the capacity to receive and share joy. So make joy a priority every day and do something — at least once / week – that nurtures your inner spirit.

Stay in Hope. We are living in a negative world with multiple problems everywhere. Keep a positive outlook that finds something to be grateful for and focuses on something good.

Let your “What if” statements end in positives rather than the gloom of negative thinking. Instead of “What if the stock market keeps bouncing until it no longer has any dribble left?” Try this, “What if everything evens out and Congress learns how to work together?”

A Bible verse I like to repeat is Psalm 43:5, “Stay in hope for I will YET praise God.”

Living in the “yet” helps me think about hope, move toward my dreams and focus on a positive outcome.

So let’s approach 2023 with the reality of knowing we will soon face the end of another year. With the awareness of how we can help others, with a heart filled with joy and a mindset of hope we can make this year the best possible.

Will you join me?

©2023 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Begin the year with a hope-filled outlook. Check out Hope Shines, in regular and large print.  http://amzn.to/2j2fneR

Hope for the New Year

A brand new calendar forces reflection on the passing of time yet also moves us toward new opportunities.

During my “senior” season, I am finished setting resolutions. No more of the usual “less sugar, lose some weight and save more money” focus.

This year, I want to dig deeper. Maybe it is the aging factor that forces me beyond the mere physical and into the extraordinary. Or maybe I have learned how empty some resolutions feel.

I seek something with more impact. So I have decided to focus in two directions:

To Look for the Presence of God Each Day.

I know the Divine Three live inside me, but I also believe God moves mysteriously around me.

During this new year, I want to be more aware of that Divine presence:

  • In the energy of a crackling fire
  • In the dancing eyes of children
  • In the musical tones of nature’s breezes
  • In the faces of strangers at coffee shops, the mall and the lines at Wal-Mart
  • In the perseverance of the disabled who refuse to be victims
  • In the hugs of my son
  • In the colors and textures of my world

When I intentionally seek the presence of God, I hope to discover spiritual truths in new ways. Being more aware of God’s personal steps in my world reminds me he is my constant companion.

To Listen for the Divine Whisper Each Day.

God wants to communicate with us. He is the Word, and he is consistent in his desire for relationship.

But our world is so noisy, we often cannot hear what he longs to share with us.

I am fortunate to work in a job that involves silence. I write with no background music or white noise. Yet I can still miss the soft baritone of my Savior.

This year I want to be more aware of his voice, to hear with an extraordinary sonic volume:

  • When God gives direction or guidance
  • When he reminds me to backtrack or fix something wronged
  • When his creative whisper births an idea for a new book
  • When he asks me to be still and know
  • When he just wants to say, “I love you.”

My goal for this year is to spend time each evening with a few moments of evaluation: How was the presence of God real that day? How did I hear God speak that day?

Maybe by next December, I will have developed a keener sense of the Trinity in every day life.

That goal gives me hope.

©2020 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

With a new year comes the opportunity to revise our goals. Check out Setting and Reaching Your Writing Goals.

A Hope-filled Christmas Story

“Why do you have those red shoes on your tree?” Danhya, my little friend from India, asked me. She pointed to the felt booties that hung at the front of my Christmas tree.

“Ah . . . that is a wonderful story,” I said, “and it began many years ago. Would you like to hear it?”

Her dark brown eyes twinkled as she squealed. “Tell it! Tell it, please!”

So I sat with her as we sipped our hot cocoa. The sweetness of the chocolate merged with the sweet story of the red booties on my tree. “Many years ago, a young lady and a man married. They worked hard and saved their money, then they wanted to start a family. But even though they tried and tried and tried, no baby came to live at their house.

“One year, at Christmas time, the lady thought she was going to have a baby. So she planned how she would tell her parents with a pretty Christmas package and a note inside. She could barely contain her excitement. But then, the doctor said she was not pregnant. So her Christmas that year was very sad.”

“Years and years passed by with no baby and many sad Christmases. But six years later, the lady was finally pregnant. All the friends and family of the couple were excited to celebrate this coming child. But the baby died before it could grow to full size inside the lady. Everybody cried for a long time.

“Two years later, the lady was pregnant again. The same people celebrated with her and her husband. But again, the baby died before it could grow. Again, everybody cried — especially the lady. She decided she would probably never hold her own baby, but she would teach everybody’s else’s children how to play the piano. She would try to be happy for all the people who had the blessing of babies.”

Danhya’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I hope this story has a happy ending.”

I clasped her hands and continued. “Two years later, a miracle happened. The lady and the man welcomed their baby, a fully developed, beautiful baby boy who was born on the coldest day of that November during a sleet storm. The tiny baby was such a wonderful early Christmas present, the lady bought special red booties for him to wear to church.”

“I like that story,” Danhya said, “and were you the lady in the story?”

“Yes, and the baby is my son, Caleb.”

Danhya finished her cocoa and pondered for a while, then asked, “So you put the little booties on the tree every year, to remind you of that baby and that miracle?”

“Yes, and those booties also remind me of another baby. He probably didn’t have any soft booties to wear, but his mother and father dearly loved him. He arrived as a special miracle, too, and that’s the real reason we celebrate Christmas. Baby Jesus came to remind us that God loves us and wants to be with us always.

“So that’s the story of the red booties, but the real story goes on. For each person who believes in baby Jesus and accepts the love God offers, new stories begin. Stories of love and purpose as people realize Christmas is all about the wonderful gift of life and the miracles God does inside our hearts.”

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a special Christmas gift, check out The Women of Christmas.

7 Holiday Tips for Caregivers

The calendar reminds us how the holiday season is approaching. Our waistlines expand while the stresses of family dynamics emotionally stretch us.

As much as we enjoy the family time, the abundance of good food, and the reminders to be grateful — we also need to remember how stressful this time can be for someone who suffers from Alzheimer’s or dementia.

How can we best help our loved ones survive the holidays? How can caregivers find some joy during this stressful time?

Trim the Food Responsibilities. One year into her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, Mom tried to figure out a recipe. She wanted to feel part of the festivities but even finding pots and pans proved to be difficult.

As we watched her struggle, worry about the cost of groceries, and wonder if she had made her salad — hundreds of times — we realized it was time to stop expecting Mom to cook.

Even if your loved one has a favorite recipe, relieve her of the stress of making it. Give her a simple task and make it together.

Plan Ahead for Shopping. Be prepared with a list and know the easiest way to get in and out of the stores. Forget about Black Friday shopping — too many people, too much noise, and parking places are limited.

Be patient. Take plenty of time and be prepared to answer many questions. If possible, buy everything in one store. Then go home. Better yet, sit down with a laptop and show your loved one the pictures. Then order everything online.

Include Favorite Foods. Even though her appetite changed, Mom still wanted pecan pie for every holiday. One of my duties included buying a pecan pie for Mom. I recommend the frozen variety. No fuss.

When we walked into the farm kitchen, Mom’s eyes always searched for the dessert table. She said nothing, but I knew what she was looking for. “I brought your pecan pie, Mom, and the first piece goes to you.” Then I topped it with a generous dollop of Cool Whip.

Every year, Mom replied, “I DO love pecan pie.” Enjoy blessing your loved ones with their favorite foods.

Plan an Activity Together. Although sending Christmas cards is becoming one of those forgotten traditions, my mother’s demographic still considers it a holiday courtesy. She loves receiving her cards.Remind your loved one who the senders are or tell a favorite story about the person behind the return address.

Be prepared to look at the cards several times during the holidays and tell the same stories. This repetition is part of the Alzheimer’s process. Someday you’ll be glad you took the time to do this simple task.

Be Careful About Timing. If you check your loved one out of assisted living for the day, check back in before dark. As the sun sets, Alzheimer’s patients often experience Sundowner’s Syndrome. They may pace, say the same words over and over, and exhibit anxiety. They feel safer in their rooms before dark, so time your meals and activities accordingly.

Travel is NOT for Everyone. Although we all want to be together during the holidays, travel out of the comfort zones is difficult for the Alzheimer’s patient: several hours cramped in a car or a plane, strangers, noise, unfamiliar surroundings, different types of foods and smells.

It makes more sense to hire a caregiver and let your loved one stay home while you join the rest of the family.

Avoid the false guilt that says you cannot leave for a day or two. Yes, you can. Taking care of yourself is one of the best ways to make it through the marathon of caregiving. Take a break and be with your family.

Gift-giving. None of us needs more junk, least of all — the Alzheimer’s patient. Keep the gift-giving simple.

Try these suggestions: a stuffed animal, a baby doll (especially for the women), a pretty picture for the room, a picture of family members with their childhood photos inserted next to the adult photo, a favorite piece of candy, a comfortable sweater.

Be aware that some gifts may disappear. Mom constantly lost things. One year, I bought her new sheets for her bed. Then I put them on for her. No chance to lose them.

One gift that always works is spending time with your loved one, a hug and a kiss, a “Merry Christmas. I love you.”

Do it while you can.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a more substantial list of helpful tips, check out Holiday Tips for Caregivers, available on Amazon and Kindle.  

Finding Hope While Grieving During the Holidays

The colorful lights, packages wrapped with beautiful bows, Santa’s lap filled with happy children, the music of the season: all these joys spell Christmas.

But what if you are smack in the middle of grief this December? What if some of your joy is colored by sadness?

Over a million families will be missing someone this Christmas, due to how COVID decimated our lives. Numerous other families had to bury Mom or Dad, sister or brother, a best friend, or a spouse.

How do we find hope when the holidays offer a raw stab of grief? Three possibilities float to the surface:

Keep the Traditions. Did Mom make a certain type of pie, Christmas candies, or a specialty casserole? Bake it yourself and remember what a great cook she was.

Did Dad string the lights on the tree? As you string them this Christmas, remember how he made sure they were evenly distributed — how they reflected love throughout the room, how they remind you of family togetherness.

Did the family always meet at Grandma’s house, but now Grandma isn’t there and the house has been sold? Meet where you can and talk about Christmases past. Show pictures to the grandchildren. Keep the memories of Christmas alive.

Each family makes their own traditions. One of my favorites was shopping with my friend, Deb. That event does not happen anymore. Even after five years of grief, I feel the loss so deeply.

But I cannot find hope if I only remember what once was. Instead, I’ll remember Deb and find a day to shop alone, start with our favorite chai tea, and tell her about my purchases. Give the gift I planned for her to a single mom who needs encouragement. Remember the fun of shopping together and toast her with some eggnog.

Fill the Empty Chair. Nothing is more discouraging than the empty chair beside the table. It’s a reminder of loss — a visual of who is missing.

Instead of staring at the emptiness, fill the chair with another person:

  • An international student who cannot fly hundreds of miles to be home for the holidays
  • A single mom who is bereft of her children because it’s his turn to have the kids
  • A homeless person who longs to feel the warmth of a home and experience a full belly
  • A young parolee who needs to understand how grace means second chances
  • A first responder who is too exhausted to cook a meal
  • Anyone you know who might be alone

As we fill the empty chair with another living being, it reminds us life DOES move forward. We don’t have to remain stuck within the grief of Christmas past.

Give Thanks for Memories. We shared many holidays with that special person. We still have some of the gift s/he gave us. Wear that sweater she knitted just for you. Dab on that perfume he gave you. Clasp the necklace or play the CD.

Revel in those precious reminders and give thanks. That person represents a unique place in your journey: spouse, parent, sibling, friend. No one can ever replace her or him.

Share your favorite holiday memories around the table. The stories will help that person seem alive again. When Deb enjoyed her food, she always said, “Uhm, uhm” between bites. I cannot eat guacamole without hearing her soprano gratitude.

Although this holiday may seem especially empty for you and the grief even more fresh — keep the traditions, fill the empty chair, and give thanks for the memories.

Then remember your loved one is celebrating Christmas in heaven and probably thinking about you.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Soothe some of your raw grief with a book about hope. Hope Shines is available on Amazon in print, Kindle, and Large Print.

Hope Keeps It Simple

Because life is easier when it’s simple, I have decided to merge that principle into my holiday celebrations. What used to be a November and December filled with activities and the traditional holiday set-ups, I have now prefaced with the following questions:

  • How can I simplify the holidays?
  • What gives me the most joy about Thanksgiving and Christmas?
  • What changes do I need to make that keep the spirit of the season yet make life easier?

Christmas Cards

Although I love to send and receive greeting cards throughout the year, the business of addressing and mailing Christmas cards to my entire address list has become overkill. I hereby determine to simplify the process.

I still believe all these people are important in my life, yet I am setting a card boundary. This year, I will save time, money, and energy on Christmas cards.

Please don’t be offended if you are deleted. Consider this your greeting: Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas!

Holiday Treats

In the past, I have baked and frosted, wrapped, and packaged treats for my neighbors, the postman, my mechanic, people at work, and anyone else in my life who did not receive a store-bought gift. This year will be different.

The temptation of cookie dough in my large pottery bowl and the smell of rising breads no longer attract me. This year, my kitchen table will NOT be spread with powdered sugar treats fondly called People Puppy Chow. My body will thank me because I am always tempted to eat half of them.

I vow to protect my heart, my brain, and my arteries from excess powdered sugar. I am setting a culinary boundary.

Holiday Decorations

Throughout the years, my house has often sported decorations in every room. Walking through Pier One, Hallmark stores, or Kirkland during this time of the year gives me great joy.

But since a stager opened my eyes to a more simplified décor, I have decided to change my holiday habits.

Compared to other years, the mantel will seem sparse. My theme is pine cones which remind me of the New Mexico mountains. Simple yet beautiful — a display of God’s creation accented with little pearl lights.

Many former decorations, I will give away. It feels good to share the beauty of my past with someone else. My little tree with its tiny pre-lit globes still works. No need to buy the newer versions.

A simpler Christmas helps me focus more on the meaning of the holiday rather than the trappings of it. The joy of Christmas-giving still belongs with the young, so I have fun planning gifts for my son and his bride, for the family members in our gift exchange. The rest of us don’t need any more stuff.

The holiday surprise of 2022 is the joy of simplification. More room on my storage shelves with less stuff to store. More space in each room. More things to give away and share with someone else.

When I surround myself ONLY with the things that bring me joy, the essential leftovers offer pleasure. And in the choice to simplify my holidays, hope follows into the new year.

A toast of eggnog to all my followers. Enjoy your version of the holidays and let me know in the comments how you will celebrate.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’d like to share a Christmas gift with me, check out my Author Page on Amazon. The purchase of a book or a written review is always acceptable. 

Hope Embraces Gratitude

We know the health benefits of gratitude, and we focus on giving thanks—particularly during this week of the year. But every year, it’s a good spiritual practice to redefine and choose again those special things we are grateful for. This is my current list:

Hot Water. As I have watched the horrors of the war in Ukraine, I feel a special affinity for the brave women. Every night, I revel in my hot shower or bath. Hot water soothes my bones. Reminds me that winter will pass. Helps me sleep.

I cannot imagine how awful it is to have a baby when there is no hot water. To try and keep your children clean when the infrastructure has been destroyed. To soothe yourself with a cup of hot tea or coffee. To let the water warm your bones and help you forget about what Russia is doing to your country.

Each night, I thank God for hot water and try to do my part to conserve this precious resource. Each night, my prayers are for the brave hearts of Ukraine and a return to some type of normalcy.

Answered Dreams. What does it take to run down a dream? Several lifetimes of perseverance, some luck, and a whole lot of Godwinks. After my best year of book sales and after watching my coaching clients succeed, I am grateful for the answered dream of becoming a writer.

What does it take to run down a dream?

  • A young girl perched inside the barky womb of her favorite elm tree. Adolescent limbs swinging from an upper branch. Book opened. Devouring words and dreaming of becoming an author.
  • Parents who turned off the TV and encouraged more reading.
  • A high school counselor who confirmed, “You’re certainly good at English. Writing is easy for you.”
  • Straight A’s in every language arts class. Math? Not so much.
  • Notebooks and diaries filled with the detailed debris of my life.
  • Multiple rejections that strengthened my soul muscles and forced me to try again.
  • Seeing my books on a library shelf.

Spices. The sense of taste allows me to enjoy the wonder of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves, and of course—pumpkin pie spice.

Part of the joy of spices is how they smell up the entire house while they’re cooking. My mind easily roams back to the farm kitchen as Mom baked peppernuts. That smell evokes care, holiday fun, and love—all at the same time.

Add to those culinary smells, the herbs I grow and throw in recipes: basil, rosemary, and my goodness…Are you hungry yet?

Because the calendar reminds us Thanksgiving is coming, I share with gratitude my Famous Pumpkin Pie Recipe as a special gift for you:

Rebecca’s Famous Pumpkin Pie 

One day previous to Turkey day, mix ½ cup whole milk with 1 package vanilla instant pudding mix. Whisk together and let the pudding set overnight in the fridge.

The next morning: Mix the set pudding with 1 TB pumpkin pie spice, 1 cup canned pumpkin, ½ cup slivered almonds, and 1 cup mini-chocolate chips. Add ¼ tsp of ground ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

Fold in 1 – 8 oz. tub of whipped topping. With spatula, carefully pour the pie mixture into a graham cracker crust. For chocoholics, use a chocolate crust. For extra spice, crush up some ginger snaps with melted butter to make your own pie crust.

On top, sprinkle more mini-chocolate chips. Refrigerate at least 3 hours. Cut and serve. Eat with gratitude.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Let’s celebrate Thanksgiving by remembering single moms. Order a book and gift it. Just for Today: Hope for Single Moms.

Hope in a Jar

The caller ID showed a familiar number, so I answered it. “Can you come to the church office? We have something for you.”

Something for me? Did I forget my Bible at church? No. My journal? Nay, nay.

As I entered the office, the administrative assistant handed me a box. “It’s really heavy. Can you carry it to your car? The people who gave it to you wanted to remain anonymous.”

I managed to carry it down the stairs and out to the parking lot, then peeked inside. A jar full of change. Some kind person’s planned generosity. They must have saved all year to fill this one jar for me. What an amazing gift!

As a single mom at Christmas time, I had wondered how to give my precious son a special holiday. For Thanksgiving, a family from church invited us to share their meal, but now we were on the other side of turkey day.

But once again, someone showed up to help us. It felt like an early Christmas, and I could not even thank whoever gave us this amazing jar.

When I cashed it in at the bank, the total of all those quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies equaled $258.00. Plenty of money for our Christmas meal, goodies for my son’s stocking, and plenty of brightly wrapped gifts.

On December 24th, I looked around the living room and thanked God for the change jar. “Please bless those people, God, and help them know how grateful we are.”

Neither my son nor I have ever forgotten that holiday season and the hope given us through a jar of change. I share this post early in the season, hoping that some of my followers will think about single moms and their children this year.

Do you have a jar of change you’ve been saving? Could you give it away? Do you have extra room around your table? Do you have space in your heart to offer hope?

It doesn’t take much to help another soul, but sometimes it DOES require that we rethink what generosity looks like. The cost includes a new mindset, an opening of our hearts, an inclusive attitude laced with compassion.

How many of my followers will give a jar of change? How many single moms and their children will look around their house this year with gratitude?

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you know a single mom, consider giving her Just for Today: Hope for Single Moms. It might share hope each day of the coming year.

Hope Beyond the Stereotypes

Perhaps it is the coming of winter that causes moments of reflection. Or the new journal I use to record my thoughts. Or the writer in me who MUST write in order to process life. Whatever the origin, my reflection turns to a time-honored quote.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge reminds us how the Jews honored the name of God. They would not purposely step on a piece of paper, in case it contained the name Yahweh. He suggests we should apply this practice to how we treat others.

“Trample not on anyone. There may be some work of grace there, that thou knowest not of. The name of God may be written upon that soul thou treadest on. It may be a soul that Christ thought so much of as to give his precious blood for it. Therefore, despise it not.”

This not trampling on anyone sounds like an easy goal. A worthy purpose. Yet when I see the blatant evil perpetrated by some, it seems impossible.

How can I love every soul, no matter what they choose to do? How can I honor the second commandment of Jesus, to love others as I love myself?

  • Even the evil ruler who is bombing the life out of the citizens of Ukraine, for no other reason than to garner for himself the trophy of another country?
  • Even the knife-wielding radical who stole the eye from a courageous author who dared to confront the inequities of his religion?
  • Even the abuser who torments a puppy, then kicks it out onto the street?
  • Even the man who threatens his wife and children, using his second amendment rights to weaponize their home?
  • Even the religious leader who uses his bully pulpit as a tool for control?
  • Even the woman who allowed her boyfriend to kill their child in one of our Kansas City neighborhoods?
  • Even the murderers of 14 year-old Emmett Till?
  • Even me and the self-righteousness legalism fostered in me?

When I cannot do anything about these horrors, how do I respond? How can I pray? And how do I live in these perilous times to make sure my home is safe yet offer grace to others?

I flip the page on my journal, still not satisfied with how the processing of this question is going. For such a quandary, there surely is no easy answer. For all sin is the practice of ignoring God, and all of us have been guilty.

Some of us just hide it better than others.

Were it not for grace, any of us could be included in the above bullet list. The giving of grace seems so easy for Almighty God who loves unconditionally. Yet it did cost the life of his Son. No easy road there.

And I admit I am still learning how to receive and gift this same costly grace.

What will it cost me to release my stereotypes of these people who choose evil? Will it be to remember that trauma often begets trauma, that evil can multiply through the generations? That people who are raised without knowing the love of God will therefore act like satan?

When did it become my responsibility to judge another? Never. Not even when it became personal to my family, to my soul.

For if Christ died for me, he also died for these others who choose to ignore his grace. And his infinite patience is somehow allowing them the time to make another choice, to open their souls to his healing grace.

It is in the patience of the timing that I am stuck. When, God, when?

So although I find no answers, I will choose to live each day trusting the One who knows not only the answers but all the relatable questions.

And I will embrace the backward living suggested by Father Richard Rohr. That instead of trying to think my way into a new way of living, I should instead live myself into a new way of thinking.

Have mercy on us, oh God.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Uploading Faith addresses such reflective questions, especially for those who seek answers.

The Intensity of Hope

To increase awareness of Domestic Violence Month, this is a re-post about the intensity of writing a novel on the topic of domestic abuse. One out of four women live in destructive relationships. Some of them sit next to you at church or at work. Some of them are in your family. It is important to know how to help.

“Your book is so intense.”

Several readers have used this statement to describe my novel No Visible Scars.

“Yes,” I answer. “This book IS intense. It’s supposed to be, because of the topic.”

Without the intensity, I would not be true to my characters or to the major plotlines of the story.

The main character jumps right off the pages of First Samuel in the Old Testament. She lived a life of intensity.

Abigail — living with her abusive husband during a time period and a culture where she had no other options. We do not know if the abuse was physical, emotional or mental.

But we can guess. Probably all of the above, judging how women were treated during the time she lived and in her corner of the world.

I first wrote Abigail’s contemporary story as a nonfiction treatise, a reason for women to set healthy boundaries within their relationships. It was a plea for them to seek help and find hope.

But several medical professionals and counselors were writing on the same topic. The competition squeezed me out. I could not sell my book.

So I returned to the original call from the Great Creator, to write Abigail’s story and show how she prevailed, how she became a major figure in King David’s kingdom.

At the same time, I was coaching more and more women who shared their experiences:

  • Husbands who turned vicious and took out their frustrations on their women
  • Men who were smart enough not to hit, but still manipulative enough to create fear
  • Boyfriends who attended church and pretended to be good guys so they could find a “nice” woman
  • Husbands who knew all the Bible verses about women submitting but refused to learn how to honor their wives
  • Male pastors who dismissed women as “emotional” and “reactive,” who refused to hear the truth and told these women to just pray about it

And the statistics grew. One out of four women living in destructive relationships. Children learning about skewed marriages where one partner is the victim while the other controls and shames.

Intense? You bet it is.

So I wrote the book while thinking of a pastor’s wife I knew who was belittled in front of their guests. I typed away the long hours while remembering a woman who was locked in her basement and fed scraps.

The editor sent me revisions as I prepared for the booksigning. Invited women I knew who were being abused. Told they were ‘stupid.’ ‘Too emotional.’ Or ‘hormonal,’ just because they wanted to be treated with respect.

The rough draft pounded out the anguish of all the biblical and contemporary women who suffer because men are more physically powerful and more culturally honored.

Then the book was published, sold, and continues to sell because it speaks the truth about a horrific issue.

It shows the importance of knowing how to set boundaries, of moving outside the box to live a life of freedom, of believing that self-care must precede other care.

When I get to heaven, I want to talk to the real Abigail. To thank her for her courage in defying her abuser and standing up for her King.

I want to honor Abigail for the life she led and for those 39 verses where her life appears in the biblical account.

On that day, I will give her a hug of gratitude for the hope she offered all women.

Then I will whisper in her ear, “I told your story. It was intense.”

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Read about Abigail in No Visible Scars, available in print, on Kindle, Goodreads and Kobo. 

Enjoying a Nugget of Hope

He did not know me, and I had never met him. But we shared the usual exchange.

“Cash, please. Twenties and tens.”

“Date of birth?”

The guy at the bank window hurried away to check my account and cash my check. I waited in the drive through, listened to “Hymn of Heaven” on Love-88.

Then the tray returned, and I looked up to thank this smiling guy I did not know. Evidently, in checking my account and my date of birth, he realized it was indeed my actual birthday.

The envelope returned my cash with a note: “Happy Birthday! I hope you have a good day and eat some good food!”

I smiled as he waved, cleared the lump in my throat, and drove toward my next errand. But I wondered, what are the seemingly small things we can do to share a nugget of hope each day?

  • Make eye contact with the busy retail workers and ask how they’re doing. Compliment them on a job well-done.
  • Give an extra tip when we eat out. Servers are struggling with inflation, too.
  • Follow my son’s example. He writes a special ‘Thank you for your excellent service’ on the back of receipts. Ends the sentence with a smiley face.
  • Send a greeting card to an elderly person. It only costs a little time and one stamp, but the encouragement on the reception is priceless.
  • Refuse to engage in hateful social media posts. Instead, share something beautiful and positive.
  • Give a thank you note to the pharmacy tech at the drive-through window. My daughter-in-love has experienced numerous hate-filled speeches from people picking up their meds, upset with the cost, or wondering why their insurance has not responded. It is NOT her fault. Surely, we can do better. Be better.
  • Show kindness to the marginalized. Be creative here. Remember that Jesus only labeled the self-righteous religious leaders (vipers and snakes). He never excluded the marginalized, the people who were cast out of synagogues because they were the wrong gender or they suffered with leprosy. Can we not follow the example of Jesus in our everyday lives?
  • Document and compliment any kindness shown to you. I plan to send a thank-you email to the manager of my bank. To let her know how thoughtful her employees have been. To encourage her as she trains new hires.

It only took a small Post-it note from a stranger on the other side of the window to lift my spirits.

Surely each of us can share a nugget of hope with someone each day. And hope multiplied might just make a difference in our world.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Share some hope with a senior friend. Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom is available on Amazon and Kindle.

Hope Beyond the Tarnish

“Get some Brasso,” the handyman said.

I had never heard of the stuff but found it at the hardware store. Guaranteed to take the tarnish and other gunk off brass and restore the original shine. Less than five bucks to keep the vintage look of my kitchen cabinet hardware.

It wasn’t tarnished too badly, but in the years since the house was built (1976) and multiple owners — the hardware had turned black.

Plus the human touch, the oils and dirt accumulated and added to the grime. In fact, the hardware was so tarnished, I did not even know it was brass underneath.

With just a small amount of Brasso and the bristles of an old toothbrush, the process began. Soon, the shiny antique brass hardware sported its best-dressed look, and my kitchen was transformed.

The spiritual connection was obvious. We may think we’re doing okay, shining as we can for Jesus. But the dirt of the world and our own inner tarnish can make a difference in how we appear. Dull us a bit. Take away from the best of our vintage source.

Others may not even know we are Jesus followers, because we no longer look or act like our origin.

Add the tarnish of the touch of other humans who wound us, the oils and dirt we so easily accumulate, the lies we believe, and our refusal to change. Hope disappears, because we have lost our ability to fully shine. We’re only okay. No longer fabulous.

But with a bit of the Holy Spirit at work and the addition of God’s word, we can start to become who we were created to be. We have to let the Spirit do his polishing act, remove from us the toxins that corrode us. Transform us by the renewing of our minds.

That important word: Let.

We may not even be aware that the Spirit is working. Most of his best processes happen in sacred silence. No fanfare that might point to human endeavor. Just a bit of divine power, of spit and polish, rub and erase.

We may even hear the divine whisper, “You’re okay, beloved child. But there is more you can reach for. More of the taste of heavenly delight. More of the love that draws others upward. More purpose to satisfy your lonely heart.

“And when the polishing process is completed, you will look better. Feel more alive. Be more useful, because nothing will hold you back. You will make the world a safer and more loving place to inhabit, because you are more connected to Me.

“Oh, yes child, you’re okay now. But just wait, honey. Soon — you will shine.”

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Check out the story of Abigail in No Visible Scars. Her scars were not visible yet she learned to set important boundaries and shine.

Hope Deferred

Petting zoos are not just for children. They can be a peaceful haven for adults like me who grew up on a farm and still nurture a country heart.

So I was excited to find a petting zoo at one of the local fall festivals. I was eager for the sensory experience of touching and smelling animals, conversing with these splendid creatures of God’s design.

Until I stepped inside.

About ten sheep needed shearing. They wore their wool like heavy armor while children dug fingers into the nap. Ducks and geese stood in a small pen, so crowded they could barely move. No water source so they could drink and play.

One pygmy goat, obviously used to feeding from children’s pudgy hands. He nuzzled a few pellets. Refused to eat more. Again, no water source.

Then I saw her. An older goat lying in the shade, far away from the others. I knelt beside her. Petted the blonde and white stripe on her forehead. No response. No movement except a slight flutter of her long lashes. I checked for the movement of her breath and was relieved to see the rhythms of inhalation.

“I’m sorry, old girl. You don’t feel good, do you? And no one is taking care of you today.”

How long had she lain there with no water and no desire to eat? Was she weary of being taken to a common pen each day for the entertainment of humans? Did anyone care about her physical and emotional health? Who was responsible?

We are encouraged to care for God’s creation which includes the animals (Proverbs 27:23). To honor our shared life that originated when God spoke, “Let there be….” To provide for the weak and care about the suffering, no matter the species or the nationality.

I wonder if I should report that petting zoo to the ASPCA. Would my actions save the life of that sweet goat or would the operators merely move it to another location and find other unwanted creatures to exploit? 

The patriarch Job shared a message regarding the importance of God’s creatures, “For ask now the animals, and they will teach you [that God does not deal with His creatures according to their character]; ask the birds of the air, and they will tell you.

“Or speak to the earth [with its other forms of life], and it will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare [this truth] to you.

“ Who [is so blind as] not to recognize in all these [that good and evil are promiscuously scattered throughout nature and human life] that it is God’s hand which does it [and God’s way]?

“ In His hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind” (Job 12:7-10 AMPC).

Hope should color our actions so that we appreciate and care for all of creation. So that we fight to preserve the precious green spaces that give back oxygen. So that we honor the Creator by protecting his work. So that we touch the sacred places around us with intention to leave them better.

So that we share hope with broken people and even, forgotten goats.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Check out the beauty and poignant prose in The Church of the Wild by Victoria Loorz. I am halfway through and loving every nugget of truth.

Hope in Going Deep

A character in the novel I’m reading told his wife, “I love you deep.”

What does it mean to love deep and want to love even deeper? Rather than focusing on this fictional human relationship, I decided to reflect on spiritual love.

How can we love God deeper and grow into a more intimate relationship with the Divine Three? Surely, this important relationship involves reflection and decision.

What are some of the layers of personal choice we can move aside to grow into deeper communion? Or are we just satisfied with salvation and the assurance of eternity. One and done. Period.

Like any relationship, it takes time to develop a deeper understanding with each other. Certainly, it takes quality time to learn how to relate with God. Time to pray. Meditate. Journal through our questions. Or journal our prayers. Use music as a connection point. Get outside and watch how God reveals himself in nature.

It takes the gift of offering ourselves as a living sacrifice. By saying, “No” to another activity so we can grow deeper with our God.

Time is the one commodity we often claim to lack. I hear this complaint often from writers, “I don’t have time.”

Yet everyone is given the same 168 hours each week. It’s not so much a matter of time, but of choices. How will we choose to use those 168 hours this week? Sure, we have to work, do the laundry, make the meals and clean up the mess.

But how much of our consumerism gets in the way of using our time for deeper reflection? We like to have multiple choices for the things we want and the things we do. We often buy what we don’t truly need. We also do what we don’t truly like to do.

We can’t completely clean up our spiritual messes without time with the One who can heal us and help us mop up the mess.

Every week, my church sends out a list of activities. Ways we can “connect” with each other. To make sure we all feel like we belong somewhere. To help us use our gifts and keep our families together by staying busy. Is that an oxymoron?

How can we spend quality family time doing activities with everybody else? How can we learn to be the family of God if we have no time to go deep with our families? And no time to go deep with the One who started life in the first place?

What if our churches sent out a memo to stay home? To love on each other. To pray together and have a communion service around the kitchen table.

The pandemic did force us to slow down and stay away for a while from all the consumerism of stuff and activities. Maybe we need to rekindle a bit of that solitude.

To find our way to a deeper path with each other and especially with the One we will spend eternity with.

Hope is a concept that requires the willingness to go deep. But it takes an intentional choice to make time. To move aside the layers that keep us from that deeper place of hope.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Take some time this week and discover some deeper truths in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope in Three Values

One of the best fiction series, in my opinion, is Jan Karon’s Mitford books. Karon does such a good job of crafting this fictional town, it feels like an actual place where I want to live.

The main character, Father Tim Kavanagh, presents his wisdom in spades. As the local Episcopal priest, he oversees most of the spiritual events in Mitford. But he is also a practical fellow who grows roses, struggles with diabetes, and walks daily with his faithful dog, Barnabas.

Recently, I re-read the latest book in the series, To Be Where You Are. In this story, Karon offers a special life-values formula via Father Tim.

What are the three things everyone needs in their life?

Someone to Love. We all need an object of our affection, whether human or a pet. And I would suggest we also need to know and truly believe we are loved by someone.

During COVID lockdown, one of my friends had to put down her beloved dog. But she knew living alone without something or someone to love would be emotionally painful and isolating.

So she bought a puppy. Between potty training, adapting her new buddy to the environment of her house, and the usual vet visits — she had no time to feel isolated or worry about COVID. She had someone to love. And the regular licks of her face proved she was loved in return.

Something to Do. We all need to feel as if we have a purpose, that our lives matter for something. Activity of some kind keeps our brains nimble, our muscles hydrated. If we can see we are making a difference, leaving an impact for someone else, that sense of significance soothes our souls.

During the pandemic, I was so grateful I could continue to work. Although some people tired of Zoom meetings, I was grateful for this technology that allowed me to coach my clients and help them publish their books.

In fact, during COVID, multiple books were published — especially digitally. With more time at home, more people were reading. All the authors in the world cheered.

Multiple words were produced, words that will impact readers forever because of writers such as my clients who continued to write.

And they increased my hope as I had work to do, helping them to make an impact with their wordsmithing.

Something to Look Forward to. Whether it is holding a newly published book in your hand, planning for a wedding, or cleaning the clutter to downsize and move to a smaller place — we need some reason to anticipate the future.

As we circle a date on the calendar and make a list of tasks to complete, we focus on something positive happening soon. From that future event rises a feeling of hope, a surge of joy for something good on the horizon.

In 2020, I often thanked God in advance for the day I would no longer have to wear a mask. Looking forward to that time helped me deal with the reflection of myself in the mirror, masked and praying I would not get COVID.

Although masks helped us stay a bit healthier, they also represented fear. So the anticipation of no longer needing to wear one felt like freedom in advance. Answered prayer with God’s detailed timing.

Many of us in the last act of life are anticipating that day when our bodies no longer constrain us. When our spirits get to lift out of flesh and become totally free. When we get to relax in the arms of God.

That anticipation becomes a life-giving hope that carries us through health scares, changes in family dynamics, even the higher prices at the grocery store. And it helps to remind us that the problems we daily face are really nothing compared to the amazing life ahead.

Someone to love. Something to do. Something to look forward to.

Wise words and a reason to reflect on these blessings in our lives. Then thank God for the hope they offer.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved.

One of the books I wrote after COVID lockdown is titled: Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom. Check it out on Amazon and Kindle.  

Hope Within Conflicting Beliefs

While sharing coffee with a friend, our conversation turned to current events and political differences. Though raised in similar backgrounds, we are worlds apart in our worldviews. Yet we remain good friends.

Later that day, I pondered how we people of faith can believe in the same basic values yet support conflicting causes, certain of our beliefs. We may even attend the same church, yet we vote for different sides of the aisle. Donate to differing organizations.

What does that say about our culture standards and about the freedoms we have to choose?

This is nothing new. Even during the time of Christ, various groups constantly confronted each other. The Zealots, Essenes, Sadducees, and Pharisees all worshipped the same Jewish God. Yet their value systems differed, and they often clashed.

Our beliefs come from experience, how we were raised, what values were grandfathered into us, the culture we live in, how we think and make decisions.

For example: in my birth culture within the legalism of the church, I was taught to always obey authority, particularly the leadership of our denomination. So I did not question the ruling hammered into us: “Going to movies is a sin.”

The pastors were ordained, seminary trained, encouraged by the elders with years of ministry experience. They must, therefore, be right.

But my dad asked me to accompany him to a Billy Graham training for an evangelistic movie. Would I like to become one of the counselors for this city-wide event?

I said, “Yes,” hoping God would not strike me dead, yet inwardly believing this was a good thing. After all, my dad was supporting it.

The training was intensive and cohesive, pointers I have carried throughout life in various ministries. The movie created a community revival with hundreds of people deciding to follow Jesus. I had the privilege of leading a teenager to her salvation experience.

Yet kids in my youth group branded me as a heretic and sinner. “If Jesus comes when you’re in the theater, you’ll go to hell.”

My dad’s love and protection kept me from being blackballed, and his gentle reputation soothed the elders’ fears for our radical actions.

That experience began a questioning in me. What if the leaders of the church were wrong? What if their definition of sin was merely based on tradition, a conservative culture, and their need for control. Throughout the years as I experienced more spiritual abuse, I realized authority figures are fallible, prone to sin like everyone else, and not always to be believed.

The freedom in making my own choices via my faith, my own study of God’s word, and the counsel of those I trust has changed me spiritually, emotionally, and at the ballot box.

So what do we do in these troubling times, when so many questions swirl around us? How do we handle the anger within our churches?

Do we blindly follow what we are told by our favorite news channel or by the authority figures behind pulpits? Do we vote based on culture, tradition, and rules or by careful thought and reflective prayer about all the surrounding issues?

How does what Jesus said affect our everyday beliefs? Love God, love yourself, and love others. Period.

As we approach the mid-term elections, perhaps we can be more careful how we post on social media. How we proclaim what we believe to be true. How we take at face value what we are told.

Maybe we can take to heart Ephesians 4:29 and live it out, “Let no foul or polluting language, nor evil word nor unwholesome or worthless talk ever come out of your mouth, but only such speech as is good and beneficial to the spiritual progress of others, as is fitting to the need and the occasion, that it may be a blessing and give grace (God’s favor) to those who hear it” (AMPC).

Perhaps we can spend more time searching for the truth and find it within the heart of the Truth teller and Truth liver — Jesus himself.

And above all, perhaps we can strive more intentionally to love even those with whom we disagree.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re looking for the truth and nothing but the truth, check out Uploading Faith.

Hope Within the Silence

In different seasons of life, our spirituality fluctuates. No right or wrong involved. Just the normal ebb and flow that reminds us we are mortal. We may feel condemned as those old legalistic tapes scream, “Where is your joy?”

But the truth is that feelings do not determine what or how we believe. Sometimes when God seems most silent, he is actually hard at work on our behalf.

Thus, the truth of Psalm 57:2, “I will cry to God Most High, who performs on my behalf and rewards me [who brings to pass his purposes for me and surely completes them]” (AMPC).

This silent time is not the dark night of the soul — that cavernous and sorrowful pit where we feel alone and lost. Yet even then — for those who have experienced it — the result may be a cleansing, purifying, detox that results in an even greater measure of faith.

No, this is the sound of silence. When prayers go unanswered, no matter how intensely we voice our pleas. When no inner voice whispers solace. When God is still present, yet mysteriously quiet.

We may feel abandoned, yet we must remember that every relationship has its silent sounds.

A couple may travel miles without speaking a word. Simply enjoying the journey of being together. How many times do we eat a meal with a long-time friend, each chewing thoughtfully? No words spoken.

The same comradeship can happen in our faith journeys. That comfortable knowing when neither God nor we speak. Yet our hearts still bind together. When God is silent, and we have no prayer language. When no actions result from the desires of our hearts.

Do we give up? Nay, nay. This is the time for the deepest faith striving, the strongest beliefs. This is the living example that faith means being certain of what we cannot see. Solid on what we cannot hear. (Hebrews 11:1).

We can know that no matter how silent are the Divine Three, they still have our best in mind. They still live inside us and around us. They still gather our tears in bottles. They still believe in us and cheer for us.  

Therefore, we also believe and rest in Hope.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Sometimes we can deal with the silence as we read a brief meditation. Check out these daily devotions in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom

Hope Fills in the Gaps

Stuck. Between the third and fourth chapter of the gazillionth revision of my novel. A segue exists somewhere, but I CANNOT find it.

I know it will come…“Somewhere over the rainbow.” But the frustration of the moment calls for a break from writing. A massive piece of comfort chocolate. A gap of time to contemplate the words for this day.

Life is filled with gaps. Those years between holding my newborn and watching him walk across the stage to grab his diploma. After another gap, the same boy/man waiting at the end of the aisle for his bride.

Quickly passing gaps. Overwhelming emotions at both ends.

The gap between the germ of an idea and holding the published book in hand. Multiple revisions and gnashing of teeth. Still currently stuck between chapters three and four.

But the most telling gap underscores the fragility of life imaged perfectly in cemeteries. A name engraved on the headstone. Two dates: birth and death.

The gap between those two dates determines the legacy of that life. What occurred to that person and because of that person during that gap, that tell-tale hyphen? How many people did s/he impact? Who will mourn the absence of the owner of that gap?

Think of the people whose gap moments affected our lives: parents, siblings, even ancestors who prayed for those to come, teachers, youth group leaders, the bully at school, the hero who spoke up for me and defied said bully.

We know them only through faded black and white photos and those headstones in the cemetery. The telling gaps.

The writers who influenced my life—oh definitely! Madeleine L’ Engle, Carolyn Custis James, Julia Cameron, Richard Rohr. And many others.

Strong gap-livers include my son, the brave one who beat cancer. We celebrate every July Fourth as the day he came out of surgery. We pretend the fireworks are for him.

Those who live with chronic pain yet complain far less than I about their daily struggles. These warriors encourage my own gap-living and remind me to endure. To persevere. To grit my teeth and keep trying.

Although we celebrate births and mourn deaths, we do not always pay as much attention to the gap in between. Yet that space is where hope exists. Where it is nurtured and grows. Where it expands to affect another’s gap.

Perhaps we need to do more celebrating of each other while we live. To invite another gap-traveler for coffee. Toast each other and determine to pray for each other. Maybe we need to underscore reasons for more parties. For cake and ice cream just because we love the taste of life.

Should we not celebrate with everyday workers who persevere and heroically make it through another twenty-four hours?

And there it is—the segue I needed, hidden within the paragraphs of my journaling. A nugget of hope within my own gap. This moment will not be engraved on my tombstone, “On this day in the 2022nd year of our Lord, RJ Thesman figured out a way to move from chapter three to chapter four.”

But in the totality of my gap life, the Divine Three cheer. They understand the joy I feel in moving forward with words.

And when they review this life with me, we will each realize how important it was to find that segue. To uncover the step that gave color and texture to the story of my life.

Their “Well done” will be my trophy.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

The Year of my Redemption has a few resolved gaps. Check it out for a quick summer read.

Hope for Aging Bloomers

The peach-colored gladiola greeted me each morning. Its bloom a reminder of summer days and the impressive creations of the Master Gardener.

But within a week, the lower buds began to shrivel, then drop off. While the top of the stalk retained moisture and health, the bottom continued to degenerate.

Yet even the dead blossoms held sections of their original beauty. Miniscule veins of color. Delicate membranes leftover from full flowering. The furling of a final blossom mirrored as the bulb it once was.

Such a lovely plant and a reminder of the fragile value of every life form. So like the final act many of my friends and I are journeying through.

We have seen our dreams and goals bud and flower. Children raised. Grandkids birthed with the promise new generations always offer.

Our careers established, thriving or enduring until we reached that magic retirement age. We look back with fondness at the memories of colleagues we knew, accomplishments valued, goals reached. Perhaps even souls we have impacted with our words or our books.

A life lived with purpose and the hope that our work mattered. We mattered.

Now, we are seeing more wrinkles. The surge of life feels slower. Every year requires more intentional ways to stay healthy. To keep away from chronic illnesses or acute dangers.

Our skin pales and membranes feel more fragile. We drop out of the 8-5 traffic loop that scurries over highway threads each Monday through Friday. We are grateful, but also miss the adrenaline rush of getting to work and completing our day.

As we move farther from the blossom of youth, we realize how quickly our lives budded. How swiftly purpose changed. And we wonder — did I make a difference? Did it matter, the work I did and the life I lived?

The answer is Yes. Abundantly confirmed. Even though the physical appearance has faded and shriveled, the soul’s significance remains intact.

Wisdom has germinated and is eagerly offered to the youngers who inquire. The lessons we have learned can still be shared through memoir, blog posts and books.

Impacts still to be accomplished. Souls still to be inspired.

And within our last act, we look upward toward the prize that calls us home. To be even more like our Creator. To offer whatever we have left. To move forward — with hope.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For a daily meditation in the last act, check out Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

How Writing Remembers

Last week, I settled into my table at the library. My table—and woe to anyone else who takes my spot! Another week day romp through my latest novel. This one — a coming-of-age story of a young girl in the 1950s in Oklahoma.

Although my main character is NOT myself, she does experience many of the situations I grew up with — also in the 1950s in Oklahoma. Write what you know, but be willing to research what you don’t know.

But this day was not for sketching my main character and the obstacles she faces. It was more of a reminder of the joy of country living.

My main character is working on a farm during harvest, helping the mother of the family with chores and the always necessary food and snacks. She is hot, because it is June and in the 1950s, central air did not exist on most farms.

There is no dishwasher or dryer. So all the dishes, including multiple pots and pans, are hand-washed and hand-dried. Then the laundry is hung out on the clothesline, keeping watch for sudden thunderstorms. The kitchen smells like bacon, a leftover sensory joy from breakfast. Potatoes are soaking, waiting to be peeled for lunch and dinner. Bread is rising on the gas stove. Its yeasty smell permeates everything.

Even writing about that bread makes me salivate. As a gluten free consumer for many years, I still miss the smell and taste of homemade bread.

I paused in my first draft and flexed the muscles of my right hand. Then closed my eyes and remembered again, the joy of living on a farm. The freedom it represented as I walked through the pasture to bring the cows home, picked fresh produce from the garden, swatted at the wasps who tried to invade our peach orchard, fed scraps to the dog, and watched the sunset stretch across the entire horizon.

How I miss those days with Mom and my sister in the kitchen, Dad and my brother in the field. The putt-putt of the tractor as it headed home. The roar of the combine as the guys readied it for another day harvesting our red winter wheat. The calls of “Come, bossy” before milking and “Here, kitty, kitty” after milking.

The people and the place merged into a giant memory of time, distance, emotions, and loss. After a couple of hours creating my book’s storyline, I headed to the grocery store. Found some pears on sale and HAD to buy one.

Again, the memories flooded in. The line of pear trees on our other farm in the far reaches of the county. How we brought food to the field, then picked the fresh pears that had fallen during the night. Carried them back to the kitchen for easy snacks, pear jam, and a fiber-rich side dish.

Between the pears and the writing, it was easy to disappear into the past. This happens to us writers. We transport ourselves to other worlds. Sci fi and fantasy becomes a future. Historical fiction and memoirs detail us backward into both good and bad scenarios.

But always, always — it is the power of the words that transports wordsmiths, then hopefully, our readers as they travel with us through the story. We find again the beauty of creativity, the power it holds over us, and the possibilities it opens for our readers.

Hope remembers the past with fond details of country life. Hope also moves forward to create, invent, and enjoy a make-believe world.

People often wonder what is the writer’s process? It simply begins with pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. Then as the soul adds the creative elements, the process gives life to characters, to time and place. And the process fills the words with hope.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re struggling to find time to write, check out Finding Your Writing Plan.  

Hope Repurposes a Life

It’s fun to find a discarded item and repurpose it. A piece of furniture from the neighborhood dumpster. A pot made from an old bowl. A scarf that morphs into a wall hanging.

My repurposing gifts stem from growing up on a farm and making do with whatever we had. DIY projects began on the family farm.

Need to make a straight row for the garden? Use sticks and baling twine. No need to buy something fancy from the gardening store.

Create a toy out of a piece of cardboard or leftover wood. Use Grandma’s old dresser and repaint it for whichever grandchild needs it next.

Our fashions consisted of hand-me-downs from dozens of cousins. The rule on the farm was: “If you don’t have what you need, make it with whatever materials you already have.”

Creativity thrived, but we did not think of our projects as art. More like survival. Repurposing became our way of life.

My repurposing projects have expanded well beyond furniture, wall hangings, or garden projects. I took the pieces of a former life and with God’s guidance, remade it into something new.

The ministry of counseling and coaching, helping people find a new direction in life, morphed into the ministry of words.

The solitude of sentences. Helping writers birth their words. Edits and publishing resources. Watching their books and mine expand on the dream shelf.

Any type of life transition becomes a repurposing project. How to stop being who we were to become the best “self” for a new season of life.

Henri Nouwen wrote, “The task is to persevere within the solitude.”

It is not a struggle to write, edit, and create in the quiet of my home. This is the creative side that has always existed—which God planned before the creation of the world.

It is just different. A new normal as I had to discover my function within a changing role.

When repurposing an object, we sit awhile and look at it from all angles. How can it be painted or redesigned? How can it be used most effectively?

Think Tom Hanks in Castaway as he sat on the beach staring at a piece of tin until he imagined it as a sail. His life-saving mode of escape.

To repurpose a life requires even more reflection. How can we use our gifts to bless others when the audience lives in cyberspace? Is this moment best used writing a blog post, editing a book, taking a creative walk, or reading a novel? All choices are important.

But which choice strengthens us for the new role? Allows us to end the day with a sense of purpose? Can we be content to just BE?

Learning to just BE has been hard for me—the natural doer, the planner, the initiator. But as I have learned the principle of quiet reflection, I now find a stronger creativity emerges. Unusual and unexpected projects completed. New ideas nurtured.

The beauty of a personal repurposing project is the assurance that God loves us no matter what we DO. He saved us to BE—to transition into different people.

Hope thrives when we can be our authentic selves. When we embrace life and move forward with joy. What if we find a new purpose and learn to be more authentic than ever before?

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Learning to BE is a day-by-day process. Check out some hope in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Discovers Eternity Present

In those foggy moments before the alarm rings and consciousness reminds me of the day ahead, I listen hard for the divine whisper.

It is often in the early mornings when the meditations of my heart remind me that I am not alone. The treasure of Psalm 127:2 becomes reality, “God gives to his beloved even in their sleep.”

A gift. A divine murmur to remind me all is well with my soul.

Such a moment recently occurred as I heard a voice call my name, “Rebecca.”

A female voice. Perhaps the nurturing comfort of the trinity’s feminine side. Or maybe an angel assigned to take care of me. Maybe a sweet relative who passed to glory and was told to visit me.

Although I could not identify its owner, I knew the voice was from no one in the realm of earth’s present. Rather, a voice from eternity.

Then a touch, a stroke of my hair and the assurance of being loved—completely and forever adored by the Divine Three.

The rest of my day filtered through that comforting feeling. Surrounded by God’s love.

How can this happen? When eternity interrupts life on earth and makes itself so very known we cannot ignore or deny its presence. Is it those moments when God knows we need more than just a Bible verse to underscore Immanuel with us?

Or does God long to remind us that eternity’s reality is not so far away?

We think of heaven as an ethereal universe far beyond our own galaxy. But what if it is all around us? What if we are separated only by a thin curtain—a sheer veil between the physical and the spiritual?

What if God is always reaching out to us? To give a hug or stroke a fevered forehead, but we’re too focused on the now to realize divinity is here.

This was not the first time eternity chose to visit. A few years ago, I received word that a good friend was involved in a motorcycle accident. No helmet, though he knew better. Brain damage. Intensive care with beeping machines.

I prayed throughout the night, then somehow knew Mike had crossed over. The confirming phone call was no surprise. Tears, yet joy for the assurance that death’s sting was swallowed in victory.

Two days later, Mike stood in my hallway. A gentle smile on his face. He wore the cowboy lariat necklace so popular in the New Mexico area where he lived. A coral stone set in silver. The black leather strap around his neck.

No words exchanged, but I knew he was thanking me for my prayers. A token from eternity that he was all right. Would always and forever be okay.

Then he was gone. Again.

How thin is that veil between this world and the next! It cannot be measured by our finite minds. But its very transparency brings comfort.

Those we seem to have lost are not lost at all. They are closer than we imagine. A great cloud of witnesses cheering us on.

And standing with them is the Savior of our souls—this One who dares to love us despite who we are or what we have done.

So, I listen hard for those divine whispers and hang on to hope. Maybe I will hear that same voice and feel that comforting touch again.

God is, after all, just a whisper away.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For daily inspiration and hope, check out: Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Nurtures Gratitude

During this turbulent year of so many worldwide problems, I still do my usual thank you’s:

  • Thank you, God, for the food in my belly. So many people are hungry today.
  • Thank you for the roof over my head. Many are homeless or displaced.
  • Thank you for my son and daughter-in-love … always.

Yet now, I long to dig deeper and find gratitude within the sacred corners of my soul. Those places I hide from others. To be more vulnerable and embrace the gratitude that is more than words. The heart condition worthy of reflection.

This week, I am thankful for my new awareness of the fragility of life. Every day, the reports of shootings and killings in the Kansas City metro. School shootings that destroy another generation. The community saying good-bye to a beloved policeman.

One night, a bullet screamed through my bedroom, tore through my headboard and out the opposite wall. One inch closer, and I would be writing from heaven instead of Kansas. A wake-up call and a frantic 9-1-1.

My gratitude extends statewide this week as we exercise our civic duty to vote. The freedom our votes represent. The choices we make as we consider who will serve us best and in what capacity.

I pray for the Ukrainians who have no such freedom. No decision to make as to whether to accept Putin’s despotism or unearth their nation from the ashes. Just trying to survive one day to the next.

Back from a writer’s conference, I am awed, humbled, and cheered by the talents displayed by novelists, poets, bloggers. Any and all who take up the pen. Move their fingers across the keyboard. Create imaginary characters and a variety of world views. Share the message of hope.

I am so grateful for words and for the freedom to make them dance across the page as I wish.

Some days I fail to thank God often enough for grace. All those years ago when my childish heart opened to the Savior of Nazareth and I ran—yes, ran down the aisle toward salvation. May I never forget the wonder of that moment. Expressly thank God for the healing of my soul.

A brief foray into my journals finds entries where I asked God questions. Sometimes railed against the answers. I am grateful God allows and invites honesty. He knows I am mortal and “Why?” is often on my tongue.

When God reveals verses which provide answers and confirm hope, I am forever aware that I am gracefully loved.

May we never take for granted how God continues to save us every day.

Although I rejoice that Mom is finished with her Alzheimer’s journey, that ending means my mother is dead. After nine months, I am still trying to process that fact. The orphan I have become feels alone.

Yet surviving the grief of loss is itself a gift.

Because God has enabled me to survive, my faith has grown. Perseverance has deepened. With these experiences in my mental backpack, I write about realistic topics and coach others in the birthing of their grateful words.

My core value of life-long learning grasps toward more lessons the Spirit and life teach me. Together we work out the kinks in my spiritual armor. Find the sacred place God has purified. Just because he is good.

Then my reasons for gratitude engulf the empty spaces. I listen hard for the sacred whisper and respond with the words the Divine Three long to hear.

“Thank you.”

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

For more essays about hope, check out Hope Shines. Available on Amazon in print, e-book, and large print.

Hope Streams Through Promises

In our crazy world of broken promises, it is soothing to know we can depend on one source of truth. God has never broken any of his covenant promises.

Some of his hope-filled words are recorded within the general principles of the Bible. “I will never leave you or forsake you. I will be your Comforter. I will show you the path to take. I will be your guide.”

Although the timing for these promises varies, and even the seasons of life sometimes interrupt their forward movement—when God says something and underscores it with a repeat—it will eventually happen.

But the promises that mean the most to me are the certainties that create the a-ha moments of spiritual awakening. They are not recorded in the holy scriptures.

Instead, they are the divine whispers during discouraging nights and dry spiritual deserts. The words that keep me living in hope even when tentacles of fear tighten.

When I walked through the pain of divorce, God spoke his personal promise for my son and me, “There will be hard times ahead, but I will meet every need.”

Even through extended months of unemployment, the scary moves away from comfort zones, the horror of watching my son suffer with cancer—through it all—the reminder of God’s whisper kept me breathing.

“I will meet every need.”

In miraculously beautiful moments recorded in my journals and kept ensconced in my heart, God’s sacred promises proved true.

Every. Single. Need. Was. Met.

Jobs suddenly appeared from unusual sources. Cars were given through the generosity of good people. The healing of my son—thank you, Jesus! My own emotional, spiritual, and physical healings. Money that somehow appeared. God’s math proving different from mine as he made money poof into existence from a negative balance.

Friendships were spawned in the cusp of brokenness. Housing was provided—one of my constant prayers, “Please God, don’t let us be homeless.” A beautiful townhome where we healed for four years. Gardens where God and I created beautiful color and bountiful food—together.

Much, much more. Every. Single. Need. Always and Forever. Met.

But as sweet as the confirmation of God’s words streamed the credibility of the One who made the promise. His whisper foreshadowed holiness because it originated from the source of love. Our covenant made stronger because of the strength of the Speaker.

During a recent spiritual desert as I awaited the resolution of another promise, I listened again for the One who has seared my heart with his grace.

“I will meet every need.” No quantity of time assigned to his statement. Just an eternal assurance that the One who spoke the words would never violate his covenant.

He would meet current needs as he has in the past, because he cannot and will not change. His promise is forever sealed within the identity of Who he is.

And in the identity of this divine three-in-One lies the source of hope. Meeting my needs—and yours— for another stream of hope.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Look for those promises in Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Digs Deeper

While meeting with my spiritual director, she suggested I consider the questions, “What if?” In one of the workshops I teach, the “What if?” question is presented as a fear tactic artists sometimes use to procrastinate.

But in this instance, I was to think about the “What if?” as a possible direction, even a vision-making steppingstone. So I drove home, pulled out my journal and started listing the possibilities of “What if?” questions and answers.

  • What if my current novel makes the New York Times bestseller list? What difference would that award make in my life? Could I handle the extra book tours, publicity requirements and the pressure to write another bestseller? Would I use it for good?

  • What if I could visit Santa Fe at least once each year? What if I could own a vacation home there so I would always have a place to stay for a personal retreat?

  • What if I could learn to live in the present every day so that everyone I meet feels the love and light of the Divine Three in me? What if I could become a better listener?

If I thought long enough on the subject, I could easily entangle myself in all the possibilities the “What if?” question might involve.

When we dig deep, some of our visions and dreams carry their own baggage. Change is not easy, and the transitions of life require us to change along with them.

Another point my spiritual director made was that I should “Listen to my heart.”

I just finished reading Julia Cameron’s latest book, The Listening Path. She describes how we can learn to listen to our hearts, but also to the sounds around us—even to the silence within us.

To dig deep requires that we listen carefully and consider what our souls are saying. One reason why I journal is to process my way through life, to tap into my inner conflicts for clues about how to clearly understand divine guidance.

Digging deep means we listen for that still, small voice that ushers us into the divine space. When we tiptoe into that soul sanctuary, we learn more about ourselves and become more teachable.

What does my heart tell me?

It reminds me of the many ideas I have for more books, so many stories swirling in my soul. The artist in me yearns to bring them to life.

Even for my writing clients, my heart breaks for the unwritten books, the stories waiting to connect with their characters and the voices longing to be heard. That urgency to write while we can, to share the wisdom and experiences God has gifted us with through the many years.

My soul beats with a restless tone, eager to authenticate itself and complete the mission God birthed in me before the foundation of the world.

As I dig deeper, another question surfaces. I stop breathing as I consider the implications of what its answers might entail. Almost afraid to add it to my journal page, I force the pen to scratch the question across the page: What am I avoiding?

We may avoid doing something that requires a major change, because we’re afraid of what that transition might ask of us. A move, a new job, the addressing of a spiritual weakness, the uprooting of our comfort zones.

Yet in the avoidance, we remain in the zone of discomfort. We stress our souls to the point of losing our true core. We avoid what our hearts long for, because we are so blasted practical and cannot imagine any other type of experience.

My journal now contains several pages of personal reflection around these three questions. And I offer them to you as a spiritual writing prompt:

  • What if?
  • What is your heart telling you?
  • What are you avoiding?

I look forward to the time when these questions find their connecting answers in my life. What about you? Are you ready to dig deeper?

Hope shines when we find the courage to ask the hard questions.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Digging deeper is a daily exercise as we find strength Day by Day.

Hope Craves Balance

Like a delicate scale tipping toward the stress side, balance remains a challenge. Work takes the main role. Responsibilities scream, “Do me first. No time for play.”

But without play, creativity is a leftover.

It fights against the stress and becomes its own version of writer’s block. Not that the words cease, but the sentences are no longer filtered through the divine whisper.

Instead, they sound like clichés as the craft becomes lifeless to the writer.

Without play, stress wins. Because more tasks always appear, more places to go, more projects to complete, more responsibilities to wear us down.

Play pouts in the corner, unable to garner attention yet plaguing us with its silent screams.

In a corner of my office sits my tote bag filled with colorful pens, crayons and the latest Mandala. But work calls through the filter of stress, so I ignore the bag even while wishing for a just a few moments of playful joy.

In her book about recovering balance, Finding the Deep River Within, Abby Seixas writes, “We must break the cultural habit of sacrificing our inner lives for our outer lives, of giving up depth in deference to speed.”

Stress and its deceptive sister, Speed, require that we work hard to complete more tasks. Finish everything before the end of the day. We do our work quickly so we can accomplish more, then check our to-do lists for the satisfaction of completion.

Yet with speed, we sacrifice the beauty of rest that ultimately feeds our souls. We give up our need to go deep and find our most intimate selves.

We lose our place, sitting in God’s lap where he whispers, “Be still and know me.”

The delicate scale balances precariously toward burnout. But the solution is not that difficult. We all have 168 hours each week to figure it out. Yes, work is important. But so is play.

It takes merely a smidgeon of self-discipline to stop multi-tasking, to cut away at the distractions, to invite soul time.

To breath deeply, close the eyes against the computer glare, and embrace solitude. And in that embrace, we learn to love again — our own souls as well as the Divine One who made us in the first place.

To make the decision for more balance brings hope to that inner place where the child still waits for the adult. Where memories of laughter, colors, and sand castles still thrive.

I commit to that decision, embrace hope, and gather my toys. Because hope shines when we commit to play.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Be still and know with a devotional book for seniors. Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Reveals Timing

Since God is timeless, it is always a sweet surprise when I discover him working—right on time.

A year ago, I bought a lovely journal to add to my stash. Never enough journals for a writer, you know. This particular journal caught my eye because the cover was a quiet country scene with wildflowers and the verse from Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”

In one version, the imperative of “Be still” is to “Cease striving.” Still another version underscores the words, “Let be and be still.”

But my favorite is the Amplified version of a parallel verse in Psalm 37:7, “Be still and quietly rest in the Lord, wait for him and patiently lean yourself upon him.”

As my vacation began in the mountains of New Mexico, God pointed me toward this verse. So I started to meditate on its meaning.

Be Still. I sat on the condo’s porch in the early morning, sipping my tea and listening to the birds. Practiced being still. I allowed the sounds and textures of my favorite place (Santa Fe) to speak to me and bring solace to my soul.

No audible prayers were necessary. I just sat there and enjoyed God’s presence, highlighted by his creation.

Rest Quietly. In our electronically designed world, we have lost the ability to truly rest. Not nap time or early bedtime, but the peaceful resting in God’s presence. A place of total trust.

During my time in the mountains, I forced myself to rediscover rest. Seems like an oxymoron, but it worked. My laptop remained at home, and I refused to deal with social media. No Facebook posts, tweets or unnecessary Google searches.

I survived, even thrived in the solitude. The absence of my usual bustling world became a gift.

The monastics called this type of rest, “The Grand Silence.” Every evening, they disciplined themselves to cease speaking and curtailed activity so they might clearly discern the divine whisper.

Saint Benedict, the father of the monastic way wrote, “Therefore, because of the importance of silence, let permission to speak be seldom given to perfect disciples even for good and holy and edifying discourse.”

Wait for God. As I rested quietly and waited for God to share whatever secrets he wanted, the discipline of patience asserted itself.

We so often want God to be on our timeline. But as we wait, our souls anticipate the time when God WILL speak, WILL instruct us, and WILL show us the way that is best. As the Alpha and the Omega, he determines the end from the beginning, then fills in everything in between.

After a week of being still, resting quietly and waiting patiently, God DID show up. My journal entries included some of his yearnings for me. I received his words and am committed to patiently lean on God for next steps.

Back home, I pulled my journal out of the suitcase and glanced once again at the cover. The country scene with wildflowers in the foreground. A quiet setting, serenely focused on the surrounding land, far from the noise of the city and its fast-paced intensity.

And the verse, engraved boldly on the grey background, “Be still and know that I am God.”

God showed up with his hope—right on time.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Spend some quiet time resting in God’s love for you. Check out Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Finding Hope in the Nest

On my daily walk, I discovered this nest lying beside the sidewalk. Empty of eggs. Not even an errant feather left behind. Had it blown out of the tree or was Mama bird simply done with it?

I gingerly picked it up and placed it back in a crook of the tree. Hoping it might be used again or at least appreciated as a piece of nature. Then continued my walk, thinking more about nests and the art of nesting.

Back in the 80s, a dear soul approached me at church and said, “I heard you were pregnant, but didn’t know for sure until I saw you wearing a nesting jacket.”

The nesting jacket used to be the maternity symbol as women wrapped their torso in clothing. Like a material womb protecting the life within. In today’s world, women more openly convey the gift of pregnancy. They take pictures wearing tight knits which show the shape and even the protruding belly button. Some images even show the bare skin, stretched to grow the life of the baby.

My dear friend from the 80s would roll over in her grave if she saw a naked pregnant belly.

But nesting involves more than preparing for a new life. It is also a symbol of how we live in our space. How we preserve areas for reading, contemplation, writing, journaling, solitude.

London-based designer Caz Knight puts together design packages, particular for winter nesting. To help people feel more comfortable during the cold months. She writes, “A hub nest is a place where you do not feel anxious, and where everything is fit for purpose.”

Many women particularly love nesting. World-wide travel and the hubbub of business outside the home makes them feel anxious. They would rather stay home, be in their nest where they feel safe. They revel in the memories of how they raised children in their particular nest. Special meals and celebrations. Colors, textures and tastes.

Since I work from home, my office needs to feel like a nest. I often remind clients to nurture the space where they write. Use décor that never distracts. Pay attention to clutter and get rid of it. Surround themselves with the coziness of productivity in a relaxed setting. Hang pictures, cards and mementoes that celebrate wordsmithing.

Other than my office and the clients who meet me there, my nest is rather empty these days. The TV is on because it offers noise. Or the radio with its praise music and the reminder I am not alone. The Divine Three are with me as well as the witnesses from Hebrews 12.

But the rowdier nesting of soccer games, band practice and teenaged boys raiding my pantry no longer exists. Those were the long days and short years of young ones in my nest.

Still, hope circles around my nest because it represents an optimistic look into the future. Visits from friends. My children occasionally around the table. Future groups who want to learn more about writing or study a book.

The value of nesting is to know we belong somewhere. And the place where we continue to nurture the gifts within and the outreach without. By reflective thought, journaling, then sharing with others through books or blog posts.

Nesting offers hope when everything fits for a purpose. To generate the spiritual and creative life. To nurture the spirit. To nest with joy.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Check out a meditation about nesting in heaven. Page 11 of Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.

Hope Survives with Good People

In the southern plains, including my home state of Oklahoma, some folks are labeled “good people.” Even while speaking in the singular, we say, “He’s good people.” This type of person is always focused on helping others, always available to serve — even in ordinary ways.

My cousin and his wife are good people. During Mom’s funeral, they kept watch over our coats. Kept them ready for the moment we would need them, for our trip to the cemetery.

Good people.

Another couple takes me out for lunch once / month. They keep track of what I’m writing, encourage my work and pray for me. They have followed my son’s journey as well and always check up on him. When he changed jobs, they visited the business to make sure he was okay.

Good people.

My sister is another one. She writes a family missive each week, updating all of us on all of us. Then she ends with an encouraging note we can carry into the next week. She helps a recent widow by taking her out for a meals and/or ice cream at the local Braums. Just to get her out of the house and find some hope. As a cat-whisperer, my sister also pays for the neutering and spaying of numerous cats.

Good people.

Another semi-retired couple opens their home for groups and retreats of various genres. A few healthy boundaries set. A welcome place to learn, to grow, to create. At no charge. They welcome photos of each group and create a growing wall of frames, dedicated to the service they have provided.

Good people.

None of these folks know I label them as good people. In fact, one quality of good people is a high sense of humility. They act anonymously. Simply climb out of bed each day and hope they can help someone.

Good people interact with others in hospitals, schools and nonprofits. At Target and in the parking lots around any town. Good people can be homeless or unbelievably wealthy. They stay up all night to check on the needs in their community and to offer their services willingly. Or slip an extra twenty to the waitress who pours their coffee at the local diner.

Good people regularly pay it forward simply because they want to.

In this world of death and destruction, good people live everywhere. They stand out. We need only to keep our souls open to see them and find them.

Hope multiplies when each of us locks in with the intention to become good people. To see God around us and within the folks we meet. To start each day with a prayer for divine appointments. To be good people wherever we go.

Hope blossoms when we look for good people. But it thrives when we ourselves become good people and share the love.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Be good people and share Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom with someone who needs daily hope.

Hope in the Dance

One of the books I’ve been reading this summer is The Divine Dance by Richard Rohr. It’s one of those “I borrowed this from the library, but I need to just buy one for myself so I can keep chewing on it.”

With his usual writing style of poetic rhythm merged with contemplative reflection, Rohr captured me early. This book needs to be journaled through, highlighted and set on my bookshelf as a favorite.

For our times, with all the chaos happening around us and to us, one section bears repeating. I’ve copied it in my planner and read through it daily.

And as we face another election soon, the last phrase is especially poignant. So I share it with you.

“Seek the face of God in everything, everyone, everywhere. See His hand in every happening. See and adore the presence of Jesus — everywhere and especially in those who are rejected by society. See the divine image even where you’d rather not.”

Last week, I noticed a man walking along the street. He was as dirty as the gutter, disheveled, in need of a haircut and probably in need of hope. Instantly, I thought of the above quote.

To see the face of God in everyone. To imagine this man as the incarnate Christ, come to visit earth again and check on us. To wonder how I might help this fellow and others like him, those I’d rather not.

That week, I also watched the PBS version of Les Miserables with Alfie Boe in the lead role. Such amazing music and the story of redemption. Acceptance and forgiveness where only despair showed its face.

The last line of Jean Val Jean’s life spoke this truth and morphed into the Rohr quote. “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if each of us looked for God in the ordinary. Imagined the divine image and essence in each person we see. To love as we are loved by God. To treat others the way we want to be treated.

In this world of so much death and destruction, can’t we do better? Can we share hope by showing love, even when we don’t want to. Even when it costs us some ego, time or money.

I hope we can move toward that inner space where we see God in everything, everyone, everywhere. Then share the hope of God’s love in ways that can change our world.

©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Check out my newest book of devotions. Day by Day: Hope for Senior Wisdom.