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.