Hope Offers Support

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.”

“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.

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

Hope Beyond the Stereotypes

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

Hope Returns

Posted by RJ Thesman

My hometown recently hosted an author festival. Thirty authors set up their tables, complete with vertical displays, dishes of candy and an assortment of books.

After I set up my table, I roamed through the library and visited with the other authors. This library was the modern version of the old Carnegie library where I grew up. Mom drove us to town each week so we could check out a stack of books.

Who would have guessed that little girl who loved to read would some day return as a published author? Only the God of returned hope.

But this day included more of a helping attitude. Although I sold some books, I was also able to share with other readers how my books came to be — the life issues that impacted me.

One reader wanted to write, but she was stuck. She wanted so desperately to finish her book, but she felt blocked and unable to continue. So we talked about the issues that often stop our creativity. As I listed them, she grabbed my hands and said, “That’s it! Perfectionism. I keep going back to make everything perfect.”

“Ah-h. So remind yourself that a good editor will fix any mistakes. Keep writing, because you can always revise later.”

She seemed relieved and wanted to know more about my coaching services.

Another reader picked up my book Sometimes They Forget. She read the back blurb, and tears formed as she said, “This is about Alzheimer’s?”

“Yes. My mother had Alzheimer’s, but this book is for the caregivers.”

“I need this. We’re trying to take care of my mother, but it’s so hard. How many years was it for you?”

When I told her it was ten years and Mom passed last December, she closed her eyes. “That long,” she said. She seemed tired.

“You have to take care of yourself. It’s okay to leave for a while and get away. Don’t give in to false guilt.”

She nodded, hugged my book to her chest and moved on. I watched her as she took time to look at other books, bought a few, filled her bag with more hope.

A young couple stopped at my table and looked at all the books. Ate some candy. Then she picked up Uploading Faith: What It Means to Believe.

“That’s the book my son and I wrote,” I said. “He’s a millennial, so we wanted to write a book together to explain some of the topics of faith. And we wanted to do it in easy-to-understand language.”

“We’re millennials,” she said. “I think we need this.”

It was fun to share the proceeds of that book with my son and tell him about this couple. I hope the book will help them.

Several women were intrigued by The Invisible Women of Genesis. A couple of them bought the book. When I explained the background, they nodded. “The Bible is full of amazing stories, but many of the women are invisible. Their names aren’t mentioned or any of their back story. I decided to write about the invisible women just in the book of Genesis.”

As I signed copies, I wrote, “You are never invisible to God. He sees you.”

A pastor and his wife were both writers. His books are published. Hers have yet to be finished. “Time,” she said. “There’s never enough time, and people keep dying at inconvenient times.”

I remembered Mom saying something similar at the funeral of one of our relatives. “Death is never convenient.” So true.

One of the more interesting authors I met was an Episcopal priest. He writes murder mysteries. We discussed ways to kill off the bishop. He’s a bit worried about the NSA checking his online research as he looks for the best ways to get blood stains out of the carpet.

So many genres. So many interesting authors.

But this day of returning hope manifested on so many levels:

Returns on my books as offerings of hope
Returns on my years of experience as an author and coach
Returns on relationships as I visited with family and friends

But mostly a return of the soul of a reader who became a writer — back to the place where my love of words began.

Hope Wonders When

Posted by RJ Thesman

Patience is NOT one of my virtues. Yet it seems as I grow older, God requires more instruction involving patience. Once again, I sit in his school of waiting.

When we wait, our first question is “When?” When will the answers come? How much longer do I need to wait?

Is there a deeper purpose than even the waiting itself — a reasoning God wants me to grasp, a circumstance someone else needs to piece together, something that affects both of us?

On a larger scale than just my small life, when will our communities learn that diversity is a strength? We can add to each other’s lives by embracing our differences as much as we love our commonalities. But when?

The 36-hour day team-tags for caregivers of Alzheimer’s patients. The body refuses to die even as the brain deteriorates. When will release come?

The only way to end the Alzheimer’s journey is to hold the hand of a loved one as s/he is ushered into eternity.

Writers wait to hear from publishers who hold their words hostage within committee meetings. The words scream to be heard and passed on. When?

In their workbook, Living into the Answers, authors Isenhower and Todd write, “If we leave ourselves open to God’s leading, even in the midst of asking the questions, often God sends us into areas we have not considered.”

New areas we have not previously considered or possibly — new spiritual havens where we learn to reframe our questions.

How can we find hope while we wait? How can we best live in our waiting rooms without giving way to the frustrations of impatience?

What did it feel like in the 600-year silence between the Old and New Testaments? For centuries, one decade after another, the people waited for their Messiah.

Generations died out. Saints did not receive the promise, yet somehow hope lived on. Grandfathers continued to share the stories of a miracle-working God — even in the silence.

Mothers tucked their children into beds and whispered, “Maybe tomorrow Messiah will come.”

Yet their tomorrows stretched into the next year and the next.

When Jesus DID come, he was so radical and so unlike the Messiah they expected, they did not recognize the wait was finally over. Instead of rejoicing, they rejected him and killed him. They refused the truth.

As I wait for my limbo land to end, I wonder … has it come and gone, passed me by? Did I somehow miss the answer? If so, how do I retrieve it?

Maybe the eternal one who longs for us to trust him plants the answers in the everyday-ness of life, then waits for us to locate him.

Perhaps our questions are wrapped in the discontent of our days. We cannot truly find the resolve because God is not controlled by time.

Yet as we wait, he graciously holds us in the palm of his mighty and patient hands.

Instead of yearning for a change, maybe we need to just accept today. To find joy in whatever positives surround us.

Then as we cry out for a deeper intimacy with the divine one, he will produce the answers within.

Check out this excerpt from Hope Shines, available on Amazon and also in Large Print.

Hope on a Mission

Posted by RJ Thesman

Typically, my blog posts cover the topics of hope, caregiving or the writing craft. But 2020 has forced me into a more reflective and almost urgent mood.

For all of us, this year has been difficult. For those who have lost loved ones to COVID — tragic. The grief and certain PTSD will continue into the next years. Who knows what long-term effects we will suffer.

But even on the darkest days, hope has continued to sing. Good people have done good things. Creativity has thrived as new ventures, unusual business openings and neighborly deeds have encouraged us.

Positive memes on Facebook. The gift of beauty encapsulated in music and the arts. So many people trying hard to create something good out of this chaos.

Imagine then what life would be like if all the good — every shred of it — was gone. No caring healthcare workers. No sweet lullabies at night. No kindness of any kind.

This horrific description foreshadows hell. The place of eternal torment will not have a speck of decency, no light or goodness in any form. Only the darkest, most tormenting creatures in a place completely devoid of anything or anyone good.

And no way of escape. Forever.

This tragic place does exist and will become the final destination for people who ignore God’s plea. But it doesn’t have to end that way.

“Let me love you,” God cries. “Let me save you.”

Eventually, we will all die. We will face the consequences of our choices and step into eternity. We will meet God.

For those who have ignored him throughout life, the problems of 2020 will seem mild compared to a forever without any of God’s beauty, goodness or love.

Those who have embraced and accepted God’s offer of love will be invited into the most glorious place — far away from hell or any of its evil. No COVID. No sickness of any kind. No despair. No loneliness.

Only light and love and goodness. Forever.

We cannot always choose what happens to us. But we CAN choose the final direction we will go.

God has not abandoned us during this pandemic. He is still calling out, wanting to save us. He does not want anyone to suffer the horrid effects of hell.

He wants to pour hope into our hearts and give us something to look forward to.

God gave us the formula long ago. One word. Believe.

To open our minds and heart to the possibility that something better exists. But God’s better world is filled only with holiness — a sacred place of perfection.

God knew none of us would be perfect yet his home — his heaven — is populated only with goodness and perfection.

How in the world can we get there?

God sent the best representative possible — his son. Jesus lived a perfect life, so God allowed him to become our substitute. He paid the penalty for all the wrong things we have done and all the ways we have ignored God.

Jesus already did the hard work. That’s why he said, “It is finished.” He gives us the ticket for entrance into heaven.

Now all we have to do is believe it. If we accept this truth and believe it, then Jesus begins a personal relationship with us. We become children of God. And as family members — we will spend our eternity with God in heaven.

It’s so easy. All you have to do is say something like, “I believe you love me, God. Thank you for sending Jesus to pay my ticket into heaven. I’m sorry I’ve ignored you in the past, but now I want to be in your family.”

If you really mean it, then it is finished. You will not have to worry about a hell worse than 2020. You will have something much better to look forward to.

Please think about it. Time is short. I hope you’ll be with me in heaven.

If you want to learn more about this topic, check out Uploading Faith. A Millennial and a Baby Boomer wrote it together — my son and me.

When Hope Finds Its True Color

Posted by RJ Thesman

My cyclamen bloomed a lovely fuchsia pink. But I bought it with the understanding that it would produce the dark eggplant purple color I love. What a disappointing surprise as the blossoms opened and showed off a deep pink.

But a few days later, the blooms started changing. With time, the cyclamen blooms sported the purple I wanted. I just had to wait for the desired result while the plant morphed through its photosynthetic process.

The correct color was there all along, hidden behind the curtains of time. Only the passage of days would bring out the true richness I longed to see.

Isn’t that so like life?

We start a project, write a story or journal about a dream. Then the project becomes a tree house. The story evolves into a novel. The dream wraps around a destiny.

We share coffee with a friend which eventually grows a relationship that adds color and joy to our lives.

We say, “Yes” to Jesus and end up living a life abundant with more grace giftings than we ever thought possible.

One circumstance morphs into another, delighting us with the spontaneity of change and surprising us with the richness of the final result. Living within the surprises of life adds more fun than carefully structured days that grow old and boring in their regularity.

Perhaps we could also give permission for change to others — the opportunity to morph into a richer version of themselves — in time.

Wouldn’t that attitude change how we relate to our children when they seem stuck in the teen years? “Grow up!” we want to scream. But that is exactly what they are doing.

What if we give permission for change to those in authority over us — to the systems of our society stuck in transitional puzzles. It takes time for people and systems to learn how to change. As we morph into the people we long to be, we need to give daily grace.

What if we live in the joy of the surprise and truly learn that expectations do not always bring the best results.

As we gradually grow into hope and faith, we learn how to apply patience. We move into the next seasons of life and accept the things we cannot change.

If we could practice patience and apply grace to ourselves and others, within our world and its destinies — perhaps we could live better lives and embrace the hidden hope of each day.

The blatant ugliness recorded on social media proves nothing except that we all need to grow up. Our freedom to express opinions is a gift.

But why use that freedom to destroy another soul?

How can we grow to become our true color and exhibit the creative beauty God gave us if we don’t give each other the necessary time to morph into our best selves?

No matter how much unraveling we experience, no matter how COVID-19 changes us, we do possess the integrity and the wisdom to grow internally. We can grow our inner texture and let it brighten our souls.

We CAN change into who we should really be.

Check out my newest book, The Invisible Women of Genesis. Their stories underscore the need for hope, change and grace.

Hope Misreads a Word

Posted by RJ Thesman

As I drove home after meeting with a coaching client, I noticed a white van ahead of me. The logo of its business was printed across the back doors.

Faith Panting. dog panting

What?

As I adjusted my progressive lenses, I realized the name was actually “Faith Painting.”

Somehow the tiny “i” had disappeared in my first glance.

I have no idea what Faith Painting means or how the company chose their name, but I’m sure they are a reputable company.

And as weird as it sounds, I totally understand what it means to experience “Faith Panting.”

Dogs pant when they are tired. After they run around the yard or chase a rabbit, their tongues hang out and they pant, heaving and sometimes dripping saliva.

When we are tired from the struggles of life, weary from one trial after another and discouraged by the darkness of our days — we pant.

We try to catch our breath and figure out what has happened to us.

When we pant from fatigue, we need to take a break, to rest and let our physical and mental resources build up again.

A cup of water from an encouraging friend helps. A greeting card with just the right words helps dry our tears.

The reminder that God will never leave us or forsake us gives us the strength to breathe steady again.

Cats may pant when they are in pain or distress. It’s a signal for help.

Because cats are so independent, they rarely indicate their needs. But cat lovers can tell when their fur babies hurt.

When we are in pain, we pant with the need to let the hurt escape.

We may try to self-medicate or even numb ourselves to the trauma. We may look to an addiction to replace the hole inside.

But faith encourages us to let someone help us.

When loneliness threatens, call a friend and set up a coffee date.

When family relationships fall apart, schedule a counseling appointment with a trusted wisdom-giver.

When a child suffers, talk to another parent who has been through the same issue.

We often prefer to hide within our independence. We think self-sufficiency will solve the problem and decrease the pain.

But we fool ourselves when we continue to pant and look only to ourselves for a solution.

No matter how isolated our world becomes, we will always need each other.

Healthy relationships help bandage our faith hurts.

Another reason dogs pant is to cool off. The process of panting is the same as when our bodies sweat.

Cooling off to a reasonable temperature helps temper inflammation and heart distress.

We need to cool off when anger consumes us.

But let’s be clear: anger is an honest emotion and often prompts us to take an important action.

Anger that consumes us needs to be addressed before it causes real damage. Anger that is internalized can easily become a numbing depression.

And it can sneak up on us before we realize it.

So how do we successfully pant the angers away?

Acknowledge the Anger.

Speak it with truth, even if you have to confront someone in person, “I am so angry with you.”

As we admit to the anger, we know what we’re dealing with. We can move forward to address it.

Admit that You Need Help.

To cool off, a dog needs water and shade.

To pant our way to health, we need help. A trusted counselor, antidepressants, a plan for returning to a healthy emotional temperature.

Take Action.

A brisk walk increases endorphins and helps anger fade. A listing of gratitudes chases the gloomies away.

Watch a funny video and laugh out loud. Visit someone worse off then you. Ever been to a nursing home for an extended stay?

Whether we want to admit it or not, we all have times when faith seems like a weary pant.

That’s when we need to reach for hope.

Nurture ourselves with rest during those discouraging pants.

Ask for help to relieve the pain. Acknowledge how human we are and in need of grace from each other.

We may continue to pant, but at least we’ll move in a direction toward hope-filled faith.

For more essays about hope, check out Hope Shines, also available in Large Print.

RJThesman.net

Author | Coach | Speaker | Editor

faith

Hope Offers Support

Hope Beyond the Stereotypes

Hope Returns

Hope Wonders When

Hope on a Mission

When Hope Finds Its True Color

Hope Misreads a Word