Hope in the Silent Timing

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

Hope Nudges Forward

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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.

Hope and Our Stuff

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

Hope for the New Year

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

A Hope-filled Christmas Story

Posted by RJ Thesman

“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.”

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

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.

RJThesman.net

Author | Coach | Speaker | Editor

God

Hope in the Silent Timing

Hope Nudges Forward

Hope and Our Stuff

Hope Identifies with the Sparrow

Hope for the New Year

A Hope-filled Christmas Story

Hope Beyond the Stereotypes