Hope Searches for a Song

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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.

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.

Searching for Hope

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

Hope Embraces Gratitude

Posted by RJ Thesman

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.

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

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 for the Long Way

Posted by RJ Thesman

It would be so much easier to travel the shorter journey. But what if God calls us to the long way?

In Exodus 13, God begins to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Freedom! And God encouraged the people with a cloud each day and a pillar of fire each night. Signals that he was indeed with them.

But in verse 17, God specifically states that he will not lead these people on a shorter route. He will take them to the Promised Land the longer way.

They will be learning more about trust and how to endure day by day.

Many people are facing their own ‘long way.’ One of my friends has a beloved daughter who is suffering through a cancer journey. We wanted it to be a fast surgery, one and done. We hoped and prayed for a quick healing. But she is enduring years of chemo, multiple surgeries, life-changing health issues.

Another friend inspires me with her motherly courage. She fostered and adopted some children. Prayed for them. Did all the right things. The short way would be deliverance from childhood trauma, acceptance into peer groups, wholesome attitudes.

Instead, it is a daily struggle dealing with attachment disorder and behavioral struggles at school. The long journey has affected the health of the entire family. Endurance is a daily need.

Didn’t we all want to see an end to the atrocities in Ukraine — sooner rather than later? Yet the war continues. More people suffer and die. The images continue to urge us to pray for those trapped in bunkers, for the pastors and missionaries trying to help their people day after bomb-shelled day.

Beginning writers want to finish their first book and watch it become a bestseller. More experienced authors know the writing journey is a marathon of work and marketing. It requires a long road to find our voice.

Caregivers face years of learning patience, searching for answers, becoming advocates for the Alzheimer’s patient. What is the purpose? Why does death wait to take those who can no longer function? The road is long.

So how do we find hope and live with a more encouraging attitude when our way is long? What can we learn from this Exodus story?

God took the Israelites the long way so they would not change their minds and want to return to the bondage of Egypt. The short way often seems more comfortable. But the long way tests our trust, our grit, our determination to keep believing. We can learn to accept the long road as a faith-building journey.

Although God chose the long way for his children, he did not leave them to face it alone. He was there every day and throughout each night. We can look for God’s presence even as we face another long day.

Athletes know it takes weeks and months to build muscle and stamina. Although their training may be painful, the dedicated athlete continues and learns to thank the coach and trainer.

The long road offers more hope when we face it with gratitude. God is designing something good within our souls. The end result will be a stronger spirit, more faith muscles for the next road.

The story in Exodus involves an entire nation of people. We find strength in being connected. Finding like souls who will lift us up gives us the stamina needed for another day, another week, possibly — another year of the journey.

God had already proven himself to the Israelites — through multiple miracles and a life-saving Passover tradition. We can look to the past and remember how God brought us through something even worse, a longer road, a deeper suffering. He did it before. He will help us again.

Ultimately, our journey contains signposts that offer strength for each day. The practice of journaling, the recitation of helpful verses and quotes, the songs we may have to force ourselves to sing — all these practices can boost our spirits for another day.

And some days, it just helps to take a nap. Zone out for a few minutes and rest.

Whatever road you’re on today, I pray it will be one that leads to the Promised Land. So I share with you one of my spiritual vitamins. This verse has carried me through many of my longer roads and offered hope:

“Surely God is my help. The Lord is the one who sustains me” (Psalm 54:4 TNIV).

Send Just for Today: Hope for Single Moms to a woman who needs hope for her long road.

Easter Hope

Posted by RJ Thesman

The celebration of Easter this year felt bittersweet. Although I enjoyed the holiday — who doesn’t love bunnies, colored eggs and the excited squeals of children when they wake up to find an Easter basket?

Easter falls smack in the middle of one of the most beautiful seasons in Kansas.

When life bursts from the ground in purple crocus, early yellow tulips and wild hyacinths all over my scraggly lawn.

Even my feral cats represent life as one of them lumbers with kittens in her womb — the other birthing three babies under my deck.

Still, this Easter flipped onto the calendar only four months after we buried Mom. And three of my friends in early 2022. And hundreds of Ukrainian citizens slaughtered by Russian troops. Some of those citizens probably distant cousins.

Death reminds us of our fragile existence. We are mortal, after all. We will all return to the dust that formed us.

Sobering truths are still true, no matter how we seek to avoid them.

But the converse is also true. Despite the death and destruction, life exists in that other realm. Behind that invisible veil that separates us from the spirit world.

Our loved ones wait for us there. God watches over us from that ethereal place we can barely imagine. Where life stretches without end. No more separation. No more death and destruction.

Only the beautiful burst of living color and light where we know as we are known.

Someday, I will be with my parents again. With the friends I lost this year. Someday, God will vindicate those Ukrainian souls and judge those who murdered them.

Someday, eternity will continue to burst with renewed vigor and the beauty of life. No decay. No chaos. No disruption from the beauties of creation.

In the meantime, I will focus my hope on resurrected life and continue to believe in the eternal every day of the year.

And when chaos tries to disrupt that living hope, I’ll play this song and believe all over again.

Share living hope with a single mom. Just for Today: Hope for Single Moms

Hope for Ukraine

Posted by RJ Thesman

She was just a little girl when her parents told her, “We have to leave. The tzar is forcing us to leave our home. We will travel to America.”

Little Anna Barkman did not understand all the politics of the time. How the Mennonites were summoned by Catherine the Great to farm the land and produce wheat crops. How they grew so successful the next ruler shunned them.

Forced them to become refugees.

Anna only knew that the life she had led in the colony of Halbstadt (now called Molochansk) was ending. So she helped her parents pack up what little they could carry.

But before she set out to a new life, she wanted to preserve something of the old.

She sewed wheat kernels into the hem of her dress. The same variety of wheat her family and the other Mennonites had so successfully planted and harvested throughout the years.

Then little Anna Barkman followed her parents to the new land in America, to the Midwest, where the Mennonites would once again thrive.

Where freedom of religion was a promised right.

Once settled, Anna cut open the seams of her hem and handed those precious kernels to her father. He and the other Mennonites set about planting, nurturing and harvesting their crops.

The Mennonite settlements grew in Nebraska, Kansas and Oklahoma. Today, every variety of wheat that is planted and harvested in the Midwest still has its hybrid roots in that Turkey Red Hard Winter Wheat from what is now known as Ukraine.

The war is personal to me, because my ancestors are buried in the Ukraine. Their bones and personal dust still attest to the truth of who they were. Putin cannot steal their identities nor the legacy of their work.

They lived and propagated the doctrine of peace. They crafted quilts and made homemade jams. Buried their arms in yeasty dough and created smells and tastes that are still replicated by their great great grandchildren.

Some of their recipes are sold at the annual relief sale where all the proceeds go to missions.

I imagine this year much of the profits will go for humanitarian relief in Ukraine.

In these years of pandemic crises, I had not thought much about my ancestors or the cemetery where they are buried. Until Putin’s bombs highlighted their plight.

A stark reminder that we all come from refugee stock.

Last week, the Russian army occupied the very region where my ancestors lay. I have not heard if the staff of the Mennonite Center survived. If they did, I know they will continue the work of peace and love, reaching out to those in need.

No matter what happens, the legacy of my ancestors will survive. Every time I eat a piece of toast, I will think of little Anna and her foresight to bring the wheat kernels to America.

And I will hope that peace once again returns to Ukraine.

The Mennonites are people of faith, basing their belief systems on the words of Jesus. Some of their strengths include an emphasis on missions and music. Before the pandemic, the 300 Mennonite Men’s Chorus presented regular concerts.

RJThesman.net

Author | Coach | Speaker | Editor

Ukraine

Hope Searches for a Song

Searching for Hope

Hope Embraces Gratitude

Hope Beyond the Stereotypes

Hope for the Long Way

Easter Hope

Hope for Ukraine