Freedom to Move On

The loss

The text comes in as I’m getting up in the morning. Mom has breathed her last breath. She’s gone.

(I’m okay with getting the message by group text. There are many family members to notify. We knew it was coming any minute. It’s a little early in the day for a phone call, especially for those in the times zones west of me.)

No tears fall. I’ve cried them all already. The day she was diagnosed with “dementia, most likely Alzheimer’s.” As I watched her brain wasting away and her personality disintegrating. Each time she took another drastic step downward. Sitting in my rental car after saying goodbye at her bedside for the last time, before returning home a week ago.

I’ve been grieving for her for a while. 

The relief

At this point, the sense of relief is greater than the sense of loss. I’ve never been in this position before. Not sure what to expect.

The last several years have been busy and stressful for me and my siblings. Bad news about Mom’s falls and emergency room visits. Decisions to be made regarding her living situation and medical needs. Increasing difficulty in her ability to communicate. More frequent trips to see her. More frequent phone calls.

But the worst stress, the greatest trauma, was knowing that one I loved was hurting so much. Witnessing her struggles with pain and physical limitations and cognitive issues and depression and fears and obsessive thinking. She was too aware of her own losses. Yet hesitant, like many in her generation, about taking any medication that would make her feel better emotionally. Part of me just wanted her to move on to a better life, to be freed from all her troubles.

That phase has passed now. Mom is at peace. We’ll be making all those decisions that have to be made after someone dies, but that won’t be nearly as stressful as helplessly watching the continuing decline of a loved one in her nineties.

I’m ready to move on, too. To catch up on all the things I haven’t gotten done because of the extra time I’ve spent helping meet Mom’s needs. Because of the emotional energy being drained by seeing her suffering.

I don’t resent losing that time and energy. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I’d do it for ten more years if she had that long.

But there’s a welcome sense of freedom from the responsibility and stress. Now I can move on.

The grief

Until my body reminds me that I’m mourning. I’ve experienced a significant loss. Yes, there’s great relief. But there’s also the sorrow of missing her, which will come out one way or another.

Right now it comes out, not in intense emotions, but in physical and mental fatigue. A song pops into my head. “Slow Down,” by Chuck Girard (1974). It’s an invitation to slow down, be still, and wait on the Spirit of the Lord. (Thank You, Father, for bringing this song to mind just when I need it. I haven’t thought about it for many years.)

This is a biblical concept that our busy American culture doesn’t often consider. The Israelites are told to be still in Exodus 14:14, when they’re trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea. In Nehemiah 8:11, the Levites calm the people as they’re grieving over their sins, encouraging them to be still as they respond to the reading of the Book of the Law of Moses. While prophesying about the coming Messiah, Zechariah 2:13 calls all mankind to be still before the Lord.

Psalm 37:7 combines the ideas of being still and waiting on the Lord. Waiting on the Lord is encouraged in many of the other Psalms and in the prophets.

Every day I feel like I get more behind on all the things I want or need to do. But there it is, right there in the Bible—slow down, be still, wait. I need to hear this at this time in my life when I’m so eager to move ahead. At this time when my body is screaming at me to slow down.

The challenge

But I don’t want to slow down! I want to plunge forward, to check more and more items off of my to-do list.

Why?

As I’ve said, it’s partly because I want to catch up on the things that I’ve put on a back burner while Mom’s been wasting away. That’s the most obvious reason. And it seems fully justified.

But I think it goes deeper than that. If I slow down I’ll feel the grief. I’ve been grieving for so long, I just want it to be over with. I don’t want to deal with it anymore. I’d rather be fixing things.

I’m a problem solver. I can see all kinds of problems with my house. The dust bunnies under the bed and the grunge on the windows and the minor upgrades and repairs that I’ve been postponing. I see problems with weeds and overgrown plants in my yard. Problems with my mismatched and aging wardrobe.

Now that I have more time, I can fix all those things. Fixing things feels better than being still.

But I need to be still so that I can move ahead. Just like physical healing, emotional healing won’t happen if I’m too busy and active.

Slow down now. Have the strength to do more later. I’ve faced this lesson so many times (including here and here and here), but it’s still hard to rein in my impulse to push on. I guess I’m a slow learner.

The biggest reason for slowing down, though, comes at the end of the song. “Know that He is God.” An echo of Psalm 46:10.

My desire to solve problems, do things, be done with the grieving, to move on, is partly my desire to be my own god. To take charge of the situation. To do the things I want to do, in my way and in my timing. To see my will being done.

When I slow down, I have to listen, contemplate, and consider, not just act. Listen to what the Bible says. Listen to wise pastors and teachers. Listen to the Holy Spirit within me. Contemplate His will, His direction, as it’s revealed in His Word, through other Christians, and in my own heart. Consider the fact that many of my to-do’s are trivial in God’s eyes.

I need to slow down so that I’ll stop trying to be God.

 

 

 

Aging and Freedom

The freedom that comes with aging

Entering the Worship Center one Sunday morning. Looking around, greeting people, finding a seat.

I try not to focus on the externals when I’m with others, but I can’t help noticing the clothing, the jewelry, the hairstyles. And the freedom they represent.

More than half of the congregation is older than me. They’re well past the age where they worry about conforming to the fashions of the moment in order to be accepted. They’re comfortable wearing what they like. It’s a freedom that comes with aging.

Saying hi to Jane and Jim. Widow and widower. They’ve been sitting together every week for several years. But there are no rumors, no speculation about their relationship, no hinting in whispers that they must be more than just friends. They’ve reached an age where single members of the opposite sex are free to spend time together without triggering speculation and gossip.

As a teenager, I hated the pressure to conform to the latest styles, and the social norms that made it next to impossible for boys and girls to be friends without pursuing or assuming a romantic relationship.

In the few moments that it takes me to find a seat, I feel a tremendous sense of freedom. A freedom that comes with aging.

A few years later, this is reinforced by a brief comment on the news. (I don’t remember the source, and can’t find the comment online at this point.) The newscaster is interviewing a woman on her hundredth birthday. He asks, “What’s the best part of living so long?”

She immediately replies, “No more peer pressure.”

She’s outlived all her peers. She’s free to wear whatever she wants to wear. She’s free to sit with the same man every day without worrying about what other people are thinking. Or even about what he’s thinking.

Additional freedoms

There are other freedoms that seniors can enjoy.

*The freedom from all those big decisions that will determine the trajectory of our lives for fifty years or more. Where to live. Whether to go to college. What career to pursue. Whether to marry and have children. How to raise those children.

*The freedom that comes from letting go of possessions. If we live long enough, many of us will be unable to keep up with the responsibilities of a house and yard. We’ll downsize.

It’ll be tough. It’ll be even tougher if we end up in a small assisted living apartment. It’ll help if other family members cherish the items we’ve invested with the greatest sentimental value. But the reality is that, even within our lifetimes, much of our stuff will go to the trash heap. We’ll need to grieve our losses. How can that be good?

We Americans tend to define our lives and our value by the things we possess. Letting go frees us to appreciate the far more precious things that we can never own. Like God. And people. When we’re not so focused on our manmade treasures, we’re free to pay more attention to the beauty of God’s world, the depth of His character, and the talents and wisdom of those around us.

*And even, in an odd way, the freedom that comes from knowing that nothing more can be done to improve our health or extend our lives. My mom’s been going through this in recent years.

In the past, she was somewhat obsessive about her health. She’d learn about the latest greatest preventive techniques. She’d become angry or bitter if a treatment didn’t work out perfectly. She lived with the anxiety of knowing that she, or her medical team, could make the wrong decision with potentially disastrous results.

Now she’s declining treatment. She knows that little can be done for her at this point. She’s made her peace with that reality. She’s free from the stress of having to research all her options and trust the medical professionals to do the right thing, free from the fear of missing out on the best treatment, free from the fear of her life ending early. She’s ready to go home.

Contentment

I don’t mean to make it sound like there aren’t any drawbacks to aging. It usually includes some loss of independence, and therefore loss of freedom, especially if a person’s life ends in assisted living or a nursing home.

But the world puts so much emphasis on youth that it can be hard to appreciate the intangible benefits of aging. If we see no benefits at all in our current situation, where does that leave us? What does it say about our trust in a loving God?

At the root of all these freedoms that come with aging is a powerful biblical value: contentment. The contentment that comes with reduced pressure from our peers and a reduced number of options for the future.

Paul writes in Philippians 4:12-13, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” He was in chains (1:13), probably under house arrest (NIV intro to Philippians), awaiting trial, when he wrote these words. Not exactly enjoying many freedoms. Yet, through Christ, he had the strength to be content.

This isn’t an automatic response. Even Paul had to learn it. Fallen human beings have a natural bent to be dissatisfied. The ad industry, especially in America, aggravates our discontent. It may be that those who’ve spent sixty years or more grumbling and complaining will continue that lifestyle right up to the end.

But maybe, just maybe, the grumblers and complainers can learn to recognize the freedoms that come with aging. Maybe they’ll be able to enjoy the limited years they have left with contentment.

And maybe our young people can be more countercultural and find the freedom that comes with contentment. Why wait until you reach old age?

 

Freedom From Debt

Paying off a heavy debt

I'm visiting one day with a relative named Rose. We’re grieving over a recent death in our extended family, a woman who’d been on hospice for several months. She’d had a good long life. She was ready to go home to be with Jesus. But it’s still sad to lose her.

To my surprise, Rose tells me that I was mentioned in the family member’s will. (Can’t help thinking that this sounds like something out of a cheap novel. But it did actually happen to me. Really.) Rose was closer than me to our lost loved one and was therefore aware of the terms of the will even before her passing.

It’s not a huge inheritance. It won’t change my basic lifestyle. After recovering from the initial shock, I begin mulling over my options, looking at my budget and upcoming expenses. Should I put it in savings for the future or spend it now?

My mind keeps going back to one theme: I don’t like being in debt. (Other than the pretty-much-unavoidable mortgage and often-necessary car loan.) There was a time when I’d write a check for the full amount on my credit card bill each month. There was a time when I was able to pay cash for a new car. (Once.)

All that changed. Unexpected expenses hit. I could no longer work due to a health issue, but I didn’t qualify for disability benefits. I had to start pinching pennies as I dipped into my retirement savings.

I knew my financial situation would turn around at some point, and I had a low-interest credit card, so I started carrying an increasing balance on it. To keep it from growing too quickly, and to reassure myself that it would be paid off one day, I wrote a check for about ten percent of the balance each month. It made sense to postpone some payments until things got better.

But then they got worse. That turn-around kept being delayed. Interest rates went up. My debt grew. For the last year, I’ve only been making the minimum monthly payment. Every time I open the new bill, I feel this dreaded, depressing weight on my shoulders.

So it isn’t hard to decide where to put that little extra income. Once the money is in the bank, I transfer a chunk of it from my checking account to my credit card bill. Paid in full. Instantly.

And I feel so light and happy and relieved and excited! I want to dance around the house, to call all my friends and tell them, to simply sit and exult in my new-found freedom from this debt. I send many, many thank You’s up to God, along with apologies for letting the situation worry me so much instead of trusting Him.

Paying off an even bigger debt

A few weeks later I wonder: Have I ever felt this excited, this thrilled, this happy for my freedom from the burden of my sins? No.

I wasn’t one of those people who was so weighed down by guilt and shame that accepting the gospel brought a tremendous sense of freedom. Just the opposite. It took months for God to convince me that I could never be good enough on my own to deserve to spend eternity in His presence. I became a Christian, not for relief from present suffering under a deep sense of sin, but to avoid future suffering in hell.

We sing songs in church about how we were going through life with a terrible burden until we saw the light and were suddenly freed by God’s incredible grace. I sing along, but I honestly can’t relate to that story. I obviously reached the point where I recognized my inability to save myself. I confessed, repented, and asked Him to forgive me. I was, and am, deeply thankful for His grace and mercy.

But I missed out on an experience that some people have at conversion: An intense awareness of the sudden, life-changing transformation from filthy, worthless sinner to totally forgiven saint. And I’m a little jealous.

I’m grateful that I was never in that dark and lonely pit, wallowing in the mire of self-loathing over a sin-drenched lifestyle. But as the Bible points out in Luke 7:36-50, those who’ve come to Christ out of that lifestyle have a deeper, richer understanding of the enormity of God’s grace.

(Let me be clear here. I know now that my burden of sin prior to salvation was just as heavy, just as bleak, just as putrid as anyone else’s. My emotional relief wasn’t as intense, but that was due to my own blindness at the time. My need for forgiveness was just as great as any other sinner’s.)

The analogy

I’ve heard sermons where we’re asked to imagine being suddenly freed from a large financial debt, and to use that imagery to increase our appreciation for what Jesus did for us on the cross. I could kinda sorta visualize what it might be like to be struck with that type of forgiveness. But it didn’t come anywhere close to actually living it.

I paid off a significant debt that had been weighing me down for years! All at once! With just a few keystrokes on my computer! My slate was wiped completely, beautifully, shiningly clean!

And I can’t even take credit for the pay-off. It wasn’t anything I’d done, anything I’d earned. It was an unexpected, undeserved gift. A generous provision from someone who loved me more than I’d realized up until that moment.

Just like God’s gift of salvation.

I didn’t earn it. I didn’t deserve it. It came through an unexpected channel—grace and faith, not works. It was incredibly generous and given by Someone who loves me more than I can ever comprehend.

So now I’m thanking God, not just for the financial relief, but also for this opportunity to see His grace in a new way. I didn’t feel the lifting of an enormous and dreadful weight at my conversion, although that’s what actually happened. But now, because of this freedom from a worldly debt, I can better understand and appreciate my freedom from an infinitely greater spiritual debt.

 

 

Enmity

A picture of enmity

“So the Lord God said to the serpent, ‘. . . I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers’” (Genesis 3:14-15).

God Himself actually placed a barrier of enmity between human beings and Satan.* Punishment for Satan for his role in the Fall. Protection for us.

What does that enmity look like on our side? Conscience. Repulsion or horror when we see people stepping over the boundaries that God’s given us. Discomfort and hesitation when someone asks us to do something that we know is wrong. Guilt.

Most importantly, that barrier looks like a heart turning away from evil, toward God. (One way we respond to physical barriers is by turning back and heading in the opposite direction.) Repenting. Believing Him, trusting Him, following Him.

Enmity with Satan results in a willingness to stand up for the weak and oppressed. To care for the helpless. To give generously to those in need. To sacrifice for others.

It leads to turning the other cheek when someone slaps us. Carrying their burden an extra mile. Providing a soft answer in the face of wrath. Forgiving. Loving those who hate us. Meekness. Mercy. Purity of heart.

Much of spiritual warfare consists not in our acts of bold defiance and aggressive attacks, but in apparent weakness. The weakness of a Savior dying on a cross.

Life without enmity

What would life be like if that enmity didn’t exist?

It would be too easy to think of Satan as our friend. He’s so willing to give us the things that God doesn’t want us to have. Isn’t that what a friend does—gives us all we want?

Without that enmity, it would be much harder to resist our natural bent toward defying God. Doing wrong can feel so good. At least for the moment.

Selfishness would reign supreme. Every one of us would be lying, stealing, hating, and betraying others far more often than we do now. Few (if any) good, healthy, loving relationships would exist. Most of us would be unable to work together in harmony. Civilization might never have developed. Human beings might even have killed each other off within a few generations.

We need enmity with Satan to protect us from our own evil desires. We need that barrier to give us any hope of turning to God.

Rebelling against enmity

And yet, what have people done regarding God’s curse, especially in modern times? Worked hard to find ways around it.

Using anesthetics to minimize or do away with pain in childbirth. Denying the roles God ordained for husbands and wives. Reducing the aching toil of cultivating crops by using fertilizers, irrigation, insecticides, and machinery. Developing ways of prolonging life in hopes of defeating death. Suppressing and defying clear signals from our consciences.

There's nothing wrong with using some of these methods to relieve suffering and bring greater health to many. Doing so is consistent with God’s love and Jesus’ life on earth.

But we Americans are living in a time and place where freedom is being defined as overcoming all our natural God-given inhibitions. Breaking down that barrier between the woman’s offspring and Satan’s.

That’s not an easy thing to do, or the world would have crumbled into chaos long before now. It takes a real effort.

I read an article many years ago (I think it was in WORLD magazine) about our inborn inclination against killing a fellow human being. If my memory of what the article said is accurate, there are three specific aspects of our created nature that all have to be overcome before someone can take another person’s life. Armies must put their newest members through a variety of exercises and experiences in order to accomplish this goal, to break down that part of the barrier between Satan and us.

Reigning vs. serving

In Paradise Lost, John Milton wrote the famous line, “Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.” That quote is used today to justify rebelling against God. God is oppressive because He demands that we serve Him, even in heaven.

But how much does anyone other than Satan reign over anything in hell? Jesus always describes it as a place of punishment and suffering (e.g. Matthew 25:30, 46).

And Satan doesn’t have complete control, even there. God still has total power over him. He’s allowing Satan some freedom for a limited time, but in the end He’ll throw him into the lake of fire (Revelation 20:10). Satan’s reign is far more limited than he’s willing to admit.

Some think Milton’s statement portrays Satan as taking a heroic stand, so of course we should follow his example. But it’s dangerous to glamorize Satan and view his actions as ones that we should imitate. God placed that enmity between us to protect us from this danger.

Satan is not heroic. He’s a greedy, self-centered destroyer. His sole purpose is manipulating others to increase his own power. True heroes are those who sacrifice themselves to save others.

Heaven and hell

What’s the real difference between heaven and hell? Is heaven really a nice place but one of constant servitude, while hell offers at least some people an opportunity to reign over their fellow sufferers?

No. Heaven is full of beloved children who serve their Father with joy as they receive the greatest possible blessing, the fulfillment of all their deepest hopes and dreams. Our shallow earthly appetites are mere shadows of our intense longing for a more profound kind of beauty and refreshment and intimacy. A longing that will be abundantly satisfied in heaven.

Psalm 16:11 says, “You will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.” Hardly a picture of resentful service. Or of a stern God who denies us any form of pleasure. According to John’s vision of heaven in Revelation 22:3-5, God’s people will serve Him, but in addition “they will reign for ever and ever” (italics added).

In contrast, hell is full of despised slaves being used and abused by one who cannot love. Even if Satan was, by nature, capable of caring about others, it would be impossible for him to do anything other than hate us because of the enmity between him and us.

I tend to think of God as pronouncing only curses in Genesis 3. But there are blessings hidden behind some of those curses. When God deliberately put enmity between people and Satan, He was protecting us more than we can ever imagine or appreciate. We can fuss and complain about how He places all those annoying restrictions on our freedom. Or we can praise and thank Him for His tender loving kindness.


*Some commentaries limit that enmity to the conflict between Jesus and Satan (and his followers). The verse is understood as a prophecy of the virgin birth. Jesus is the only person who could ever be described as the offspring of a woman, without a man contributing to His conception. Others include a broader application, as I do here.

 

A Hard Road to Freedom

 Lunch with a friend

Heading for a restaurant to have lunch with a friend. Feeling a little unhappy with her. When I’d contacted Marcia to see if she wanted to get together, the usual issue came up—trying to find a time when we’d both be available.

We’d eventually settled on today, but with one condition: only if her adult son, Ryan, could join us. He’ll be moving to another state soon, and this will be her last opportunity to see him before he leaves. I’d reluctantly agreed. I’d be much more comfortable with just her, but having him there would be better than waiting weeks or months until our schedules line up again.

I hardly know Ryan. As I drive down the road, I’m wondering if I’ll feel like a fifth wheel, watching and listening as they share last-minute thoughts and precious memories.

Our visit starts out that way. Mother and son talking to each other. Me sitting on the outside. Ever since I’d met him two years ago, Ryan had been stiff and awkward around most people, only speaking when someone asked him a question, and then with tight lips and few words.

But as the meal progresses, I can see that an amazing transformation has taken place. Ryan is totally relaxed, to the point of slouching in his seat. He’s actually smiling. And joking. And laughing.

He starts telling funny stories from his school years. Marcia mentions some of her own humorous experiences. Soon I feel comfortable enough to jump in and share mine too. Once the ice has broken, we’re like a bunch of old friends completely at ease with each other. As we're leaving the restaurant, I realize that I’m sorry to have to say good-bye.

Our background

When Marcia and I had first met many years ago, Ryan had been addicted to heroine for about ten years. He’d been through rehab programs, but he’d always returned to his habit. He’d just been arrested and sentenced to six years in prison for crimes he’d committed to pay for his addiction.

My heart had gone out to Marcia as I tried to imagine the trauma and sorrow of knowing that your child will soon be locked up. The sense of failure. The shame. The fear.

During our next visit, Marcia told me about a conversation she’d had with Ryan a few days before his sentence began. A friend who’d done time had given him tips on how to survive behind bars without the relief that drugs would provide.

The dealers on the inside would make every effort to get Ryan back on heroine. After all, he’d be part of their captive audience, living a dull yet stress-filled life. Once he was hooked again, they’d raise their prices to outrageous levels. If he didn’t pay up, they’d kill him.

Marcia had looked me in the eye as she described telling her own son that she wouldn’t give him drug money. No matter what. If Ryan racked up bills that he couldn’t pay (and he had no resources of his own), he would die.

The years passed. Ryan stayed clean. Every time Marcia and I talked, I tried to picture what his life was like.

He’d become a member of a community made up solely of convicted criminals. He couldn’t close the door on them, he couldn’t walk away, he couldn’t find a new group to hang out with. He was stuck in this dangerous and dysfunctional community until his sentence ended. His contact with the outside world, with those who loved him and wanted the best for him, was severely limited.

In a prison, violence always lurks just below the surface. It doesn’t take much to set it off. (There was at least one riot during Ryan’s term.) Those who are being paid to maintain peace and order can let the sense of power go to their heads. They can become as hardened and abusive as the inmates themselves. How does anyone ever come out of prison without a serious case of PTSD?

One day, Ryan was called into the warden’s office, facing a false accusation. He couldn’t prove his innocence at that moment (as he did later). His temper began to rise. But instead of lashing out and causing himself more trouble, he simply said, “I think I need to go back to my cell.”

As Marcia told me this story, those words, “my cell,” made my skin crawl. They conveyed a sense of comfortable belonging, as in my apartment, my condo, or my house. How does a prison cell become a safe space, a retreat, a home? How does a human being ever become accustomed to spending a large part of his time locked in a cage, and still maintain his sanity?

Freedom

Six years passed. Ryan moved back in with Marcia. His addiction had begun in his teens, so he had no post-high-school education or training. His sentence included a hefty fine. He’d be on probation until it was paid in full. If he fell behind, he could be sent back to prison. His expenses were greater than what other single men his age were paying, and he had fewer job options to choose from. How could he ever make ends meet?

The next time I’d stopped by for a visit with Marcia, she introduced me to Ryan. He struck me as cold, hard, detached. About what I’d expect to see in an ex-con. From everything I’ve heard about living behind bars, people usually come out tougher than when they went in. With every encounter, he continued to be distant, stiff, unsmiling.

Then he’d managed to find a job, and I didn’t see him for about a year. Next came my acceptance of lunch with the two of them. I’d walked in the door of the restaurant feeling uneasy, uncertain about whether I really wanted to be there. Now I’m walking out with a happy heart, thankful for our time together.

Ryan’s and my paths might not cross again for many years, but during those years, as I’m praying for him, today’s Ryan is the one that I’ll see in my mind’s eye. I’ll be praying with greater joy and hope—not just for him, but for any other seemingly cold and hard and unreachable people on my list and in my heart.

And I’ll be remembering God’s truth and grace. His truth: We will face the consequences of our sin. Ryan was guilty of the crimes he’d committed in order to feed his habit. Prison is a terrible place to live. Trying to get his life back together afterward is tough. But he’d made the choices that brought him where he is today.

His grace: God wants to use those consequences to bring us to a better life. Punishment is not His end goal. Ryan had tried rehab over and over without success. It seemed so harsh to lock him up in a cell for all that time. But it looks like that was just what he’d needed. From the day of his arrest until today, he’s been off of heroine for about eight years. It may be that he had to go through a hard time behind bars without his crutch in order to learn how to live a life of freedom.