The Angel Gabriel appeared to me again this year and announced, “You will conceive and bear the Christ Child.”
Hardly containing his exuberance, he went on. “Beloved and cherished one, you have been chosen to participate in God’s grand project to save the cosmos and everything in it!”
And then, when he didn’t get the response he was hoping for, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” He knew I was and why.
It’s the how.
Thank you, Mary, for naming the question that makes it hard not to fear. How can this be? How will it happen? What am I supposed to do, and how am I supposed to do it? Not knowing winds me up like a top and sends me spinning around the room.
But Gabriel, sat down and, like Mary, patted his hand on the bed, making space for me and all my fears to sit down with him.
Then, once again he explained (as if this was the first time I ever heard this), “God will do it. And it will be amazing.”
Credits and References: Mary by Henry Ossawa Tanner. 1914 Creative Commons The Question That Makes It Hard Not to Fear by Esther Hizsa, 2023
Jesus replied, “When evening comes, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,’ and in the morning, ‘Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. –Matthew 16:2-3 (NIV)
The tide comes in and goes out so predictably that a chart can tell us exactly when it will turn and how high or low the water will be.
Seasons come and go right on time.
We’re never surprised that the sun has risen, nor do we suddenly feel abandoned when it sets.
Yet, we’re surprised by consolations and befuddled by desolations.
Even though we have no calendar for their coming and going, no chart to tell us how high or low, how long or short their turn will be,
one thing is for certain: desolation follows every consolation and consolation is sure to follow every desolation.
The atmosphere of our lives– our situation, memories, hormones and emotions– in a given moment in time produces a weather system of highs or lows. It is the rhythm of earthlings.
It is the delight of the Divine to accompany earthlings through these turnings
and, together, we marvel. It is the highs that have us climbing over rocks and logs and fording streams, and the lows that open up the beaches to reveal the gifts that have washed ashore.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. –Psalm 143:4 (NIV)
Credits and References: “Long Beach Vista” by Adam Jones. Used with permission. Tides by Esther Hizsa, 2023 Wild Pacific Trail, Ucluelet by Esther Hizsa, 2022. Used with permission.
People were eating, drinking, marrying and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all. … It will be just like this on the day the Son of Man is revealed. … I tell you, on that night two people will be in one bed; one will be taken and the other left. –Luke 17:27, 30, 34
What if Jesus wasn’t talking about end times but the end of life as we thought it would be?
We’re going along doing what we do– eating, drinking, and making plans for the future– then a diagnosis, artillery fire, or a flood destroys it all.
One is taken by dementia or death; another is left by the one they thought would love them forever.
One day, we celebrate and pick baby names, and the next, we’ve lost our hair and the chemo’s rendered us barren.
One day, we’re clearing our schedules and exploring retirement, and the next, we’re cleaning our parents’ dentures and picking up prescriptions.
Other people live in war zones, are struck by lightning, or are robbed and vandalized. Other people are marginalized and beaten but not us.
Then “on that day,” we became the ones pitied. On that day, we no longer said, “I’m glad I’m not them.”
This is the coming of the kingdom?
Yes. That’s exactly how the kingdom comes– not as a flood but as a force, grounding us in the flood.
In the middle of Jesus’ doom and gloom speech, he offered hope. “Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life will preserve it.”
We have a choice about whether or not we will try and hold onto the life we’ve lost, but we don’t have a say in how we lose it.
“It’s okay,” the Son of Man says gently. “You can let go. Feel the earth beneath your feet. You’re on kingdom soil. On this day, the Son of Man will be revealed to be even more than you hoped for or imagined.”
For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. –Luke 19:10
Credits and References: Bangladesh, 2020. Houses are nearly submerged due to flooding in Sirajganj, Bangladesh. Credit: Moniruzzaman Sazal / Climate Visuals Countdown, Creative Commons “On That Day” by Esther Hizsa, 2023. “Barefoot on red dirt” FrankOWeaver, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
I fill my cart and don’t have the right card. I arrive at the door, and the key isn’t in my pocket. I remember the question I needed to ask on my way back from the pharmacy.
Every day I face new problems, design strategies, make decisions, and second-guess them.
This train doesn’t stop. I can’t walk a straight line without banging into walls.
If I wasn’t so disorganized, if I wasn’t so attached to money, outcomes, and what people think, if I were more grounded, calm, generous, and patient, this wouldn’t be so hard.
These thoughts badger me until I lose it and enter the dark tunnel of shame and fear.
I see it all so clearly: my sinful patterns and why I would be abandoned.
“But you are not,” You say in my deepest darkness. “Not even if you lose it again and again and again. Not even if you can’t stop and never do it right.”
Then I see You clearly, how You buffer the rattling and the jarring, hold my hand through the long dark tunnels, and bring me into the light.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. –Thomas Merton
*A colloquy, according to Ignatius of Loyola, is a conversation with God, friend to friend, from the heart.
“You went out for lunch without me?” I blurted, unable to contain my hurt and anger.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you did,” I added. I meant it, too. But that awful feeling of being left out and forgotten wouldn’t subside.
That morning, I’d just finished writing last week’s blog post. It was about choosing to sacrifice my needs for the needs of another. One minute, I felt content and at peace; the next, I was furious and resentful.
I didn’t let go of blame easily. But eventually, it subsided. I went to sleep that night disappointed with the reality that being the self-sacrificing daughter has its shadow side.
It wasn’t until the next morning that this question came to me: How did I think God would open my eyes to see how my needs were being met?
I’d assumed God would do it beautifully and seamlessly, the way flowers bloom and the sun comes from behind the clouds.
But what if my anger and resentment were the ways God was helping me see what I needed? I didn’t like it, but it worked well. After my outburst, I knew what I needed and when and how I could get it.
So often I expect God to make me like cool-as-a-cucumber, emotionally evolved Jesus. He sacrificed without complaining and never thought about his needs or whined about others not caring for him.
But it isn’t true.
Jesus complained to God in the Garden of Gethsemane. He chastised the disciples when they fell asleep and forgot about him. And maybe the reason Jesus was late getting to Bethany to raise Lazarus from the dead was because he needed some alone time.
When we read the limited details of Jesus’ life we can forget to fill in the blanks with Jesus’ humanity. I bet there were some deep sighs and eye-rolling at times for our fully human Saviour.
As Rich Mullins discovered, surrender doesn’t come naturally to us. The high of altruism wears thin, and the guilt of not doing enough is heavy. I am grateful that Jesus meets me in the shadows of my desires with loving compassion. His “I know” helps me pick up my cross and carry on.
Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. –Joshua 1:9 (ESV)
Credits and References: “That’s one angry bird” by Brian Evans. Used with permission “Together” by Susanne Nilsson. Used with permission.
Yesterday, there was another letting go. What I wanted was set aside for the good of someone else.
This morning, there was another noticing of how dark and dull another life would be if I were not here to lift the blinds or change the batteries.
Eventually, these tasks will be handed over to someone else, and then a day will come when nothing is needed at all.
But for now, I am here, and You are lifting blinds so I can see. You are giving me all I need.
Surrender don’t come natural to me I’d rather fight You for something I don’t really want Than to take what You give that I need. –Rich Mullins, Hold Me Jesus, Songs
Credits and References: “Leaf’ by seyed mostafa zamani. Used with permission. “Surrender” by Esther Hizsa, 2023
For months now, I’ve had to be “on” with an endless to-do list and little time to sink down into You.
And now that I have time, for a while anyway, I can’t seem to find my way home. I can’t enter into Your silence.
Just when I feel the weight of being outside, You meet me at the edge.
I hear You say, “Of course, it’s hard to enter in. You’ve been jostled and on alert. You’ve let go of responsibilities and the world is carrying on without you. You’re not who you were and not sure who you’re becoming.
“So I will meet you here just as I met you in your busyness and, before that, in the quiet. I will lead you home to my heart and rest your soul in mine.
“But for now, I am content to sit with you here at the edge.”
Credits and References: “Galiano Island” by David KK “On the Edge” by Esther Hizsa, 2023
I was amazed to discover how much I could accomplish –without a good night’s sleep or morning quiet time– when I had to.
Then, help came and now I don’t have to. I get to rest.
I’ve returned home to familiar faces, spaces, and silence.
You were there, being my ground when each day jostled. You are there as the dust settles and a new way appears. You are here now, as I get to think about myself and what I’d like to do for a while.
I liked being “the good daughter,” appreciated, needed, yet others can take my place.
It’s been a lot of planning and changing, making mistakes and apologizing, learning new things and staying in my lane, adjusting and letting go, as I find a new rhythm in this life that is not my own.
God says he is with us on our journeys. He says he has been with us since each of our journeys began. –Frederick Buechner, The Sacred Journey
Credits and References: “Skipping” by Robert Fairchild. Used with permission. “Rhythm and Rest” by Esther Hizsa, 2023. “Bloedcicade” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
Will you come and follow me if I but call your name? Will you go where you don’t know and never be the same? –John L. Bell, The Summons
On the fifth morning after moving into the seniors’ residence, my dad enjoyed getting dressed without something going wrong.
My mom set herself up in her recliner (adjusting the cushion, moving the footstool into place, shifting her 4’10” body back, kicking the stool out of the way and raising her feet) all on her own.
I slept through the night.
Today, there are no appointments to go to, no nurse, telephone technician, or housekeeper arriving.
The sun is shining, and Dad has done the dishes.
Today, I am not sobbing in the lobby because I don’t know where my mother has gone. I don’t have to ask the kitchen staff to adjust the menu. I am not learning about a new drug and what it does to the body.
Today, I am going for a walk knowing that this is harder than I thought, better than I thought, and I am in the right place.
Even here your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. –Psalm 139:10 (NIV, adapted)
Credits and References: “Morning” by crom shin. Used with permission. “Today” by Esther Hizsa, 2023. “Trail walking” by marneejill. Used with permission.
When we imagine surrendering our life to God, we often brace ourselves for unwanted change. Of course, we do, fearful creatures that we are. But after I asked God to take and receive my life at the end of my eight-day retreat, my days were filled with bike rides, starry nights, ocean sunsets and mountaintop moments with my honey.
Then my mom got cancer.
Now, as you have been reading in my blog, my days are filled with caring for my parents. God didn’t make this “bad thing” happen. But God knew what would happen and has been preparing me for this journey through the valley of the shadow of death.
At first, life was changing so fast that Fred and I could hardly keep up with it. It hasn’t slowed down yet. It’s been one FFT (effing first time) after another. Knowing that helped us give ourselves some grace. While this is our first rodeo, thankfully, it isn’t God’s. God has been here many times before as a helper and as a wounded one.
In this valley, I am learning some things.
I had wondered if I had an inordinate attachment to being outside biking and hiking and if that desire would supersede other desires. I was surprised to discover that when I needed to be on deck helping my parents, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Also, when we got time away from caregiving, my capacity to enjoy camping returned. I will never forget the current of joy I felt when we settled into our campsite at Illecillewet in Glacier National Park. I knew then that I could trust God to give me the desires of my heart.
In this valley, I am receiving some things.
Terminal illness, stress, change and aging do not always bring out the best in us. My capacity to offer compassion to another didn’t include taking whatever was dished out. Sometimes I had to hold my ground and ask for what I wanted. I was grateful to receive the courage and capacity to stand up for myself. I was also grateful that forgiveness allowed genuine affection to return. I didn’t have to work at it. I simply received it.
In this valley, I am not alone.
I love this picture of the shepherd and all those sheep! I am not alone. Jesus is walking with me, tending to my needs. Many others are walking with me on this journey, and I am grateful for each and every one of them.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I won’t be afraid. You are with me, and your shepherd’s rod makes me feel safe. –Psalm 23:4 (adapted from ESV and CEV)
Credits and References: “Rogers Pass” by naserke.Used with permission “Shepherd and His Flock” by Tobias Nordhausen. Used with permission.
An Everyday Pilgrim 