Counting My Inheritance

This is not my usual MO.  Normally I am comfy in a pair of my favorite pajamas, settled into "the passenger's seat," as I call it, and prepared to ride it out until the end.  I do my devotions, check the news or vaious other blogs, I journal or work on some of the projects I've got going -- whatever.  In a short while I have to leave for the job that pays the bills; I got up early for a little catharsis. 

You see, my father is very sick -- has been for almost two weeks; I don't think he was originally expected to make it as long as he has.  We are not close, my father and I; no "big blowout," just went our separate ways a long time ago.  I know he is taken care of in the "afterlife department"; he affirms he has accepted salvation and says Jesus is His Lord and King.  He is in his eighties and up until two weeks ago, very active; he has lead a full life and is now in a considerable amount of pain.  His death is the next step, a part he always knew would come, nothing to fear, and as he has always believed, nothing more than the failure of a mortal body to carry his eternal soul any longer.  The dilemma of his death remains with us -- the "still living."

I have a picture beside my closet; I cannot help but see it everyday, as I start my day and as I finish.  When I placed it there, my husband asked about it -- "It is a picture of who I am," I explained.  It is, however, a black & white picture of a decidedly blonde-haired little boy.  He is standing by a chair in a coat, shorts, heavy stockings and button-up boots.  He is not looking at the camera, but is posed with that "up and over, faraway look" in his eyes.  He was my dad.  I have no idea how old he was when it was taken, and no one seems to know much about it, but I've looked at that picture everyday for so many days that I rarely need or want explanation -- knowing would probably change things. 

The picture reminds me that once, my dad was young -- with hopes and dreams and a desire to do the right thing; it reminds me he was not always who I have known him to be.  It reminds me of family that I have never known, and have never known me; it reminds me of family that focused on the next life and did not concern themselves with the things of this world.  The picture reminds me of my youth -- a reminder of days drinking water from the pump outside of my grandparents' house, running through fields with my brother and picking mulberries.  The picture allows me to forgive, to look at the dreamy eyes of a child and learn to love my father from the beginning; the mystery of it all opens the door to things I can never know or understand, a past that holds the answer to where our lives began.  It is my history, my heritage, the story of generations of people of faith, a family rooted in the very words of Jesus Christ.  It is the birthplace of my beliefs, and the portal through which I met my Savior.  It is because of my father's past that I have an eternal future.

My father and I did not always like one another, nor did we always agree.  I am, however, thankful for the Biblical heritage he gave me and the Inheritance to which he lead me.  His presence, whether it remains on this earth or must be remembered from within the confines of a simple antique frame, reminds me to Whom I belong and the Future to which I too, am entitled.  For that, Dad, I am Eternally grateful.

Train Up a Child

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."  Proverbs 22:6

Children are my passion -- particularly children in need.  I love them all, want to help them all; I grew up dreaming of a house full of children.  From very early on, I believed that love could fix anything; if love was the foundation of my home, I could not help but churn out successful, well-adjusted, God-fearing children.  When the children of affluent, educated people "went wrong" I would crow, "See, money isn't everything!" or "Plenty of degrees, sure, but college doesn't teach you to raise children!"  When the pastor's children went astray -- "You never know what goes on behind close doors," I would whisper.

Was all that hate talk born out of jealousy?  Maybe. They had, I didn't.  Sometimes jealousy runs deepest when one doesn't "have" because they didn't try. 

Maybe I was scared.  If it could happen to them, what's to keep my children on the straight and narrow?

Was it the arrogance I see in so many parents today?  Technology, psychology, the medical sciences -- all at our fingertips.  It takes a moment for a little education, but a lifetime for a lot of wisdom.

My son is not following the path I desired for him; he is not following the path God laid out for him.  I've played the "blame game" -- holding others responsible and losing sleep because I felt responsible.  I've raged and cried, and even stayed in touch with several police officers and detectives in the hopes that we could "nip this in the bud."  I've turned him away from my home, and welcomed him back like the Prodigal Son.  Sometimes I wonder if it's payback for the judgement I passed on others.  I have learned that judgement is one of those things we gladly bestow on others without wishing anything in return for ourselves.

So I trust and I rest on the promise of Proverbs 22; and I beg forgiveness for pain I may have caused out of jealousy or fear or arrogance.  I remind myself that love is not just the foundation of my home, but love is the groundwork for my relationships with others as well.

Note to Self

Trust is a funny thing.  Sometimes the easiest trust to attain is the hardest to keep.  And once lost, trust is not easily restored to what it once was.

In a long ago episode of the Brady Bunch the Brady children were playing ball in the house, something they had been told not to do.  The game gets out of hand and Mom's favorite vase gets broken; the children work quickly to get each piece glued back in place and the vase "restored"  to its previous condition.  When the family sits down to dinner later in the day, a bountiful table is set, replete with fresh cut floral arrangement.  As dinner progresses the glue begins to fail in the presence of water and the vase begins to spring leak after leak, with the children pretending not to notice as their conspiracy unravels.  The vase, designed to hold water, had not been "restored;" it could no longer be trusted to do its job.

I come from a very unusual family.  We were a "blended family" before most even knew the definition, and we are blended in many ways -- racially, ethnically, religiously, "steps" and "halfs."  Some of these associations came from a long line of secrets and trusts betrayed.  The spouse who maintains romantic relationships outside the marriage, the sibling who steals from another, the child who begs for relief from abuse, only to be rebuffed by their "confidant"-- all make for great reading or daytime drama, but some have yielded extraordinary results in their singularity and passion; when forgiveness has been a factor some amazing things have taken place.  Unfortunately, forgiveness, on occasion has been followed up with more betrayal, further violating trusts and boundaries.  Like the vase, the trust no longer holds water.

The struggle I've encountered is forgiving, but finding it necessary to withdraw trust.  I am a failed, and sometimes most repugnant, vile creature.  Holding myself accountable to God's Standards finds me morbidly inadequate on my own, laughable if it weren't so sad.  But God, in His Grace has sent me a Redeemer in whose blood I am made clean, through whose intercession I am made worthy.  To not forgive is the ultimate hypocrisy, the ultimate affront to the Gift I claim to have received, and, in earthly terms, the worst example of "paying it forward" I could imagine.  Forgiveness, however, does not require the full restoration of trust.

The Old Testament warns in Psalm 146:3 not to put our trust in man; Proverbs 3:5 tells us instead, to "Trust in the Lord with all [our hearts]."  In the New Testament, Matthew 10:17, Jesus told His disciples to "be on your guard against men;"  in Matthew 16:20 He cautions the Disciples not to tell anyone He is the Christ.  God requires us to forgive, but to trust only in Him; it is our choice to trust or continue to trust our fellow man.  While on this earth, Christ acted on His trust of others by choosing to eat and fellowship with them; He also acted on His mistrust of "the son of man" by fleeing and choosing silence.

I would love to say the mere act of forgiveness has restored trust and strengthened every relationship, but that is not so.  Mistrust has ended some very close relationships -- relationships that, from time to time I have attempted to or, at least desired to renew -- not always successfully.  I have had to deal with those who say I am cold, unforgiving, even disobedient; others say I will regret not "making amends."  Point is, I can give love and forgiveness, but trust must originate from those desirous of it and willing to earn it.  I can no more "reconcile" with someone who does not wish to earn my trust than I can employ a person who does not wish to earn their pay.  I don't hate or disdain the "vessel," I just don't have to trust it to hold water.

Where Can I get One of Those Snazzy Signs?

I remember taking a macroec course in college.  It was fascinating to me.  If I hadn't been an adult student, firmly entrenched in my major and its required courses, the pressure to earn my degree as quickly as possible bearing down on me like an runaway cement mixer, I might have taken another course or two in economics.  The concepts of  free market and a cyclical economy reassured and encouraged me. 

As I listened, my mind went back to tenth grade American History and our study of Roosevelt's New Deal.  I never had understood the AAA, the Agricultural Adjustment Act, or the WPA, the Works Progress Administration.  Weren't they just robbing from Peter to pay Paul?  If a government agrees to fund projects that no one thought necessary six months before, aren't we really increasing national debt to build a "bridge to nowhere?"  If my children want something I cannot afford to give them, is increasing their allowance so they can save for it, a viable solution?  And does my solution encourage them to think "out of the box" to develop a solution to their own deficit?

Likewise, if I increase my debt to fund their desires, aren't I just postponing the inevitable?  Eventually, someone is going to have to do without something else, or they are going to have to contribute in a way they were never required previously -- maybe my children will have to contribute to other "extras."

As for paying farmers not to grow, when people are starving?  Needless to say, good thing the Constitution put an end to that one, whether it was for ethical or economic reasons.

Anyhow, all this came back to me when I read a "Cash for Clunkers" article by William Jeanes, AOL's Auto Editor. (Link here.) Normally I am not the least impressed by AOL's writing.  In fact, most times I shake my head and, inspired, plunge into writing my great American novel.  However, this article poses the same question I have asked all along -- "Is increasing my personal debt really going to secure my job (not in the auto industry) or keep my family fed in the long run?"  If I don't suspend my contributions to my 401K, whose pockets am I lining?  If I "panic" and postpone scheduled home improvements, because my hours at work and my salary have been cut, why am I "un-American?"  AND, why can Wall Street take my money, lower the interest on my retirement fund, raise the price of fuel, and reduce my salary, but I am regularly cautioned to "do the right thing" and maintain status quo when it comes to spending and investing?

Lastly, what about this American Recovery and Reinvestment Act?  Where is the ARRA getting the money to fund projects that six months ago were funded by state dollars?  Are they tax dollars I have already paid?  How about a stimulus check with my name on it, instead of one of those snazzy signs?  Or are they tax dollars I am going to have to pay via tax increase after the government so kindly "bails us out?"

Either way, here's hoping next week's garage sale is a dismal failure; these days, irresponsible accounting seems to have its perks.