Gail

Casteen

A friend called today to see how I am doing. She was somewhat taken aback that I was fine and quite peaceful. You see, my Mom died Sunday morning.

When I was little, I was afraid to face this day. I knew that she was older, so naturally she would die first. It was not long before reality set in. People of all ages die every day. Nevertheless, that nagging question was in the back of my mind, "What would life be without Mom?"

Mind you, when I was 17, I left home for college. I returned two summers to work in a local National Park. During my college years, I was close enough to occasionally drive the four hours home for a weekend visit. After graduation, I worked in a large city in another state, but I still made time to go see her. I felt compelled to go because she had been a widow since I was 15. I was the older of two children remaining at home, and felt a certain responsibility to see that everything was OK with Mom.

During the five years I lived in Europe, I was Mom's best pen pal. I told her about my work, about the customs, about the sights and the warm and gracious people who were befriending me. She had the opportunity to visit me twice while I was there. My friends loved this diminutive, smiling lady, and they particularly loved her fried chicken dinners. She had a way of making the most rugged people smile, relax and chat (or listen… Mom was a talker).

Anyway, back to the call from my friend. She told me that grief has to come. Yet every day since Mom's death, I have awakened to a vision of her with a smile from ear to ear. She is far younger than the 89 years she lived on this earth. Instead of her white, close-cropped hair, she sports a brown, shoulder-length pageboy. More importantly, she is genuinely, thoroughly, deeply happy. Honestly, I cannot remember ever seeing Mom quite that peaceful and happy. It’s obvious that she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is loved.

How can I grieve with that picture in front of me day in and day out? Yet, my friend warned me that I am one to handle crisis well and fall apart later. I certainly will not take her to task on that, because she has walked with me through some very difficult and disheartening times. She said, "This is the end of an era. Your mother is gone. You are no longer a daughter." She wanted me to know that when the grieving starts, she will be there for me. For that I am grateful.

After the call, I sat back in my chair and thought, "No longer a daughter. Now, that's a different thought." I don't suppose I ever would have gone there. As an ache started to well up in my heart, I suddenly remembered part of a scripture someone shared with me weeks ago, and the tears coursed down my face, not from grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

How would I know it could be so much fun!?! It seemed more like an obligation — a necessary action — a must-do kind of thing. After all, the Bible says I have to give. Of course, I don't have to give, but if I want God's favor and blessing, I have to give — or so I thought.

When we were little kids trotting off to Sunday School with our parents, they gave my younger sister and me dimes to put in the offering. As we got older we gave quarters; then it was a dollar each. Back then, that was a lot of money. We had to do it because "God said so."

I was always told, "It is better to give than to receive." I didn’t understand that we were receiving. After all, Dad was the church janitor. It was his full-time job (he had three or four side jobs.) We benefited directly from the offerings given each week.

We had everything we needed. Our car was old but it got us from point A to point B, most of the time. When it didn't, it wasn't such a big deal. We rode our bikes or walked; after all, it was a tiny town.

We had a house. Sure it was old. Cold air came in from the cracks in the floor and through the poor fitting windows and doors. But there was always plastic to put on the screens in the winter and fans for the summer. Sure there were mice and bugs. We got rid of them the best we could. Besides, there were some great climbing trees and lots of wild animals (squirrels, 'possums, and an occasional garden snake or two). It wasn't so bad.

We had nice clothes. Mom was a terrific seamstress and could whip up more clothes in a week than most people could in a month. Every year, my younger sister and I earned our way to church camp. Mom made new summer wardrobes for us.

Mom made everything from scratch. Her pies and cookies were the best! The fridge and the pantry weren’t bulging but we were never hungry (unless we elected to be, and that was our problem).

So, how much does a person have to receive before they recognize it as a blessing? It took me a long time. There were times after I married that we couldn’t afford to purchase light bulbs. On more than one occasion, we had no heat, no water, or no electricity. We owned a house for a while but it went into foreclosure. When friends brought bags of groceries, I was ashamed instead of thankful. That generosity was a God thing. But I felt guilty that we weren’t supporting ourselves.

Then the unthinkable happened. My marriage fell apart and I had two young children to support. Friends took us in until I could get work. My family saw to it that I had money for gasoline, insurance and to help our friends offset the cost of housing us. Still, I was miserable because I wasn't taking care of my children and myself. I was far too dependent on others and felt ashamed.

If I’d looked at it without the guilt and shame, I would have seen God's blessings. God furnished our apartment. Sure it was with others' old stuff, but I didn't have to sleep on the floor any longer. When we were given clothing or the church gave us Thanksgiving food or Christmas gifts, He was blessing us. Our rent was paid on time every month. We had food, electricity, water, and a car that worked (well, most of the time). Is that God or what?

I finally made a decision to give my tithe and some offerings, even if it meant I couldn't pay my rent (always my biggest concern)! Something big was stirring in my heart. I held myself accountable to a good (and very confrontational) friend. If I wavered at all about fulfilling my promise, I called her. I’m glad I did. That’s when the cheerful heart began to surface. Now it is almost like a game between God and me.

I am keeping score – tithes and offerings vs His blessing. So far, He's ahead. I cannot begin to describe how good it is to give with a cheerful heart.

Imagine facing the worst event of your life, knowing exactly what is coming and how difficult it will be. Now imagine, while struggling through that dark moment, helping a friend and a foe in one selfless move. It is hard to fathom, but it did happen and is well-documented.

It was in the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus had been betrayed with a kiss and was being led away into the night to stand a mockery of a trial. In his best effort to protect his Messiah, Peter pulled his sword and severed an ear from the high priest’s servant. Then Jesus made a highly unpredictable move. He touched and healed the man's ear!

When Jesus restored the ear of that servant, He changed the lives of two men forever. Of course, being the man of compassion that He was, Jesus certainly saw this man suffering and in agony from such a brutal wound. Even though he was a 'bad guy,' the love and compassion of Jesus reached beyond what the man was doing to the fact that he was hurting and needed healing.

When I was a child, I could not understand why Jesus would help someone who was there with the intention of hurting Him. I knew I could never be as loving and forgiving as Jesus and was not certain I wanted to try. As an adult, I am thankful for the grace and mercy He extends to me when I am the bad guy.

Another man’s future was changed that night. Jesus courageously rescued Peter that night. There Peter stood, bloody weapon in his hand, somewhat frustrated that he had missed his mark... the servant’s head. Yet, his pride was perhaps somewhat pacified by the fact that he had made a notable statement of his allegiance to the Lord. He was more than willing to fight to protect Jesus.

In the moment between landing the blow and Jesus restoring the ear, Peter realized the consequences he would have to pay for that action. He probably saw what Jesus did for him the instant it happened. When Jesus healed the servant's ear, the evidence that would have supported prosecution for attempted murder vanished. There would be no argument in court against Peter regarding that incident. He was acquitted before he was accused!

Much in the same way Peter did that night, I commit a punishable offense, yet Jesus steps in and rescues me. It is after I have done the damage that I see His action on my behalf has removed the evidence against me. My slate has been cleared.

In Lamentations 3:21-23 the Bible says,

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (NIV)

I hear Jesus’ voice ringing in my head and heart,