GOD KNOWS JUST THE RIGHT TIME

 

by

 

Crystal J. Ortmann

 

 

 

            My house bunny Dusty is used to running all over in the house.  We give him complete freedom, because he doesn’t do bad things like rip out carpet, or eat upholstery like our bunny Cocoa does.  Dusty takes his freedom for granted. 

When he has to be penned up, he lets us know in his own wordless way that he is not pleased.  Dusty’s behavior deteriorates and he throws himself against the screen in his cage.  He thumps at us.  He growls (yes, they can growl).  He hides.  He tries to escape.  This guy is angry.  Can rabbits glare?  Oh, you bet they can!  Our placid little furry guy hates us.

We don’t pen him in to punish him.  Dusty is ill and needs medication three to four times a day.

 He hates being held.  In fact, when cradled safely in our arms, he struggles mightily to get away.  He is very independent (even more-so than a cat!) and takes great exception to us messing with him if he hasn’t first given his okay.

            After days of trying to escape confinement, our bunny hides. He quits eating for a bit.  He is in the rebellion phase; yet, his therapy continues.

            We know how hard it is for him to go through this trial.  He doesn’t understand and we can’t communicate it in a way he understands.  We simply have to do what’s best for him, whether he understands or not.  He’s in pain and to relieve that pain, we have to inflict some more misery on him.

            Dusty doesn’t know what’s happening.  He doesn’t know that without this medicine, he would not survive.  He sees only the trial he’s going through.  Although we know when and how the trial will end, he doesn’t.

            As the day nears for him to be released, we get excited thinking of how happy he’ll be.  Yet, we can’t tell him.  Finally, deliverance comes and he doesn’t even realize he is free again.  Dusty’s too busy hiding from us to notice the screen that was his prison cage is gone.

            When it occurs to him he is free, he runs out and then promptly hides under the couch.  He doesn’t trust us, yet.  The trial was too intense.  He’s still afraid.

     As I look back at this time, I see a parallel to my relationship with God, especially when I go through difficult times. 

            I struggle against the enforced cage.  I get angry and frustrated.  I stamp and shout—maybe not outwardly, but certainly inwardly.  I mope and cry.  I hide myself away and throw a self-pity-party.  Through various means, I show God my displeasure.  I try to melt His heart with my tears.

            I don’t know when my trial will end, but He does.  I don’t understand why I have to go through certain problems.  He knows when the way I am following will lead to death and destruction and sometimes, just steps in and sidelines me, to save me.

            He surely is filled with joy when He sees the trial coming to an end.  Yet, when it does, I remain frightened and unsure for a while.

            God’s grace is so wonderful.  His wisdom is unmatched.  He knows just what and how long I need certain trials to grow healthy and strong.  He never makes it last one moment longer than it needs to.

            I can trust Him, even when I don’t understand, for He knows.

                                                        Dusty--Our Little Bunny

Pathways in Life

Everyday, there are pathways to walk. Sometimes those paths will be easy and lush, filled with joy and happiness.  Other times, the path will be rocky and hard.  It may end at a dead-end or in a cave.  It may cross treacherous waters.  It may lead to wonderful viewpoints or be lost in the fog.  There may be log jams blocking our way.

Each day, the choice is ours.  Will we walk this path with the Lord?  Will we put our hand in His and allow Him to lead us?  We may not see what is around the corner, but He does.  Not every path is smooth, even when we walk it with God, but it is always sure.

Which path will you choose today?  Will you walk the one of your own self-will or will you put your hand in His and say "Lead on." ?

LORD, IS THIS ALL THERE IS?

 

          Passing the fifty-year old mark was more traumatic than I thought it would be.  Somehow, it seemed old to me.  AARP had already contacted me, seeking my membership.  My body was flabby and there was too much of it.  Although I joked about my weight with my husband, saying he now had more of me to love; I was secretly chagrined and angry that I had allowed myself to get in this condition.

            I was starting to see those lovely liver spots on my face and hands and legs.  What had happened to that great figure and good complexion?

            A few years later, I started becoming extremely fatigued.   I had suffered from depression in the past and knew what it felt like.  This was different.  I would shake and drop things.  I’ve always been a klutz, but it was happening with more frequency.

 

            I had been a registered nurse, so all sorts of scary diagnoses popped into my mind.  MS?  A tumor?  Fear enveloped me as the symptoms worsened.  Before long, I couldn’t walk across the living room without needing a rest.  I became terrified.

            A visit to the doctor showed I wasn’t having any heart attack or artery problems.  He didn’t feel I had MS. (Phew!)  But, he couldn’t really tell me what I had.  The problem grew worse and my muscles went into spasms.  The pain was unbearable at times.  I had to withdraw from my normal activities and spent a lot of time in bed.  My husband had to take over the household, as often I couldn’t even wash the dishes (that was the only good thing about the whole illness).

            I couldn’t sing in choir any longer and often didn’t even make it to church.  I was dizzy and weak.  More consultations with the doctor finally came to the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia.  It’s a long-term debilitating condition, and while not fatal, it is incurable and certainly threw a monkey-wrench into my life.

            You see, my career as a freelance writer was beginning in earnest.  I looked forward to producing many books, articles and poems.  A symptom named fibro-fog stole all my clear thoughts.  I couldn’t even write anymore.  Most of my days were spent at physical therapy or the doctor or in my bed.  My life, as I had planned it, was over. 

I wanted to cry but I was too tired.  Well-meaning friends told me it was in my head.  I didn’t feel as though anyone but my husband took me seriously.  I hurt all over and constantly felt like I had the flu.  Muscles went into spasms and I spent hours on my bed doing deep-muscle relaxation exercises.

People didn’t seem to remember me.  Few called or wrote and my isolation was pretty complete.  I didn’t trust myself to go on outings because I couldn’t be sure when the dizziness might attack.  With the amount of medication I ingested, I felt like I’d had a full-course meal.

One weekend, my husband and I went to Seattle to visit long-time friends.  I was feeling a bit better and we went to a little Art Fair in one of the surrounding towns.  It was a very hot day.  We got separated and I suddenly became ill—I had nausea, dizziness, headache, and extreme weakness.  I made it to the curb of the street where there was some shade and sat there, trying to get my bearings.  I couldn’t see my husband or our friends among the milling crowd.  The thought went through my head:  “Am I going to die here?”  No one stopped to see if I were alright.  A policeman eventually came along and I thought I’d ask him to call 911.  Instead, he leaned out of his car window and told me I would have to move because I was obstructing traffic flow.  I told him I was ill but he told me I’d have to move on.  Then he drove away.

I was ashamed and angry.  I felt as though he thought I was loitering and a bag-lady.  The story ended well, but it shook me to the core.  My husband and friends came back and we drove home where I went to bed and slept for hours.

Fibromyalgia is not well-known and there is skepticism even among some in the medical field.  It was bad enough to feel so horrible, but I think the real pain came from the indifference or plain disbelief of those around me.

            I cried out to God: “What about the calling I felt to write, Lord?”  It seemed as though there was just silence from Him.

            Loneliness, bitterness and pain were my closest friends at that time.  I prayed and prayed asking God to show me what He wanted.  I dug even deeper into His Word to see if there was something else I needed to do.

            One day, I remembered a book by Catherine Marshall.  She lost her husband and went through the grief and then thought it was time for her to write.  Then she was stricken with a disabling disease that kept her from fulfilling her dreams.  She too wrestled with the anguish.

            Yet, God brought her out to a brand new place and she has fulfilled her dream many times over.  Would He do that for me too?

            Although the situation was horrible, I still found humor in some of my more ridiculous moments, like missing a stool in front of the open closet door.  The stool tipped over and I ended up on my back in the closet with clothes falling neatly in place on top of me.  I had to laugh.  It was too bizarre not to.

             During the times of utter loneliness, I got to know the Lord a whole lot better.  He became my Sounding-board, my Friend, my closest Companion, the Wiper of my tears, and my beloved Savior.

            By this time, I wondered if I was meant to be a shut-in.  “Is suffering and hurting all there will ever be to my life?” I asked God.   Bitterness over feeling neglected poisoned me.  It bubbled and churned like a witch’s brew.  But, God listened to all of it.  He showed me what it was and how it was hurting me even more than the illness.  I worked with Him through all the troubled emotions.  Through the course of those years—yes, I said years—He taught me and gave me new peace.  He matured me.  He took each arid place and made it into a spring of living water.

            The phone didn’t ring any more often.  I didn’t suddenly get reams of E-mail or have people stop by to see how I was doing.  Actually, the only thing that changed was me.

            About a year ago, I went to a prayer meeting at our church.  There was a man preaching who had been healed of leukemia.  My medical background had made me somewhat skeptical of “faith healing.”  I knew God had the power to heal, but hadn’t seen much evidence in my own life.  I went forward for prayer and asked God to show me His power.  Nothing happened--not that I was really deep down expecting anything to, with my superior medical knowledge!

       A few weeks went by and I noticed I was doing more things and didn’t get tired so easily.  I would say after I did something a little strenuous: “Oh, I’ll suffer for this in the morning.”  But, I didn’t.

I’m happy to say, the Lord has healed me.  I get occasional symptoms when I get too carried away, but have learned to listen to my body and pace myself.  I am now working fully on my writing and am seeing success.  God has indeed brought me out to a large place.  He has replaced the years the enemy stole from me.  The loneliness I learned to accept has shown itself to be a necessary part of writing and I can welcome it.  I need many hours alone and with few interruptions in order to write.

When I think about asking Him, is this all there is, I rejoice knowing the best is yet to come, regardless of my circumstances or age.  Life will never be perfect until I reach heaven but with my hand in His I need never fear, for He has my best interests in store.  He will give me all the time I need to complete His will for my life. 

Postscript:  Over 18 years later, I launched a new career and ministry to those who hurt emotionally, physically and spiritually.  I wrote a book and had it published last year.  God is so precious and I can say with assurance, He has "restored the years that the locust has eaten" so that I can give hope to others.  God bless you.  Here is a link to my ministry website: http://www.facebook.com/gentlyflowingwater     

 

           

A LITTLE FELLOW AND HIS SHOES

A single mother sat with her little son and read Bible stories to him.  They made a habit, although he was only four years old, of daily prayer and Bible reading.  It was a precious time for both. 
The child, Dean, was a full-of-life little boy with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes.  He loved to pray and learn about God.  He had a calendar where his mom drew a little picture of whatever good deed he did that day.  His calendar was packed with them.  She wanted him to learn how to put his faith into practice and that’s just what he was doing.
For months, he and his mother had been putting together a missionary cupboard.  It was a ramshackle bookcase that wasn’t quite even.  They painted it bright orange (that was his favorite color).  A map of the world was tacked up over it. 
He reverently placed knick-knacks from various countries on the shelves.  Dean was allowed to put colored stick-pins on the map of the countries where the curios originated.  He loved the one in India the most, because he and his mom supported a very poor child there. 
That boy was so poor; he didn’t even have a home.  Dean prayed often for that child who lived far across the ocean.
He loved to stand in front of the bookcase and dream.   Dean didn’t know he was also poor, because he had almost everything he wanted—a warm home, his mom and the fun they had together.  He loved God and liked going to Sunday school and church--well, more the Sunday school part, because he was an active little guy.
One Sunday, he was very excited about going to church that night.  When he was in Sunday school, the teacher told him a missionary would be coming to the evening service.
When it was time to go, he scurried back to his room and came out with a rumpled brown bag.  His mom thought he was bringing a quiet toy, so she didn’t check to see what was in it.
They left a little early and were some of the first people there.  The church was nearly empty when they arrived, so they sat near the front where they could see and hear well.  It was hard for Dean to sit still during the service, but he tried extra hard to be good.  He wanted to see the missionary that loved children.
Above his forehead, his cowlick stood at attention and his blue eyes and pink, pudgy cheeks glowed with excitement.  Finally, the worship music was done and the missionary was introduced.  Dean sat up and quit fidgeting.  He leaned forward to hear every word.  He’d never seen a real missionary before.
The man talked about people in faraway lands who didn’t know Jesus.  He spoke about Jesus and he talked about the children.  He asked the congregation to pray for those people.
At that point, Dean slipped out of the pew and started up the aisle with his little rumpled bag.  His mom didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t want to make a scene.
  “Where are you going?” she whispered.   Dean turned and looked at her and said aloud:  “I want a poor child to have some shoes, Mommy.”
The missionary watched him and started down the aisle to meet him.  Dean pulled some scuffed shoes from the bag and held them out to the man.
“Why, what’s this?” he asked Dean as he took the shoes.
“These are for the poor children,” Dean replied.  “I want them to have shoes.”
The man stood there, holding them.  He was deeply touched and his face softened as he looked at this little fellow offering up his very best.
He gave Dean a hug and turned him around to face the congregation.  “This is what it’s all about,” he said.  “This young boy will be a missionary one day.”
Dean didn’t know he was poor.  He just knew he had more than some of the children he prayed for.  The little guy was reaching out to those in need.  The shoes had been given to him second-hand because he needed them.  He loved those shoes.  Yet, he chose to give them to someone more in need than he was.  Dean was living his prayer by helping provide for someone who had nothing.
Dean’s mom was so proud of him, she thought she’d burst.  She continues to treasure that moment and will for the rest of her life.  I know she will, because, I am that mother.  My son Dean was the compassionate little fellow with the shoes.

 

 

 

 

God Shining Through Me

My prayer each day is that God will use me to touch someone for Him.  Today, I was concerned with the balance of enjoying the admiration of those who like my book From a Cry of Anguish to a Shout of Praise  as opposed to putting God in the foreground. As I spent time listening in my prayer time, this is the message I feel He gave me:

“Child, do not be anxious about giving Me glory.  You do that in every step you take and every word you speak.  Your life preaches about Me more than any words can.  You are committed to do My will, to reach out to those who hurt, regardless of your own insecurity or nervousness.  Your spirit connects to people and hears their unspoken needs.  There are not many who do that in a godless world.  Your love shines out beyond all words and people know there is something about you that they want.  That is the love I have for them wooing them to Me.  Go in peace, knowing I love you with endless love." 

I stand in awe of Him and pray that I will always put Him first in my life.  Sometimes, in trying to do that, I try to force it and it comes off phony.  There is nothing wrong with enjoying admiration and I am actually offended when I hear people say "Oh, I'm nothing.  It's all God."  You are NOT nothing.
You are the spokesperson of the Living God.  He loves you and wants you to do the same for others.  He has given you a gift of writing, speaking, serving others or having compassion.  It's okay to enjoy that.  What is truly important is that the life be in accord to God's will.  No amount of saying how small you are will do that.  You are NOT small.  You are the child of the Holy God.  He inhabits your life.  We can pray for Him to be the forefront of all we do, but if our lives don't add up, then no words will change the impression.  Many times, this self-abasement is a form of pride because it keeps us focused on ourselves and not Him.  I used the caps for emphasis, not to yell.  Rejoice in the gifts God has given you and don't be afraid to enjoy yourself.
Here I am, enjoying myself:

Have a blessed day in the Lord and remember to have fun.

Peg's Pearls: B is for: Books

Peg's Pearls: B is for: Books

Getting to Know You

My husband Frank and I had a wonderful experience yesterday, but I'd better backtrack so you can know the background.

In our Sunday school class, we met an Iranian Christian and his wife.   Since Frank and I enjoy learning about other cultures, we asked them over and had a Persian dinner.

I enjoy learning to cook recipes from other lands.  In addition to the pictured food, we also had a wonderful dish of chicken and almonds in a tasty sauce and saffron rice.  Our friend made us a very refreshing drink of yogurt (plain), mint and sparkling water.

After this great repast, we watched a video of their last visit to Iran.  We just couldn't stop talking.  Then, we decided to attend a service at the Iranian Christian Church.  The people were very friendly and kind to us.  Since the service was in the Farsi language, we needed earphones for translation.  Even though we didn't understand a word of Farsi, it thrilled my heart to see these people worshipping with raised hands and singing with gusto.  It made me think.  Here are people who came from much different backgrounds than we did, yet the worship was real and I could sense their love for Jesus in my soul.

When a nation is judged as a whole, we tend to forget the individuals who are decent and kind and who also love the same Lord that we do.  They face or could face shunning, or worse from their own families just because of Jesus Christ.  I found this a great inspiration.

One of the things that is very important to me is that I look around in our church to see who might be from another land.  We have organized a group of Christians participating in ethnic dinners, so that we can help them through their loneliness, their homesickness, their sense of being alienated by their own people and those of their host-country.  In this small way, I believe we are helping the cause of Christ in bringing peace on earth.

I challenge you to look around in your own church and see if there is someone of a different nationality and show some interest in them.  We have people from Uganda, Hungary, China, India,
Japan, Mexico, Germany, Georgia (formerly USSR), England, Zambia, Viet Nam and many more.

Next stop: Uganda.

And the food is an amazing experience in itself.

He Didn't Have to Make Things Beautiful

After a foggy start, sun shines through the rapidly opening leaves on the trees outside my office window.  It thrills my soul to watch new life unfolding right before my eyes.  It was 42°F this morning, but should get up to the low 60’s by afternoon.  Lovely.

            Thank You, Lord, for giving so much beauty.  You didn’t have to do that.  Functional would have been all that was needed, but You had our pleasure in mind when you painted the sunset and sunrise,

 

 

 created the myriad forms and colors of the flowers,

 

and fashioned the majestic mountains

 

 clear rivers and lakes. 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank You for blessing Your people with beauty.

He Didn't Have to Make it Beautiful

After a foggy start, sun shines through the rapidly opening leaves on the trees outside my office window.  It thrills my soul to watch life unfolding right before my eyes.  It was 42°F this morning, but should get up to the low 60’s by afternoon.  Lovely.

 

 

            Thank You, Lord, for giving so much beauty.  You didn’t have to do that.  Functional would have been all that was needed, but You had our pleasure in mind when you painted the sunset and sunrise,

 

 

 created the myriad forms and colors of the flowers, and fashioned the majestic mountains and clear rivers and lakes.  Thank You for blessing Your people with beauty.