On The Other Side

“Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,

I will fear not evil, for thou art with me…” Psalm 23:4 (KJ)

     Dreams often simply replay the events of our days. Sometimes, though, they have a definite purpose. I have kept a dream journal for over thirty years and have learned that dreams have three purposes:

•       They alert us to unresolved conflicts.
•      They bring peace and healing.
•       They predict.

     What? Predict? Does that still happen today? Yes, it does. Call it premonition. Call it warning from God.  Whatever you believe, a dream can prepare you—and later comfort you—for an event in your life. 

      It was about ten years ago, before there were any grandchildren in our life. In my dream,  I was travelling with my husband, Tom and a four year old grandson. We drove along a highway, where I noticed a sign with one word: EAST. Tom pulled over, under cover of an overpass, alongside an embankment and stated, “I’m going to climb over and explore.” I didn’t like the looks of the area; it seemed dark and foreboding. “I’ll stay in the car,” I answered.

     After a little while, I changed my mind; and my grandson and I  climbed over the embankment too We descended into a valley, sort of spooky and somewhat dark, but also very beautiful. There were trees, walking trails, and a river. We climbed down a hillside and came to the edge of the river. We looked across and there was Tom standing ON THE OTHER SIDE. I felt peaceful. It was OK.

     Then I spoke to the boy with me. “Let’s cross over. It doesn’t look too deep.” We placed our toes in the water and then stepped back when we saw Hammer Head sharks of brilliant colors swimming in the shallow water. “I guess we can’t get to the other side,” I commented, still feeling at peace. We decided to walk up the nature trail a ways. We sat down on a boulder. Then I saw two friends approaching. I waved and tried to call out to them. I couldn’t make my voice work. Then I awoke.

     A few years later, our first grandchild was born. I remembered the dream. Aw, but this grandchild was a girl. Whew! The dream must not have been a prediction. Two more years and a grandson was born. By this time, I barely gave the dream a thought, though it was recorded in my dream journal. Then in January, 2014 Tom was diagnosed with liver cancer! By now, Tom and I were parenting our two grandchildren. One night, I lay in bed with active thoughts.  My youngest brother, Jeff had died unexpectantly  in January 2013. My brother Chris was battling cancer of the lung wall. And now Tom had cancer! We were certainly in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Suddenly, my dream rushed back into my mind. Oh my goodness! My grandson, Zach is four years old!

How strange that my dream involved a four year old grandson, walking with me through this valley. How strange that my two friends were in the valley too, for at the same time that I went through my losses, they each experiences heartbreaking losses. This dream was certainly predictive. It was purposeful that the dream had Tom “on the other side”. After Tom died, I found a tape with a recording of a song he wrote:

On the other side

On the other side

I’ve a home in glory

One the other side

When my life is done

When my life is done

I will see my Savior

On the other side

There’ll be no more tears

There’ll be no more tears

There’ll be no one crying

On the other side

There’ll be no more pain

There’ll be no more pain

There’ll be no one suffering

On the other side

There’ll be no more death

There’ll be no more death

There’ll be no one dying

On the other side

Someone’s waiting there

Someone’s waiting there

I have friends and family

On the other side

    We played Tom’s recording of this song at the close of his memorial service. It holds so much comfort for me. The dream, the song…they tie together with a comforting message. I think God knew I needed that prediction because it would make the message of the Tom's song so much more real. After Tom's death, I puzzled about one other detail in the dream: Why was there a roadside sign with the one word, EAST? Then I remembered a scripture:

                        "For as the lightning comes from the east and flashes to the west,

                         so will the coming of the Son of Man" (Matthew 24:27, NIV)

     With the coming of the Son of Man, comes the resurrection. Then we'll see Tom again.

The Days Given to Me

I came across this verse today:

"Light is sweet; it's wonderful to see the sun! When people live to be very old, let them rejoice in every day of life. But let them also remember that the dark days will be many." Ecclesiastes 11:7-8a (NLT)

Well, though I don't consider myself old for another 20 years, I am a lot older than I once was. I rejoice for each day that dawns with the light of the sun and I live my life to the fullest. But with my long life (so far), I realize that the dark days will be many. I have lived long enough to lose a father. That was a long time ago. He died young, younger than me. All of a sudden, I am experiencing more brushes with death.  I didn't expect to lose my youngest brother this year. He was only 46. I am watching another brother fight lung cancer. (Thankfully, his last scan was hopeful.) This was after being revived from a drowning accident, followed by a long recovery only a year ago. And I watched my mother barely pull through some issues with her heart this summer.

And friends...We were stunned to lose Tom's best friend, that he grew up with, just a year ago January. Stunned again to lose another close friend last month.

Sorry, I don't mean to be depressing. But it brings me to this question: Why is all this happening to us?

It's happening to us because we have had the privilege to live long enough. That's why.

It doesn't seem fair, some people say. No it's not fair. I see death as an alien, living among us, who snatches people with no regard to age, gender, or ability, no matter how much they're needed by others. This stalking enemy, that strikes so unexpectantly,however, will one day be destroyed:

"The last enemy to be destroyed is death." I Corinthians 15: 26 (NIV)

"When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death is your sting?" I Corinthians 15: 54-55 (NIV)

So while my somewhat long life brings more grief as I grow older, I will rejoice--first of all, that I still have days given to me. I will rejoice--second of all, that Death will once day be destroyed.

A Garden of Promise

God gave me a dream when we left our last full time ministry. I dreamed that I had gone to a neighbor’s house to see some brand new kittens. On my way back, I was surprised to see a thin layer of snow coating the ground.After all, we were living in San Diego. I looked back at my bare footprints and thought, “That’s odd. My feet aren’t even cold.”  

I came to an iron gate, presumably to my back yard. It was as if I stepped from winter into spring.  A kaleidoscope of flowers grew profusely.   I stopped at a Bougainvillea and exclaimed at its beauty. Everywhere I turned, there were roses, and climbing flowers of every kind. “I planted some of these,” I said out loud, “but I’m so surprised at how they’ve grown!”

As a child enjoys opening gifts on Christmas morning, I had enjoyed the gifts God gave me to use—teaching Sunday School, planning themes for retreats, and home-schooling my children.  Now we were leaving after seven years there, feeling as if the wind had gotten knocked out of us during a couple years of severe trials.  This dream was the encouragement I needed.

After a year in a retirement village, with no employment prospects, we decided to return to our home town of Boise, Idaho. Again,  I remembered the dream and took comfort. It seemed to promise new life (the kittens), help in adversity (my feet were OK in the snow), and a blooming of gifts in my life (the flowers). Well, things got off to a slow start. We found a loving church, but when the teens needed a teacher; my offer to teach was ignored. A year or so later, I saw a need for a college age class and again offered to teach. The assistant pastor turned down my offer and refused to give any explanation. (I learned, as time went by, that this conservative church placed limitations on women’s ministry.) My children also grew up and my home-schooling years ended. How I longed for the fulfillment of my gifts that I had experienced in the past.  We found a new church where I did begin a class for the few college aged adults, but it fizzled. It was then that I realized that I was trying to duplicate what I’d had before; and that God had something new for me.

Needing a job, I began working in the Boise School District.  I started out working one-on-one with an intelligent, cute little boy who needed a lot of direction. A few more years and many experiences later, I was asked to help in the extended resource classroom at Les Bois Jr. High. What fun! It was like time travel. I could attend classes, except with the appreciation of an adult for learning, and I could help my students learn. There is practically no greater joy! By this time, I became eligible for an amazing senior discount at Boise State University and embarked on another adventure, taking one class per semester, to finish a degree I’d begun decades ago. One day, as I rejoiced in my endeavors, my dream reappeared on the screen of my mind. “The flowers did bloom in my life!” I realized. “And some of these flowers were planted in my life long ago! Look at how they’ve grown!”

Advice My Father Gave Me

My father, Stan Worden, had high expectations for me. I knew this intuitively; but I also knew it from the advice he gave me. I didn't always follow his advice. Like the time I was 14 and he found out that I kissed a boy. I received a long, thoughtful lecture on the virtues of purity. "If you start now with kissing, it will lead to other things. By 16 or 17, you'll be wanting to have sex." Ouch! Is my father really being so direct with me? After that, I hid my affections with boyfriends from my father. When I was 17, I wanted to hold hands with a boyfriend in church. But my father was the choir director and he could see me from the platform. We crossed our arms and held hands under our folded arms. Like my father would really be fooled by that. But if he noticed, he didn't say anything.

There was a time that my father undertook to give me music lessons. I have to appreciate that music was his life. In the army, he worked as a musical director. In almost every place we lived, he served as the choir director of the church that we attended. So his desire to give me vocal lessons should have been endearing to me; he wanted to share something of himself with me. However, I resisted his attempts. I clearly remember standing in the dining room of our big brick house on 37th & Grant in Vancouver, WA and singing "I Have A Mansion Over the Hilltop" together. "Try this harmony," he'd suggest. Just to please him, I'd try; but it just didn't interest me. In fact, it irritated me. I finally figured out why just the other day. I think I wanted him to see that I was my own person. His talents were not my talents. I had my own (I just didn't know yet what they were). To his credit, he graciously released me from his musical attempts upon my life. A year or two later, I wrote an essay for one of my high school classes. I remember him handing it to me after reading it: "You have a writing ability," he said. That was my first inkling of my love for writing. As for music, I think he'd be pleased that now at age 61, I'm taking a Music History class at Boise State University and loving it.

It was terribly hard for my father to see me through my transition into adulthood. Through out my high school years, I'd been sold (probably by our church) on attending Northwest Nazarene College. I think my father was glad. He'd struggled so much to make a living without a college education. Seeing his oldest daughter make plans to go to college meant a lot to him. So, after high school graduation in 1968, when I announced that I would work a year first and save my money; he tried to talk me out of it. "Any thing can happen in a year. If you put off going, you may never go." I determined to prove him wrong. I landed a job as a secretary in a life insurance office. Each morning, my father--on his way to Alpenrose Dairy, where he worked as a sales rep--gave me a ride from Vancouver to Portland, just across the Columbia River that bordered the lush green states of Washington and Oregon. That turned out to be a good year; we bonded more and talked about all kinds of things. He even listened to popular music with me (and expressed some shock at the song "Lay, Lady, Lay"). I did save my money and by the following Fall, I had enough to pay for my first year. One day he picked me up from my office in Portland and took me out to lunch. "I have a gift for you," he told me. It was a brand new typewriter. (That was before the days of computers.) When the time for my departure arrived, he loaded up the green family station wagon with my stuff and he, with my mother, drove me the 400 miles to Nampa, Idaho and got me settled in my dorm room.

He was pretty worried when a serious boyfriend entered my life by the end of that year. I came home for the summer and bragged about this wonderful ex-drug using guy, who now played his guitar and sang songs about his faith at various youth gatherings. "A person who's ever used drugs is pretty stupid," he said. "He might go back to it. Plus he's one of those once-saved, always saved people." My father was pretty liberated when it came to Nazarene theology, but this was just a little over the top for him. When he walked me down the isle at my wedding the following January, he paused at the back of the church and whispered, "It's not too late to back out." Still, he graciously accepted Tom into our family.

We came back to visit my family about once a year but didn't see a lot of my father during those visits. By this time, he'd started his own real estate company and was a busy and successful businessman. Then, in 1978, we decided to move back to the area so Tom could attend Multnomah School of the Bible in Portland, Oregon. We arrived in August with our tawny colored cat, Brownie and our blue-gray cat Charlie. We lived with my parents in their new sprawling house in a woodland community outside of Vancouver. My cats adapted easily to life in their barn; and I floated in the pool and watched my Dad plant fruit trees in his orchard. To my surprise, my father made a lot of time for us. He took us out eat and hung out at home in the evenings. One day, he took us to see his real estate office. As we left the office, he stopped and said, "I have something I want to say to you Tom. If I could have searched the world for a husband for my daughter, I'd want it to be you." Wow! That was big!

A few weeks later, we settled into an apartment in Portland. Tom began classes, got a job as a school bus driver and I began work as a special ed. assistant at an elementary school just across the street from us. September raced by. October began. Then on a sunny, warm, day on October 11, 1978; we got a phone call from my brother. My father had gone to work that morning and was feeling pain in his back. He went to his chiropractor and had the kinks worked out. Then, as he was putting his jacket on to leave, he dropped dead. Paramedics tried to resuscitate, but he was gone.

Now, almost 33 years later, here we are coming up to Father's Day. My father was not perfect. He was kind of a workaholic. We didn't always see eye to eye. But this I know. He loved me. He cared enough to give advice--and to retract it that one last time. I look forward to seeing him some day.

Stupid Interview Questions, Part 2

When we moved to Boise, Idaho in the Spring of 2003, my luxury years of being a stay-at-home mom and a partner in my husband's pastoral ministry had ended. One of the things I had loved about my "Mom Career" had been home-schooling. I know that sounds a little anti-establishment and maybe a little right wing religiously. But teaching my own children sounded fun and it seemed like the benefits would be very positive. It turned out to be great fun and was an incredible outlet for my creativity. And, as I anticipated, there were some positive benefits. But my story is not about homeschooling. It is about pursuing an education career after homeschooling.

So, in 2003, as I looked for a new job, I thought about working in a Montessori school. I had worked many years ago in a Montessori preschool and was attracted to the hands-on learning approach. I applied and was delighted when offered the opportunity to come into a school, teach a lesson of my choice to a group of preschoolers, and then be interviewed. I chose to teach on India, the birthplace of my adopted children. I incorporated visual, smell and taste into my lesson--showing pictures, giving them spices to glue to a sniff chart, and tasting Naan (East India bread). The children were very attentive; I felt confident as I followed the principal to her office at the close of my lesson.

So I was a little taken back when she asked: "If you could describe yourself as any animal, what would it be?" Like how was that relevant? I thought of my dog Willy and the characteristics I liked in him. But a "clever" question required a more clever response. Thinking quickly, I remembered an encounter I'd had in San Diego with a tarantula. Willy and I had just come out the front door onto our cement driveway for our afternoon walk. I spotted what appeared to be a black plastic arachnid and thought, "Oh that Andy (my son)--trying to scare me!"

Willy spotted it too and approached it curiously. As it raised it's leg defensively, I realized that my initial observation was incorrect. It was real! I carefully steered Willy away and continued our walk. It was gone when we returned. Recalling that experience, I told the principal that I would describe myself as a tarantula. Seeing her look of surprise was reward for my cleverness. Why would I describe myself in this way? Well, the tarantula did not back down as Willy and I towered over it. It showed assertiveness. I had come to value this characteristic. Surprisingly, the interview did not impress the principal. I was never called.

Looking back on that interview, I would probably go with my first instinct and give a mushy answer about my dog's characteristics. Not that I don't value assertiveness. As a child, I'd never asserted myself. Children were never allowed to talk back to adults, no matter how valid their perspective may be. I carried my compliant nature into adulthood, which was not a healthy approach to life. As I matured, and began to be my own person, it was empowering. That's a good characteristic to learn, but here's what I would have underlined in my dog's personality:

• He loved his family. He loved to snuggle. One of my favorite memories is of my husband Tom kneeling on the floor to play a game with the children, while Willy napped across his folded calves. He was always happy to see us when we returned home from our various pursuits.
  
• He was secure in his knowledge of my love and care for him. It never occurred to him to wonder if I would feed him, or take him to the groomer, or take him to the vet if he was sick. He was an example for me of trusting God.
  
• He loved nature--the sights and smells of it. While pastoring in San Diego, we took him with us to Camp Maranatha in the San Jacinto Mountains. He'd sleep through most of the two hour trip; but as we neared the small town of Idyllwild, where the camp was located, he'd wake up, smell the air, stand on my lap to peer out the window, and wiggle with excitement.
• He was patient. No matter how much he looked forward to our afternoon walks in San Diego, he curled up at my feet while I finished my afternoon History lesson, sitting on the couch with my daughter, Corina. The minute I closed the book and stood up, though, he dashed joyfully for his leash.
• Finally, he was adventurous. He traveled with us clear across the country to Florida when we moved temporarily to a retirement village (pictured here by the Suwanee River). Then, a year later, he traveled clear across the continent again when we moved to Boise, Idaho. He liked the car rides, the motels, the new and interesting walks.

So, in answer to the stupid interview question, I would talk about my dog, Willy. While I appreciate the importance of learning assertiveness, I value even more the characteristics of love, trust, adaptiveness, and being adventurous. I look forward to adopting a new dog soon.

Stupid Interview Questions, Part 1

When we moved to Boise, Idaho in the Spring of 2003, my luxury years of being a stay-at-home mom and a partner in my husband's pastoral ministry had ended. We had left the pastoral ministry and were starting over. I answered an ad for a part time office job and on the day of my interview, I entered a dinky business, flanked on one side of a trailer-like room with three desks, armed with the knowledge that I had great organizational skills to offer.

So I was taken back when asked: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
"Duh, here--possibly making a meager income." But I didn't say that. I really had no goals other than living life and loving my family. I knew that wouldn't impress them. Then I remembered: "Well, I am working on a book that tells my story of a pastor's wife who learns to be her own person. I hope to publish it."

"Oh, that's nice," I think the interviewer answered and I thought: "Like what would that have to do with my ability to run this office smoothly?" Thankfully, I wasn't hired there. God had better plans. More about that in a minute.

If I had it to do over again, I think I would have gone with my gut reaction. Not the "Duh, maybe here making a living" part, but the family part. I would want to say something like: "My husband and I have a grown son with some mental disabilities. We want to help him find his way in life. Our daughter, who still lives with us, sits on my bed each night (I'm the early-to-bed person in our family) and tells me about her day. I want to nurture this precious relationship."

I might also offer this wisdom: "No one really knows where life will take them in five years. Life has many unexpected twists and turns." Just yesterday, I was reading the January-March issue of the Maranatha Devotional Guide when this profound statement caught my attention: "We need bifocal vision to pay close attention to our present situation since it can be our long-distance training." (Nancy Pritchard, March 10 devotion) Nancy was referring to Psalm 78 which speaks of God choosing David:

"He chose David, his servant
and took him from the sheep pens;
from tending the sheep he brought him
to be the shepherd of his people Jacob,
of Israel his inheritance.
And David shepherded them with integrity of hear,
with skillful hands he led them."
Psalm 78:70-72 NIV

Yes, it's true--as in David's life--that God builds on our life experiences and guides our lives in some surprising ways. I was in my twenties when, by an unexpected set of circumstances, I worked in a Montesorri school and later in a resource classroom of an elementary school. Little did I know then, that within a few years, we would adopt a preemie baby boy from India who would have special needs. Little did I know that a home-schooling movement would begin and I would have the joy of throwing my creative energy into teaching him, as well as our daughter, who would come into our lives from India and enter my school with a need to pursue some music interests. God was certainly building on my early experiences with education.

Little did I know, that as my home-schooling years came to a close, God would open up a door back then in 2003 to work with special needs children in the Boise School District. For sure, I had not known where life wold take me in five years. Now, eight years after that interview, I have "published" my book on this blog. My husband and I have had many experiences helping our son through the maze of adult life. We've added a daughter-in-law and two grandchildren to our lives! We've seen our daughter graduate from college with some aspirations of her own, which I'm sure God will gently guide as he has in my life. I now work with children on varying levels of the Autism spectrum. As a senior citizen, I attend Boise State University for practically free, so I'm working toward my education degree.

Where do I see myself in five years? I have some ideas, but we'll see.

Human Nature and Political Ideologies

I've been thinking a lot about human nature lately. While attending a Boise State University class in Political Ideologies, I've realized is that at the heart of each ideology is a basic understanding of human nature. For example, Fascism claims that human nature is related to race. Certain races, by nature, have particular characteristics and certain races are inferior. What a horror that ideology inspired! Did Jesus ever blow that theory out of the water! My husband, Tom just preached about Jesus meeting the woman at the well (John 4). The Samaritans were viewed as an inferior race, a mixed and impure race. But that was not Jesus' view. He loved Samaritans. He purposely traveled through Samaria in order to encounter a Samaritan woman who needed to know of him.

The socialist view of human nature is that humans are basically caring and good. In the "right social conditions", humans cooperate with each other and relieve the suffering of others. Karl Marx envisioned a socialistic revolution that would ultimately lead to a utopian society. What he didn't realize is that humans will not always seek the common good of others; they will seek power.

In a paper I wrote for my class, I discuss this problem of power-seeking: "Human nature can also become corrupt, given certain circumstances, and the individual’s choices in those circumstances. In All The Pretty Horses (by Cormac McCarthy), the great aunt of a hacienda, where 16 year old John Grady Cole is working, tells him the story of the man she loved in her youth. He had helped to bring about a revolution in Mexico and was elected president. Unfortunately, he believed in the goodness of people and this was his downfall. Those who shared power with him were only in it for themselves, not for the good of the people. Eventually he was executed and a corrupt government continued. The ills of society were never solved. It is apparent that power corrupts people."

Interestingly, the view of the Religious Right is mentioned in my textbook (Political Ideologies by Terence Ball and Richard Dagger) as having a very negative view of human nature. It reminds me that I use to be exposed to the teaching of "total depravity", meaning that our human nature is totally sinful unless redeemed by God. When I heard that teaching years ago; it troubled me. "Yes, I'm a sinner and needed to come to repentance," I believed, "but surely that doesn't mean that there was no good in me at all."

Then I remembered Genesis 1: 27: We are created in the image of God. That means that we have the divine characteristics of love, creativity, and sensitivity. Yet, at the same time, we are flawed. But not completely. When I enjoy photographing the Boise River, I am exhibiting God's characteristic of creativity. When I express love or concern for others, I am exhibiting characteristics of God.

These characteristics exist in all humans. However, when we come into a personal relationship with Christ; they blossom as he works in our lives. It reminds me of a song we use to sing in the 60's: "Things are different now, something's happened to me; since I gave my life to Jesus. Things are different now, I was changed it must be, since I gave my life to him." (Things Are Different Now by Stanton W. Gavitt). How thankful I am that God does make things different in our human nature!