Cindy DeBoer

the blog

The Secret For Saving Christmas 2020

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Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Don’t go cancelling Christmas just yet. This may be the year from hell and maybe you’re fighting with your relatives, neighbors, employer AND church leaders because COVID (whether we have it or not) turns our brains into murky waste and makes us say careless, evil things for which we cannot be held accountable – but even if it feels like the only sane thing to do is cancel Christmas, please don’t. Not yet.

Because there may be hope.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to salvage something from this pile-of-crusty-cockroaches-year.

Two years ago, as our family was reeling from enormous losses of four dear family members in one year, I wrote about what makes Christmases “good” and “bad.” And it’s not what you’d think. Here is a portion of that blog that highlights our “Best Christmas Ever”:

I recently did some Christmas reflection – searching for Christmases past that would hopefully stir some joy-filled memories. We’ve been desperate to find some joy in this joy-less year. This is what I remembered:


Our first Christmas living in France was life-altering and left a permanent imprint. Since it was our first time living abroad, I was clueless on what to bring from the states and never even considered Christmas decorations. It seemed so frivolous. But as that first Christmas rolled around, we soon realized our house looked sad. We had zero decorations and basically no budget to buy any.

We told the kids to lower their expectations for Christmas that year – things would be VERY different on the east side of the Atlantic. There wouldn’t be multiple family gatherings. There’d be no snow or skiing outings. There’d be no trips to the mall or shopping sprees. And there’d be no drives through wealthy suburbs to look at Christmas lights. In fact, because we used our life’s savings to live in France (which bottomed out quickly from the rapidly declining dollar value), we explained that funds just weren’t available for presents. We prepared them for a simpler Christmas where we’d just focus on Jesus’ birth.

The kids had become so used to things being different from “back home in Michigan” that the news didn’t create much of a stir.

But one day, it was crafty Grace who could take it no more and started making paper-chains. With zero colored paper, she just made one extremely long chain with white computer paper. On her insistence, but to my chagrin, I hung that chain across the long expanse of our family room/dining room. It looked pathetic – like a 4-year-old had made it – because one had.

Christmas was two weeks away and so far we had one lonely white paper-chain draped across the family room like a sagging clothesline. But I swallowed my Christmas pride and told Grace we needed several more paper chains to complete the look. She made eight more and once they were strung up, the whole family room/dining room had a white paper-chain canopy overhead and it looked kind of, well, wintery. It may also have looked like a third-grade classroom in a poor inner-city school district, but hey, it was something.

We couldn’t find a Christmas tree farm to save our provincial butts. So we tracked down a 4-foot potted Scotch pine at a local nursery and plopped it on a table in the corner. It would have given even Charlie Brown grief. However, I sat little Gracie down with more white computer paper strips and she made more paper-chains for the tree. We then strung popped popcorn to make more garland. The following day a family who was moving back to the states stopped over with a box of junk they couldn’t fit in their luggage. At the bottom of the box were two strings of white lights. Jesus loves me, this I know.

Next, I showed the kids how to make paper snowflakes. They plastered them all over our windows and French doors. If there had been Instagram back then my pics would have received many likes. The kids’ excitement was mounting.

Miraculously, we received two unexpected deliveries. First, a huge package in the mail containing gifts from my family in Michigan – one for each of our kids. There would be gifts on Christmas morning after all! Second, a whole suitcase of surprises arrived (carried over by a random Michigan acquaintance). It was sent with love from the Outreach Team at our church. Inside we found all sorts of Christmas wonder: gifts for each of us, Christmas cookie cutters, sprinkles and icing, Christmas movies, wrapping paper and gift bags, wooden ornaments, a rustic-looking table runner, and a wooden angel tree-topper. Adding those decorations to our white winter-wonderland made everything chic and modern-farmhouse-like. I am the OG Joanna Gaines…

On Christmas Day, we started the day with pancakes (because as long as you have flour, eggs, milk and baking soda, they taste the same on every continent), followed by a reading of the Christmas story – slowly this year – to fill the gap left from all the things that usually fill Christmas Day. Next, we opened those precious few gifts – again, much slower than Christmases past – savoring the meaning and thought behind each one.

That afternoon, we met up with another family and filled over 100 small bags with Christmas candy and a little piece of scripture that shared the good news that Jesus was born and still lives today! Our combined tribe of ten spent the whole afternoon passing out the candy bags to passers-by in the city of Aix. We laughed and sang and danced in the streets. We successfully made most of those serious French people smile! This– this act of love that we never would have had time for on a typical Michigan Christmas Day – this was truly the spreading of Christmas cheer.

Without fail, whenever asked about their favorite Christmas while growing up, all four of our kids will say their Christmas in France. It was the simplest Christmas ever – barely any gifts and no real parties – but the kids unanimously pick it as their favorite. Isn’t that telling?

My revelation has been this: from the worst of Christmases to the best of Christmases, it isn’t about where we are, who we are with, what things look like or taste like, or whether we receive the Airpods we asked for. And furthermore, it’s definitely NOT about what crisis we may be in the middle of. Christmas is ALL about Christ stepping IN TO those situations and circumstances and bringing us the same reminder and promise year after year after year – He is with us.

It’s really not the circumstances around us that define whether a Christmas is defined as a “good one” or a “bad one”. Even as I continue to grieve the passing of my sister, my dad, and my mother and father-in-law, as I reminisce over special Christmases spent abroad, all I really need to know (all any of us really need to know!) to have the most JOYous of holidays is so simple (yet so easily missed) – is the recognition of the power of the name: Immanuel.

Immanuel – God with us. When we know that, believe that, and live in that truth, Christmas is beautiful. No matter who you are, where you are, or what you’re going through, Jesus is our Immanuel. Rejoice!!!

As I reread this blog while working on my new website, it felt as if I was reading something from the ghost of Cindy. How did this woman from two years ago know exactly what I’d be going through (what we are ALL going through) THIS year? How did she know that we’d be approaching what truly feels like THE WORST CHRISTMAS EVER???

But here’s the thing: just as the ghost of Cindy has reminded us, it should never be our circumstances that determines our joy or rates our Christmases as a “good one” or “bad one”, but simply the knowledge that Our Savior Came To Earth In The Flesh To Be Here With Us.

Our Immanuel.

That is, and forever will be, the secret to a great Christmas. Let’s celebrate, friends!!!

Psst…if you haven’t already downloaded it, please subscribe to my list below and I’ll send you my free printable guide, 12 Simple Ways a Pandemic Can Make Us Better People.

It includes:

  • Beautiful, printable pages 
  • Tools to help with discernment
  • Stories of encouragement
  • Hope and Help to get you through this pandemic

It just might be a sweet gift you can work through with your family over your Christmas break.

How to Launch Into Winter with COVID All Around Us

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My stupid COVID dog (not that she has it, but we bought her because of it) woke me up way too early one morning. I wouldn’t mind if our Governor mandated all humans shall not stir before 8:00 a.m.

Vie (my COVID dog’s name – which is French for “life”) needs a walk immediately upon waking or she’ll poop in the house. So at the crack of dawn I headed outdoors in my pajamas for a dog walk.

With sleepy-eyes and morning breath I bumped into my neighbor just two doors down. She was loading her last piece of luggage into her car before heading to the airport. She was meeting up with her parents so they could tearfully send her off to live in the Middle East. She’s young (25?), very blonde, very attractive, and traveling solo to teach at a high school in Afghanistan. Yes, you heard that right:

Af-freakin’-ghanistan.

God knew this one last impromptu meeting was needed by both of us. We had a precious exchange there on the sidewalk and I was able to send her off with a blessing. With mutual  tears, she departed. I wondered how in the world her parents were handling this. Afghanistan. Who even does that? (Okay…. So maybe I did that. But WE went as a family. I had a brave husband at my side along with two strapping, tall teenaged sons and two very confident daughters. I was not ALONE. And Morocco is no Afghanistan. Not even close. People actually take vacations to Morocco.)

Before I had much of a chance to process the bravery of this young woman, I turned the corner and ran into a homeless man. He was picking at garbage in the park across from our home and so I greeted him warmly, “Hello!”

He launched into a rambling apology, “I’m sorry. So sorry. We didn’t mean it. We’re leaving.” It was then I noticed his tent that was erected just beyond the children’s play area. A second man was exiting their “home” as we spoke.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

Without making further eye contact, he shuffled away saying, “We slept too long. We’ll be gone soon. So sorry.”

Homelessness in Grand Rapids is a thing – as I imagine it is in every city. But I’ve heard we are known as a destination for the homeless because we have plenty of shelters and food distribution centers, clean parks, friendly police and a plethora of Christian organizations that will do anything to help. But COVID has definitely made the homeless issue worse here in GR.

One thing I know for sure: Homelessness is not of the kingdom of God. This is not the way things are supposed to be.

I quickly realized the reason my stupid COVID dog woke me up so early is because God knew I needed to run into my Afghanistan-bound neighbor and my neighbors with no home because I needed the reminder that life is rarely what we thought it’d be or even what it’s supposed to be.

Watching my neighbor leave for Afghanistan I thought, “I bet when she was born and her parents first saw her rosy little cheeks, blonde tufts of hair and blue eyes they never once thought: “I hope that someday this one will move to Afghanistan all alone – a place where young beautiful blondes really stand out and American’s are not particularly welcome.”

I bet her parents never once imagined this for her future. But…

“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.” Proverbs 16:9

I bet when my two homeless neighbors were in high school, they never once thought to themselves, “I hope someday I will be without a home. I just know that I’ll end up jobless, with no prospects, and unable to secure safe shelter.”

 But…. “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.”

We were invited to 3 weddings this fall where the bride and groom watched many lifelong dreams shatter as they moved up their wedding date, changed the venue, and shrunk the guest list due to COVID.

But… “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.”

Our college graduate daughter was supposed to be living abroad in France or Spain or Honduras right now developing her language skills but instead she is home here with us working as a barista.

Because a man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.

Referencing changed plans and directions is not meant in any way to minimize those who have lost loved ones from COVID. Those losses are incalculable and we can’t even begin to make sense of that. But I think that, without exception, we ALL had plans, dreams, and hopes for 2020 that look nothing like the 2020 we’re living. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

THESE WERE NOT OUR PLANS, GOD!!! DO YOU REALLY KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING???

Never before have we all been so at the mercy of the Lord’s plans. We can barely plan next week, let alone next month or next year.

But one beautiful takeaway of this COVID reality is to realize I am not in charge of me and you are not in charge of you. We can plan all we want and hope and dream and whine when these things may have to be changed, cancelled, or never come to fruition – but the truth is that The Lord Our God alone is sovereign and we can never take his place on that throne no matter how much we think we belong there.

We can only surrender our plans and trust Him.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Whether in Afghanistan, a COVID-unit at the hospital, the Champs-Elysees in Paris, in a tent in the park, or stuck under the same roof between the same 4 walls for an entire year, the Lord has indeed directed those steps and he alone establishes those steps that lead us into our futures.

The Pond Scum Exchange (Why voting matters less than you think)

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When we bought our sucky crack-house we thought the fantastic view of the zoo/park across the street might possibly redeem the pitiful structure. However, the park struggles financially and some things have become a bit of an eyesore. All summer long our park pond has looked like this:

Our neighborhood Facebook group recently debated the park pond problem. The back and forth went something like this: (Oh, a little caveat, our neighborhood isn’t exactly BIG on polite and edited language – so I just **** the swears like a good Christian and you can just say them in your head because Jesus doesn’t read minds… {insert eye-rolling})

Neighbor 1: What the f*** is wrong with the pond in the park? It stinks, it’s ugly and looks like Shrek should live there.

Neighbor 2: I think the new zoo/park president f***ed the whole place. It’s his fault.

Neighbor 3: What do you know about the president? He’s a great guy and has done a lot of good for the zoo/park.

[And then an argument ensued with about 10 more posts from an additional 10 neighbors and easily 20 more swears]

Neighbor 4: I think it’s a tax issue. We’re being screwed. The pond in the park on the north side isn’t covered in scum. They need to use some of our f***ing tax dollars to improve this side of town! We’ve been effed by the city.

Neighbor 5: You’re a f***ing socialist. You want all the neighborhoods to look the same and be treated the same.

[And another argument ensued with more jabbing back and forth and more swears]

Neighbor 6: I heard it was because of climate change. Something about f***ing with ecosystems and sh**.

Neighbor 7: Are you f***ing serious??? Climate change is such a f***ing hoax from liars who just want to keep us scared and controlled.

[And yet ANOTHER argument ensued – multiple posts, more swears, more name-calling, more hurt]

Neighbor 8:  You know what? I have a kayak and an old swimming pool surface skimmer. I bet if 2 or 3 of us went over this afternoon with our kayaks and pool skimmers we could have that pond cleaned up in about an hour. Anyone with me?

[Crickets…]

**********

Why I Want To Be Neighbor 8

Despite our constant affinity for social media bickering, I think ONE thing we might all agree on right now is this: Our political climate is heated, toxic, and dangerous – perhaps the worst in America’s history. It’s certainly the worst of my lifetime.

And, unless for some sick reason you enjoy fear, peril, and instability, I think we all long to have the bickering, back-biting and fear-mongering stop. We long for peace and unity and a country we can be proud of. We long for a time when both Democrats and Republicans and everyone in between can share thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams in a civil way with a glass of wine and lots of grace. We long to be a country where diversity is not only tolerated, but even celebrated. That I would not mind if your opinions are very different from mine – because you and your opinions help make me be a better me.

We long for November 3 to be done already so people will stop telling us how wrong we are.

The thing is, from all that I’ve seen and heard, the degree to which we attach importance of the presidential election seems to be inversely proportional to the degree of our involvement on the most pressing issues at stake. Another way to put it: those who are most likely to be vocal about the election to the point of demonizing “the other,” seem to be the least engaged in solutions.

Right now, I know many people who are: working to help the homeless, serving in underserved and underfunded schools, mentoring children and youth from troubled homes, praying for every person entering and leaving abortion clinics, serving at the local and state level of government where many of the decisions that directly affect us are made (like allocated abortion dollars – it’s FAR MORE of a state-by-state issue than a NATIONAL government issue – please read THIS if you believe the president has much say in abortion-related outcomes), serving those held in border control facilities by offering free medical care, working in Central America to decrease violence and expose and eliminate corruption so people won’t feel compelled to flee, coordinating racial reconciliation groups in their neighborhoods, bringing donuts and notes of encouragement to their local police precincts, volunteering at local food banks, building homes for Habitat for Humanity – and so, so many others…

And you know what all these people have in common? They are too busy DOING the things that America desperately needs that they have no time to spend on social media or elsewhere complaining about the problems and arguing over which person in some lofty seat of over-emphasized importance will best fix them.

They grabbed their kayaks and their pool skimmers and GOT BUSY!!!

In this unbelievably polarized political environment, our little neighborhood “pond-scum exchange” serves as a powerful reminder that the number one way we can bring change to the world is NOT by – as many falsely believe – making sure you vote for the “right” candidate, but to actually

BE THE CHANGE.

Mercy Triumphs Over Judgment

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Surrounded by several precious friends who were part of our church small group and all ten years my senior, I had no business piping up about graduation open houses. The ladies were bemoaning the fact these events are a ton of work. As a young mom with only two elementary-aged kids at the time, I had no wisdom on the subject whatsoever. However, I was such a punk, I let those lovely ladies know that the wisest amongst us (presumably, me…) would never stoop to such a ridiculous, wasteful and unnecessary cultural trap! I let them know it was a huge waste of time, money and energy to obsess over painting the garage, updating the landscaping, buying new patio furniture, string lights, table décor and yard games, spending hours arranging the most Pinterest-y photo displays that no one looks at, and cooking expensive impressive foods for the throngs of friends and family who’d really all prefer to spend their Saturdays elsewhere. No, we, the smart parents, will forego the event, save the three thousand dollars and just hand the savings over to the undeserving grad (I mean, is high school even a REAL accomplishment these days???) and call it even. “It’s all a stupid game of competition,” I said, “And we’re not playing it!” Voila!

Three hours later in fit-full attempt at sleep, I realized how reckless my words had been. I suddenly realized that one of the sweetest ladies in my group actually had a child graduating that spring and was in the very midst of planning his graduation open house.

Me and my big mouth.

It took all my courage to call her the next morning and apologize. (Is there anyone who LIKES to be wrong and LIKES to apologize??? How I dreaded that phone call!) I told her I had overstepped and it was uncalled for. I apologized for talking about something I knew nothing about and that I had no business judging others for their decisions on that issue.

And you know what she said? I’ll never forget it:

“Cindy, don’t worry about it! Not for a second! Your words maybe stung for a second, but you know what? I know your heart and your heart is good. When you know someone well and you know they would never intentionally hurt you, you just let stuff like that go. Don’t worry about it. You’re my dear friend and I love you. I forgive you.”

Mercy. Lord have mercy. She offered me mercy.

Oh, precious friends – what if we offered the same thing for one another today? Why are we throwing words arounds like darts to the people we know and love the most – people with whom we actually DO life together – and wounding one another with our words? What if we actually trusted the goodness of those that we know and instead of resorting to name-calling and assigning evil intent, we simply doled out mercy like ice cream on a hot summer day?

What if we stopped letting Rachel Maddow, Tucker Carlson, Chris Cuomo and Sean Hannity (or ALL the many opinion-based news outlets) tell us who is “evil”? What if we raised our collective voices and said, “NO! You sucker-punch pundits – you don’t get the right to tell me who my enemy is. These people here? These people are my family, my friends, my co-workers, my neighbors, my fellow church goers – I KNOW these people and I KNOW THEIR HEARTS!!! And YOU, you talking-head who knows absolutely nothing about these lovely people in my life, YOU don’t get to tell me they are “evil.”

What if we raised our voices against those who are trying to divide us and said: STOP IT, YOU RATES-SEEKING OPINIONATED LOUDMOUTHS! (Friends, if there is ONE thing critical to putting an end to divisiveness in America, it’s that we learn and understand the difference between news and opinion pieces. Most mediums claiming to share news are, in reality, pure opinion and they are simply fueling the fire that stirs in the belly of their favorite fans. It’s a ratings game and our intelligence must rise above it, quite honestly.)

Remember when our kids were young and they’d tell us they wouldn’t play with “so-and-so” because all the other kids said she was “weird” or “stinky” or “mean” or whatever nasty label nasty kids give to the “so-and-so’s” of the world? Remember that? What did we tell our kids? Did we say “Yeah, that’s right. We don’t mix with the “so-and-so’s. Stay away from her, for sure!”

No way.

Instead, we bent down low, close to our child’s face and spoke plain and clear to ensure they understood us and said, “Don’t you pay ANY mind to what the other kids say about “so-and-so”! Do not judge other kids based on what a few loudmouth kids have to say! Do NOT be a follower! Make up your own mind! Get to know “so-and-so.” Sit by her at lunch and share your food with her. Talk to her and EXPECT to find the good in her. Never listen to the bullies.”

Never listen to the bullies.

Oh my goodness, Americans! If kindergartners can do this, so can we!!! Let’s not listen to the bullies! Let’s listen to each other’s hearts! Let’s give each other an attentive listening ear and even if at the end of the conversation we don’t see eye-to-eye, we still say to each other:

“Don’t worry about it. I know your heart, and your heart is good. I cannot be hurt by your words or even your actions, because I KNOW YOU AND YOU ARE GOOD and you would not intentionally hurt me. I will give you MERCY.”

Even when Washington DC can’t bridge the great political divide, I know WE can.

Peoples of America: We DO NOT have to accept this narrative of division.

We can CHOOSE MERCY.

“This is what the LORD Almighty says: ‘Administer true justice: show mercy and compassion to one another.’ … Judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment!”    Amos 7:9

Every Rose Has It's Thorns (or why America is in a crap-load of trouble)

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The last movie we saw before that devilish virus shut down all the theatres was “I Still Believe.” I’m still not sure if it was KJ Apa’s impish little grin or the story line that made me so emotional and bawl like a baby. Either way – the film is incredible and if you love love stories and/or Jesus, you should go see it.

But even better than the movie itself was one of it’s theme songs. It jumped off the screen right into my head’s hard drive and I can’t get it out of my mind. Not that I want it to.

The song’s message couldn’t be more relevant to the season of life we’re in. It’s as if God actually knew what He was doing when He released this movie (and this song) to usher our world into this perilous season of pain, suffering, uncertainty and division.

Hmmmm.

The song, a remix from the now disbanded group Delirious?, is called “Find Me At The River.” Rather than quote the whole thing, I’d LOVE for you to listen to it right here. Essentially, Martin Smith, who penned the lyrics, suggests when all hell breaks loose and it feels like Jesus has left the building, we should be found at the river of life – standing in the waters – eyes wide open for Jesus to show up.

Because, Jesus ALWAYS shows up.

The following phrases from the song are so profound I MUST quote them:

“We longed to see the roses

 But never felt the thorns

And bought our pretty crowns

But never paid the price….

We didn’t count on suffering

We didn’t count on pain

But if there are blessings in the valley

Then in the river I will wait”

OH MY GOSH!!! Do you see what I see??? This is AMERICA today!!! Martin Smith is speaking to America!

I truly believe that much of the world – whose people and cities and stories go back thousands of years before ours – are sitting back and listening to our country’s whining and just shaking their heads. Places like Iraq, where the Biblical Tigris and Euphrates flow through it’s center, or Syria, where the capital Damascus is mentioned in Genesis, or Egypt, where Joseph and Mary fled to with baby Jesus – yes, places like that are like our wise old great-great-great-grandfathers looking at the “barely formed” America and thinking, “Yes, America, you immature teenager you, there IS suffering in this life. You have known great prosperity but it will not and cannot last forever. Suffering will come and it will go. Again and again and again. And when you are an old grandfather like me, you will come to understand that you can’t only have the roses and never know the thorns. You can’t have pretty crowns and never pay the price. Hang in there, America. You’ll understand someday. You’ve been on waaaaaaay too long of an enchanted journey so reality is gonna bite. But it is in that reality where you will find that which really matters. And (spoiler alert) it isn’t in having the biggest military, or being the strongest and richest country in the world, or even the most powerful and influential. No, even if you were to lose all those things and all that status, you could still be a great nation – but only if God finds you in the river waiting there for Him.”

We may think America has fallen on “hard times” and we may think that things are ramping up to some kind of cataclysmic fall, but the truth is, we don’t even have a clue what hard times are. What we’re experiencing now? It’s barely a tickle.

We once heard a princess from Burundi speak at our church. It was her first visit to America so she asked if she could begin her learning and understanding of our country by seeing America’s poor people. Her host picked her up at Chicago O’Hare and knew exactly where to take her – the housing projects of Chicago’s south side. There are not many, if any, poorer huddled masses in America. When they arrived she asked, “What are those buildings?” Her host, thinking she must be devastated by the blown out windows, the fire scorched brick, the bullet holes peppering the exterior, said, “That is where the poor people live.”

Then she asked, “What are those structures out front?” Her host, again, thought she must be so sad to see garbage strewn everywhere in the dilapidated playground surrounded by broken fencing. His eyes met hers studying the basketball court with no hoop, two garbage dumpsters tipped upside down, four black men playing cards on a cardboard box while perched on buckets, and two separate gangs of fierce-looking youth hanging out in the perimeter, so he knowingly replied, “Yes, that is supposed to be the playground for the poor people’s children.”

Next she asked, “And how about those cars?” Again, her host, assuming her pain as she gazed at the line of rusted out, old model cars with barely any hubcaps, missing tires, blown out windows, and some even burned down to a crispy shell of metal, replied, “I know. It’s so sad. Those are the cars of the poor people.”

Again, she asked, “This is where the poor people live?”

“Yes,” her host said sadly.

Slowly, the princess looked over at her host and replied in her heavy Burundian accent, “America does not have poor people.”

Do you see it??? Do you see who America is to the rest of the world??? A spoiled teenager. We long to see the roses, but we’ve never felt the thorns. We want our pretty crowns but we don’t want to pay the price.

I believe the pandemic mayhem, the racial tension and political division resulting in a time of historically high hate levels is really just the thorns. We’ve had a lot of roses, America. Despite two world wars, a brutal Civil War and, according to most accounts, over 100 smaller wars, still, America has collectively never known the hardships experienced elsewhere in the world – we just haven’t been around long enough to know the same extent of suffering. We’ve never known hunger to the same extent as the developing world. We’ve never known the depth of violence, poverty, persecution, oppression or civil unrest as much of the world experiences as “everyday life.”

No matter how we come out of this mess, if we (believers in Christ) stay in the river and keep our eyes focused on Jesus and believe that He alone is all that matters, we will indeed find blessings in the valley. It does not matter if we come out on top. In fact, it’s often best if we don’t. If we are no longer the “greatest” or “most powerful” country it’s still going to be okay. If we lose our 401k’s or our homes or our cars or our jobs or even our health, we’re still going to be okay. Because, at the end of days, those are not the things that matter.

What matters in this crisis is that we live and love like Jesus. We must come together in unity, and bear one another’s burdens and open our homes to those who have lost theirs. We must feed those who can’t afford to buy food. We must reduce our spending so we can assist those who have lost jobs. We must reach out to those who are being forgotten, trampled, hurt, and afraid. We must rise above our differences and show love to everyone – even those who see the world differently than us. Scripture’s quite clear on what it is that we are to DO, both in times of plenty and in times of great need: love the weak, the poor, the oppressed, and defend the cause of the orphan, the widow, and the alien in our midst. And right up there with loving the Lord Our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength is loving our neighbor as ourselves. That means ALL the neighbors.

It’s okay, America, if this is a hard season. This is only the thorns – and we haven’t experienced many. And it is only in the thorns that we discover the true beauty of the roses.

Perhaps America does not yet know just how beautiful the roses are and just how rich a crown she wears. Perhaps that is why she is now suffering.

Trees

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When we moved back from Morocco, I noticed a lot of dead trees – many more than what I remembered from before our move. I kept mentioning this to others and they’d say they hadn’t noticed and then they’d look at me quizzically, as if their worst fears were realized: Yep. She was brainwashed by some crazy Islamist over there and now, not only does she love Muslims, she’s lost her grip on reality, too.

But I am convinced trees are dying at a more rapid rate than they used to. Kinda like people right now.

PATRIARCH TREES

All this virus stuff propagating thoughts on death and disease has made me consider these dead trees. And I’ve observed a few things: The biggest and oldest trees grow taller every year and push farther heavenward as they seek the sun. They are like wise, old patriarchs who are masters at protecting, nurturing, sheltering and beautifying. Their tall, sturdy trunks reveal years and years of battle scars: they have fought valiantly in many a storm. Their inside rings secretly reveal their age and their bark tells the stories eternally etched as lover’s initials or all those who “were here.” Further inspection discloses nooks and crevices that served as safe havens to multiple needy forest creatures over the years. Even into old age, their role for the world so evident: Their roots go so deep, they are unshakeable.

These trees have done their good work for decades, maybe even centuries. But eventually, they will tire and fade and die because nothing lasts forever. And they will most certainly be missed by anyone who notices the trees. Something vital and essential to our landscape will be gone! However, GOOD NEWS!  The old trees have left behind numerous smaller trees in their perimeter and they have now grown to the point where they are ready to mature independently. Why are these young trees so ready and able? Because they have been nurtured, protected, and sheltered by the taller, bigger, and older trees! And you know what happens when the old trees finally die? The little ones below suddenly receive more sunlight! They are able to push heavenward a little easier without the heavy shade of the older trees!

REVERENCE

This is what I’ve noticed in best communities: they revere the old trees. They surround them with beauty like flowers or hostas and a bench. Often, the bench has a gold commemorative plaque honoring someone who did some good thing. Passersby will stop and read the plaque, sit on the bench and admire the tree that shades it. They’ll run their hands over the bark and try to figure out how old the tree is and who the people are behind all the carved initials.

No one digs up old trees and places them all in one location so they can die huddled together, spreading diseases faster than a forest fire. No, the tall, old trees are out in the public square, in the parks and in our yards. We revere those trees because we know they’ve EARNED their spot and their recognition. We sit beneath them and thank them for their years.

Why can’t the same be true for elderly people?

What if we sat at the feet of elderly people and revered them and appreciated their experiences and wisdom? What if we asked them if we could feel their skin and wrinkles? What if we asked Grandma how she met Grandpa? What if we asked them how they chose their professions? What if we asked what it was like to live during World War II? What if we asked them if they had old journals or diaries and if we could read them together? What if we asked them what kind of music they listened to growing up and then listened to it together? What if we made plaques commemorating what astounding individuals they are and put them on their doorposts so everybody could see? What if we respected the elderly as much as we respected old trees?

A PRAYER FOR THE TREES

I asked my mom about the tree comparison recently. At 79 years old, she says she is ready to “bow out” of the woods and let the younger trees rise up and take her place. She told me all her (older) friends feel the same way. She said it’s okay if a crazy virus takes her life. “God knows the number of my days. It’s the classic circle of life. I’m okay to make way for you younger trees to rise up and have your time in the sun.”

My prayer for you and for me, is that as we age, we can be like the trees.

May we all, at the end of our days, be able to say our roots go down deep, that we provided shelter and food and a home for those in our vicinity with need. May our exterior not be perfect, but showing clear signs of wear and tear that signify we have lived fully – engaged in the difficult but necessary work of life. May we say that although our presence in the “forest” around us ended, we did, indeed, encourage growth to our surroundings and may we look about us and recognize a whole forest of younger people ready to take over our many roles of service. And may those young people look up to us patriarch trees and say, “It has been nice having you in my forest. I’d never be who I am today without you in my life.”