"How does it feel to be at an age when you are losing everything that matters to you?"

That question was asked of me by one of my sons.
Not the easiest question to answer on a day that you find out your grandfather died, but I understand the question.

I often fume about how it feels: midlife so quickly turns from incoming tide to outgoing tide more quickly than you ever imagine. Sometimes the sand under my feet is moving in a manner that funks with my inner equilibrium.

C.S. Lewis wrote in Letters to Malcolm:
"Of course I pray for the dead. The action is so spontaneous, so all but inevitable, that only the most compulsive theological case against it would deter me. And I hardly know how the rest of my prayers would survive if those for the dead were forbidden. At our age the majority of those we love best are dead. What sort of intercourse with God could I have if what I love best were unmentionable to Him?"

I understand those prayers now way more than I ever did in earlier days.

There has been a lot of goodbyes in this season and I know that only increases. But what also increases is the ability to see and hear things you couldn't before in life, even when your natural sight and hearing lessen.

Life is full of loss but it's also full of receiving, even from what you lose. All that passes through your hands, head and heart leave you different. I have found that age and faith have a transformative power in life. So much so, one can keep growing even among the battering of winds. It may be a twisted growth but all that bears down on it shapes it in a manner that leaves it more beautiful.

Just as the body enhances or compensates for parts that may be injured or lost, so our soul expands and deepens in such a manner that we grow younger even in our aging.

That renewed youth is very experiential.

-You soften, even as life gets harder in many ways and you feel it more profoundly.

-Your delight in small things amplifies.

-Pleasure becomes more broad and accessible.

-Joy becomes a surprise again instead of pursuit.

-People matter but not in a way that is just utilitarian.

-Memory increases in animating power, like incense, even if accuracy diminishes.

-Silence expands and that can be mournful in many ways but it also enhances one's ability to truly treasure what is said or heard in a manner that a previous loud life couldn't.

-Meditation and prayer are no longer an act of survival or duty but a movement of desire from a smaller and calmer life.

-When others leave, the ones who stay become more full of glory.

It may appear that midlife starts to become an undertow but it actually just becomes a more strong tide that can seem to withdraw way more than we want but then comes rushing back in with unforeseen ecstasy and revelation.

The wonder of new marriages. 
The birth of grandchildren. 
The loss of concern over everyone's opinions and demands. 
The freedom of thought and living that wisdom brings. 
The grace of boundaries that purpose, pain, and age bring. 
The immovable strength that conviction and time build. 
The power of prayer that builds over the years. 
The delight of simple things. 
The gift of quiet. 
The surprises of discovery that slowing down gives. 
The freedom of wealth from living responsibly.

Yes, loss is real, but not all the tears are those of sorrow, many are the result of seeing what is most meaningful, true, good and beautiful...like never before.

  This woman inspires me: here she is at an advanced age still in the thick of it with full force. I've found that seniors can be some of the most stingy people with their time. Now I'm a senior and my entire life I worked and raised a large family, so now that I'm retired and finally have the time, I pray I don't waste the precious time I have left. 

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Jesus said, "He (the Holy Spirit) shall take of mine and disclose it to you." John 16:14

  When I read that I immediately had to ask myself what Jesus meant by, "what is mine." I can't begin to grasp all that could include: but at the bottom of it all is His consuming love for humanity. God is love and this Jesus demonstrated in all of God's radiance. I began to wonder why we don't have that disclosed to us in more vivid ways like when Jesus walked the earth? Then I realized that God has provided a way to disclose and display His love to each of us and it is through the birth of our own children and the ensuing love. When we hold a newborn baby in our arms we often call the overwhelming gush of love and affection as natural love; but far from natural, this is God's luminous display of what love is and, of course, how much our hearts can love. We content ourselves to limit it to our family, but I think it is Jesus revealing what is His and by what power we can change the world and glorify God.

  I read the following piece by George Matheson on how to party; I don't think I've ever read a piece on the subject.

 "I would not forget myself in wine, in temper, in recklessness, in despair. But I would lose my self in love. I would have Your care written on my forehead  the wish to make others glad. I would shine by another's light. I would have my words winged by the joy of giving joy. I would sacrifice self in the scenes men deem sensuous. I would help my brother's social hour. I would cheer my sister's domestic hearth. I would sink to a level with the child's game. I would move to the music of surmounted pleasures. I would live in the pastimes of inferiors. I would manifest an interest, yes, I would experience an interest in fields of life that have ceased to be gardens for me. I have kept Your religion for deep things. Plant it  also on the surface, O my God! Your name is in my heart; write it on my forehead! (Rev. 22:4)

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  Sarah Tijerina and I preached at the Mission last night and after the service a woman, about sixty, approached me and held out her hands for me to hold as she began unfolding her story. As I held her hands I could feel tremors pulsing through them the entire conversation. She had a gentle spirit and pleasant appearance without many of the distressing signs of homelessness. My warmth of affection was kindled more and more as she spoke and I reached out to hug her, and as I did it was as if she exhaled all her fears, and her frail body wilted into my chest. At that moment the love of Jesus poured from my heart and I felt so close it was if I had known her all my life. I didn't solve any of her problems that night but that warm and personal moment must be what it is to give a cup of water to a parched soul.

 Outside on the street Sarah was sharing her story of redemption from homelessness and Christ's unfailing love to a man towering over her: and as she did I began a conversation with a woman I've seen many times at the mission. It began a bit clumsy but as I asked her about her life I found she was 49 years old and at age nineteen she ran away and lived on the streets of Alaska for 20 years; then went in hopes of help to her mother in New Mexico, only to be rejected and spent more time on the streets there and eventually made her way to Seattle and then down to Portland where she has continued her thirty years of homelessness. She's an interesting woman, taller and broader than I, with one eye hazed over with a cataract but the other steel blue eye and piercing. If we were ever to have a bout, in fairness to you, I'd advise you to wager on her as the winner. I asked her how she's made it living on the streets; she simply said, "I'm tough!" And she looks tough, but with glimmers of beauty under her chiseled face with teeth in need of care and a solemn visage but she was open with me and her mind was sharp and clear. It was almost like I was talking over the fence to a neighbor, natural and warm. She noticed a friend and kindly, but briskly, said goodbye and left me standing there watching her blend in the crowd. 

Racism, or just human curiosity? 

This top picture and its sentiments are those our hearts resound and agree with. 
But when we look at the man in the bottom picture we see our true sentiments, how much of our love is divine and what is not. 

 Here may be the most consoling, encouraging prayer for women, and men, I've ever heard. 

 Prayer for Women by Rachel Asproth

God of Hagar, Tamar, and Mary Magdalene

Of Sarah, Rebecca, and Rachel

God of Ruth, Esther, and Rahab

Of the Woman at the Well and the Woman They Would Have Stoned

God of the unseen, unwanted, and unheard

God of the silenced

Of those rendered invisible

God of those who wait

God of those who struggle

God of those who rise

God of the broken

Of the healing and the healed

Of the hopeful and the hopeless

God of the forgotten, who never forgets, we pray

Remember your daughters in 2019

Remember the women who wait—

the women who ache to hear the church call their names,

the women who press their skin against stained glass,

searching frantically for cracks

Remember the women who serve in the shadows,

the women who long to lead,

the hungry women, the thirsty women, the tired women,

the women with a revolutionary Word resting on their tongues

Remember the women who wait

God of Hagar,

remember those who wander the deserts of your church

Open the floodgates and bathe them in hope

May their waiting be over,

because their time has finally come

May the church call their names loudly

May painted glass crack and shatter

Remember the women who survive battles they never asked to fight—

the women with scars and bruises,

and the ones who bleed unseen from the heart,

the women who said no,

and the women who were too afraid to

Remember the women who are violated and hurt

trafficked, assaulted, raped, harassed, and demeaned

the women who walk through fire,

the warriors who rise from the ashes,

scarred but strong

Remember the women who feel broken,

afraid, and alone—

the ones who hold their breath in the night

Because of pain they can’t forget to remember

God of Tamar and Dinah,

God who sees sorrow we can’t name,

remember the women who walk out of the furnace alive

unconsumed by the flames

May your love salve their burns

May your church bind their wounds

May your people see justice done

May survivors be safe in your house

Remember the women who are tired—

the women who labor,

and labor

and labor

unseen in the background of history,

unseen in the church,

unseen by their families

unseen in their workplaces

unseen by their world

Remember the women on the fringes, God of the Woman Who Bled And Was Healed

Remember the women the world loves to forget,

the women who lead nations,

the women who plant churches,

the missionaries, the pastors, and the teachers

Remember the women who love beyond reason,

the women who build their homes brick by brick,

who care for their children and parents without recognition,

the women who carry jugs of water on their heads for miles

and give up their portions so others can eat

God of Naomi,

Remember the women who are tired,

the women who have lost much,

the women who weep and mourn,

who long for brighter days

Meet them in their sorrow,

when the road seems far too long,

and fill them again

Remember the women who are excluded—

dismissed by their own brothers and sisters

Remember, God of the unheard and unseen,

women of color—

betrayed and silenced,

and the women with ten dollars to their names

who ask for help and receive none,

and the women we try to erase

because they speak or dress differently

God of the Samaritan Woman,

remember the women who are excluded

Empower them as only you can

May your church listen better

May your people see justice done

May women of color,

women with disabilities,

women experiencing poverty,

and all women who have gone unheard

be safe in your house

May they be honored in your sanctuaries

Remember the women who fight—

the advocates and activists

the women who turn water into wine,

and then pour it out

Remember the marchers and the sitters

the women who could not and would not be moved

God of Deborah,

remember the women who lead revolutions,

the ones who give up everything

so that others might be free

Remember those who struggle ferociously against the tide

pushing onward,

onward,

onward,

exhausted but ever enduring

May you be the storm at their backs,

a furious wind that drives them through the waves

God of Jael, remember the women who fight

God of the forgotten, who never forgets, we pray

Remember your daughters in 2019

Remember the women your world loves to forget

Remember the women your church overlooks

Remember the women your people try to erase

Remember your daughters in 2019

Amen