He came anyway...

Last night as I read my daily Scripture reading near the end of the book of Acts, I was reading the story of Paul's final trip to Rome. For the first time, I think, I was struck not only by what God called Paul to do, but by the fact that he knew what God was calling him to (death in Rome, eventually) and he went any way.

He went anyway. That is really amazing. How many of the difficult things in my life would I walk into if I knew ahead of time what was coming? I am a coward at heart, and will always opt for the easy road. What an amazing servant Paul was to his Master, and what grace God provided him.

The only thing more amazing that comes to mind is that the God of the universe left his throne, and was born a man, knowing that he would suffer and die and take on the sins of the world. And unlike Paul, Jesus was sinless, and undeserving of God's wrath. But he came anyway. This season, Gentle Reader, may we all remember Emmanuel, God-with-us, and rejoice in Him.

An art which must be learned...

Health issues can be thorny issues. We are challenged physically, we are challenged emotionally, and we are challenged spiritually. And in the midst of it all, as followers of Jesus, we are challenged to learn to be content in whatever circumstance we find ourselves. Seems like a pretty tall order sometimes.

Another of my favorite Puritans is Jeremiah Burroughs, and his definition of Christian contentment. I was prompted to look it up again today to remind myself where I want to be. Burroughs says:

To be skilled in the mystery of Christian contentment is the duty, glory and excellence of the Christian. It is an art which must be learned. Christian contentment is that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit which freely submits to and delights in God's wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.

If this is news to you, Gentle Reader, you might pick up a copy of The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment. It was another one of those life-altering books for me.

So, onward I go, learning this difficult art at the feet of my Heavenly Father.

Glory be to God on high...

Today I put way the fall decorations to make way for the CHristmas ones. It's certainly beginning to feel a lot like Christmas with below-freezing temperatures, so it might as well begin to look like it, too! And as I do so, the Bob Kauflin arrangement of the Charles Wesley Carol, Glory Be to God on High, is running through my mind. I share the original, wonderful lyrics below. You can hear a sample here.

Glory be to God on high,
And peace on earth descend;
Now God comes down, He bows the sky,
And shows Himself our Friend!
God the invisible appears,
God the Blest, the Great I AM,
He sojourns in this vale of tears,
And Jesus is His Name.

Him by the angels all adored,
Their Maker and their King;
Lo, tidings of their humbled Lord
They now to mortals bring;
Emptied of His majesty,
Of His dazzling glories shorn,
Our being’s Source begins to be,
And God Himself is born!

See the eternal Son of God
A mortal Son of Man,
Now dwelling in an earthly clod
Whom Heaven cannot contain!
Stand amazed, ye heavens, look at this!
See the Lord of earth and skies
Low humbled to the dust He is,
And in a manger lies!

So do the sons of men rejoice
The Prince of Peace proclaim,
With Heaven’s host lift up our voice,
And shout Immanuel’s Name;
Our knees and hearts to Him we bow;
Of our flesh, and of our bone,
See—Jesus is our Brother now,
And God is all our own!

May you all be rejoicing today, as I am, Gentle Readers!

Quelling my affections

Consider the work of God: for who can make that straight which He has made crooked? ~Eccles. 7:13

My favorite book on suffering comes from an old Puritan named Thomas Boston, and its title comes from the above Scripture verse: The Crook in the Lot. It may seem odd to some of my Gentle Readers that I have a "favorite" book on suffering. But it ought not: suffering is one of those things the Lord promises his followers, and He never breaks a promise.

Boston begins his treatise in this way:

A just view of afflicting incidents is altogether necessary to a Christian deportment under them; and that view is to be obtained only by faith, not by sense; for it is not the light of the world alone that represents them justly, discovering in them the work of God, and consequently, designs becoming the Divine perfections. When they are perceived by the eye of faith, and duly considered, we have a just view of afflicting incidents, fitted to quell the turbulent motions of corrupt affections under dismal outward appearances.

I seemingly have daily need quelling the turbulent motions of my corrupt affections. It was Boston who first patiently explained to me that, for the Christian, all suffering has its purpose in the plan of a good and sovereign God, and we should spend more time humbling ourselves under His providential use of suffering in our lives than we should spend trying to remove ourselves from it. What a worthy, but difficult, lesson!

This has been a week for quelling. Just after our return from Tucson, I had an over-night oxygen saturation test done. Unfortunately, I discovered on Tuesday that I failed the test. In other words, I had more than 30 episodes an hour when my oxygen saturation was too low, and my pulse too high: apparently not a good combination. So, as of last night I am on oxygen at night, and awaiting an appointment for a sleep study.

I've been through lots: cancer, ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage. Oxygen at night shouldn't be in that category. But the truth is that suffering is suffering. You forget how bad some things were, I guess, and every new challenge seems overwhelming. Intellectually I realize this is a little, fixable problem. But those turbulent motions of my corrupt affections have kicked into overdrive. I have been crying on and off for days, and fighting with fear and dread. I know it is not the worst of afflictions, but I simply do not want to deal with this "one more" thing. Not a very submissive spirit, is it?

In telling my son about this latest crook in my lot (and crying as I did so), he made the observation that I had been so brave and so "together" over my cancer. What was the deal with this crying? His sweet wife, Elsa, who is gifted with words, explained it well: "This is more obvious than the cancer, outwardly, and yet very intimate. And it has an old-age connotation." Indeed. There you have my feelings in a nutshell. I must face my limited mortality yet again, and finding no way to escape it, learn to embrace God's good plan for my days.

The friend who gave me my first copy of Thomas Boston some 18 years ago, did so as she was dying of cancer. She wrote me a letter that summer, within weeks of her death, and said to me, "This is a difficult place to be in, but where would I rather be than in the center of God's will?"

Amen. May I so still my soul before God.

Ben, Elsa, elephants...

Thanksgiving was the first time for us to see Ben and Elsa since last March. Nine whole months is a LONG time! It was delightful. Not only are these two fun to discuss things with because they know lots about lots, but they are both creative souls in lots of ways.


Elsa is always working at things, often quietly, out of the lime light. Whteher it is knitting a lace doilie (as pictured), or quietly slipping the geometry book off the shelf and doing problems "foir fun", she is quietly delightful, and delighted in many things.


Ben used to make things with sculpey clay as a boy. And apparently, he still has a knack for it. Over the holiday, Ben made a chess set for Nikki with elephants on one side and giraffes on the other. Below is a preview of the elephants. They are wonderful! When Nikki sends me a photo of the whole set, I will post more photos.



I am hoping that I get on the list for a chess set one of these days...

Amazing grace

Thanksgiving is a time to remember, first an foremost, the great gift God gave us in his Son. I am so very grateful that I can have a relationship with a holy and righteous God because of what Christ did for me. That is truly amazing grace...


Thanksgiving is also a time to be grateful for family. We had a lovely Thanksgiving in Tucson, with much to be thankful for! Here we are, gathered around Tim and Nikki's diningroom table. There are four Mrs. Finnegans, three Mr. Finnegans, and the Wiersma family. What a blessing we have in family and friends!


I am, however, of all earthly relationships, most thankful for my Dear husband of almost 30 years. He continues to be my best friend and comfort for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. Many of you, Gentle Readers, know my many faults. Dave sees them even more clearly, and loves me anyway. That is a reflection of amazing grace...


And here are our four beautiful children. They are a real source of joy in our lives (Tim and Nikki on left, Ben and Elsa on right).


And here are my children striking a "Blue Steel" pose. If you don't know what that is, it is probably just as well...


And on the way home from Tucson with Ben, Elsa and Marlyn in tow, we stopped by the Hanson's to see Mom and Dad, my sister Gwen and all the Browns, and my sister Annie. What a delight to have a a few days full of family! I am blessed by each and every one, and awed by God's amazing grace to me.

Happy Thanksgiving, Gentle Readers!

We are heading to Tucson to celebrate the holiday with both sets of children. I hope you all are planning feasts with family and friends.

I had thought to leave you with a lovely Thanks-giving-type poem, but in my quick search I ran across the following poem. It seemed so appropriate for my fall, and even for my car, loaded with canned applesauce and jam! So, here are some thoughts on apple harvest, and fond wish from me, Gentle Readers, for a lovely Thanksgiving. I'll be back to the blogoshpere next weekend.

After Apple-Picking

By Robert Frost, 1914

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.