Category: Stories and Songs (Page 4 of 8)

A Trio of Weakness

March 9, 2017 / Shari Baar / 2 Comments

Dear Daughters,

I had the most delightful morning… again.

A few months ago I started praying for a friend near Hagerman, our little sleepy town of 867 here in Southern Idaho. I did have a wonderful friend who lived down our lane, but back in October she moved away and I was missing that beautiful gift of friendship.

So, through an interesting story of happenings I was introduced to Sue and Lori. Both women are my age, with striking similarities. Sue has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and is weakening physically. We met at Lori’s home, a ramp in front to accommodate her wheelchair since she is paralyzed from the waist down due to a car accident over 20 years ago. And then there’s me struggling with the would-love-to-walk-a-half-mile chronic fatigue.

Sue is a rancher’s wife and was used to helping her husband work with the cattle and calves, along with other energetic outdoor work. She was strong, able to work on the ranch as well as run a dog grooming business.

Lori used to make beautiful wooden signs plus creating many other items out of a simple piece of wood but now has no extra energy to be the artisan she was.

I used to teach music to children K-12 and beyond, teaching many how to sing and play the piano, but no longer have the strength for that.

When we arrived, Lori had hot water ready for tea so we gathered around the table and started chatting. This was our third time together, so we briefly talked about physical struggles we were having personally. The conversation turned to the current happenings on earth and we marveled over how all the prophecies of the Bible have and are coming true. Then we started looking forward to someday – when Jesus returns – the joy it will be to have new glorified bodies. Our moods heightened, speaking of that glorious day when our strength will be renewed; we will soar on wings like eagles, run without getting weary, and walk without fainting.

Lori, Sue and I are the personification of weakness in the world’s eyes and we lamented a little that because of our physical infirmities we are sometimes misunderstood, causing frustration to some simply because we are no longer full of energy and able to do what we previously did.

We talked about relational struggles in the here and now, plus the navigating that goes along with them. Next came books we had read by C S Lewis, Derek Prince, and others we plan to read in the future. We wrestled with ideas, opinions, facts – not necessarily agreeing on everything – and life in general.

Finally, we prayed together, thanking God and interceding for our husbands, children and grandchildren, for the leaders of our country, for our churches and for the wisdom to know our places in the midst of this chapter of our lives that God has graciously given us.

Too soon, two hours were gone and it was time to leave for lunch. We said our goodbyes and agreed to meet same day, same time, next week.

I came to Lori’s that morning tired, and a bit discouraged. I left full of joy, with an expectation of good things to come, and encouraged that Jesus had heard my cry for friendship and answered so kindly. The synergy of talking honestly and vulnerably was energizing and made my heart sing.

Even though I’ve only known these women for a month I feel like we are soul sisters. Jesus seems to do that with people who are united in Him. Lori and Sue have suffered much yet they are joyful and full of life, though not of physical strength.

The three of us agreed today that if we had not been blessed with physical weakness we would have never had the strength to be still, wait on God for his good plans, or sit around a table hungering for more of Him and a willingness to do His work.

How I pray that you too, my daughters, will trust God with your needs, desires, and experience how He works best in our weaknesses and complete dependence on Him, waiting patiently and expectantly for his good answers to whatever you may ask.

Love, Mom

Remembering…

March 1, 2017 / Shari Baar / 5 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Today I started cleaning out Grandma’s closet. Shoes, black snow boots, her favorite fuzzy slippers, tee-shirts with musical notes embroidered, pants with elastic waistbands, a shoe stretcher, her fluffy pink bathrobe –so many of them causing me to remember when she wore them and what she did while wearing them. Her lovely blue jacket when she played piano at recitals, and her old work clothes for gardening, walking shoes….

Almost three months have passed since Grandma has walked the halls of her home. It’s lonely walking down the lane by myself. When I play the piano I have no audience to listen, to clap when I’m finished playing a song, no accompanying whistler as I play. I’m growing accustomed to life as it is now, but it is different.

I know Grandma is rejoicing in heaven and I’m celebrating with her, yet her memories will continue to be with me every day for the rest of my life.

How can someone forget their mom?

A few days ago, Mariah sent me a poem she had written about Grandma.

Remembering You

I am nothing to you

Not now anyways

For all you know

I am simply another person

Living somewhere

Out in the world

You used to remember

Who I was

And where you were

You used to play

Everyday

And whistle

As though it were

Your second language

You used to go on walks

And water the flowers

You used to be

So full of life

And energy

And happiness

But now

You’ve forgotten

How to talk to the birds

Your hands

Have left the ivory cold

And the plants you watered

Are beginning to wilt

The road you once walked

Is now empty

Devoid of life

The doors you opened

Are now closed

But no matter

Where you are

Or how you have changed us

I pray

That the birds won’t forget

Your songs

Your call

Nor the piano

Your music

I pray

That the roads you have traveled

Will remember your journey

And the closed doors

Are never forgotten

But most of all

That the people you met

Will never forget you

The legacy you left behind

The music you gave us

The memories you were a part of

Grandma

Thank you

For all you’ve given us

For all you’ve left behind

Thank you Grandma

Thank you

~ Mariah Potoka, age 14

Thanks, my dear granddaughter Mariah, for reminding me once again how important each one of our lives are. Even though we may think of our life stories as insignificant, the decisions we make today will affect others tomorrow, next week, next year – and to generations beyond.

It’s not the big impressive things we do, but the thousand unremarkable steps we take every day that make a beautiful life.

Ann Voskamp calls it living a life of holy redundancy – showing up faithfully day after day in the seemingly little things.

That’s what Grandma did. She loved the same man for 66 years, walked down the lane and beyond with a plastic bag in hand picking up trash from the ditches. She played and taught from her beloved piano for hours, bringing pleasure to herself and thousands of others. Every day she would faithfully make meals for us – my favorite macaroni and cheese, and my gagging worst – liver with onions, which I would slip to the dog under the table.

I know some days you feel like walking away from responsibility, turning your back on those who have hurt you, who haven’t appreciated all your sacrifice and love. But Jesus sees your heart and is there cheering you on. He will never leave or forsake you and will give you the strength to carry on yet another hour and then another day ….

You have probably heard of the ripple effect. Throw a small stone in a calm pond and watch the ripples expand incrementally to the very boundaries of that pool of water. That’s what Grandma’s life did. She lived quietly, unassumingly, simply, thankfully, and because of that her life has touched many people, including you and me, for which I am extremely grateful.

Your kindness, your choice to forgive, your obedience to God, your faithfulness and perseverance will also go out as ripples to many you may never meet –and will be remembered far beyond today.

Live your one life well.

Love, Mom

Trust in the Lord and do good…. Psalm 37:3

Happy Wives Club

February 14, 2017 / Shari Baar / 2 Comments

Dear Daughters,

When I received a package in the mail from a friend of mine with a book entitled Happy Wives Club I groaned. Really?? Sounded a bit simplistic to me. I had just had a disagreement with Dad and at that moment I was not a happy wife.

Then I read the About the Author page in the back of the book. Fawn Weaver is this beautiful young black woman, Type A personality, the CEO of one company and a CIO of its online subsidiary, has been on TED talks, started her own company at age 18, and on and on………. and happily married. PLUS, she just wrote this book after traveling around the world, and runs the HappyWivesClub.com website that has had over 2,500,000 visitors.

I was ready to throw the book in the trash because in my world I have just enough energy to do what I have to do, and the remainder of the time I’m resting, reading and writing because my energy wanes way too quickly. Jealous is the first word that comes to mind after reading about Fawn Weaver.

But when I settled down for my daily afternoon rest I calmed down and became curious, so decided to read at least the first chapter, with a somewhat contrived inner gratitude to my friend for sending me a free book.

Fawn’s take on the recent onslaught of negativity surrounding marriage was on target. She cited Desperate Housewives, Basketball Wives, Stepford Wives and Married with Children as messages to TV viewers that wives are miserable, husbands cheat, and marriages don’t last.

Like all of us, she has witnessed marriages crumble, yet she is in a good marriage and was curious if she was an anomaly or if there were other wives out there in the world who are happy. So, Fawn decided to take a trip around the world – traveling to 12 countries on 6 continents – with the mission of talking to couples of all cultures in the world who had been married for more than 25 years, searching to find some stunningly simple truths about what makes wives happy and marriages last.

Amazingly, or maybe not so amazingly, throughout the world marriages thrive because of a handful of simple secrets.

The main secret: There is no plan B for marriage. Happily married couples have subtracted the word divorce from the equation. Because they see marriage as life long, there is plenty of time to agree to disagree and take their time in finding common ground.

One of the couples Fawn interviewed in Canada had experienced unfaithfulness. Interestingly, the reason Faye’s adultery started was because she allowed out of control negative thoughts to continually run through her mind. She had become bitter because of one incident early in their marriage that she continued to feed on, refusing to forgive. The marriage was healed when Edward chose to forgive her and Faye submitted to counseling – a long road in getting to the complex root of her bitterness.

Jerry and Bonnie, also Canadians, centered in on the sentence We disagree fairly and don’t fight dirty. Calling each other names is just plain mean and they can stick in a spouse’s mind forever. Shut up unless it really matters, is another mantra they follow. Let the small stuff go, petty annoyances are not worth fighting over. AEOD (accept each other’s differences) is a good acronym to keep in mind. Just because your husband is different from you doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

In South Africa, Henry and Pat spoke of respecting one another. Respect actually turned up in every language around the world, from Indian `arranged’ marriages to `love’ marriages in many other countries. Henry and Pat also decided that because tomorrow is never promised, they would never carry a disagreement into the night.

In Croatia, Mia invited Fawn to go to The Museum of Broken Relationships – a place representing the exact opposite of what Fawn was looking for on her world-wide tour. It won the 2011 European Award for Most Innovative Museum. Inside were scattered wedding albums, teddy bears, pink furry handcuffs, wedding dresses, an axe, videos chronicling the pain of love gone wrong, among many other disturbing exhibits and their corresponding stories.

Later that day Fawn met Sanja, a fashion model and an arms dealer for the Swedes, and she too was adamant about the respect issue. If I want respect, I must treat him with respect. She believes it is impossible to expect something you are not willing to give yourself. Yes, it takes work – but there’s nothing wrong with work.

On to the Philippines, Ben and Gloria were asked if they had any regrets, looking back over their decades of marriage. Looking at each other they both said No, everything we’ve done from the beginning we’ve continued to do until now.

Really?? Now that’s unbelievable for me. I’ve known a lot of married folks in my life and no one has ever told me that. I’ve had regrets, everyone I know has had regrets. Although to be fair, Fawn mentioned that the Filipinos are by nature some of the cheeriest people she has ever met. Maybe that’s the secret….

Doug and Barb, living in a 150-square-foot RV in Australia, mentioned the Golden Rule as a main factor that kept their marriage strong for 40 years. Doug, now caring for Barb who suffers from ALS, says that Doing unto others as you would have them do to you was taught him by his parents, and his wife has been the chief beneficiary of that wisdom. They both learned that personal sacrifice for anyone, especially your spouse, is a great display of strength and character. Not weakness.

In Fiji, the issue of disposability came up. Andrew said, When our parents bought a television they kept it for 20 years, and if it broke they fixed it. The same was the case for refrigerators and anything else. Now we buy new televisions well before they’re broken, because there’s a newer model out. We do that with computers and everything else. It seems that disposability has overtaken relationships as well. If there’s a newer better-looking model, many people just dump the old one.

Once again – we’re back to the No Plan B, divorce is out of the equation – the universal marriage saver.

The last country Fawn visited was Argentina where she talked with Marcello and Silvina. Marcello commented that Silvina is like a spider. It seemed a strange image for a wife to take on, but Silvina agreed that she is like a spider spinning her web. When she sees the web starting to break she works to fix it, otherwise the hole just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

Hmmm, a great word picture. Better to mend a hole when it’s small than trying to repair a huge gaping rip. Good wisdom to remember.

Back to her home in California, Fawn talked to a few more couples. With more than half of marriages ending in divorce, she learned that happiness in marriage is a choice. It’s kind of like a plant, an everlasting plant that is meant to be watered so it can bloom and produce fruit. But you have to be willing to nurture it daily or it will wilt, turn brown and die.

All the couples Fawn interviewed had a daily ritual of some kind, breakfast together, tea in the afternoon – some time where they could connect, talk and build trust day by day.

For Dad and I, every night after he watches the news he comes to give me a backrub, a specific lymphatic backrub he learned from a therapist I had visited. It only takes a few minutes, but it has obliterated the neck stiffness I had experienced for years. Then we talk, sometimes for 10 minutes sometimes 45. Our talks range from politics to children to caretaking responsibilities for Grandpa to books we have recently been reading. It is good, affirming and a wonderful way to end the day. After we talk, we pray for whoever God brings to mind that evening. Praying together has helped to bring unity into our marriage.

Fawn also found a universal belief and dependence on God within every successful marriage. Couples always fare better if there is a third, invisible Person involved.

Marriage around the world is fundamentally the same for everyone. We may be different colors, have dramatically different cultural backgrounds and stories, eat different food, yet if we have a pulse we have a need for respect, acceptance and love. Love is a choice, just like happiness, and they are the most beautiful choices in the world.

My dear daughters, continue to choose happiness in your marriages and be blessed.

Love, Mom

P.S. The book and the Happy Wives Club website are both wonderful. The website gives some wonderful ideas about how to love your husband better, which brings more happiness to you!

Lecrae

January 16, 2017 / Shari Baar / 2 Comments

Dear Daughters,

I love reading stories about people – especially autobiographies – because I believe that truth is stranger and often more interesting than fiction. Although you know I am a C S Lewis junkie, devoted to the Chronicles of Narnia, I almost equally love to read about other people’s real life adventures.

Anyway, I just finished Unashamed by Lecrae, a musician who happens to be a rapper. I have long enjoyed his music and have always been curious about his story, which has been just recently published. His memoir is vulnerable and honest. Few people would be willing to open the pages of their lives to the public like he has.

Although many may see the life of Lecrae simply as a Boy in the Hood to riches story, it is mostly about confession and a desire to love better. It’s his story about not fitting in anywhere – not in the hood where he grew up, not around the gangstas in his family, not in college, and not even in the music industry.

Growing up without a daddy, sexually abused at age 6 by his babysitter, physically abused by his mom’s boyfriends, he grew up in a culture encouraging hardness and machismo. So, of course, like anyone else with an experience of rejection, abandonment, insignificance and insecurity, he lived out what he had learned so well. Abuse begets abuse, violence creates more violence. He naturally became an instigator of many acts of anger and rage. Seeds were sown in him as a child and started bearing much fruit.

While in college, Lecrae faced the familiar frustrations of young adults who go away to a place with daring opportunities and like many others, abused his freedoms. Hoping that because he was physically distanced from his childhood neighborhoods, his emotional past would be left behind as well. But he soon learned that life’s early experiences don’t go away. They are like wounds, and just like wounds not treated, they simply grow and fester.

At college he was befriended by various Christians, causing him to be intrigued by their peace and joy – something he had never experienced. He invited Jesus into his life, but soon was caught back up again into the old life he had lived. It was certainly not a happily ever after relationship with God.

What amazed him, though, was that those same Christians reached out to him even when he went back to his old addictions and self-destructive ways of living.

Lecrae shines a light on the dark struggles of faith we’d rather keep hidden. Tottering between the temptations and memories of his old life and the periodic peace he would feel from his newfound faith, there was always someone who would challenge him back to Jesus, continue to encourage him in spite of his anger and inability to change on his own. For years, he continued slipping back into the mind-numbing drugs and alcohol he had depended on for so long.

Music, and specifically hip-hop, was obviously his gift – it had been the language of his entire life. As a young man, he found comfort in writing and rapping – trying to make sense of all the mess in his life. So he kept on rapping and writing with honesty, and little by little Lecrae experienced the grace of God. It was something he had heard about as a child from his Gramma (Big Momma), and finally found that it truly existed as God had promised, and it changed his heart completely.

Lecrae bravely started rapping about his failings, his struggles and his doubts. Because of his honesty and exposing his dark side, his music attracts others with the same stories. He gives people hope that their lives can be changed as well. There is absolutely no one who is outside of Jesus’ incredible reach of grace.

Even though Lecrae is a well-known name in the rap world, he still doesn’t quite fit anyone’s mold. He is now, just like he felt as a child:

An outsider.

A misfit.

An anomaly.

I think many of us, myself included, feel like an anomaly – human but distinct, not fitting in any specific mold, a follower of Christ but still not a cookie-cutter person. I think that’s how God means us to be. We are each unique, different skin color, different views, diverse backgrounds and cultures, different stories. But we all have the same need in our heart – in need of respect and healing, knowing that we are beloved of God and yet still terribly broken. As Lecrae recently said in a blog post:

Hang out with me long enough and I’ll let you down.

We are all at a different place on the continuum of life, and Lecrae’s story has reminded me to never ever write anyone off, as dark as their life may look at any particular point in time. God’s fingerprints cover all of our lives – our husband’s and children’s lives – and just like snowflakes they are unique, creative and distinct in each of our stories.

Before he goes on a concert stage he always gathers his team around to pray:

Father, allow us to use our gifts to paint an accurate picture of Your creativity and Your goodness tonight. Help us to stay out of the way of Your will being done. We want to play a role, but we don’t want to take the lead. We are extras in Your movie, but not the star of this show.

May we be humble.

May we be grateful.

May we be unashamed.

Amen.

Sounds like a good prayer for all of us to pray.

I don’t claim to understand God’s grace, it makes absolutely no sense to the rational, scientific human mind, but I know it’s true. Mostly because I have seen it at work in my life, Lecrae’s life, and yours.

Never give up and never let go of that priceless gift.

Love, Mom

Death is Not an Emergency

December 28, 2016 / Shari Baar / 6 Comments

Dear Daughters,

It’s quiet in the house.

We buried Grandma on a snowy blustery day with 25 mph winds howling around us, trying to keep Grandpa warm with blankets and grandchildren shielding him. When Dad, Grandpa and I pulled into the cemetery – late – the suburban carrying the casket had not yet arrived, icy roads slowing them down as well.

Grandma would have hated being out in that cold, she never walked outside if there was even the slightest breeze. But now there was no need to have her slippers on, not even a blanket. Her earth suit had been shed, just like a caterpillar slips out of its cocoon to become a butterfly. Grandma was no longer laying in the coffin, not needing that worn out, nonfunctioning body, but celebrating and enjoying her new, perfect warm home.

The graveside service was short, ending with the singing of

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him all ye heavenly hosts

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen

Later that evening, my mind wandered back to the past few months when Grandma’s mind was fading so rapidly. Toward the end, it was getting difficult, bizarre, unpredictable.

When the mind is being eaten away by disease, life doesn’t make sense. Sunlight, moonlight, every light of the day is confusion. Mealtimes make no sense because there is no hunger. She frequently asked to go home, asked where her husband was when he was sitting right next to her. Grandma often called for help, yet when I came there was nothing I could do to comfort her – holding her hand, talking to her, singing, praying – still she moaned.

There were many days I wanted to run away, far far away and not come back until it was all over. I had seen the geese flying south and longed to be carried on their backs, flying to warmer, more pleasant places. I’ve always wanted to run away when life becomes hurtful and hard, when I can’t fix or change anything, and this time it was intensified. There was only one reason I was able to stay here taking care of Grandma, and that because of a single verse in the Bible:

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.

I would repeat that verse in my mind over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. I felt some small part of Mother Teresa’s pain:

There is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead…I do not know how deeper will this trial go – how much pain and suffering it will bring to me. This does not worry me anymore. I leave this to Him as I leave everything else…Let Him do with me whatever He wants as He wants for as long as He wants if my darkness is light to some soul.

Then when I thought I could not take one step more, Hospice came. Yes, I had Dad’s help and other friends who helped, but still the bulk of the responsibility lay on me.

When Staci, the intake nurse, walked in the door – snow swirling around her – I could sense the compassion and the ray of light she brought to our home. She treated Grandma with such care and respect, giving her a swab of water when I was unable to get even a sip into her mouth. Staci was calm, professional, taking notes and contacting all the necessary people. Then she stopped to comment,

Death is not an emergency.

With that one sentence spoken, my body relaxed, I was able to breathe, drink up all the teaching and encouragement she gave and carry on.

A little after Staci left, Jean the RN came, teaching me how to administer morphine and other meds to give Grandma comfort so she could relax and lay and sleep. No one was dismayed with Grandma’s behavior, they simply accepted her as she was, willing to walk the last days with us.

Then another knock on the door and Chaplain John was there with his guitar. He came into the bedroom where Grandma lay, took out song sheets and a guitar and started boisterously singing Christmas carols. There were several people in the room with us, so we sang in the midst of weary tears, Grandpa leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut as he mouthed the words by memory.

We sang hymns of comfort – In the Garden, Be Thou My Vision, His Eye is On the Sparrow… John’s presence was not one of sorrow but of joy, assurance and peace.

Death is not an emergency.

Carolyn came to give Grandma a bath, treating her with respect, tenderness and dignity. She slept soundly that night. The next day Jean was back again, monitoring Grandma’s vital signs, answering my various questions and teaching me more about how to give comfort in the midst of dying.

That night you four daughters made a conference call, all of you living in different cities, and sang His Eye is on the Sparrow. When one voice would falter, another would pick up the melody and continue on. There were good-byes and I love you spoken all around. Even though by that time Grandma was in a coma, she still responded ever so feebly to the singing. I am sure she heard you and was blessed, as was I.

On the last day, there were people in the house coming to say good-bye, quietly, respectfully, helpfully. We took turns singing, praying, holding her hand, whispering our farewells.

The last minutes before death are messy, holy and painful. Yet when I was thinking later about those sacred moments I was reminded that the last few minutes before birth are the same – messy, holy, painful. In a way, Grandma was being birthed into a new world, a better world.

Everything good in life is hard.

As Grandma took her last breath and her chest lay still for the first time in 84 years, I gave thanks amidst tears that she was now free of pain, free of a cloudy mind, and best of all – safe in the arms of Jesus – her Savior and her Lord. Till we meet again…

Love, Mom

…and a time to die

December 10, 2016 / Shari Baar / 22 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Last night I watched Grandma take her last breath, held her hand and said good-bye.

Throughout the evening various members of the family were taking turns sitting, singing and praying with Grandma. It was obvious the end was near, the breathing becoming more shallow and fitful. During the past four days we have had so many beautiful memorable moments with our friends, our flesh and blood family along with our new-found Hospice family.

As Grandpa said, What would we do without family? That is a question I’m glad I won’t ever have to answer.

Grandpa was the first person to come into the room after Grandma passed. He had made the trip from the den to the bedroom, where she lay, countless times in the last few days. He would come in, gently touch her and walk out again.

When I told him she was gone he sat down next to her and crumpled. I have never seen Grandpa cry before but he sobbed, saying

It was too soon, It was too soon. I was supposed to go first…

When it comes to death we don’t have a choice. Thankfully we have a loving Heavenly Father who knows what is best for us; His timing, His ordering of every detail is impeccable.

I was just thinking tonight about the last words Grandma said to me before she fell into the final coma. Those words were

Thank you.

Her life was a life of gratitude, and those words were uttered by her countless times each day after every little thing I did for her during the past two years.

I thank God for her life, her legacy of music given to us as a family as well as countless sacrificing acts of love that she gave to everyone who came near.

Thank you, Mom, for your life. Enjoy the beautiful music you are experiencing right now with a clear mind and a sound body.

I love you.

Love, Mom

The eternal God is our refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Deuteronomy 33:27

Bag of Rags

December 9, 2016 / Shari Baar / 2 Comments

Dear Daughters,

My friend, Ann, always makes me laugh. She is a storyteller extraordinaire, and somehow even sad stories end up funny when Ann is the narrator.

A few years ago in December, Ann prepared Christmas gifts for her and Ed’s employees, just as they do every Christmas. She carefully placed each employee’s bonus and gift inside brown paper bags. It is always Ed’s job to deliver the bags to the employees. Strangely, after distributing all the bags, he had one leftover. Ann knew she had the correct number of bags ready for Ed, so they were both wondering how he ended up with an extra gift bag.

So, Ed decided to call each employee personally and ask if he had received his Christmas gift. Yes, the first guy received his, and the next and the next. Finally he called the last guy, and his response was “What did I ever do to offend you?”

Ed and Ann’s daughter worked in a beauty salon and periodically brought hair-dye stained rags home to her dad because he could always find a use for them in the barn. Those rags were always brought home in a brown paper bag. Apparently, he had picked up that bag of rags with all the others and …. well, you can figure out the rest of the story.

Ann and I laughed and laughed, but on the way home I got thinking about the bags of rags we give to each other at one time or another.

About ten years ago, you and your families were at our house for a Christmas celebration. As our tradition has been for many years, every person has to hunt for one of their presents. We are all given 10 clues and at the end of the search a gift is the reward.

Well, this particular year I successfully got to the end of my ten clues and for whatever reason, the gift spot was empty. Immediately the words came into my mind:

Yep, this is always your life. You try hard, work hard, but there will never be any prize for you….

I put on a happy face and tried to laugh about it but inside I was weeping, hurt and trying not to believe those ugly words in my head. I knew the empty spot was not left deliberately that way, but it was still empty and the words ricocheted through my mind.

To be fair, this happened during a year I was going through menopause, rejection from people I loved, and a chronic illness. But whatever your back story is, hurts – either perceived or actual – always hurt.

We have all received rag bags of ugly, stained words from those we love, and we have all given bags of rags to those we love.

I have given many rag bags to Dad over the years– words said in anger, frustration and sometimes bitterness. Bags like “You always forget my birthday” (yes, a few times he did) or “You have lists but you don’t ever do them” (he does much of what is on his lists but not always what I want him to do). Some of the rag bags I have given to Dad have been deliberate, others have been unintentional.

It goes both ways. Dad has given me bags of rags as well, but since this blog comes from my perspective and not his I will refrain from speaking about those.

Because we live in a fallen world, offense comes often and intense. We cannot predict or control which bags of rags we are given, but we are responsible for our reaction to them.

We can believe those thoughts and words that are spoken and creep into our mind – that we are worthless, unlovable and a failure, that all our efforts are useless and wasted,

We can choose to believe that we are loved by God, a chosen, beautiful child of God. When we fail, when we hurt, when we pray for better relationships we can believe that He is for us and not against us. He is always working for our good. We can forgive and move on in our lives, knowing that Jesus never allows anything in our lives that will not make us stronger and more like Him.

When Jesus came down to earth many centuries ago, He came directly into our bag of rags. The world at that time was corrupt, brutal, dark, inhumane and heartless. Interestingly, he didn’t start explaining the rags and why they were there, He simply came into it (Immanuel – God with us) and showed us a way out. He presented a better way to live, the way of love even in the face of unjust tyrants and religious hypocrites.

When you are given a bag of rags, invite Jesus into it. His specialty is making good come out of suffering, righting wrongs, making all things new, and above all – teaching us to trust Him. When we love freely, forgive abundantly, and give those bags of rags to Him, we will find joy, freedom and contentment.

The employee who received the bag of rags that Christmas still carries the offense around with him. He hasn’t come to see it as an accident or even a humorous error from his employer. Of course, his bag was replaced with the intended beautiful Christmas gift, but he still hangs on to the rags in his mind.

Remember, remember that you can always get rid of those bags of rags and trade them in for a good gift.

Love, Mom

What a Friend….

November 20, 2016 / Shari Baar / 4 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Grandma is declining.

There are people all over the world who are failing today, there were yesterday, and will be tomorrow. Why does impending death not affect us unless it is someone we love, someone we have history with, someone who has deeply impacted our life?

The beautiful whistling that has been Grandma’s trademark for decades has now been replaced with moaning and groaning and cries of Oh Lord, help me, help me. Several months ago, she was able to play piano for an hour or more at one sitting. Today it was 5 minutes, then she needed a nap.

A few weeks ago, she accused me of waking her in the middle of the night to have tea time, asking Grandpa if I woke him up as well. She wanders around the house at 2 p.m. looking for her pajamas (which are hidden in my room so she doesn’t put them on mid-afternoon). She will often walk up to Grandpa and ask if he is her husband. She claims that everything around her is crazy and confusing and oftentimes asks to go home when she sitting in the very house she has lived for 36 years.

Going home.

I wonder if she is looking to go to her heavenly home, the place where her mind will be sound, her new glorious body whole and strong, and she will laugh again as I remember and am reminded by the pictures dotting the hallway wall.

As Madeliene L’Engle reflects, we die many small deaths during our lives:

Our lives are a series of births and deaths: we die to one period and must be born to another. We die to childhood and are born to adolescence; to our high school selves (and if we are fortunate) to our college selves; we die to our college selves and are born into the “real” world; to our unmarried selves and into our married.

When we have children, we die to ourselves as we give life to a totally new person. When we as a family moved from place to place we had to die to one way of life and be born into another place and community. When dad and I moved from Michigan to Idaho two years ago, it was yet another step in the dying to one way of life and being born into another.

There are other deaths over which we have some choice and freedom: we can choose the death of self-will, the death of self-indulgence, the death of self and the living for others. It is through dying these lesser deaths that may make us more fully alive, not less.

Maybe if we practice these smaller deaths during our lifetime it will make the actual moment of our transition less difficult. On the other hand, there is nothing that will make death easy. Even though dying is natural and happens to everyone, it still stinks.

Yesterday my friends Betty and Theresa came over to practice a trio we will be singing soon – the words of What a Friend We Have in Jesus to the tune of The Rose.

For the past few days I had been having a difficult time doing my work here, the emotions of the end-of-life care weighing heavily. But singing those words with friends helped my spirit to soar, reminding me again about the necessity of giving my griefs to Jesus. They are not mine to bear alone:

What a friend we have in Jesus,

All our sins and griefs to bear

What a privilege to carry

Everything to God in prayer

Oh, what peace we often forfeit

Oh, what needless pain we bear

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.

I consciously talk to Jesus throughout the day, but sometimes I need people to help carry the load by singing with me, coming for lunch, stopping to chat, listening to stories – some funny, some sad, some frustrating. Even though I have Dad to help with the work – staying behind while I go away, shopping, listening to and encouraging me – I need more. I need a community.

Thankfully, God has provided for us. Yes, it is still lonely at times but we all have those times, the simple nature of being human. I am grateful to you, my daughters, for your part in lending me your ears, your time, prayers and encouragement.

Dad brought Grandma into the living room yesterday while Betty, Theresa and I were practicing. She sat quietly, her face expressionless throughout the entire song. After we finished she shouted out Amen! the best applause we could have been given.

I admit in the past when friends of mine have shared with me the end-of-life stories of their parents, I had listened but not really understood what dying is all about. Now, however, Jesus is graciously teaching me how to care, not only for Grandpa and Grandma, but to feel the pain of others going through similar times.

At night, I often tuck Grandma in bed and pray Psalm 23 over her. After I finished the other night she asked,

What is your name?

I replied, Shari.

She said Thank you, Shari.

Even though she doesn’t remember who I am, she is appreciative for all I do most of the time. Sometimes, however, when I get her up to walk the hall a few times she calls me a slave driver – in jest I hope. Just a few weeks ago, she was able to walk all the way down the lane and back.

We may have months, maybe less, with Grandma – no one knows. In the meantime, Dad pointed out this verse to me the other day and it brings me comfort:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting,

For death is the destiny of every man;

The living should take this to heart. Ecclesiastes 7:2

It is good to keep eternity in the forefront of my mind. I think it helps me live better today.

Love, Mom

Cracked Pots

October 11, 2016 / Shari Baar / 0 Comments

Dear Daughters,

Your cousin Charlene gave me a cracked piece of pottery she made a few months ago. Although it is still quite beautiful, the flaw makes it unmarketable in her shop. People want only items that are close to perfection.

Unfortunately, we tend to expect the same in people. But as we all know, we’re not going to get it. We inevitably desire faultlessness (or at least improvement) in our husbands and ourselves, yet time and time again we get hurt, disappointed, wanting more.

We bear the desire of our once shimmering selves that lived in the Garden of Eden. The desire for perfection, which our human mother and father once were, still lives within us. At the end of the age we shall be perfect, as our Lord is perfect. Until then we bear the marks of the fall.

So…how do we deal with the cracks in ourselves and others?

The following story is a beautiful image of our value despite brokenness:

A water bearer in India had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of a long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.

“Why,” asked the bearer, “what are you ashamed of?”

I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half of my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work and you don’t get full value from your efforts, the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said,

“As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers on the side of the path,” and this cheered it somewhat. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot,

“Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

We are all cracked pots, whether we like to admit it or not. Some of our flaws are more obvious than others’, but Jesus uses them all if we are willing to admit the cracks are there, then give ourselves to Him to use in His wisdom.

How often do we get angry, despise them or try to cover them up?

For years I saw the chronic fatigue I struggle with as a detriment, a waste of time, an annoyance and a burden to others. Over the years Jesus has opened my eyes to be content with my disability, seeing it as a gift from Him. I had to learn that I needed to be humbled – allowing Dad to care for me, learning to intercede and showing compassion to others who don’t have fit bodies, having lots of time to read and talk with people. I didn’t have the energy to be efficient or busy. I have found what has been better for me – to lay at the feet of Jesus, give thanks, and learn from Him.

One day I thought about the disability Jesus took on when He came to earth – the humility of having to live in a suit of flesh when He was used to roaming throughout the universe, bringing into existence galaxies, mountains, insects and people by using only His words. It was certainly not a waste of His time coming to earth – we needed Him. He became broken because His father willed it, for a greater purpose.

I am learning the grace of yielding to His will, trusting that He will get done whatever He needs to do in my life.

He has given me strength to do what I have to do, no extra energy. But you know what? It’s OK.

Thank God for your cracks, your less than perfect body, your weaknesses, and He will do marvelous things.

From one cracked pot to another,

Love, Mom

Photo by Kari Matthews

What Do I Do?

September 23, 2016 / Shari Baar / 0 Comments

February 28, 2023

During the snowstorm last week I was thinking about Grandma as she was nearing the end of her life. It’s been over six years since she’s been gone, but the memories are still vivid in my mind. I learned so much from her as she lived in weakness and confusion…

September 15, 2016

Dear Daughters,

The other night Dad invited Grandma to dance with him after dinner. Almost every night after we have cleared the dishes she asks “What do I do next?” And almost every night Dad’s answer is “Dance with me.”

So he put his arm around her shoulder and started doing the quasi-Rockettes kick while she stared at him in disbelief. Grandma looked over at me and said “You live with this guy? I think I’ll send you a sympathy card.”

The same after-dinner conversation happens often, but of course she doesn’t remember that it happens often.

Grandma asks many times every day

What do I do, what do I do?

She simply needs direction and instruction about what comes next in her day since she wanders if left on her own.

One day I came into the den when she was waking from her nap. She was almost in tears saying,

Lord, what do I do, what do I do?

Confusion reigns in her mind as it has become tangled and disobedient to her commands and desires. But as I was walking away I thought,

What a beautiful picture of what we should be doing every minute of every day. I cannot live my one life well unless I am connected with Jesus, always asking Him,

What do I do?

when I am confused, frustrated and unsure of how to respond to a hurtful word or a discouraging day.

Whenever I ask God

What should I do?

the answer is typically

Trust Me. Give thanks because I am working for your good,

even when it seems there is darkness is all around.

During the day I have many tasks for Grandma to do: water the flowers, empty the dishwasher, put tomatoes on the dehydrator trays, walk down to the road, fold clothes, set the table, take a shower, play the piano, whistle her favorite songs. When I instruct her to do the work she is usually eager, although with a few moans and groans now and then. But if there is no direction from me she has no idea where to go or what to do. If I am out of her sight for more than a few minutes I hear her calling

Help! Help!

Grandma’s confusion has recently taken a new twist. She is often quite mixed up about the time of day. Yesterday I heard her walking down the hall at 2:00 in the afternoon (when she is usually napping), shuffling in her bathrobe and slippers and wearing no dentures. She apparently woke from her nap early and somehow thought it was close to bedtime so proceeded to get ready.

I stopped her in the hallway, asking why she was in her pajamas. She matter-of-factly said “It’s almost bedtime.” I suggested that we go back and change into her clothes since it was a long time until bedtime. I tried showing her the clock and reasoning with her, but she still wouldn’t believe me, continually insisting that it was bedtime.

Normally she is quite compliant and will cheerfully do as I say. But yesterday she adamantly said

I don’t want to change my clothes, just let me do what I want to do.

Hmmm, now that sounds exactly what I say to God now and then. I get tired of waiting for Him to answer my prayers the way I want Him to. Sometimes I get weary of doing what is right, of being responsible. Some days I want to whine and complain, throw a pity party. I am tempted to give up and pray no longer.

But the same verse always comes to me – the time many of Jesus’ disciples turned back and no longer followed Him when life started getting difficult. Jesus asked the Twelve “Do you want to leave too?” Then Peter answered him,

Lord, to whom else shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.

Yep, that’s the bottom line. Who else but the Creator of your soul loves you and is looking out for your good and your growth? So I cut short my pity party, continue to be faithful and responsible, keep on praying and giving God thanks. They are simple disciplines, but important.

Grandma teaches me so much these days. Even though her mind is foggy and forgetful, Jesus speaks through her life into mine.

Look to the weak people of the earth, wisdom is there for us all.

Love, Mom

Category: Stories and Songs (Page 4 of 8)

A Trio of Weakness

Remembering…

Happy Wives Club

Lecrae

Death is Not an Emergency

…and a time to die

Bag of Rags

What a Friend….

Cracked Pots

What Do I Do?

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