Early Morning Reflection on a Life Well-Loved -- Keith Korstjens

My church's old sanctuary with its beautiful, strong pillars

When I think of a "godly man" I initially picture someone who walks into a room and the crowd separates, making a way for him, all standing in awe.  I see someone to be looked up to.

But a godly man -- one we at my church called a pillar, in fact -- died last night.  And as I reflect on his life in this very early morning hour, I'm remembering Keith Korstjens, considering who and how he was.  Not someone to be admired, pedastaled high above the less righteous, rather he was a man who "dwelt among us," as it were.  Keith walked alongside, sat alongside people in pain, people who doubted, who cried, "Where is God in all of this?"

His words were wisely thought out, and  he was not eager to put the bandage of a pat answer on people's struggles.   I do have a few Keith-and-Mary sayings jotted down in my journals.  And I bring them to mind often.   My husband and I still say, "Remember what Keith taught in our engagement class," and reflect on the useful information he gave. Yes, a handful of quotes are forever in me to be recalled when needed.

But with Keith it was more about the presence.

As he visited with, grieved with, listened to, sat with others -- with me, with my family, we had a sense that we were with Jesus.  Keith and Mary came to Loma Linda late one evening, along with many others who loved my family, because we had been told we were going to lose my dad that night.  Twenty-plus people all sitting really closely in a tiny waiting room, being present to God, to the moment, to each other.  I noticed Keith in the doorway (they couldn't fit into the jam-packed room) starting to tell people goodbye, pushing Mary away in her wheelchair.  I ran up to them to thank them, to get one last hug.  "I can't go through my life without my dad," I said.

Again, listening, again, loving.  Tenderly one of them said, "Oh, sweetie, God will give you enough faith for today.  You cannot borrow faith from tomorrow."   Mary shared as they departed, "We're leaving you in very capable hands, the hands of Jesus."  And they entrusted us to Him.

 I read something recently challenging me to set aside a few minutes while in a public place and to look for God in every face I see.  This was new to me.  I've often asked God to help me see others through His loving, merciful lens, but to look for Jesus in the face of people I encounter was different.  I tried it while in line at the post office.   Looking critically, harshly at the postal workers as I waited, wondering whether any of them washed their hair that day, noting the ways each was using time inefficiently -- you know, those days when you just see what's wrong with everyone around you -- when God brought to mind what I'd read that morning.  "Getting a hint from what the psalmist wrote -- 'Come,' my heart says, 'seek his face' -- practice looking for God in every face you see."

This practice had immediate, transforming effects!  My gaze softened while seeking reflections of Jesus Himself in others' eyes.  And you know what?  I saw Him there!

I guess it's this thought that compelled sleepy me out of bed early this chilly, wet morning.  Often it's said of Keith that we saw Jesus in his eyes, felt the heartbeat of Jesus as Keith hurt with us, heard Jesus in the things he said.  But today I close my eyes and picture times with Keith and know undoubtedly he was looking for Christ in my face, in my pain, listening for Him in my tears, sensing His presence the times I thought God was surely absent.

We saw Jesus in Keith's life, while He was looking and listening for Jesus in ours.

This is so going to be one of those funerals that could never, ever be long enough to fit in the stories of memories -- memories of Keith, of Mary, of "KeithandMary."

Thank you for listening to just one reflection of mine.  

Sunday Morning After Friday Massacre

Many of my days have ended in tears, but today my pillow absorbs fresh cries upon my waking.  I scan in my mind over the three other bedrooms in my home, rooms once occupied by my four full-of-life children, children, now grown, tucked safely in their own beds, their own homes.

Twenty-eight hundred and eighteen miles away from me, parents are waking, if they were able to sleep, to the raw new reality of that empty bed, that empty room, that empty  hall in which footsteps and laughter of their children will never be heard again.   An echo of their grief reaches me from the other side of the country.

Most often I can block bad news out, way out, far away, not my reality, protecting my heart, my mind.  Not so now.  Not so.

Can we create a new app, somebody, please?  One that flips the calendar backwards?  Can we put an undo button on this mess, this blow-to-our-guts horror?

Some Sundays I don't want to go to church, choosing to watch the sermon online, but today am drawn there.  Gosh, I want to be early.  I long to sit with other people, all with huge question marks in our eyes, carrying what-the-hecks on our hearts.  A.  Time.  To.  Mourn. Together to listen for that voice of hope in this seemingly completely mad world.  A time to pray and wail, to weep and wait, to listen, to be comforted.

Some days the questions seem a whole lot bigger than the answers.

Merciful God, meet us here with the reality of your hope amidst the reality of our anguish.

Treasures from the Trail, Part 6 - Trail Kisses

Splash of Color

Colors evoke feelings in us.  Commonly yellow is associated with feelings of cheer; green, with envy; red, with power.  As I hike, I am nurtured, calmed and strengthened by many different colors.   For example, when I pass purple flowers, I am reminded of my royalty, how rich I am, how lavish my Father is. But sometimes my exhaustion gets all my focus and I cease to notice ways God may be trying to get my attention, to turn my head towards yet another way He longs to bless me. 

As I am weary and worn, head low-looking, trudging along, seeing only gray granite color, a surprisingly lovely color enters my periphery.  And turn my head, it does.  Whether it's an coral orangish red or a reddish orangish coral, who can say?  I cannot define it with words but concluded the feelings stirred in me when my eyes rest upon it are feelings of delight.   

I started saying to myself whenever seeing my luscious, coral-red, favorite flower color, "That's delightful,"  or, "That brings me delight."   Somewhere in my journey, I shifted from thinking about the flower and its exquisite color to expressing my feelings to God.  "You delight me," I'd utter to Him, sometimes quietly inside me, sometimes whispered gently on my exhale.

I'm told that my dad as a young boy upon seeing the moon would run into his house from wherever he was playing to give his mom a kiss.  That became his cue, his reminder to express love to his mother.  And it was his idea!  How blessed she must have been to receive that affection from her boy.  Similarly God and I developed our secret sign on this hike.  He would show me that color, to which I would respond, "You delight me."  I felt goofy at first,  presumptuous somehow that this little praise from me would even turn God's ear or matter to Him, almost like I was pretending He cared to hear from me or even was listening at all, for that matter.

But listen, He did.  We shared sweet exchanges of affection on the trail that day, as I shifted  from thinking about Creator God's works to forming a response to Him, this time with words, the three words that became precious kisses from me to Him, "You delight me."

Treasures from the Trail, Part 5 - A Word About Vanity

Morning Instant Oatmeal Feast

This whole backpacking-with-my-husband thing has been a gift on countless levels, really.  One of the treasures our times have contained is most surprising to me.  When Brent and I vacation staying in hotels, I can get caught up in what I look like.  Do I look cute? feel cute? am I cute?  Are my earrings matching (hopefully they're matching each other, but I mean are they matching my outfit)?  And I pack many shoes to wear just the right ones with each set of clothes.

He and I have discussed how backpacking is a fast in many ways:   a fast from our soft bed, running water, fresh food, appliances, icy cold drinks, electronics.  On the list goes.  For me it is also a fast, a retreat, from the need to look darling.

It's not that I haven't tried.  Sensing my desire to appear and feel more feminine on the trail, I ordered hiking skorts.   I researched to find a great price and read all 53 reviews about the item of clothing I ordered that promised to be functional and, well, frankly, adorable.  Next was the trail test, where I wore them on a local overnighter to see whether they'd make the cut to bring to our big hike in the Sierras.  Portrayed as feminine, functional, water resistant, bug proof, SPF 50 rated and great fitting,  how could this item of clothing be resisted?  However, In all 53 descriptions of how this skirt-short combination changed women's lives for the better, no one mentioned that with each step my thighs would be saying, "Pardon me, excuse me," to each other!  REI takes returns for any reason.  Reason?  Um, my thighs rubbed together?  "They didn't work for me," was my explanation to the sales associate as I slid the unwanted skorts across the counter towards her.

I share this to say that, while I still struggle some with vanity, I've experienced much freedom as well.  Farthest from my mind now is, what is Brent thinking of how I look or am I feeling pretty?  I get so bamboozled with the beauty around me, what God is doing in me and focus on the steps and the exertion, the life inside me that my eyes and attention are off of my appearance.  Early on in our trail adventures, what  became apparent to me is that much of the fun we enjoy together on these journeys is due to my not having room to pack my vanity.  I am traveling lighter!

Can anyone think of a caption for this picture?

Admittedly, I delete some pictures I see when we get home.  Sometimes I see one and let out a big, "Whoa!"  But I'm caring less.  The  bad pics don't sear their images on my mind or taunt me like they used to.  A friend was talking with me about what she was going to wear on a trip to the East Coast this fall, and she said she was feeling drawn to packing more simply and not being so caught up in what she wore.  I encouraged her and pulled out my phone and brought up these puffy-eyed photos I'm sharing,  telling her I was going to write about this subject, and she reacted with a sincerely concerned look, asking, "You're not going to show anyone those, are you?"

Well, yeah, I think I will!  Thanks for the idea.

I never realized just how self-occupied with my own looks I was until I fasted from my primping.  If my thoughts of how my own attractiveness or lack thereof are not on the front burner of my mind, there's more space to focus on enjoying my husband, together unwrapping this tremendous gift the Giver of all good things has presented to us.