Jerry Bridges

Jerry Bridges’ life and mine have connected on a few occasions within the last ten years. He’s been an important influence on me through his books.

Trusting God is my 2nd favorite book of all time, just below the Bible on my list.  I quote heavily from his book in almost all of mine. This book helped me so much when I was writing my own book, Sunsets, which Mr. Bridges generously endorsed. In my thank-you letter, I told him it didn’t surprise me that he appreciated Sunsets, since I quoted him on almost every page.  Haha. Okay, a little bit of an exaggeration, perhaps.

His book, Transforming Grace, also had a powerful influence on my life. That’s when God opened my eyes to the fact that nothing we do makes God love us more. And nothing we do makes God love us less. He loves us the same whether we’re “bad” or “good.” I realized that much of my “good behavior” was intended to ingratiate myself with God. So Mr. Bridges’ book helped me realize that nothing I did impacted God’s love for me. But much of what I did impacted my love for God. He is faithful even when we’re not. This was a life-changing realization for me.

For many years, Jerry Bridges has been one of my favorite Christian writers for these and other reasons. So I was saddened to hear that he died a few days ago. One less spiritual pillar in this world; one less spiritual guide to point us always to our Savior. Yet, I know that Jerry Bridges is more alive today than he’s ever been. I’m confident that the rejoicing in heaven right now at his home-coming is providing more joy to his soul than anything he could have imagined on this earth.

I’ll miss Jerry Bridges’ writing. But I have lots more of his books left to read and absorb. So while I’m sad for myself and the body of believers in this world, I rejoice with him that he is face to face with his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Thank You, Lord, for men like Jerry Bridges who help point others to You so brilliantly.

 

Posted by Deborah Howard, 1 comment

For John

My brother, John David Koon, died ten years ago on February 27. Ten long years. Ten short years. It depends on how I look at it. In one way, it seems like yesterday.

Telling him goodbye for the last time on this earth, we held each other and all that would come out of my mouth was, “Oh, my dear!” That being spoken with such emotion. I’ve never called him “my dear” before. Don’t know why it came out like that. But clinging to him, tears flowing, I didn’t want to let go. I suspected I’d never see him again. Yet, I did see him again. He was in a coma that time. I snuggled next to him and cried, patting his frail hand, and telling him that if he needed to go on, it was okay. Yes, as tears flow now with the memory it seems like ten short years ago.

My little brother, John, was not perfect. But he was exceptional. Even as a little kid, his sweetness was evident. From early on he seemed to have a devotion to Christ that I didn’t share back then. No, he was touched by God in a way I wasn’t. One of my sweetest memories of him was playing Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. I’ve always been the loud one, the bossy one, the assertive one. So I insisted on being Roy and made him be Dale. Hahaha. Oh, what a sweet boy he was.

We didn’t become absolute best friends until I was around fifteen years old. I don’t know if that was because that’s when he was suddenly bigger than me, or because that’s when I was saved. But I became a nicer, more loving person then and John and I were joined at the hip. We went to the same school. We had some of the same teachers. We both played trumpet in the band. We had the same friends. We truly enjoyed each other’s company more than other people.

One summer, while we were at band camp, we were both going steady and our “steadies” weren’t there. So John and I hung out a lot that year. We entered a twist contest and if memory serves me right, I think we won. Also, we were write-ins for cutest couple. Haha. That was fun.

Our adult years were often marked by separation. I left home when I went away to college. Then got married. Then he left to move to Texas, then California and back to Texas. Then he moved back home to the Little Rock area. Later, he got married and moved to Cabot, Arkansas—about an hour away.

Through it all, we maintained our relationship. When we were together it was as if no time had passed. We didn’t do “shallow” very well, so our conversations were always at a heart level. But he was also one of the funniest people I ever knew. So we were either laughing or deeply involved in conversation—or sometimes both.

When he was diagnosed with cancer, our relationship was kicked to the next level. We were all heart-broken. His wife and little girls tried to care for him to the best of their ability. My mother was devastated. And me? Well, it was the saddest thing I’ve ever experienced, so far in my life, to watch my dear, smart, funny, adorable brother suffer the indignities of cancer. We all felt so sorry for the toll it took on him.

But he didn’t. No, he rose to the occasion. Always content to be in the shadows, he suddenly thrust himself into the spotlight with a message that inspired and touched everyone he shared it with. The message was about how gracious and good God is—even in adversity, or especially in adversity, perhaps. He spoke before churches, schools, civic groups, in waiting rooms, in restaurants. Whenever the opportunity opened up for him to speak, he was there to joyfully proclaim God’s goodness. He said he’d never known such peace and internal joy as he had through those last years of his life. It certainly showed. Every conversation centered on spiritual things. It was like he existed on a higher spiritual plane; he understood things that had eluded him before; he saw God’s hand in everything. He faced death with courage and anticipation for a better world where he would be united with his Lord and Savior, Who had just become his new best Friend. And then he died. Ten years ago.

When I think of all that has transpired in our lives since then, ten years seems like a long time ago. Since then, I’ve had six books published; we’ve added a new daughter-in-law and four grandchildren. My boys have achieved so much; and John’s daughters have grown into beautiful young women—one in nursing school, and another with two babies of her own. John’s grandchildren. Oh, what joys we’ve had over ten long years without him. And then there have been the sorrows—but the joys have been much more abundant by the grace of God.

Ten long, short years ago my brother died. I promised him once that I’d always love him and never stop missing him. I’m keeping my promise. My dear. This is for you.

Posted by Deborah Howard, 2 comments

Double Grief

People talk to me about grief. I spent over 20 years in hospice, so they know I’ve seen my share of pain and sorrow. I’ve always tried to be approachable whenever someone needs to talk about their loved one.

Recently, a sweet young woman approached me with a question regarding her mother, who has been told there is nothing else they can do for her. First, let me reiterate what I’ve written in a couple of my books—there may be nothing more that can be done medically for a patient, but there’s never a time when nothing more can be done to improve their comfort and quality of life. That’s one reason I love hospice as much as I do.

Losing a mother is hard. As my mom is fond of saying, “No one loves you like your mama.” I think that’s true. A mother’s love for her child is special, and unique. And no one else could love you that way. But the same is true of you. Who you are when you’re with your mom is probably different from who you are with other people—even your spouse or other family.

My mom and I share so much. We have our own language—one made from all our little private jokes and shared experiences. And I know I relate differently to her than to anyone else. Thankfully, I still have my mom. We still talk and laugh and have fun together. But if/when I lose her, I will also lose that part of me I am with only her.

That’s not true just with mothers. I think we adjust to the various close people in our lives—incorporating little differences that only the two of us share. That’s why anytime we grieve the loss of someone we love, we lose a little of ourselves. In this way, our grief is doubled. That’s why we can be grateful when we know our loved ones are in Heaven, but still so sad at their loss—because when they died, they took that part of us that belonged only to them.  We miss them. And we miss who we are with them.

Fortunately, that’s not the end of the story. We will not grieve for eternity. Yes, time erases some of the intensity of our grief, but it never stops us from loving and missing that person. Yet, the Bible speaks of death as a temporary parting. One day there will be a reunion for believers in Jesus Christ—a glorious day surrounded by more love than our keenest imagination can invent. Oh, what a day that will be!

Posted by Deborah Howard in Cancer, Counseling, Days of My Life, End of Life Issues, Grief, Musings and Meditations, 1 comment

To God be the Glory!!

I am so excited right now!

My book, Help! I’m So Lonely, is finally going to print. I knew it was scheduled for release this year, but am thrilled the time is getting close. Today I approved the final draft from my editor at Shepherd’s Press.

But that’s not why I’m so excited. I’m excited because I was overwhelmed by the help, hope and understanding this book provides.

I wrote it so long ago that I’d forgotten some of what I’d written. Reading it today was like reading someone else’s work, in that regard. And how terrible it would have been if I’d hated it, or picked it to pieces, or thought, “Wow, this needs to go back to the drawing board.” But I didn’t. I loved it!

Please don’t label me as conceited. It’s not so much my work that I appreciated, as my reaction to it. Early on I noticed my eyes filling with tears as I read, and those tears gathered slowly and held until chapter 3 when they began to flow down my cheeks–as I began reading passages from the Bible that offered such compassionate understanding of the pain of loneliness, then transitioned to the “rest of the story,” the hope they provided. God’s word moved me to tears as I considered His promises, His work and His love to His suffering children.

I realized something. When I wrote this book, I intended to come alongside those going through the heartbreak of loneliness. But as I continued to read, I realized this book may be helpful to anyone who is suffering—not just the lonely. I didn’t expect that because it wasn’t even in my mind to do that.

Just shows you how gracious God is, and how He answered my prayer, “Lord, direct my thoughts and words while I write this book. Let this be YOUR book, Christ Jesus. And use it as You deem appropriate in the lives of those who suffer.” I start every project with these or similar words. But reading this little booklet after all this time, I realized He gave me abundantly more than I asked for—He extended the outreach I originally planned.

I can’t wait for this one to come out. I think God will use it to help many people and to minister to their hearts through His word—as it did to mine just now.

To God be the Glory!!

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Aging Jars of Clay

Some people are uncomfortable around old folks. I have rather an affinity for them. My work in hospice placed me in close, intimate proximity to the elderly—as the majority of my patients were older.

Even before that, I remember observing old people I encountered through my life. I’d especially study their eyes—trying to see the intelligence, humor, personality, and experience reflected there. For some reason, I’ve always been able to see them as older versions of myself—with skills, energy, physical stamina, their own kind of beauty, passion, and interesting experiences. My imagination allows me the freedom to recreate them into the way they must have looked in their youth. The common tendency in our society is just to see them as old, and all that comes with that–including their disposability.

Standing recently on the beach, I looked across the water, which has always been a spiritual experience for me. The beauty, the power of the water, the gentle breeze blowing softly through my hair, the sounds of the gulls overhead, the feel of the sun upon my skin, the smell of the salt in the air—all of it welling up within me, filling me up to overflowing with awe for a God so great that He could hold that immensity as but a drop in His hand.

It paints a pretty picture to imagine a beautiful 20-something flat-belly with cornflower eyes and long flaxen hair staring out across the ocean, her smooth, soft skin shimmering in the sunlight, her long, lithe, strong legs supporting her with the water lapping around her exquisite ankles.

Haha. I was kind of that girl once, about a million years ago. I may be forty years older and 100# heavier, but I’m the same person, and on the inside I still feel like I did when I was in my 20’s. When people see me now, do they see that girl of long ago? Or do they only see a fat, old lady with thinning hair taking up space on the beach? Perhaps they don’t even realize I’m looking out through the same eyes, feeling the same passion for life and waves and God as I did when I was young and fine. It’s not as pretty a picture, but it’s just as poignant to me.

Let me encourage you young people to try an experiment next time you find yourself sitting next to an elderly person. Instead of looking upon them as just taking up space in a world meant for the young, try to see them as a repository of rich stories, of relationships gone wrong—or right. These people were young once, too. They had dreams and hopes and aspirations. Some realized those dreams—others didn’t. But try to open the lid to see what’s inside. Remember, when they look into your face, they’re looking through the same eyes they had when they were young and fine. You just might be surprised what you find in their depths.

Posted by Deborah Howard in Counseling, Days of My Life, End of Life Issues, Musings and Meditations, 0 comments

God, Be With Us

The issue of the Syrian migration has been in the news, as it should be. I’ve seen the faces of the babies crying, their concerned moms holding them close. I’ve heard nightmares of their plight as they’ve made their way into Europe. I’ve also heard the nightmares they leave in their path, as they invade country after country.

Maybe that’s why I dreamed about it the other night.  In my dream I answered the door (of course it was not this house, but still let’s go with it) and three Middle-Eastern men stood there with forlorn expressions on their faces. One of them said in broken English, “We are forever hungry. Can you help us?” Knowing I’d just cooked a full meal, I asked them to wait there. When I returned with a platter of food for them, I was surprised that instead of the three hungry men I’d seen earlier, there were now fifty or sixty. They grabbed the platter of food and angrily pushed past me into my house knocking down lamps, tearing up everything in their path, shouting, pushing, shoving, breaking everything. I woke up breathing hard in full panic mode.

Though I’m thankful that was just a dream, I know that, for some, it’s only too real. I’m torn thinking of the children, then afraid remembering how strong the crowd was, and how powerless I was to stop them from coming into my house.

I realized that my dream captured both my fear and my compassion. One of my more liberal friends was astonished when I told her I supported our governor’s decision not to bring refugees here to Arkansas. She tried to shame me a little saying, “You’re one of the most compassionate people I know. I can’t believe you’re taking this stand. What if people shared this attitude with the Jews when they tried to escape Nazi Germany? What about your obligation to do unto others as you would have done unto you?”

Honestly, I see this as very different, an unfair comparison.

Yes, it’s true I’m conflicted. My heart wants to help. But I do not want what has happened in Europe to happen here in the United States. And I think we’re at a watershed moment in our history when this is a real possibility. It is proven that ISIS has infiltrated the refugee hordes. And that’s a shame. The masses are a huge Trojan horse, and within its throngs are people dedicated to the annihilation of all people and cultures but its own. It is possible then that in bringing the masses to America, we pave the way for uprisings and terrorism here on our own soil on a scale we never thought possible.

Let me make this very clear. I hate no one. I believe people should be allowed to practice their religion as long as it does not oppress others. But I do not want to be overrun by those who refuse to allow us to live in our own country with faith in God and patriotism for this nation.

We don’t know God’s plan for our country, or our own lives. So I thank GOD that I can rest in His sovereignty, knowing nothing happens outside His perfect plan and His divine will. That’s the only thing that keeps me from despair.

We may lose the world as we know it.  We will never lose the God that we love.  And in the end, we will dwell with Him in peace for all eternity.  I don’t know of a more important time to dwell upon heavenly things than now.

Posted by Deborah Howard in Days of My Life, Musings and Meditations, 5 comments

One of Those Weeks

Have you ever had one of those weeks where nothing seems to go as you want, everything your spouse says and does irritates you, you get bad news about friends and loved ones, your weight skyrockets out of control, and you don’t feel motivated to be productive? When all you want to do is eat, sleep, play computer games, watch TV, and read?

I’m having one of those weeks. And though I could point some fingers of blame, I know who the real culprit is—ME. When I get down like this I know at least two things are responsible for my bad attitude.

  • I have fallen into an undisciplined lifestyle.
  • I have failed to spend quality alone time with the Lord.

I don’t exactly know what set me off, but I suddenly realize that I’m not writing regularly, that I’ve let the diet go, that I’m not spending daily time with the Lord, that I’m not going to bed early enough to get a good night’s rest, that I’m not exercising regularly, or spending regular time in the word. In other words, I’ve allowed myself to become undisciplined in the last week or so. That leads to feeling that my life is out of control. I think that is the reason for these doldrums.  It’s not what anyone else has done to me—but what I’ve done to myself.

And I know exactly what steps to take to get me out of this funk—the first one being to go sit on my back porch for an hour and confess my sin to God, then spend some quality time in fellowship and prayer with Him. Then I need to take control of my life—of the things for which I’m responsible. I need to exercise, eat right, drink water, go to bed at a reasonable hour, keep to my writing schedule, and enjoy some daily quiet time.

You might ask why I’m confessing so publicly to such a bad attitude. It’s because I enjoy my role of being a Titus 2 woman. “Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled,” Titus 2:3-5.

In this blog post, it seems I’m teaching the younger women that we all have times when we feel a little down, unmotivated and far from holy. It happens. But there are two bits of advice I feel I should pass along to you about this.

  1. Even though we all do it, and it’s a natural tendency we share, it’s never right to wallow in it. Obviously, I’m the last person to judge others for getting down occasionally—even someone as usually buoyant as I am. So visit the blues if you must, but don’t live in them. Get yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again, as the song goes.
  2. As with most problems, this one is caused or worsened by a lack of face-time with God. When you recognize you’re falling into a funk, ask yourself if you’re spending adequate time with your Savior, if you’re singing hymns of praise to Him, if your heart is joyful with the truths you discover daily in His word. If the answer is no (and I suspect it might be), then run to Him. He is the cure for all our ills and the only true source of our hope.

I’ll close with my brother, John’s, favorite verse:

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope,” Romans 15:13.

Only in Him can we find the hope and motivation and inspiration we need to live pleasing to Him. Only in Him can we remember the joy that keeps us living and loving in such a way that sets us apart from those who have no hope.

 

Posted by Deborah Howard in Counseling, Days of My Life, Grief, Musings and Meditations, 0 comments

Be Not Afraid

Sometimes God brings issues to the forefront of our minds. Then, in case we push them to the back, He brings them to us again.

This week has been like that. A number of events have led me to think long and hard about the persecution and murder of Christians around the world.

In the cocoon this great country provides for us it’s hard to comprehend what great cost our faith has to those far away. We tend to think of the martyrs of the church as long-ago, greater than life figures in history. Yet I hear that never has there been a time when more people are losing their lives for the sake of the gospel than now.

This somber issue was recently brought to mind as our church celebrated Reformation Day last weekend. Not only were we reminded of the sacrifice our forefathers made to bring us the spiritual and biblical freedoms we enjoy today, but we were told about those faced with the ultimatum, “Deny your faith or die.” And they chose to die. And I’m not talking about our forefathers. I’m talking about what is going on right now!

The culmination of the several ways God has brought this issue to mind was when I received an email earlier this week with this link:

http://videos.cbn.com/services/player/bcpid1697316436001?bckey=AQ~~,AAAAqwZdoRk~,5p3D8wQwoZ8oJO3MI2xIgOgYVJVg2DJk&bctid=4567985102001

A courageous, bold German pastor proclaims the truth of scripture in a world that wants to shut him up any way it can. I do not know this brave man personally, but I wish I did. I sent the link to several people because it touched me so deeply.

And I almost wrote, “I guess all we can do is pray for him.” It hit me that I was viewing prayer as a last resort, after helplessly throwing my hands up. No. Prayer should be the first resort, accompanied by faith that it is also the most effective, powerful means we have to meet this or any other need.

I have a sneaking suspicion this man may have a target on him. Some lunatic may find a permanent way to shut him up—but even if that happens, his message will soar to new heights, will impact more people, and will reach who God intends to hear it.

I pray for this man. I pray that God protects him and gives him continued passion and perseverance to stay the course. But if He chooses to bring him home, I pray God equips him with the kind of courage, faith and strength that will enable him to die as bravely as he’s living.

If I could reach out to him, and to the many whose very lives are in jeopardy, I’d want to say to them what God told His people repeatedly in His word—“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go,” Joshua 1:9.

When it’s our turn to be faithful when it costs us everything, will we stand strong? Will we be counted among those who are privileged to die for faith in our blessed Lord? In our own strength, we would fall. But God’s people do not have to rely on their own abilities. We stand completely dependent on our God to uphold us to the end. As Psalm 63:7-8 beautiful states, “For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” If He’s holding onto us, falling is not possible.

Please join me in prayer for our brothers and sisters who stand for something greater than their lives. They stand for Jesus Christ, our Savior and King. May we bolster them with our prayers as they, and we, continue in Him.

Posted by Deborah Howard in Days of My Life, Musings and Meditations, 0 comments

Driving Me Crazy!

We watch them daily—because if we don’t they stack up like cords of wood in our DVR queue. If you record them, you must stay on top of them. I’m talking, of course, about episodes of House Hunters and House Hunters International.

I can identify some positive elements about these shows. They provide perspective on what the dollar buys in different parts of the country and world. Examining the way others live is interesting—the good, the bad and the ugly. We can vicariously involve ourselves in choosing properties we simply could not dream of living in.

However, I have to admit that perhaps the elements that bug me about these shows keep me watching. And I could write a thesis about those!

Realtors. Do realtors have ears? Can they hear the words coming out of their clients’ mouths? The client will say, “It is imperative we stay near the city center because we don’t have a car; we need 3 bedrooms at a minimum for our family of seven—with one on the way; no stairs; move-in ready; and some outdoor space for our dog. The absolute top of our budget is $200,000.” So the realtor immediately takes them to a 2-bedroom townhome fixer-upper in the burbs, with steep, winding stairs, a tiny patch of AstroTurf outside, on a busy street, and listed for $380,000. “Were you even listening?,” I scream at the TV. And then that ends up being the house the buyers choose.  I throw my arms up in disgust!

The Buyers. That brings me to the buyers. I get that the show chooses a couple with completely different requirements. One wants city center, the other wants country; one wants beach, the other wants mountains; one wants modern, the other wants vintage. Conflict sells, right? But it’s buyer ignorance that makes me scream.

I especially love the ones overseas. Normally a mild-mannered person, I find myself wanting to choke the chick who continually says, “There’s no tub,” or “I was hoping for stainless steel appliances,” or “This is so tiny!,” or “In Kansas, our master was three times this size.” I scream, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, you idiot!” (I’m really unkind to these people.)

And these shows have determined society’s expectations. Now, every home must have stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops. Even if the kitchen has been newly remodeled, how can anyone hope to ever cook on a black stove? Or an electric one? No, no. You must have a gas stove–and only stainless steel.

And first time house buyers are the worst, aren’t they? Expecting everything for almost nothing. “We really wanted a pool,” they whine, pouting. I scream, “You can’t afford a pool, you morons!”

It’s enough to make you crazy. When I think of all the years I’ve cooked in a tiny kitchen, on an electric stove, with laminate countertops, and popcorn on the ceiling, I wonder how I could possibly have turned out so many delicious meals.

And believe it or not, I’m still so thankful for what we’ve got. In some parts of the world, my house would be worth millions! Maybe it’s that realization that causes me to remain such a faithful viewer of these shows. They remain the shows I absolutely love to hate.

Got to go. I think my DVR is recording another one as we speak!

Posted by Deborah Howard in Days of My Life, Musings and Meditations, 0 comments

No Place Like Home

Hubby and I have traveled 13 days in October, so far. Nine of those days we were getting to and from and going on a glorious cruise to the Caribbean with my son and his family.  Our job was primarily that of babysitters for our 3-year old grandson, Xander.  But we loved that part of it, too.

Being on or near water is a spiritual experience for me. I think I’m more attracted to the beach than the sea.  It’s the power of the waves that seems to remind me the most of the greatness and power of the Lord.  I see their constancy, which soothes me; I watch the bulge of the wave form out from the shore and watch its progress until it finally crests, then breaks as it folds onto the beach, then recedes quietly back into the depths again.  Such power!  Such beauty!

The sea is great, too. Its expanse is the main element that causes me to glorify the Creator, when I can see nothing but water, then recognize that all of it is a tiny drop in the palm of God’s hand.  Then consider all that lies in its depths, and the Lord’s brilliant imagination in that underwater creation.

We got home and barely had time to unpack when we heard the news that Theron’s brother had died. So we packed again and took off on the long drive to St. Charles, MO, where we spent the next four days. Theron’s brother, Claud, has a large, loving family and it did us good to see them again, to see how they respected and loved their father, grandfather, and husband.

My husband and Claud’s five grown grandsons served as pallbearers. There were those tall, dark and handsome young men—and then there was my husband, all 5’7” of him, in his nice suit, with his silvery hair, and the sweetest expression on his face—of pain mixed with strength.  When I saw him like that, my heart exploded with love for him, and once again, I thanked the Lord for bringing us together.

When we made it home again, I saw my humble abode as the haven it’s come to be for us. It was like a giant “aaahhhhh.”  Our house is old and out of style.  It has the problems associated with old houses.  But problems and all, it seemed to wrap its arms around us when we walked in the door.  We’re home again.  I think I’ll stay a while, Lord willing. The old adage is so true—“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”

 

Posted by Deborah Howard in Days of My Life, Musings and Meditations, 0 comments