A Matter of Perspective

I have taken it upon myself to preserve and circulate some important family history. I am creating a new (digital) edition of a little booklet written by my great-great-grandmother, Hripsime Kassarjian. She was an incredible woman of God. Her book is my window into her world ... and it satisfies my grief at having been born after she had gone to be with our LORD. Here is a piece of her life, in my hands.

Life can cloud us, can't it? The sludge of negativity and discontentment slows us down. That moment-by-moment comparison game always yields a winner and a loser. I get so quickly sludged down into a kind of 'slough of despond,' as in Pilgrim's Progress. It starts out innocently enough, and then turns fatal. The lies which draw me deeper into myself, my pity, my heavily-guarded pride ... will sludge me into the bottom of the slough, unless a hand reaches out to pull me back to the grassy banks.

Sometimes, that hand is reaching out from eternity. As I transcribe her story, I cannot help but see how small and ugly my attitude and problems really are. She survived four wars - and the Armenian genocide. She was separated from her brother for forty long years, believing him to be dead. Her years as a school girl were spent as an orphan, not sure of her birthday, without the comfort of parents to love and support her. She and her classmates spent their days between class and hiding in barricades from the Turkish soldiers who came to kill. When the Muslim Turks sought to obliterate the entire race of Armenian people [due to a primarily religious conflict], she kept her faith. She understood that her very life rested in the hand of God. He kept giving it back to her. She kept praising His name. Her hand reaches out to me even now ... pulling me out of the dirty mire of self-pity and into the light.

You may be wondering about her name. What does it mean? Here are her words, from the preface:

"I was named after an Armenian princess (the daughter of an Armenian King). She was a very beautiful young girl, eighteen years old, who had become a Christian at the end of the third century, A.D.

There was a prince, the son of a Gentile king, who intended to marry her, if she would give up her faith in Jesus Christ. He tried to persuade her for some time, but without any result; so she was put in jail. Everyday this prince would visit her to find out if she had changed her mind; her answer was always the same. She would say, “It is far better to die for my dear Savior, Jesus Christ, than to marry a Gentile prince.” Finally, she died in jail. She was called a saint. Of course, I am not worthy to bear her name, but many parents like to name their daughters in memory of that dear princess, who held fast her faith and her deep love for Jesus Christ, her Savior."

All worthiness aside, it is a fitting name for a woman who held so strongly to her faith and her Lord in spite of all obstacles, a lifetime of suffering, and overwhelming grief. Between the lines of her story, there is a deep love for Jesus. May that love speak to me right now, today, and tomorrow, and into eternity.

.On Aging Gracefully.

Something happens when, as a young adult, you spend time in a nursing home. Especially when the person you have come to see is beloved…

Everything material melts away. All those ambitions you had for losing weight and looking better than your friends become stupid. The question of what to wear tomorrow vanishes. The self-pity that was about to swallow you shrinks back to a manageable size when you stop, and think about someone else.

Last night I had the pleasure of spending an hour at a nursing home. I had the privilege of hearing Grandma tell stories of Dad’s first piano lesson, how she used to do her hair, and all the things you can do with flowers. She is in a wheelchair now. She suffered bleeding on her brain, and has a broken pelvis. Her mental faculties have lost some of their sharpness. Her hands tremble. But she still sings the praises of our Lord.

Twice in that hour she broke into prayer, and twice she started singing hymns of praise to Jesus. Her words of faith in the midst of her pain and confusion touched and convicted my heart in a way that I needed so very much. To see my troubles as small and stupid is the best thing that could have happened to me last night. To realize that when the rest of life and all its trappings fade away, the true person is all that will be left.

Questions  linger in my mind… when it’s my turn, who will they see? Whose praises will I sing? Or will I sing at all? Is there any place where God is not, or does not see?

Grandma Badeer told me another story. It’s the one where a Christian lady goes to a Good Samaritan nursing home to recover from bleeding on her brain, and God uses her in a mighty way. “That Mrs. Badeer, she is not like the other girls,” the Skill Care Staff said, “not at all.”  

[re-posted this week, originally composed July 29, 2008]

Einstein on Religion

"The most beautiful emotion that we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man." 

-- Albert Einstein, from the biography by Walter Isaacson, reprinted in TIME magazine, April 2007



Last night the weather was absolutely perfect. The drive home was late, but the flicker of fireflies in the grassy ditches made it well worth the fatigue. I turned off the music to contemplate another day - and all the wonder that came with it. Silence. I could hear my own thoughts, and the beliefs that were flowing out from them. Some of them were true. Some of them were not.

What is the value of quiet? How much real quiet {stillness, prayer, silence, reflection} do you experience daily? Does it bring about fear or wonder? Is it the reflection and prayer that bring us back to center, or the monster that brings out the fears that we've been running from? How will you know if you never take out those headphones?

When faced with a difficult {work} decision a few years ago, my boss gave me a piece of advice that I will never forget: take an hour or two of solitude and meditation before you decide. Seek God's wisdom and will for your life by just being still before Him. Was it hard to carve out that time? Yes. Did it make a difference in my clarity of thought? Yes. I took an hour to reflect on what had brought me to the NOW, and what God had done since that initial journey into the workforce. It was a lesson in re-centering myself; re-aligning myself with the greater purpose that He has for my life. It's the purpose and focus that so often gets lost in the daily grind, the shuffle of paperwork on my desk and the constant drippings of contention from the outside. It's Monday, and all I can think about is how tired I am.

Why am I here?

What's the best way for me to answer that question?

__ The Great Unknowns __

THE GREAT UNKNOWNS - at nytimes.com 

 

On this Memorial Day, let's not forget the fallen. They are the brave men who answered when the draft board called, volunteered for valor, fought to the best of their ability, and finally answered the call of destiny when the number of their days was up. Before they were laid to rest, they laid their friends in shallow graves. The glamor that we imagine to be part of their service still hasn't become reality for many of them. Men who served in Korea and Vietnam still hang their heads in {false} shame for having fought in unpopular wars. They are the true heroes- who hide their uniforms in musty closets and hang Old Glory where every eye can see it. 

What soldier is on your heart this Memorial Day? How will you pay tribute? 

+++ Welcome to the Week of Gratitude +++

I was challenged last Sunday (in church, of all places!). It's a rare thing to hear a message that penetrates the heart, and a visiting preacher at a small white church in Firth, NE managed to do it quite nicely. As a response to his challenge, I welcome you to my Week of Gratitude.

Everyday I will post something that I am thankful to God for ~ be it small, "normal" or something significant in the past year of life. At the end of the week, I hope to have gained a good start on thinking of the past in the proper light - gratitude.

DAY ONE  

Good friends, though far away. These are the kind of friends that say, "If there isn't enough snow, we'll BE the snowman!!"    

You drive hundreds of miles to see them ... and still believe firmly that it's worth it.  

When you start quoting your favorite poem, they finish it with a smile. 

If you think the best way to spend a day is visiting Mount Vernon, they'll gladly join you.

They even love you enough to put you in a silly satin dress for their wedding - and then drag you onto the dance floor. 

If you're on a NYC Cruise and you need a date, they oblige. 

What would I do without them??

THANKS be to GOD for them!

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas tree ...

How lovely are thy branches! Even more lovely, the lights they string around your furry arms, and the ornaments that make you stick out in all your seasonal splendor. The rotunda is much more interesting with you there to fill the halls with the fragrance of pine, and sparkle with light when the sun goes down. I can't help but think of excuses for walking by to drink up your magnificent presence... and wonder at the journey you took to get here.

.read the story of the Capitol Christmas tree here.


The Christmas Tree is an ancient and wonderful tradition here in America. That wasn't always the case... it took Hessian Soldiers, war, and Queen Victoria to turn the branches of the evergreen into an American staple. Even Martin Luther had a hand in perpetuating our modern tradition.

Legend has it, late one winter evening, Martin marveled at the beauty of the stars sparkling through the trees on his walk home. Excited about the beauty of God's unique creation, he went home and placed candles on the Christmas tree to recreate what he saw for his young children. The flickering flames danced like the stars in the sky on the end of each evergreen branch.

What began as nothing more than a Druid superstition ( Who used holly and mistletoe as symbols of eternal life, and placed evergreen branches over doors to keep away evil spirits.) became St. Boniface's tool for teaching the Trinity, and then Martin Luther's canvas for re-painting the beauty of the night sky. I can't help but think that when Luther lit up the tree, he was thinking of that one, great star. The star that lit up the way to the Christ child, born in a manger.

Now, it is for Him that we light the tree, give gifts (even as the magi did), and sing heralds of His birth. He is the Messiah ~ Emmanuel, God with us.

Merry Christmas.