Jane Foard Thompson is an inspirational speaker and award winning author and poet. A former Montessori teacher in Texas and Utah, for eight years Jane and her husband were missionaries in Honduras, Central America. After working for the American Red Cross in Idaho, they now live in Florida, where she writes, leads music and women's Bible studies at their church, and enjoys nine grandchildren and her Golden Retriever, Lily.
Many are in the midst of a time of hurt, loss, despair or death. Hanging on throughout the forever-three long days and nights of dark emptiness. Much of the Christian church begins the final week of Lent recalling Jesus’ seemingly triumphant entry into Jerusalem, Palm Sunday. How quickly the high of the disciples dissipated into betrayal, fear, and death.
Like the travelers in the airport in Brussels, life can change in an instant, the light blown out.
For others the journey is a slow crawl in a dark tunnel.
For all who feel like their own Lent will go on forever, that the darkness will never end, I want to share what she wrote on Facebook. (with permission – emphasis mine)
Cecelia Timberlake March 19 at 8:45 pm · A faith perspective of my mom’s death and LENT
This Lent has truly been a desert time for our family, for me, even when surrounded by others, a time without comfort knowing mom was so sick, a time for searching and praying for healing, and a time of preparation. This Lent saying goodbye to the woman who brought me into the world seemed impossible. I fought letting go of mom, resisting with all of my heart. This is my mother, our mother, grandmother, great grandmother and we all fought fiercely to keep her here.
The only way out of this desert is to let the love of Jesus be our guide. His Love dictated the path, the timing, the direction, and prepared the way. Mom was in the desert with us for a while. We ultimately had to let her go, surrender her to our Father.
This Lent I felt weaker than ever, but needed strength. I felt more alone than ever but needed support. I felt emptied of love but needed more love. I felt directionless but needed a compass.
This I know:
Jesus came out of the desert renewed, and He is my example. He tells us He will guide us, love us, strengthen us, quench our thirst, and give us guidance. He will show me and fill me with sustenance. He has great plans for us.
I imagine her walking forward, holding up her arms and smiling, seeing my dad and immediately feeling great joy. I can see him taking her hand and moving forward to greet her sisters Nita and Mildred, and brother Johnnie, I imagine the welcoming party of her mom and dad. Her son. Her friends. Her grandson. Oh, her joy.
THAT’S IT! THAT is the way out. Focus on mom being happy, being whole, enjoying being loved! Focus on her enthusiasm at having memories and the glory of Heaven. No more pain! No more imprisoned in her mind and body. Sometimes after a long dry wait, the rain comes and overnight the whole desert blooms in beautiful flowers. I think mom is in the midst of beauty now, Gods beauty.
Our church reenacts the final Passover Meal that Jesus ate with his friends and washed their feet. We read about his leading them to the garden to pray — he alone in agony when they all fell asleep. In that garden, before one of his friends betrayed him with a kiss, Jesus faced his own his brutal death and separation from God. Alone.
He knows the void of the desert. He knows what the long dark feels like.
But there is more. So much more.
That night he suffered terrible abuse, cruelty, mockery and rejection, all on the way to “Good” Friday, his torturous death on a cross.
Then to his burial.
His tomb sealed with a stone that took at least ten men to roll in place, everything looked totally hopeless.
But there is more!
On the third day the brave ones found the tomb open, grave clothes undisturbed where they had laid his body. But he wasn’t there.
He arose! Jesus overcame death and darkness.
In this new life he made a way for us out of the wilderness.
Out of the darkness.
When it feels like all is lost, or not worth going forward, I do as Cecelia did. I recall what I know to be true. What God has done for me in the past. What I know of him. What he has promised. And recall that when I am weak, he is strong.
Vehement criticism has become the national pastime in the United States. The gulf is growing between people of opposing views, values, races, religions, sects . . . (if there is a difference between people, it can go here). From talk shows to political debates, Facebook comments to news ‘discussions’ the degree of acrimony is chilling. No longer about discussing differences, it is all inflicting pain. Wiping out the opponent. Never listening, pausing only long enough to refuel and continue the attack.
As a peace-at-any-price soul, even on a visceral level this grieves me. And as one who believes the words of the Prince of Peace, “Love your enemies, and do good to those who hurt you,” I find it harder and harder to turn on the TV or read the news. I feel like completely disengaging from the current elections, and for the first time, not even voting.
It seems that compassion, without which our society cannot long survive, is in short supply, meted out only for “chosen” babies, endangered species and victims.
But the definition of a victim loops us right back to the top. My compassion for who, or what, I perceive as a victim might be the very action that ignites another to shut me down, reject me, or worse.
Dystopian novels and movies about a world that has been almost destroyed by aggression and warfare don’t seem like sci-fi anymore. They might be predicting our future, as 1984 didwhen it was written.
Dry bones, Fernandina, Galapagos
How much hope is there when our youngest generations are growing up with an instantaneous connection to a world of terrorism and violent hatred, video games, TV, and movies loaded with violence? With ever-prevalent pornography increasing sexual dysfunction, and condoning objectification of and violence toward women?
Our world is spinning out of civility.
I can’t help being glad I’m in the last era of my life. But I grieve for the younger ones. My children are wonderfully intentional about building strong, loving homes. But can they insulate against this culture of selfishness, “It’s all about me” and hatred?
I pause and watch the afternoon clouds building up. (Here in Florida, at times missing the mountains I watch the clouds billow up from the Gulf of Mexico and picture them rolling off mountaintops.)
Clouds rising over Gulf of Mexico by Jack H Thompson, Jr
Assured, once again, that my strength doesn’t come from my world being orderly, life going as it should, or from peaceful surroundings, I know I can go on.
Taking my life from His hand, one day at a time.
One step at a time.
So, how do you handle it when you feel overwhelmed?
Glimpse of Peace 