Author: Jane Foard Thompson

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.

Strange blessings

Last week, between the time I composed my blog and published it, I broke my left hand. The next day, x-rays revealed a twisted break of my fourth metacarpal, requiring surgery. I’m a lefty, and being completely sidelined certainly was not on my calendar.

Though I wasn’t prepared for it, I was blessed this week. Middle Daughter and her boys had arrived a few days earlier from Switzerland. They took me for surgery, and afterward, carried me to their vacation rental at the beach, where they cared for me.

Some of our blessings come in unexpected packages.

So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.

II Corinthians 4:16-18 The Message

Have you been surprised by blessings in strange circumstances?

Breathe on me

Immediately following his agonizing crucifixion and supernatural resurrection, the first time Jesus appeared to the whole bunch, he breathed peace and the power of his Spirit over his disciples, and said, “If you forgive someone’s sins, they’re gone for good. If you don’t forgive sins, what are you going to do with them? John 20:22-23, The Message. That last line stopped me cold.

I would have expected words of comfort for the fear and dejection they had experienced in the last few days.

Or answers.

What happened to Jesus? Where was he during those dark hours? What did it feel like? How was his body changed? How’d he get in the room with the doors locked against the world? What would happen to Him now, to all of them?

Instead, Jesus tells them the point of his resurrection power is forgiveness.

Really? Forgiveness?

Then I recall the words he gasped from the cross. “Father, forgive them they know not what they do.”

All right. I know He took our sins to the cross. But giving us the power to forgive sins?

“If you don’t forgive sins, what are you going to do with them?”

Good question. What am I doing with sins against me?

God often speaks to me in mental pictures. As I ponder this, I see an image of me, navigating life with my hands full, cradling scars from childhood when someone hurt me deeply or wounded me by neglect, or from a painful relationship, or rage against the one who abused my children . . . (It goes on, and I’m sure you can write your own list.)

With my hands full, I have nothing to help me make my way through the tough places,

or to receive any gifts,

or to offer assistance to others.

I have to ask, who is being hindered the most now by my holding onto sin against me?

In the light of this, holding on seems preposterous.

So I journey on, forgiving some easily. With the others, deeper wounds from those who should have been the most loving, I have struggled.

Sometimes all I’ve managed is wanting to let go. And for a while, that was enough. The beginning of that road.

But as I felt the call to grow, no amount of sheer effort would make it happen.

I’ve come back around to the breathing part. Jesus breathes his spirit on us to give us the power to really live. The life we were created to live.

It’s pure gift. As I open my hands and heart, and welcome that breath, something in me is transformed.

Lord, breathe on me, giving me the peace the world cannot give, and the power to let go of sins, mine and those of others that have burdened me for way too long. Thank you for new life power.

Is there a struggle on your journey?

Why I believe in Easter

My father was a man of great sin, and our family suffered from his choices. He hurt, abused, and almost destroyed us. As he lay dying, he faced it all.

For days, I had stayed by his side in the ICU. Near the end, he began to tear at the restraints, eyes squinting as into bright light. After a furious but silent fight, he grew quiet, cocking his head as if listening. Then he relaxed and flopped back. In minutes, again his body tensed and legs jerked against the ankle straps. He grimaced at some inner pain. Then his lips moved in silent confession.

I knew God was showing my father his sin. He repented. God forgave him and assured him that He would redeem the years the enemy, using my father, had devoured. The cycle continued for hours until, at dusk, he fell still.

That night he slipped into a coma from which his doctor said he would never awaken. Exhausted after two weeks at his deathbed, I asked why they didn’t just turn off the IV’s and oxygen, why keep him alive when there was no hope. The doctor said the machines weren’t keeping him alive–my father would go when God was ready—and that everyone in the hospital had great respect for the courage that had kept him alive this long.

Respect for my father–the alcoholic–the rage and fury of my childhood?

During the night, in the glow of machines, I realized his cheekbones were just like mine. For the first time, I was proud to have those strong bones, proud to be The Dutchman’s daughter. I rose and leaned over his bed. He opened his eyes as if I had called to him. He reached up and gently stroked my hair.

All my life I had yearned for that tender touch.

“I love you, too,” I whispered.

He smiled and closed his eyes. His hand fell back to the bed.

When morning came, my Mom arrived, fresh after two days of sleep. Completely exhausted, I dragged myself to our room and collapsed into bed. Several hours later, she shook me awake.

He was gone.

I felt cheated. I’d spent days at his bedside, then wasn’t there to say goodbye. God had brought spiritual healing to him during his last days, and I had felt a touch of the love I hungered for all my life, but now, I had nothing.

I grasped at emptiness, and found only pain, fresher than ever.

Several days later, Mom asked me to read a lesson at the funeral.

Choked with tears, I read “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” While I read, I begin to grasp that a God who was powerful enough to bring forgiveness to a man like my father, could bring life and healing to me.

My voice rang out as I ended: “But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” I Corinthians 15:55,57 (NAS).

I felt the touch of the Father’s hand, the all-encompassing love of an eternal “Daddy” who will never hurt me or leave me.

And for the first time in years, I was able to pray.

Healing has been a process. What I experienced at my father’s death was a crack in the door, a chance for me to open the walls I had formed around myself–to choose life.

I have learned to release old hurts and receive love. God has redeemed the years of pain. Deep wounds have carved a crucible of joy that I can pour out for others.

“I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong, and let your heart take courage.” Psalm 27:13, 14 (NAS)

Papa God, hold the little child in me who needs your strength and gentleness. Turn me towards the light. Fill me with your love, that I might love, and love, and love again.