Long may he live; may gold of Sheba be given to him! May prayer be made for him continually, and blessings invoked for him all the day! May there be abundance of grain in the land. On the tops of the mountains may it wave. May its fruits be like Lebanon, and may people blossom like grass of the field! May his name endure forever, his fame continue as long as the sun! (Verses 15-17)
After my father's arrest in 1985, my mother anguished over her choice to marry him in the first place. I didn't know until that spring as I sat for hours listening to her tell me the particulars of her life, how very minimal her marriage was and how desert dry her emotional life. Daddy spurned her years before, a thing she couldn't talk to anyone about. Until the arrest. There was an awakening then that her inadequacy wasn't the reason the well of intimacy dried up years before. Her man had other needs no wife could fill. The dessication of her soul in response to her husband's abandonment of a love life was not her fault. But his. From day one of their marriage, my father's admission that he had difficulty there should have given her pause. All their issues with intimacy could've been traced back to that first night had she been less willing to take full responsibility for all that was wrong with their union. But he told her she was less than. And she believed it. Beaten and shamed by her first husband, Mother once again was allowed to believe she deserved her path. But God gave her a time of reflection in the eight months between Daddy's arrest and her death in August of 1985. And the big question for her as she faced her earthly end was why she had lived in the first place. My father's shame initially became hers...and ours. But in our day-long weekly conversations, Mother tried to work out in her heart and mind what her life meant. Had it been wasted on a man who really couldn't love her as his wife given his sexual propensity. And why had he told her all those years it was she who was inadequate? And what would her life have looked like with another man? Another place? She feared she'd missed her destiny. And our footprints matter. We all want to know we are here for a purpose and that we fulfill it.
Before her death, Mother wrote a letter to her family to be delivered to them at her funeral. She gave it to me to distribute although I didn't read it until my sisters did, also. This is what it said, in part:
And for my girls -- when we started planning for our family we asked you, Lord, to give us mentally, physically and spiritually healthy bundles from heaven. Since you always give us more than we dreamed of asking, we were overwhelmed at the beauty of each 'flower' you presented to us. Each flower was a different color and design with unique petals and form. Slowly they unfolded at first, giving us glimpses of the talents and abilities that were part of the whole plant -- the plan and design of their lives. Then it seemed, Lord, we turned around one day to see each flower fully opened and we realized you had blessed each girl beyond all we had ever expected. As their Creator, Lord, don't ever let them become complacent about or lazy with their miraculous gifts. May they use them, Lord, to fulfill the separate, individual destinies for which You created them.
It was on her mind....our destinies. Over and over when she asked me why she had lived in the first place, I reminded her of us -- her "flowers." We would have no destiny without her womb. No chance to make our mark on the world without the birth pangs that delivered us into this world. That she lived matters even today, years after she began her dance in heaven.
David wanted to know that the life of the king was going to go on for generations. That the world would be blessed because God assigned him and Solomon to the throne. He had quite the prayer for his realm -- that it endure forever...his fame as long as the sun! Wow! Let me be a good enough king that no one will ever forget me! Interestingly, that prayer came from the heart of God because the King of Kings came from the loins of David through Solomon. So, there you have it. David's prayer for his destiny didn't go unheard. It was God's plan all along to bring Messiah from the shepherd boy's line. Though the kid with the slingshot made horrific mistakes, the "gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11) David's destiny sure though his path could've been straighter.
Maybe our prayers aren't as lofty as David's or as desperate as Mother's, but we all want to do what we came here to do. To be remembered for our contribution to history, however small it might seem. Woven into the fabric of time, is our skein, in hue perfect for the place where the needle threads it into the entire picture. The tapestry incomplete without the loop of our lives sewn in. I think, in heaven, when all is said and done, some of the smallest threads will be deemed the most important. Presidents and kings, actors and diplomats, billionaires and philanthropists will take a backseat to missionaries and mothers, bakers and butchers, teachers and telemarketers. In all these things what matters to my God is that I surrendered my way to Him. That He walks it through with me makes it miraculous and powerful to do whatever He has called me to. Christ locked arms with fishermen and tax collectors, ate with sinners and let harlots wash His feet with their hair. We know these people because they followed Jesus. That is what made them worth hearing about two thousand years after they dusted the sand from their feet and lay down to die. That is what makes my life significant today.
Mother died praying for me to do it all! Every last shred of destiny in my cache. To not take for granted my giftings and my calling. I'm trying, Mother! May Jesus help me all the way home.
After my father's arrest in 1985, my mother anguished over her choice to marry him in the first place. I didn't know until that spring as I sat for hours listening to her tell me the particulars of her life, how very minimal her marriage was and how desert dry her emotional life. Daddy spurned her years before, a thing she couldn't talk to anyone about. Until the arrest. There was an awakening then that her inadequacy wasn't the reason the well of intimacy dried up years before. Her man had other needs no wife could fill. The dessication of her soul in response to her husband's abandonment of a love life was not her fault. But his. From day one of their marriage, my father's admission that he had difficulty there should have given her pause. All their issues with intimacy could've been traced back to that first night had she been less willing to take full responsibility for all that was wrong with their union. But he told her she was less than. And she believed it. Beaten and shamed by her first husband, Mother once again was allowed to believe she deserved her path. But God gave her a time of reflection in the eight months between Daddy's arrest and her death in August of 1985. And the big question for her as she faced her earthly end was why she had lived in the first place. My father's shame initially became hers...and ours. But in our day-long weekly conversations, Mother tried to work out in her heart and mind what her life meant. Had it been wasted on a man who really couldn't love her as his wife given his sexual propensity. And why had he told her all those years it was she who was inadequate? And what would her life have looked like with another man? Another place? She feared she'd missed her destiny. And our footprints matter. We all want to know we are here for a purpose and that we fulfill it.
Before her death, Mother wrote a letter to her family to be delivered to them at her funeral. She gave it to me to distribute although I didn't read it until my sisters did, also. This is what it said, in part:
And for my girls -- when we started planning for our family we asked you, Lord, to give us mentally, physically and spiritually healthy bundles from heaven. Since you always give us more than we dreamed of asking, we were overwhelmed at the beauty of each 'flower' you presented to us. Each flower was a different color and design with unique petals and form. Slowly they unfolded at first, giving us glimpses of the talents and abilities that were part of the whole plant -- the plan and design of their lives. Then it seemed, Lord, we turned around one day to see each flower fully opened and we realized you had blessed each girl beyond all we had ever expected. As their Creator, Lord, don't ever let them become complacent about or lazy with their miraculous gifts. May they use them, Lord, to fulfill the separate, individual destinies for which You created them.
It was on her mind....our destinies. Over and over when she asked me why she had lived in the first place, I reminded her of us -- her "flowers." We would have no destiny without her womb. No chance to make our mark on the world without the birth pangs that delivered us into this world. That she lived matters even today, years after she began her dance in heaven.
David wanted to know that the life of the king was going to go on for generations. That the world would be blessed because God assigned him and Solomon to the throne. He had quite the prayer for his realm -- that it endure forever...his fame as long as the sun! Wow! Let me be a good enough king that no one will ever forget me! Interestingly, that prayer came from the heart of God because the King of Kings came from the loins of David through Solomon. So, there you have it. David's prayer for his destiny didn't go unheard. It was God's plan all along to bring Messiah from the shepherd boy's line. Though the kid with the slingshot made horrific mistakes, the "gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11) David's destiny sure though his path could've been straighter.
Maybe our prayers aren't as lofty as David's or as desperate as Mother's, but we all want to do what we came here to do. To be remembered for our contribution to history, however small it might seem. Woven into the fabric of time, is our skein, in hue perfect for the place where the needle threads it into the entire picture. The tapestry incomplete without the loop of our lives sewn in. I think, in heaven, when all is said and done, some of the smallest threads will be deemed the most important. Presidents and kings, actors and diplomats, billionaires and philanthropists will take a backseat to missionaries and mothers, bakers and butchers, teachers and telemarketers. In all these things what matters to my God is that I surrendered my way to Him. That He walks it through with me makes it miraculous and powerful to do whatever He has called me to. Christ locked arms with fishermen and tax collectors, ate with sinners and let harlots wash His feet with their hair. We know these people because they followed Jesus. That is what made them worth hearing about two thousand years after they dusted the sand from their feet and lay down to die. That is what makes my life significant today.
Mother died praying for me to do it all! Every last shred of destiny in my cache. To not take for granted my giftings and my calling. I'm trying, Mother! May Jesus help me all the way home.
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