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The Lord forgives even this

12/30/2017

2 Comments

 
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When the old me behaved badly, I liked to blame anyone and anything other than myself. And I have to admit that it’s tempting now to try to blame feminism for my anger in the years before my mother got sick.

There is perhaps some justification for this. As Nancy Pearcey noted in her outstanding book Total Truth, “From the beginning, feminism was marked by considerable anger and envy – not toward individual men so much as toward the fact of the opportunities available to men in the public sphere.”*
 
But it wasn’t just the feminism. Being a libertarian contributed to the problem. By definition, I had long rejected virtually all authority, and resented anyone telling me what to do. That was one of the reasons I hadn’t even considered quitting my three-pack-a-day habit; who were they to tell me I shouldn’t smoke? Which of course paved the way for my feeling persecuted by the anti-smoking Nazis of the world – persecuted and ready to blow up.

And blow up I did. Once during a luncheon with a militantly pure-of-lung friend, I let a bit of my smoke drift in her direction, and she fanned the offending plume away from her nose. She hadn’t said a word, but the wave of her hand was enough for me. In my fury, I let loose with the worst insult I could think of: “Oh, and I suppose you like Bill Clinton, too!”

She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind – and indeed I had for the moment it took me to spit out this non sequitur.

Then there was an incident in the Detroit airport, when our flight from the Bahamas got diverted from Milwaukee because of a snow storm, and we were trapped out on a runway for several extra smoke-free hours. The customs official who finally welcomed us into the terminal didn’t appreciate my lighting up the moment I walked through the door, nor did he appreciate the words I hurled at him when he asked me – really, quite politely, I have to admit – to put my cigarette out.

Fortunately, my pure-of-lung lunch-mate forgave me, and I didn’t end up in a federal prison over the near-scuffle with the customs official. But some of my eruptions no doubt did have long-term consequences – especially when they were directed at my mother.

Perhaps the worst incident of all occurred on the Christmas Eve before she got sick. I was taking her back to the nursing home after a present-opening night at our house, with both my sisters and their families and even a visiting dog to chase my cats.

My mother had clearly had a nice time with us; she had been all smiles, all evening.

And then, alone with me in my rusting Chevy Blazer, barreling up nearly deserted Barker Road, she sighed.

“I hate having to go back to the old ladies’ home,” she said. “I have that awful aide tonight, the one who’s so rough with me, and –“

“I can’t believe you!” I snapped, looking at her with my most outraged expression, sure that she was not-so-subtly hinting that she would like to come live with us. “You’re sweetness and light all night long, until you’re alone with me – and then all you can do is complain!”

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her look so sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s just that you’re the only one I can talk to about these things.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about it,” I said, calmer now and already feeling guilty. I knew I’d need a good hour or two to think this one through until I found a way to justify my outburst. “Anyway, if you would just be a little nicer to this aide, maybe she’d be nicer to you.”

As it turned out, I never was able to justify what I’d said to her that night. I wept over it more than once, and to this day cringe whenever I remember it. I think I see it as a symbol of all the pain I had caused her over our lives together, of all the times I’d trashed the wonderful things God had given me.

There were other such incidents throughout my life, most directed at other people – scores of them, no doubt. I guess it doesn’t matter that I’ve forgotten the details. What matters is that it doesn’t have to happen again; the Lord seems to have freed me from this oppression.

And yet, amazing God, He has seen my contrite heart and forgiven me even for this. And more: As Isaac Watts wrote in his 1707 hymn “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed?”:
 
Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

(From Heaven Without Her, pages 198-200)
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What we can learn from our dogs

12/26/2017

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I believe that God gave us dogs for some pretty great reasons – perhaps most important, to demonstrate the relationship He wants to have with us.

It’s true that the Bible doesn’t speak too highly of dogs. One commentary I consulted suggests that the children of Israel disliked them because they were so highly esteemed by the Egyptians. Even today, some of us use the word “dog” to describe worthless, undesirable or unattractive people. 

But these critters are part of God’s creation. And the Bible tells us to give thanks for everything He has provided. So I often thank Him for dogs in general and ours in particular. I like to think it pleases Him that at least some appreciate this particular gift for what it teaches us about our relationship with Him. 

I believe it’s safe to say that, like any human, a dog needs both a master and obedience training if he’s going to lead a useful life, even if it’s only as a companion whose most pressing responsibility is warming our feet on a cold winter night. And I think most people would agree with that much, anyway. 

But there the agreement seems to end, as people divide into two opposing schools of thought on the subject of obedience training.

There are some who are certain that almost every creature responds best when his master uses both the carrot and the stick – i.e., both reward and correction. 

I learned this from my good friend and co-author Amy Ammen, a highly respected dog trainer whose techniques include correction for disobedience – a jerk on the leash, for instance. They are mild corrections; she does not suggest tearing the dog’s head off or beating him. In fact, she blames us owners for their mischief and admonishes us not to correct misbehavior after the fact, when our “live for the moment” dogs have already forgotten whatever it is that has so upset us. (If you’d like to know more, check out our book Hip Ideas for Hyper Dogs.) 

But there’s another school of thought that is becoming increasingly popular today. It’s usually called “positive” or “motivational” or “positive motivational” training. What this ordinarily means is that the master uses only rewards to teach his dog, usually in the form of treats. Never under any circumstance will such a master use any correction stronger than a stern or broken-hearted “no!” 

Apparently the idea is this: Say you’re walking alongside a busy street with your dog and he suddenly sees a squirrel darting out into traffic. Say furthermore that he has enough leverage to rip the leash out of your hand. Positive training experts insist that all you have to do is call “Rover, treat!” He will stop in his tracks, they assure us, and come running back to you immediately.  

I don’t know if it works; I don’t hang out in the city if I can help it, and we have a big fenced-in back yard for our dogs to run around in. But I do know that if one has found something interesting, like a bunny’s nest filled with babies or even just mama’s fur, we could yell “treat!” till the cows come home and the dog would ignore us. 

The Bible would seem to support the first school of thought – i.e., using both carrot and stick. “He who spares his rod hates his son,” Proverbs 13:24 tells us. “But he who loves him is careful to discipline him.” 

And that, of course, is why the Lord God lovingly applies both carrot and stick with us – to get and keep our attention, to draw us through the narrow gate to eternal life, and to help us to become more and more like His Son as we complete our journeys through this life.   

Bottom line: God expects both love and obedience from His children. Jesus summed up the concept in John 14:15: “If you love Me,” He said, “keep My commandments.” 

Should a good master expect any less from his dog? 

If so, the Lord has also provided us with a good illustration for that line of thinking. It’s called The Cat. 
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Looking for love in all the wrong places

12/18/2017

4 Comments

 
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There’s this woman I used to party with years ago, back in college. She's fit, funny, attractive, and one of relatively few people from my bad old days who has remained friendly with me in spite of my Christian conversion. I don't know why she has. It's quite possible that she doesn't have anyone else. 

I do know that she has spent her entire adult life in a desperate quest for all-out, unequivocal, absolute and unshakable love. She hasn’t found it through multiple marriages, motherhood or grandmotherhood. Nor has she been able to find it in a steady procession of girlfriends, boyfriends and one-night stands. 
 
She has glimpsed it over the years in her cats, she has said, admitting reluctantly that their love is not exactly unconditional. She would have come closer by getting herself a dog. But she doesn’t like dogs. Too dirty. Too much work. Too demanding.
 
She took her search to a Bible church for a while right after 9/11. Not to worship God or learn more about Him, she pointed out at the time, but to find some new friends among these allegedly unselfish people.

Alas, she didn’t like anyone she met there because they only wanted to talk about Jesus and the Bible. And we all know what that means:

“Bo-ring!”
 
The irony is that the object of her quest has been sitting right there in front of her all along. She has simply refused to acknowledge it.
 
I have tried to explain it to her in different ways – most recently, in a little yuppie coffee shop near the zoo.
 
There are at least four Greek words for love, I pointed out this time, with agapebeing the one she is seeking. It is God's love -- unconditional, sacrificial, a reflection of the fact that He IS love (1 John 4:16). He is the only one capable of providing it, I said. And He has done so, by:

  • Paying for mankind’s sins on the cross, so that anyone who repents and trusts in Him will be redeemed to live with Him in heaven for all eternity
  • Sending the Holy Spirit to dwell in the hearts of His children, in order to transform, comfort, and lead us in the way of all truth (John 16:13)
  • Providing us with His inerrant, inspired word to help the redeemed live and thrive in His love no matter how dire their circumstances may be
 
My friend was silent until she heard my last point. “What nonsense,” she said then. “The Bible is just a bunch of writings by dead men.” (Emphasis on the word “men.” She is an unapologetic feminist.)
 
I tried to explain that the Bible is a love letter from Him to us, the means by which He tells us who He is and who we are. It is, I added, the door to eternal life in heaven with Him, because Peter said we are born again through the Word. "And after all," I added, "Jesus said that unless we are born again, we cannot see the kingdom of God." 
 
She rolled her eyes. "There are many different interpretations of that idea."
 
"The Bible tells us what it means," I said. "Do you want to know what it says?"
 
"No." 
 
Her face was getting red. Okay, so she wasn’t interested. She wanted me to shut up.  
 
Got it. I bit my tongue for all of 20 seconds.
 
But then I couldn’t help myself. “What about those beloved grandchildren of yours?” I asked. “Will they be fine just as long as they believe what you believe?”
 
“Yes,” she hissed in a feline-esque warning for me to back off.  
 
“Is that so?” I said a quick, silent prayer for her and felt my own rising irritation dissipate.  “How do you know? What is your source of authority?”
 
It was too much for her. “I have to go,” she said, grabbing her things and storming out the door.
 
She left without paying for her coffee. And without letting me get to my point. My fault – I’d let myself charge down a rabbit trail again.  
 
What I picture myself saying to her is this: “There is a source of unconditional love in this world. It is highly imperfect, inconsistent, subject to sin. But it exists nevertheless.”
 
“What is it?” she always asks eagerly in my fantasy about this conversation.   
 
“Chances are you've come face to face with it many times,” I reply, “in the hearts of born-again believers – including, perhaps, those you met at church so many years ago. I know you didn’t like them, but maybe you could give them another chance. Their passion for Jesus and the Bible makes them the very people who are most capable of giving you agape love.”

​(I think, but do not say, "And maybe what they have would rub off on you.")
 
Sadly, this particular fantasy never ends well. She always gets mad at this point and leaves in a huff.
 
“Stop!” I call out to her. “Can’t you see that you're cutting yourself off from the very thing you seek?”
 
But she’s just not ready to listen. She may never be. And what an eternal tragedy that would be.  
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"How long it takes to die."

12/12/2017

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“How long it takes to die.”

That’s how my mother opened an April, 1992, entry in her journal. 

“I thought my life would be over when Herbert died,” she continued. “But I had many happy years after that.”

She sketched it out: visiting Andy and her family in Appleton. Laughing with Carrie. Traveling with me to Europe, where we “walked – I really walked – from dawn till dusk.”

She mentioned some of the people who remained dear friends of hers even after my dad’s death – people who didn’t require a foursome for friendship. She treasured them especially; as a young widow of just 57, she had experienced the sting of being dropped after six months or a year by people she thought were her friends, simply because she was alone and they were not.  

But by 1992, she was wheelchair-bound and living in this nursing home near us. She still appreciated kindnesses and attention, but the good times had clearly run out for her; she felt like a burden, no doubt because I made her feel like one some of the time.

In the Ten Commandments, God gave us two types of directives. 

The first four have to do with our relationship with Him. We are to love Him above all, reject idols, refrain from taking His name in vain and keep the Sabbath holy – that is, separate. 

The last six are all about our relationships with each other – refraining from lying, stealing, adultery, murder, and coveting others’ possessions.

But the first of this group – the fifth Commandment – tells us to honor our father and mother. No exceptions: No “unless he is a nasty man” or “unless she becomes too sick to be fun,” or “unless you have something better to do.” I find it fascinating that the Lord put this one first – even before telling us not to murder or commit adultery.  

Perhaps it was because He knew that these relationships are the foundation on which our characters are built, and the keys to our attitudes toward authority. Perhaps because they are, in the end, our most fundamental human relationships, foreshadowing in earthly terms our relationships with Him.

I’ll let the theologians figure that out. All I know is that the fifth Commandment made it almost unbearable for me to read my mother’s thoughts during the last chapter of her life.

“How long it takes to die.” 

--Excerpted from Heaven Without Her, pages 248-249
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Speaking of dumb

12/8/2017

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Many moons ago, I posted an essay in which I disparaged the idea that we can simply think our way to eternal truth. Just to set the record straight, I want to make it clear that I was one who believed this nonsense for nearly a half-century, as this excerpt from my memoir Heaven Without Her illustrates.

The other odd thing was that, as the millennium drew to a close, my ambitions started slipping away. I cared less and less about making lots of money and having prestige companies on my client list. Writing the Great American novel no longer interested me. I still enjoyed digging in the loamy soil of my garden, but had apparently reached my limit on the number of books I cared to read about horticulture as well as the number of beds I cared to dig, fill and maintain; and that in turn meant shrugging off dreams of a garden grand enough to be featured in a slick gardening magazine.

Just as strange, I found myself in more and more conversations about spiritual topics, for the first time with people who actually believed in a Higher Power.

In the past, my discussions had been with any number of like-minded girlfriends who would agree with me wholeheartedly when I’d say, in a confidential tone, "I don’t know what I believe."

“Me neither," the girlfriend would say, sometimes adding something along the lines of, "But Buddhism is really a beautiful philosophy, don’t you think?"

“Yes, I do," I would respond, knowing absolutely nothing about it. "And I’ve always liked the Hindu people."

We would talk as if our conclusions had been the product of intense thought, and as if thought alone should be the only mental activity needed to arrive at the ultimate truth – the Hercule Poirot 'little gray cell' school of theology. 

But now I was starting to speak the 'G' word with people who actually acknowledged and embraced God Almighty.

Some of our talks were pretty stressful – no doubt as much for my victim du jour as for me. I invariably brought the subject up, listened to my companion’s opinions a little, and then became irate. 

Such talks would usually play out something like this:

Me: So you’re telling me that people who do all these nice things for other people and for charities are not going to heaven. 

Her: I don’t know that – only God knows that.

Me: Whereas you are going to heaven. Even though you never lift a finger for anyone. 

Her: That has nothing to do with it. It has to do with our faith in — 

Me: So in other words, it’s a something-for-nothing scheme. The less you do for others, the more ‘in’ you are with God.

Her: No, that’s not –

Me (feeling quite murderous by then): And that doesn’t offend you? 

It did not occur to me that, if this faith-before-good-works idea did turn out to be true, my taking offense at it would not have had any impact on its accuracy.  I liked to think that the reason I rejected it was some innate ability to discern fact from fiction; more likely, it was just my generally contrary disposition combined with a sincere desire to keep this God of theirs at a safe distance.

(Heaven Without Her, pages 77-78) 
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Wondering what in the world is going on? Read this!

12/4/2017

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For years, Dr. Jerry Bergman has battled evolution theory through a series of intensively researched books:

  • Fossil Forensics: Separating Fact from Fantasy in Paleontology (BP Books, 2017)
  • Silencing the Darwin Skeptics (Leafcutter Press, 2016)
  • CS Lewis: Anti-Darwinist (Wipf and Stock, 2016)
  • Debunking Human Evolution (with Dan Biddle et al, BP Books, 2016)
  • The Darwin Effect (Master Books, 2014)
  • Transformed by the Evidence (with Doug Sharp et al, Leafcutter Press, 2014)
  • Hitler and the Nazi Darwinian Worldview (Joshua Press, 2012)
  • The Dark Side of Charles Darwin (Master Books, 2011)
  • Slaughter of the Dissidents (Leafcutter Press, 2008)
  • Persuaded by the Evidence (with Doug Sharp et al, Leafcutter Press, 2014)
  • Vestigial Organs are Fully Functional (with George Howe, Creation Research Society Books, 1990)
 
Dr. Bergman has often targeted Charles Darwin directly in his writings, in the process unveiling the hideous consequences of the Darwian worldview. But it seems that he has saved his most powerful attack for his latest effort, How Darwinism Corrodes Morality (Sola Scriptura Ministries International, 2017).   
 
In this chilling volume, Dr. Bergman examines the disastrous impact of Darwinism on our culture and our lives.  
 
He explores its role in promoting eugenics, in spurring the mid-century sexual revolution, and in paving the way for the mass murder of millions of babies via abortion.
 
He exposes those who relied on Darwinian principles to advance evils that would ultimately be mainstreamed into the modern ethos – including racist eugenicist Margaret Sanger, nihilist Friedrich Nietzsche, atheist “baby doctor” Benjamin Spock and psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud, and white supremacist Karl Pearson.
 
And he demonstrates that Darwinism was the philosophy that drove the atrocities of racist Japanese warriors during World War II.
 
Scholarly yet highly readable, How Darwinism Corrodes Morality probably doesn’t make very good bedtime reading. But it goes a long way toward explaining the amoral mess our culture is in today. And that makes it critically important reading for anyone who is alarmed by the abominations of this modern world. Thank you, Dr. Bergman!   
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    Kitty
    Foth-Regner

    I'm a follower of Jesus Christ, a freelance copywriter, a nursing-home volunteer, and the author of books both in-process and published -- including Heaven Without Her. 

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