Category: Spirituality - trish hermanson

Searching for Normal

6/15/2022

     When I tossed in laundry recently I remembered humorist Erma Bombeck saying that the only place you find “normal” is a setting on the dryer. That’s surely been true for us the past few years. A daughter miscarried. A granddaughter died after a seizure. I fractured a bone in my foot. A daughter and I stared cancer in the face. Three other members in my extended family fought cancer. Then recently, Duane’s sister and mother died from a violent car crash.
     Grief upon grief.
     Bombeck is correct that it’s more normal for stuff to go wrong than right. Beauty withers, health deteriorates, things fall apart. I think it’s because everything is broken through our alienation from God, who established how the world is meant to work. He has given us this innate sense that life isn’t supposed to be the way it is. We want things to go right, for justice to prevail, for the good guys to win. These desires are echoes of the Garden of Eden, where brokenness didn’t exist. Not until God ushers in his second Eden will we experience fully the peace, justice, and beauty we long for.
In the meantime (which can get pretty mean), we sometimes slog through days that fall way short of the good things God intended. I ache from our recent losses, but not without hope. A new world is coming when all will be made right. And during my grieving, your kindness toward me has given me Echoes of Eden. Thank you.

Finding Light in a Dark Forest of Grief

5/21/2022

Duane’s mother and sister died recently from a violent collision. I know they are renewed in heaven now, but I’m as stripped as barren trees in a forest of grief. I couldn’t even turn to God. So I mumbled phrases from an old prayer, and this is what happened:
     “Our Father,” I whispered, and realized how amazing that God meets me intimately as my PAPA.
     “Who art in heaven.” My heart calmed with the PERSPECTIVE that even though I’m discombobulated, God’s still seated on heaven’s throne.
     “Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” What a reminder that somehow in God’s grand scheme, there is PURPOSE in this pain and PRIORITY in my actions.
     “Give us this day our daily bread.”He grants PROVISION to sustain me through this confusion.
     “And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” I’m bound to mess up during this fragile time, yet God bestows PARDON, a clean slate, to the extent that I also forgive others.
     “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” I won’t understand until heaven why God didn’t spare Duane’s mother and sister, yet I cling to his promise of ultimate PROTECTION.
     “For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.” Even when I’m in the dark, I can PRAISE him.
     Papa. Perspective. Purpose and Priority. Provision. Pardon. Protection. Praise. What a gift these truths are as I journey through this forest of grief.

The Question that Hit Like a Cold Rain

3/15/2022

The question hit others like a cold rain, while it washed over me like a warm shower.
     We were sitting at a table talking about what true Christianity is when our facilitator asked, “How might your life be different if you believed that you have God’s full and undivided attention?” Two people said it rattled them to realize that God knew their every move. Not me. I felt warm all over because I recalled a particular day walking to school with my daddy when I was in kindergarten.    Daddy was principal at the school, so we walked together, my little hand reaching up high, buried in his. When we arrived at school, he went inside to his administrative office, while I stayed outside on the playground. But that day I tripped and fell, bloodying my knee. With no hesitancy, I ran inside, ran past the secretary who served as gatekeeper for administrators, broke into Daddy’s office, and jumped onto his lap in tears. He reached into his desk, pulled out a box of Band-Aids, patched me up, and hugged me.
     “That’s how God is,” I told my discussion partners at the table. “God is like my father, except he’s not far away in some remote office. He stays with me on life’s playground, and when I fall down, he patches me up.”
     They gasped at that thought, so different from their dread of a distant, brooding God.
  So how do you feel about God giving you his full and undivided attention?

My Lieutenant Moment

2/3/2022

I had my Lieutenant Dan moment recently.
     Remember Lieutenant Dan, Forrest Gump’s friend who felt hopeless after he lost his legs in the Vietnam War? When he and Forrest Gump started a shrimp fishing business, a hurricane threatened to sink their boat and drown them. In response, Lieutenant Dan railed against God from the boat’s crow’s nest. The storm died down, the two survived, and Lieutenant Dan was a new man. He still didn’t have his legs, but he was at peace. Something about honestly yelling at God cleansed him.
     And now my Lieutenant Dan moment. Life has been rough since cancer surgery last year. The person I once was is gone. Now? Low energy, muddled focus, difficulty writing. Finally I told God, “I’m not dying, but I’m not living. So either take my life or give me life!” The next day I repeated that. The third day I added, “And I mean it!”
     What happened? The storm inside me died down. My health hasn’t changed, but my hope has. I’m at peace. Something about crying out to God, even yelling at Him, cleansed me. And recently when I felt down again, I asked God, “Are you sure that was your final answer?” I heard nothing, so it must be.
     It amazes me that God tolerates such honesty from us. Perhaps he welcomes it because he yearns for an honest relationship.
     Have you had a Lieutenant Dan moment?
      ***
     Screenshot from “Forrest Gump” movie. Clips of the Lieutenant Dan hurricane and his resolution are here.

Covid Stole His Career and Home but Not His Heart

9/30/2021

The Covid financial downturn stole Rollins’ career and his home - but not his heart.
     With degrees in astrophysics and molecular biology, Rollin had sold scientific equipment for two decades. But the pandemic dried up his business and his bank account. “You think this will never happen to you.” He smiled as we talked in a park. “But it can.”
      Rollin turned to traffic flagging until some guys stole his wallet and i.d.s, then he ended up huddled by a dumpster at night. It was next to a Christian mission where humble folks offered him food and hope.
     “I’d blamed God for everything,” he says. “Then one day I heard an audible voice - not from a person - that all this happened for a reason.”
     “What reason?” I asked.
     He smiled. “So I can give.”
But then came a medical setback. A doctor who offered free medical care told Rollin that with his ongoing muscular sclerosis he has only a year to live. “First I was depressed. But I decided to see what I could do in 365 days.” So each day he walks streets where the homeless hang out, telling about the hope he has from Jesus. “They trust me.”
     As we talked, he shot his trademark grin at some homeless near us. He excused himself to greet them and approached with a friendly “hello.” Observing him, I wondered what I would do if I knew I had only a year to live. Perhaps I should do those things now because I don’t know what my life span is.