perspective

She Stood Up

| Marie Griffith

We’re in the history section of the Old Testament for this week’s Monday School. For more information about Monday School go here.

The story of Hannah is found in 1 Samuel chapter one. Hannah was one of two wives to a man named Elkanah. She was probably the first wife, but because she couldn’t have children, Elkanah married Peninnah.

Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none. To make things worse, the other wife intentionally provoked Hannah to irritate her. This went on for years. Although Hannah was favored by her husband, Hannah’s desperation grew.

But Hannah knew the Lord.

My favorite version of the story is in the NIV Bible, because in it is what I think is a turning point for Hannah. She and her family were in Shiloh for the annual sacrifice at the house of the Lord. The other wife provoked her again to the point of despair.

If you read it too fast you might miss it. Right in the middle of verse 9, at the end of the first sentence is what I think is a defining moment for Hannah.

“Hannah stood up.”

Perhaps she had a moment of clarity after her rival went too far with the insults. Maybe she realized her eyes were fixed on the child she didn’t have and not on God. Whatever caused it, she decided she didn’t want to live that way any longer.

So she stood up. Not in defense or retaliation, but in surrender. Hannah stood up, then bowed down. She went to the temple, cried out to the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, and asked Him to act on her behalf.

Verse 18 says she went away from the temple and “her face was no longer sad.” The MSG says her face was radiant. Hannah didn’t know how God would act on her behalf, but still, she was radiant. Her heart was filled with joy and confidence. In her God.

Hannah’s hope was restored. Her hope was God Almighty.

To find out how Hannah’s restored hope ultimately affected the entire nation of Israel read more in 1 Samuel.

Photo by Joanna Schley

They Won

| Marie Griffith

This is the kind of story that never gets old.

Daddy knew he needed to make a change.

To get better.

To save his life and ours.

He moved all of us to a whole new life in another state. Far away from the drinking binges and the fighting and the rehab centers that didn’t work. Far away from what happened and what was……..to something good and better.

The convoy to our fresh start rolled out one early summer morning in 1982. As a preteen I was probably less annoyed than most kids my age would have been. I knew I’d miss my friends but I was ready for something better. The hope of a calmer life, a different house, and a new school filled my heart. Moving day was a good day.

My sisters and I weren’t the only ones at a new school. Part of Dad’s new life included seminary and he began the night courses eagerly. He took careful notes in class and squeezed study time in when he could.

I can’t remember the day or the month or the season, but before the end of the first year Dad started drinking again.

Mom was devastated. She never told me that, but I know. Dad was too. When you’re a kid you have no idea what your parents are going through. Then you grow up and endure your own heartaches and one day, without meaning to, you feel the pain of your mom’s fear or the torment of your dad’s struggle with alcohol.

For the next decade Daddy lost the battle with alcohol over and over and over again.

Ten years.

Ten more years of the chaos and violence. Ten more years of tears and sorrow. Regretting the move, resenting the losses. Ten more years of emergency room visits and halfway houses. Ten more years of job changes and the financial strain and moving from house to house.

I’m sure Daddy remembered the day he took his last drink. He may have counted the days but he never told us. After about a year of him not drinking……we realized he wasn’t drinking. Then it was two years, then five. Ten years sober, then 20 years.

Daddy was sober for almost 23 years when he passed away in 2014.

Twenty three years of healing and restored relationships. Twenty three years of good memories. Twenty three years of the sweetest grace.

They won. Daddy and Mom pressed through and marched on. They fought the good fight and fought with each other. They messed up but moved forward. There were days they wanted to but they didn’t give up.

The long view is what got them through. The good days helped them see beyond the bad ones. When everything was falling apart they believed it could all come together. Love does that. It sees longer and deeper and wider. So my parents kept going. One day at a time. And they won.

The last time Daddy and Mom were face to face and held each others’ hands they weren’t thinking of the hard years. They were thankful for the moment and all the years that got them there.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash.

Restart

Perspective

| Marie Griffith

I spotted this miniature scene on one of my downtown walks recently. I was surprised to find it where it was, but I was even more surprised I hadn’t noticed it before.

The tiny door sits at the bottom of a very large tree standing on the narrow grassy area between the sidewalk and the busy street. Once the door caught my eye, I stopped to take a photo. I wanted to stay and look more carefully…..to see what other tiny things I could find…… but I felt I was intruding.

And it wasn’t until I studied the photo closely that I noticed the little pumpkin or gourd with a little green leaf on top next to the door. See it? IMG_5204

I almost missed this odd little sight. Almost walked right past it like I had before.

What else do I miss? Do I see what I should see?

“What you see and what you hear depends a great deal on where you are standing. It also depends on what sort of person you are.”      

C.S. Lewis (The Magician’s Nephew)

Gone 

| Marie Griffith

I was exhausted after the funeral. We all were. But family and friends were bringing dinner to the homeplace for all of us. And far away friends were in town. I wanted to go home, sit alone in the dark, and cry. But I couldn’t. There were more people to visit with. Talk with. And the house needed to be cleaned after everyone left.

And Mom. We had to make sure Mom was alright. We had to take care of her now.

The months prior to Dad’s death were some of the most exhausting days of my life. My husband and I were going through what seemed to be a never ending rough season in our marriage. I’d just started a new job, while consulting at my previous one. Finding time for much needed one on one discussions was nearly impossible with our jobs, three kids, my sick parents, and other normal life happenings. So we didn’t.

Most of my days consisted of work, a long ride to the hospital after work to be with Dad, a longer ride home after the hospital, sometimes a quick stop to check on Mom, a call to one of my sisters to check what they knew from the doctors, and then it all gets blurry. At home in the evenings, I’m sure I did laundry, cooked sometimes, helped with homework, and all the other things I’m supposed to do. I don’t remember. I was barely getting through the days. I’d fall into bed but only sleep sporadically then do it all over again the next day.

I remember trying really hard to stay strong during that time. Zoloft helped me put on the good face some days. I was coping the best I could but on the verge of tears constantly. My heart was breaking over and over every day.

Because of the growing distance between me and my husband. Because my kids needed me a lot and I couldn’t be there. Because my parents, who were strong and capable and always there, needed me to be strong and capable and always there. Because all Dad wanted was to get well so he could keep caring for Mom but he was getting weaker and weaker. Because the new job I thought I always wanted wasn’t what I wanted.

Nothing was like it should be.

Then Dad was gone. And then you do the things you’re supposed to after someone dies. The phone calls and funeral arrangements. The telling of what happened over and over again because he was fine a few months ago. And then we had to figure out what to do next. Because Mom shouldn’t be by herself.

And Mom had good days and bad ones but the bad ones were coming more often. When she couldn’t breathe she wanted us there. All of us. By her side. Just there.

Everything hurt my heart.

I felt raw.

It hurt to be around people and the better I knew them….the more difficult it was.

I wanted to take pain pills. But I didn’t have any.

I wanted to get drunk every night. But I’m too responsible for thatimage. I stuck to one glass of wine a few days a week. Sometimes two glasses. Sometimes more than a few days a week.

And I kept trying to be strong but there was nothing left.

Dad was gone. But I was too.