I still do not know who I am or where I am.  I have been asking questions that have provided answers that give me pause.  One of them is from my beloved Bettina, who called me late last night and talked with me until the wee hours of the morning.

Yesterday began with the sweet, sweet Gospel, then words that shocked and hurt me.  At the end of the day, more Word--my beloved Psalter.  77.  In it, there is this verse that I have struggled to read, to actually pronounce properly, looking for the emphasis and, thus, the meaning.

Before confession/absolution at the new parish, I like to arrive early and sit before the altar.  I sing hymns and read psalms and pray.  Sometimes I battle my sin so much that my whole being screams at me to turn around and just flee.  I think of what I am asking, even knowing it is already given, and I still stand ashamed in my doubt and fears and failures.  I remain because I long to hear the Word that washes those away.

The new parish pastor is very different in confession.  I admit that I do wish there were some things that are not so different, but sitting there he is so...somber, serious, studied.  Who he is, the man, sort of just disappears.  It is a strange thing to experience, yet one I savor.  I begin talking with God on my own and am able to do so even after he joins me at the altar.  Sometimes, during the Words of comfort portion, he is frank or rueful or warm, sort of like I imagine Luther would be in his great compassion.  But even afterward, in the times when it is just I who has come, I see the undershepherd, for he walks from behind the rail, kneels before the altar, and prays.

Sometimes in Divine Service, I start wide-eyed with all the children when all the adults have bowed their heads in prayer.  I like watching, trying to figure out what he is doing and wondering why.  I am not sure what the pastor thinks, but I watch him as he kneels and prays and wonder what he is saying, what he is thinking, not the man, but the undershepherd.  You know what I like to think, theologically sound or not?  I like to think that he kneels before the altar to lay down all the sins he has gathered in his arms during confession in order to leave them behind himself. 

Tomorrow I will have both holy absolution and the Lord's Supper, in that order!  That ought to strengthen and sustain me through the rest of the days until Sunday, eh?

So, what was the verse in Psalm 77?  Then I said, "It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed."

For the longest while, I read this that he was grieving over what seemed to be a change in God's stance toward him.  But really this is the psalmist recognizing that his grief, his struggle, is what is distorting his vision, fooling him into believing that Christ would change in His demeanor and care of us.

After the psalmist realizes this, he proceeds to focus on God, what He has done, including verses on baptism, rather than the struggles, doubts, and fears he has.  Because Christ is the only answer.  Christ is sufficient.

While talking with Bettina, our conversation wound its way around to MS and how I have changed.  She sees not what I do, at times, but she thinks it is because she has been walking beside me day by day, month by month, year by year.  She also proffered a theory:  maybe the reason people do not see what I wish they would see is because I spend so much time masking the effects of the disease, bearing them in silence, struggling to endure them without such a battle written across my face.  Intriguing...but I think if I sat as much as I wanted to, rested as much as I wanted to, napped as much as I wanted to, I would feel better but I would certainly be alone.  Who wants to be friends with a weak, confused, writhing wretch?  Yeh...not my first choice either.

I did have a moment of pure mercy today, despite the words that are chasing themselves about mind, battering me rather relentlessly about the head. I was talking to the practice administrator at my vet's clinic.  I called her to ask her forgiveness for I cannot bring myself to pay Kashi's last bill, the cost of ending his life.  I honestly did not see a way through his passing.  Pastor W, however, wrote such sweet words of God's love for all of His creation that I re-read whenever I find myself missing my beloved buttercup, my precious petunia.

She cut me off, silenced my words, telling me that she is not worried about the money, that she does not want me to pay the bill until doing so will be safe for me.  She told me there was nothing to forgive.  Absolutely nothing.

This magnificent woman is the one who took time out of her vacation to arrange for Kashi's final care late that Sunday evening.  She answered her cell, rustled up a vet and a tech, and made sure that my darling daffodil wouldn't suffer another night.

She also told me that there was a paw print of Kashi's waiting for me at the clinic.  Whether it takes me 2 days or 2 years to pick it up, she will keep it safe for me.  The tech, who cradled my puppydog in her arms as they left, made the cast before sending his body to be disposed.  She knew that eventually a day would come when I would want something by which to remember the love of my little companion.

The practice administer also told me that all of his babies have been a real blessing to the clinic.  Some have gone home with owners who did not have the funds to buy toys; some remain for those puppydogs that are being boarded away from those who love them.  She said that everyone there is quite thankful for the bag of babies they keep in the back room.

But what was most merciful was not about my dog.  She asked me what had happened to me.  She told me that in the 5 years she has known me, she has never heard in my voice what she heard today...hope...confidence...certitude.  She saw that something has shifted inside.  We talked about what I have gained, what I have lost, confessional Lutheranism, and, of course, the Psalter.  She saw this even though I cried in frustration over the words of yesterday that bothered me when she asked how I was doing, not that I spoke them to her or even mentioned them, and even though I wept tears of sorrow and joy with regard to my puppydog.

Her brother has MS.  She knows.  I spoke a few words and she filled in the rest.  The cardiologist I saw this morning has a best friend with MS.  She knows.  The scheduler at her office has a father with MS.  She knows.  It's that damn disease.  Being understood is...well, a great mercy right now.  Three people saw me today.  Saw things that people usually miss and spoke things that I feel, experience, battle without my having to say them first.

That email still hurts, still crushes me, but God wrapped me up in the Psalter, Bettina's words, and being seen today. That is a whole passel of I love you from my Creator.  No matter how I feel, no matter what I think, this I cannot deny.

I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, 

and that your joy may be full.  ~John 15:11

13.  JESUS GIVES US THE GIFT OF JOY.

With a vaguely European accent, a many in a coffee shop was overheard to say to his friend, "So how are you?  Is there any dancing in your world today?

As Jesus prepared His disciples for His crucifixion, their world was shrouded in uncertainty.  So He comforted them, telling them of His love for them and saying, "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you" (John 15:11a).  When fear and doubt cloud our world, we too can count on His love to renew our joy.

Because of the love of Jesus, there is dancing in our world every day.  No matter what circumstances we're facing, we always have a reason to celebrate and be glad.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!