2019: What I've learned from a year of pain, triumph, grief, hope

When I was a young(er) father, dealing with the outrage of our single-digit year old son and daughter about how this or that was not fair, I suspected trying to explain theologically, philosophically, metaphysically how this could possibly be so true in a universal -- yet not, ultimately, eternal -- sense, would simply confuse the heck out of their precious, beloved minds.

And on a recent trip to visit my grandchildren in Maryland, I saw the same learning curve on the Question of Fairness in play. Wheel do go 'round in circles, still.


It certainly had that effect on me. So, I simply repeated -- after each mean-spirited slight of another child toward them, or when one of them was convinced the other had more ice cream (as measured by teaspoons, I suspect), or the miscarriage of justice in both of them having to go to bed at the same time (despite the eons of difference between being 5 and 7!) -- that, "Life is not fair. It just is (life)."

OK, certainly not as profound as God declaring to the curious Moses that His Name was, "I AM that I AM."  Although, within the Mims household of the kids' youngest years, the debate certainly was as intense, if things are relative. (But of course, we know relativity, applied to questions of fairness, justice, and all the rest is also a plunge down the rabbit hole that lurks at the base of our finite minds; that's another conversation, though).

But no matter how "mature" we get, we always will have moments where our inner child flops on the ground, disconsolate, and cries, "This just isn't fair!"

When your 96-year-old father -- once a talented musician, bright of intellect, and example of Christian faith lived as much as he preached -- lives his final year in arthritic pain, stroke-induced dementia, and deafness that has you shouting "I love you in his ear," is that "fair?"  

Or, your 91-year-old mother -- once sharp-minded, funny, fiercely loving, and able to play the piano as if she were bleeding her vibrance into its keys -- lives her final years having lost cognition, memories, or even the ability to care for her most basic bodily functions? Again, not "fair."

I promise, this will not become a litany of "unfair" events or situations I've seen in 2019, or in my span of 66 years. Honestly, they pale compared to those endured by millions of others on this planet we call home. And truly, what makes any one of us immune to the sufferings, too-often self-imposed, that are common to human kind?

Life changes, every day, in ways dramatic and miniscule alike. We love, we lose; we delight, we suffer; we comfort, and we are comforted.

On Earth, we have what we have . . . measures of joy and mourning, triumph and disappointment, years of health and decline, opportunities to serve, heal and embrace, and to learn humility, by being served, being healed, being embraced.

Those things I have learned, either in 2019 itself, or through life-long experience and what illumination faith has provided to clarify, and expand in the past trip around Old Sol. Most important to me, as a believer, is that God is with those who call upon Him. Mostly, He sees us through the pain, disappointments, challenges, but does not deliver us from them.

Babies don't learn to crawl unless you put them down and beckon them. Toddlers don't walk successfully until they are released to step, fall, and get up again. And in the scope of Eternity, we have all just begun to crawl.

Even at 66 years old.

As you can, walking in the eternal, uncreated light, Love, unconditionally. Give, generously. Live each breath, each heartbeat, each second, minute, hour and year you have left in forgiveness, and gratitude.

May God bless your New Year with His Presence, in and through all things.

Prayer Walks: You never know what life, your feet, and faith, will bring you

I love to walk, to feel the blood pump through my legs and fresh air fill my lungs.

In warmer months, that happens in a T-shirt and shorts. In mid-December, with daytime temperatures in the mid-20s (F), that means warm socks, thick fleece pants, gloves, a sweater and a warm coat.

And lately, I combine the physical exercise with spiritual nourishment via recordings on my iPhone: maybe a monk reading from the Psalter, or Orthodox prayers chanted in Byzantine style by Eikona (http://www.eikona.com/prayers-for-orthodox-christians/), or podcasts from Ancient Faith Radio (https://www.ancientfaith.com).

Sure, I could walk on a treadmill in a nice warm Planet Fitness gym (I do have a free membership through AARP). But I like to feel like I'm actually going somewhere -- in both a linear and metaphysical sense.

Which (finally, thanks for waiting) brings me to the theme of this entry: You never know what life your feet, and faith, will bring you.

On Wednesday, for example, I was doing my few miles on the Jordan River Parkway when I came upon a young woman, in her late teens I would guess, sitting hunched over on the side of the trail. As I got closer, I could see the sadness, that look of hopelessness.

We've all been there. And we all remember how it feels. You look at the cold, gray skies -- and in this case the snow-covered Wasatch Mountains rising in the east -- and watch your breath as a wreath of mist, its warmth and hope gone before you can inhale again.

I couldn't just walk by. I mean, I probably could have done . . . but, for crying out loud, I had just heard a homily about the Good Samaritan through my earphones seconds earlier.

So . . . "Are you all right?" I asked, and tried to smile disarmingly. Shouldn't be too hard for a 66-year-old, gray-haired and -silver bearded, bundled up grandpa with a walking staff.

When she turned to look at me, her eyes were swollen, red, wet. "I live over there," she waived toward a residential treatment facility about a quarter-mile away. "I just needed some time to . . .", and her voice trailed off.

I stayed quiet. She looked back up. "I'm missing my parents. I can't reach them. I don't know how they are. They don't know how I am."

Loneliness is the worst, especially this time of year, when Christmas is so hyped as a time for love, gifts and everything bright, yada yada yada.

So, I told her to try to look at herself, from outside herself. "This feels awful now, but life changes, sometimes every time we just stop and look around. I get up, walk, sleep, and get up, and it's changed. Always. Sometimes not much and not for what seems a long time, but sometimes, you realize what hurt so much is yesterday, and today is new."

There was a glance of hope, or at least interest. She was listening for more.

"I lost both my parents this year. Just me and my sister left, and she's almost a thousand miles away," I shared. "I miss them very much, but I pray for them every day, and I know they pray for us."

I suggested that there are people who care about her, too. They may pray for her, they may think of her with love and concern, and that, too, is a prayer of sorts.

But we are not alone. Hope finds a way, and faith helps guide it within us.

"Things will get better, sooner or later. Trust it will, and until then, just do what you need to do to get where you need to be. God bless your day, young lady."

She nodded, sniffed, and seemed to calm a bit. "Thank you, sir." She took my hand and squeezed. We both smiled, and I resumed my trek.

Half an hour later, as I returned on the way home, she was gone. I whispered a prayer for God's mercy and protection for her.

And I wondered, had I done enough? I may never know the answer to that question.

What I did know, however, was that or this senior citizen, the day had a purpose.

Riches in Heaven: Or, how a tiny church in a poor New Mexico town makes a difference

Pastors Paul and Diane Hesch with inmate friends (Hesch photo)

My latest freelancing effort:

"On Sundays, pastor Paul L. Hesch tells the 60 congregants at Victory Life Church about the power of Christ’s love to bring the spiritual riches of faith, hope, and healing to the poverty-stricken community they call home.

For Hesch and pastoral partner and wife Diane, that home is Las Vegas — not the sprawling gambling hot spot in Nevada, but the economically challenged and historically rough-and-tumble city of 13,100 that straddles northwest New Mexico’s Gallinas River. The U. S. Census Bureau reports that 34.4 percent of local residents live at or below the poverty line, compared to the 12.7 percent of the overall U.S. population. . . . "

To read the rest of this story, click on this link: https://bit.ly/34UB2bK

Book review: The Divine Liturgy: When Heaven and Earth are one

As an Evangelical preacher's kid, Sunday worship was this: three drum-and-electric guitar and keyboard pop-rock worship songs, pulsing stage lights and haze from a smoke machine, a sermon and a quarterly and self-served "communion" of oyster crackers and grape juice.

Then, three years ago, I attended Divine Liturgy at an Eastern Orthodox church. I was inundated by the flickering light of candles, incense, icons, vestments, chants and singing, ancient prayers -- true reverence that engaged all the senses -- and stirred the spirit.

In "Orthodox Worship: A Living Continuity with the Synagogue, the Temple, and the Early Church," co-authored Benjamin D. Williams and the late Harold B. Anstall, I learned it was all that . . . and much, much more.

I experienced this work as Ancient Faith's newly updated, audiobook format (https://store.ancientfaith.com/orthodox-worship-audiobook/). At just under 6 and a half hours long, it was the perfect devotional companion for my daily walks.

Striding down forested trails flanked by meadows and streams, I was easily able to immerse myself in the history of how today's Orthodox Christian worship as a continuation, and fulfillment, of the Jewish temple and synagogue liturgical practices Christ's first disciples and apostles knew from their childhoods.

Deacon Kenneth Timothy's engaging and passionate narration conveys both authors' deep faith, as well as his own. In this way, the book becomes something more than words on a page or eBook reader; it is a conversation with a friend and spiritual brother.

This is a book aimed at the layperson, but no less complete in its theological exploration or attention to details of the Divine Liturgy's content and ancient symbolism and rituals, culminating in Holy Communion, the mystical yet real joining of heaven and earth in true worship.

The Divine Liturgy, at its inspired and best, is not a spiritual spectator's sport. To merely listen, occasionally make the sign of the cross, get in line for Eucharist and then leave unchanged within, is a tragic waste.

The blessing comes with participation, Williams and Anstall stress. Given the invitation for a foretaste of the Kingdom of God, along with the saints and angels, why would we not?