It's Puzzling
By Deb Moken 

I’ve been an orphan for nearly a month now.  Finally started sleeping through the night last week.  To say Dad or his memory haunted my dreams would not be accurate.  No, it wasn’t that, not that I’m an expert on the subject of hauntings and the haunted -  necromancy is not a thing I care to participate in - but to say my Dad dominated every non-waking hour for over 2 weeks would be fairly accurate.  

 Dreams don’t usually accompany my sleep, at least not that I am consciously aware of.  This was an unforeseen, inescapable, mysterious turn of events.  Nothing frightening or sad.  Nothing that could qualify as a memory or a regret… just innumerable particles of what, I knew instinctively, were connected to my dad. Somehow. Someway.

 I’m throwing this into print because:

a) it helps clarify the cacophony running amuck behind my eyes and between my ears, and

b) I’m curious to know if anyone else has had a similar experience.

 The dreams felt like being under a waterfall of puzzle pieces, too many to comprehend, let alone number.  Countless pieces each unique in shape and size.  I’d wake up several times a night feeling perplexed and overwhelmed; and in the morning, exhausted.

 I needed wisdom.  Thankfully, there’s an open invitation for just such a request.

 “Help me Lord.  I’m not ‘getting’ it.  What are these incessant dreams trying to communicate?”

 And just like that - the understanding began to penetrate.

 If an idea (i.e. dream) is, in fact, God breathed, and a human takes action to see it realized, does it not seem logical that the dream might possibly remain when the human departs?

 Those fragmented particles weren’t mine, but Dad’s dream(s).  I suspect the fragmentation represent the fractured incapability his mind struggled with the past 15 years or so. But maybe not.  Perhaps all Heavenly inspired enterprises fall back on the Earth like glitter or confetti at a ticker-tape parade.

   Regardless, what I came to realize is that, although he is no longer here, a person’s dream might, quite possibly remain.  

 Seems plausible.

 When Elisha asked his mentor, Elijah, to bequeath him God’s prophetic mantle, Elijah knew he didn’t have the authority to do so, but told Elisha if he should happen to witness Elijah’s exit from this life that would confirm the prophetic ministry had been entrusted to him.   

 I don’t know what Dad’s dream(s) entailed.  I do know he set out to build a farm that would sustain his family, and do so honestly and within his means, not use others as stepping stones to ascend a mountain of public approval or recognition.  

 When that information finished downloading into my heart and mind, I asked the Lord to relay a message to Dad.  

 “Jesus, please tell Dad that his life mattered.  That his dream will, in some form, carry on.  I cannot say what it will look like when those who pick up the pieces begin to reassemble them, but knowing his family, we will attempt to do so in a way that honors and adds to his legacy while attempting to build our own.”

 That night, and every night since, I’ve slept in peace.  I believe the message was relayed.   

 

 

Celebration of Life - Some Things Just Go Without Saying

Celebration of Life 
Some things just go without saying
By Deb Moken

I don’t recall ever hearing my Dad say the words, “I love you.”   Some things just go without saying.  But there comes a time when it seems necessary to put words to the unspoken laws of one’s world - and that, in part, is what today is about.  

Every person here will have a different perspective, different relationship, and possibly a completely contrary take on my Dad - and that’s ok - but this is from the eyes of his daughter, and one that was solidified long before dementia’s talons had taken hold.

While pondering this day, a verse in Corinthians floated to the forefront of my mind.  The one in chapter 8 that says: love builds up.  Well, for goodness sakes, I realized that’s the kind of love I grew up experiencing from my Dad!  He had built with the tools of love!  And when I jumped over to chapter 13 - the famous love-is chapter - more popular at weddings than funerals - with that idea in mind, and it became easy to see how I could articulate the unspoken.

My dad showed me love by building me up.  When I read that love is patient, I was reminded of the wedding we’d gone to, arriving after it had started because being on time for events scheduled during milking time… well you know, can’t happen.  

We got there near the end of the ceremony and found seats in the back row of the overflow area. While waiting;  Dad, patiently and me not so much ‘cuz I was pretty sure the cream-cheese mints were going to be gone before we’d get the go-ahead-it’s-your-turn usher’s nod - Dad just shot me his lopsided grin, shrugged a shoulder and said, “Somebody has to be last.”   AND HE WAS OKAY WITH IT! That look and those 5 words taught me, in that moment, life’s not about jockeying for position, or that being last means you loose.  Being last affords a view, a perspective that constitutes a win from a different kind of game.  

Love is kind.  The healthiest environment for growth is one that encourages wonder and discovery.  One of the quickest ways to stop a person from becoming all that their Creator intended, is to demean, belittle, ridicule, and diminish the value of faltering first steps and failed attempts. To do so would be cruel, unkind, and very short-sighted. I don’t ever recall hearing dad speak disparagingly to me. Ever.  Cruelty and fault-finding had no place in what he was working to build.

Love does not boast and is not prideful.  Dad did have an intolerance for braggarts and self exalters. If something was going to stand, it was to do so on its own merit, not propped up by hot air.  He preferred proof by actions and elbow grease.   But, when any of us kids managed a purple ribbon in 4-H, we were rewarded with a family road-trip to the state fair in Huron, an understood consequence for an accomplishment well done.

A love that builds does not dishonor others, is not self-seeking, and keeps no record of wrongs.  This requires confidence.  A knowing who you are, what your life is about.  A farmer’s life is a calling.  Like any other calling from God, it has enormous value and purpose, though often unrecognized, and under-appreciated.  But a person, confident in their worth, knows their calling isn’t validated by popular vote. It’s not built by tearing  others down, self-seeking, or tipping the scales that say I’m better than you.  Dad didn’t validate his life with comparisons.

 Not easily angered - when talking about my Dad, this tool deserves a paragraph all its own.  As a counselor, I learned that anger is often a secondary emotion, one that we unconsciously adopt to protect the more vulnerable, less understood ones.  Before things started to unravel in his world, I don’t think I could have filled a single hand with accounts of seeing outbursts of anger especially ones directed at other human beings.  Stubborn, kicking cows, that’s another issue.  

 A builder in love always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres.   As a man who took his role seriously, I believe the charge to protect was one of the final issues we dealt with.  And as we held hands, those final hours, I told him how much I appreciated him and all he had been to me, that he had honored his call, and performed well his duties as my protector, and that I had asked The Lord to step into that role,  when he was no longer with us on this side of Heaven.  I said, Dad, I release you, from the responsibility of being my protector, and  he instantly let go of my hand.  30 hours later, he was safely in the hands of The Lord.  

 His practical, craftsmanship has been something I’ve not yet mastered, but intend to practice till the day we’re together again.    

 Having you as my Dad made it easy to trust in a Heavenly Father.  In my eyes, you represented Him very well.  Thank you.

Who Is My Brother?

By Deb Moken

 There’s no denying that Jesus was a one-man revolution.  To dig into his teachings is like mining for gold or precious gems.  I stumbled on one such gem this week in Matthew 5.  A familiar portion of His inaugural message:

21Ye have heard that it was said unto them of the old time, Thou shalt not kill: for whosoever killeth shall be culpable of judgment. 22 But I say unto you, whosoever is angry with his brother unadvisedly, shall be culpable of judgment. And whosoever saith unto his brother, Raca, shall be worthy to be punished by the Council. And whosoever shall say, Fool, shall be worthy to be punished with hell fire.  (GNV)

 Admittedly, I was tempted, as is so often the case, to tell myself that because I know what it says I understand what it means.  Maybe not so much.

     “Who’s your brother?”

     “Um, well… ah…. I know that means everybody.  ‘Brother’ is synonymous with all humanity.”  

     “Really?”

     “Well, I think so.”

     “Making bold strokes with a broad brush.  Idealistic.  How about you reign it in a bit.”

     “Ok, I have 2 brothers: Rick and Ken.“

     “Oh, Deb.  Who. Is. Your, Brother?”

     “You Lord.  You are my Brother.”

     “Bingo!  Now, read it again with more specificity.”  

    If I am unjustifiably angry with you, Jesus, it’s because I am guilty of having pronounced, through short-sighted ignorance, a judgment.

     “Good.  Continue”

    If I think so little of you that your words, ways, and teachings are deemed worthless and of no significant value to me, I am guilty of accepting and giving worthless counsel.

     “Go on.”

 And if I believe you are a deceived deceiver, I am, myself deceived by the deception of hell itself.

Now, there’s some thoughts worth chewing on.  

 We are given a glimpse into what that looks like in Luke 22.    

 Peter is so angry with Jesus, he denies ever having known Him.

 Judas decided that  Jesus was a worthless waste of time and resources, so sells Him out for 30 pieces of silver to the…

Governing body who believed that He was a deceiver leading the ignorant masses down a deceptive path (away from their control), so they killed Him.  

    From where I sit, that seems to describe the state of society lately.  And it explains the process of its devolution.  Starts out by simply being ignorantly and unjustifiably angry with the Lord.  That paves the way to believing His ways are worthless and of no value to you or anyone else.  From there, it’s a short trip to swapping name-tags between the actual deceiver (satan) and The Way, The Truth, and The Life (Jesus).

    How do we find our way back?  Eph. 4 spells it out pretty clearly. And I think Paul knew what he was talking about, being one who was firmly ensconced in the anger-worthless-killer trap in his early years.