St. Paul and Three Christmas Miracles

I think of Saint Paul often.  He thought of himself as the lesser Apostle, not worthy of being called an Apostle. I feel the same unworthiness being called a child of God. I recount my failings in an endless cycle I can’t seem to stop.

  

While the Apostle often speaks of his transgressions and weaknesses, he also exhorts God’s mercy. God forgave all of his sins, including the persecution and murder of the Church, and called him to be an Apostle.

This same mercy also applies to my sins. Yet I still fall into an all too familiar state of wretchedness, which seems to escalate during the holidays.

Christmas day, I struggled with wanting to go to church and dreading going alone. I decided to put my personal issues aside and attend.

 A woman walking just ahead of me, stopped and said, “Good morning.”

I smiled. “Good morning. I see you’re going alone too.”

She nodded. “Yes. Shall we go alone, together?”

My smile broadened. “Yes.”

God’s first miracle. This woman and I sat together as friends although we had never met. We shared the knowing looks, the small talk, the smiles, and the little courtesies good friends share. 

Just that was enough, but God had more planned for me that day.

As our pastor told us the story of the angels appearing to the shepherds, I saw a vision of angels surrounding him, a line of celestial bodies extending farther than I could see, a tiny glimpse of the glory of that holy night. God's second gift. 

The scene changed. I saw my death, my body collapsed on the floor of our living room.

Jesus appeared, reached down and grasped my hand. He pulled me up into his embrace, put his arm around my shoulders, and personally escorted me into heaven. He showed me amazing things, delighting in my astonishment with each revelation as a loving parent would a child. With my every exclamation, His joy increased.

The vision faded, but not its impact.

  

I no longer fear death. How can I?

I understand St. Paul’s desire to complete this race we call life. I am ready anytime God calls me, but in the meantime, I will live my life with an altered set of priorities, and with less fear. God's third gift.

“In all things we suffer tribulations, but are not distressed; we are straitened, but are not destitute; We suffer persecution, but are not forsaken; we are cast down, but we perish not: Always bearing about in our body the mortification of Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our bodies. For we who live are always delivered unto death for Jesus’ sake that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our mortal flesh. So then death works in us, but life in you.” 2 Corinthians 4: 8- 12

Foot Note: It just occurred to me, the church I attend is named for St. Paul. God never leaves out a detail. 

My Hour Had Not Yet Come

I will die one day, but until then I will escape death, one way or another. The trick, of course is knowing if my hour has come, or not. I have mentioned several times that God promised my current husband and I would grow old together in health. I have stood on that promise several times, and yet, in the back of my mind, I know the hour of my death will eventually come. Will I know the hour? Or, will it come as a surprise?

So far, premonitions have preceded the biggest tragedies. In some cases, pre-knowledge allowed me to avert the danger. Most of the time, God sent the premonitions to prepare me for heartbreaking circumstances. Other times, the dreams and visions preceded a miracle.

The moment we planned an extended trip in our RV, the dreams and visions began. Over and over the same scene played out in my mind. I saw a steep narrow road, the ground falling away thousands of feet into a canyon. For reasons not explained in the premonition, we fail to negotiate the turn. 

If I Died Today...

If I died today, what in my life would really matter? Would I regret how I spent my time? Would my passing affect others in any way? 

We have all heard the Cherokee proverb: When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice. 

Could I honestly say that about myself? In my small circle of family and close friends, that might be true, but of the world? Certainly not. I have not done anything outstanding. My life has not made any difference outside of my small circle. 

Yet, I do matter. As the story of the boy on the beach throwing back one starfish at a time, he might not be able to save them all, but his compassion mattered to that one he did save. If you multiply this action by those of countless others, then yes, the world feels the impact. 

So, it does matter to anyone how I live my life? Yes. It matters to me and to everyone around me. 

This week I took a closer look at how I spent my time, where my focus was. I spend too much time with things that won't matter at all if I died today. The unfinished manuscript, the unfinished painting, they won't have much impact on my family. However, the phone call to a housebound friend, the extra effort at work, and how often I tell my family I love them, that has an impact on others. Those are my contributions to the million of starfish needing rescue. 

And thus I am refocusing where I spend most of my time. So what if I'm not the perfect weight I used to be. So what if my painting will never be viewed by anyone but a few close friends and family. So what if my book never makes the Times Best Seller list. 

My prayer time, the time I spent nurturing others, the gifts of my talents to others, not for my personal gain, but for their enjoyment or uplifting, those will matter after I am gone. Those things will make a difference in someone else's life. 

Keeping my focus on how I might help another, simplifies my life, pulls me back from the frantic busyness and frantic pace I try to keep up. Sometimes sitting on the porch watching the sunset with my husband is far more important than anything else. 

Erma Bombeck said as much after she was diagnosed with cancer. She regretted not spending more time looking at sunsets, playing with her grandchildren, and just being, rather than doing. 

I am going to heed the wise words of the Cherokee proverb, and of Erma, when I decide how to spend my time.