Today would have been my dad's 86th birthday -- October 30th. Although we were expecting his death, we deeply grieved his passing a little more than 11 years ago. Mostly, though, we were just glad he wasn't physically challenged anymore. The previous year had been one of mounting health issues. Dad was ready to die and had been so for years.
Dad thought he was going to die fairly early in life. In his early 60's Dad once told me, "I don't think I'm going to live very long, Kathy," (yet, thirteen years later, he was still alive!) Dad was so convinced that he would die an early death that he'd planned his funeral well in advance. Underneath the glass tops of his bedroom dresser Dad had little notes listing various songs he wanted sung and bible verses he lived by. Dad retired at 62 so that he could enjoy life while still in good health. And as the years ticked by Dad did enjoy doing the things he loved to do like gardening and building things with his hands. As his health failed, his faith grew.
For his funeral my dad wanted to emphasize two verses he'd come to rely upon in life. They can be found in 2 Timothy: "For I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" ... verses 7 and 8. Remember this verse :)
In July of 2002 Dad was dying. His heart was failing rapidly. Now Dad spent an amazing two months with his family. Knowing that Dad's time on earth was coming to an end, my mother, my sister and I each tried to spend as much quality time with him as possible. The morning Dad died was an unexpected surprise even though we had prepared ourselves for several months. Dad couldn't speak that morning, and his awareness was questionable. Sometimes Dad seemed to be trying to talk to us -- his lips would move and little sounds could be heard. So we gathered together to watch and wait. My sister was hurriedly driving from St. Louis to Kansas City in hopes of being with Dad before he died. The irony was that she'd just left Kansas City for her home in St. Louis the day before! Judy was sad to think she was four hours away from us at this time.
My mom and I spent time sitting beside Dad as the remaining few hours of his life ebbed by. Sensing the time was very near we called Judy so that she could say a few words to Dad before he died. He tried to speak. His lips moved ever so slightly. A few minutes after this phone call, Dad began to breathe more slowly until there was one final breath signaling the end of life. It was the most incredible feeling to be kneeling beside him -- sensing the spirit of life hover for a few seconds before disappearing in an instant. I looked at my mom and said, "He's not here anymore. He's gone."
Over the next several days we were very busy. Besides planning Dad's funeral, there were lots of phone calls to make and an obituary to write. Relatives flew in from distant cities. We laughed and cried. Time seemed to stand still at times.
On the day of Dad's funeral we stood in the church sanctuary greeting guests as they arrived to pay their respects. All of a sudden a friend of my parents, Miriam, Pastor Ton's wife, came to Mom with a look of astonishment. She was holding a little flip calendar that had been designed by a committee headed by my mom. On this day, August 3rd, was written this verse, "The time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad's favorite verses to live by!
We couldn't believe it! My parents were responsible for finding most of the verses for this little flip calendar and here was my dad's favorite verse written on the very day of his funeral! It was as if God were smiling from heaven saying, "Yes. Your dad lives with me now. For I know the plans I have for you ..." Jeremiah 29:11
And, yet, there was one more time for God to give us just one more glimpse into His awesome power, majesty and love for us. On October 30th of that same year, one of Kansas City's Christian radio stations showcased my dad's favorite verse as its Scripture for the Day! Just one more happenstance to show that God is in control of our very lives & deaths.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Things of the Dark
"When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?" Isaiah 8:19
One beautiful fall day in 1990 I attended a Psychic Fair with a friend in the East Bottoms district of downtown Kansas City. The scene resembled a costume party with many of the attendees and vendors wearing outrageous outfits designed to invoke an air of solemn mystical exploring. Booths were set up so that attendees could pick and choose which sort of psychic activity to be a part of. One might purchase palm readings for $5 or tarot card readings for $10.
Rounding a corner I walked past a booth made to look like an old-fashioned lean-to with shelves and shelves of little vials. I remember seeing one little bottle with the label "bat's blood" on it! For some reason this exhibit gave me the creeps. Then one elderly woman sidled next to me and whispered, "Don't let anyone touch your little baby!" I thought she was asking if she could hold precious Megan who was nestled across my chest in a baby carrier. "Oh, no, thank you," I stammered. "She's just fine with me." "No," the lady urgently hissed. "I said DON'T let anyone touch your baby. They will try to steal the energy from her -- a baby's energy is very strong, indeed." Let me assure you -- no one touched even one hair on Megan's head! And my friend and I left soon thereafter.
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Who doesn't want to have the perfect answers for life? Which of us doesn't want to know our future or at least the good parts of our future? As a child and even into my twenties I sought answers to questions and my future through various psychic means.
My first forays into the psychic realm began in elementary school through typical games of the 60's like "Magic 8 Ball". My friends and I would sit close together and ask important questions to the ball like, "Does Bryan love me?" and "Will I get a good teacher for sixth grade?" If we didn't like the answers it was easy to ask again and again, hoping for the eventual very best answer of all, "Decidedly so"!
Then there was a game called "Ka-bala with the Might Eye of Zolar". My friends and I sat around this board game, chanting the magical words, "Pax, Sax, ..." (as the instructions said to) and wait for the mysterious black marble to swirl around and around a groove until it landed on one of many symbols which would spell out your future. Another popular game we played was the "Ouija Board" which was supposed to answer questions about anything and everything.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
Fortunately for me, none of these games did much spelling of answers to my many questions. And most often, the answers I did shake-out were incorrect. And I don't remember what the gypsy fortune teller told me when I visited her while in college. It's a good thing, too, because I don't want to know my future anymore!
As a mature middle-aged woman, I am filled with regret and rue over those days of seeking answers to my future. I am very certain that God saved me from uncertain evil and unrest during those searching times. As one who became a Christian later in life, I seem to return to my past periodically and watch God peel yet another layer of deceit from myself. Compelled to break free from my past I have asked God to sever any link from my exploration into the occult. The deceit was that answers for my future could be found in other places besides God. And even now I am coming to the realization that it is best that I not know the future.
Because of my history into the dark world of psychic exploration I am especially careful about the movies and TV shows I watch, the books I read and the music I listen to. I believe that God has called me to eliminate any part of the occult world from my present life. Because of this I sometimes find myself a little alone and, yes, even a little ostracized for my beliefs. All because I feel called to forsake completely the things of the "dark".
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
to engage with the occult.
"When you enter the land the Lord God is giving you, do not learn to imitate the detestable ways of the nations there. Let no one be found among you who ... practices divination and sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord ... You must be blameless before the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 18: 9-13
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
My Dad's Last Gift
(In memory of my father, Nick L. Taral, born October 30, 1926, died July 31, 2002)
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Kevin: Optimism in the Face of Adversity
(Permission given by Kevin's mother to share this story . )
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
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