Dianne Joy Beale

July 03

Pondering Philippians
I argue with God. Not literally, I guess, since the conversation is most often inside my head, but I do find myself resisting His suggestions for my life. And I can be quite obstinate. Fortunately, eventually, He wins.

When I was in high school, I rededicated my life to Jesus. At the time I concluded that I was submitting myself for the very first time. I went forward, got baptized, and became determined. In reality, I accepted Christ when I was in first grade.

Not to be down on adults—I happen to be one now—but adults can break a child’s will; they can crush a child’s spirit. They can also douse the simple faith that Christ was so quick to praise.

When I accepted Jesus in the first grade, the elders of the church believed me to be too young. How could a child possibly understand? They placed me and my mother on two chairs and questioned us, extensively. When they were finally satisfied, I was then allowed to be baptized. I remember that I had to stand on some sort of platform so that the church could see me in the baptismal.

Anyhow, I rededicated my life to Christ in the tenth grade. I decided to force myself to be more outgoing; after all, you cannot witness if you do not talk to people, right? I also decided that I would go anywhere that God wanted me to . . . the key word here was “go.” I refused to “stay.” I decided that I was not going to attend college in my home town.

I also decided that I wanted to become a microbiologist. After much resistance (and possibly even more research) I finally relented. I attended a college in my home town.

Logically, this should have taught me something: it is pointless to tell God, “No.” Also, this is where I met my husband: God’s plans are to prosper us—to give us hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). Yet still, to this day, I resist.

I didn’t want to go to Mexico, either. Yet the more we prayed together, the more obvious it became that this is where God intended us to be. I continued to drag my feet, but eventually I again consented. And this is where the lesson I am still learning first became apparent: to be content (Philippians 4).

When it came time to leave Mexico, I didn’t want to leave. When we arrived in Texas, I didn’t want to stay. After eight, long years, God allowed us to move to Pennsylvania. His timing, as always, was perfect. The Texas doctors wanted our son to have surgery: the Pennsylvania doctors prescribed physical therapy. There was no surgery.

God had heard my unspoken, almost unacknowledged plea—a supplication for my son to return to his childhood doctors. My spoken requests to leave Texas were not so honorable. It was the prayer that sat silent in my heart that God chose to answer. Yet I continue to resist.

As I studied Philippians 4, it became more and more apparent just how unlike Christ I really was. Sure, we can always find another human to compare ourselves to and we can easily make ourselves appear as prizewinning pies. But we cannot hide from God. He knows the truth. Thankfully, we Christians catch a break here: God chooses to see Jesus when he looks at us.

But back to Philippians 4: the more I read, and reread, the more I rebelled. “Rejoice in the Lord!” Okay, I think I can do that. God is good. He loves me. I can rejoice in that. “Don’t worry. Pray instead. Thank God for what He has done—count your blessings. Take your eyes off from yourself and trust God to work it all out.”

Wait. What can I do, though? “Pray.” But shouldn’t I? “Pray.” Maybe I could . . . “Please just pray. Thank Me. Think about what I have brought you through. Think about the blessings in your life. Have faith. Trust me.”

Okay. Here is the first part of the problem. “Have faith.” What is faith? My mother believed me when I said I had asked Jesus into my life. But others? They planted a seed in me that day. I find that I now have doubts more often than I have faith. How do I get back that childlike faith?

Without faith, can I have peace? Philippians says that if I rejoice in the Lord, pray rather than worry, petition with thanksgiving and make my requests known to God, then the incomprehensible peace of God will guard my heart and mind. Does this not take faith?

And wait, I skipped over something . . . let your gentleness be obvious to all. Gentleness? What? Wait . . . I can be kind and tender, at times, but is not the other half of gentleness being restful and at peace? And can I find that peace if I am lacking in faith?

At this point I would set the lesson to the side and try to forget about it. So, the lesson continues to follow me or possibly even lead me. Why is this lesson so hard to learn? Be content . . . sigh.

So I finally continue to read on. Again, when my life grows troublesome or difficult, I return to Philippians 4. “Think only of what is praiseworthy . . . think on whatever is excellent. Dwell on whatever is noble or good.” Again, sigh. This is hard. Isn’t there another way?

“Do you want peace?” Yes, but . . .  “Think on the praiseworthy. Concentrate on your blessings.” Okay, I’ll try. “And obey me. Put into practice what I have shown you in the Bible.” Sigh . . . so hard. “Do it and My peace will be with you.”

But what about Theresa? Shouldn’t I correct her, too? If I know I’m right then isn’t it my responsibility to make her see this?

“Theresa is not yet My child. She does not yet know My son. She cannot understand. You are my child. Follow Me.”

But don’t I have rights? Theresa hurt my feelings.

At this point I usually again set aside the lesson. I am not content. I continue to fight. I can view the blessings but I also see the disappointments and the trials. It does not occur to me that the trials are most likely my own failings—my refusal to learn. I am still not content.

When I pick up Philippians 4 again, I realize that there are notations that link it to other verses. I am reminded that I am comparing myself to the wrong standard. What do I look like next to Christ?

Now I not only have to come back to Philippians 4, but now I understand that this ties in with Philippians 2. Jesus not only humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, but he went beyond that by submitting to the humiliation of death on a cross. I can never compare to Christ. I always have more to learn. And yet I still have not learned the lesson: be content.

I am not humble. I am proud. I want what others have . . . a house, my own yard, a place to call my own. Yet I have what many others do not . . . I have Jesus.

I also have a husband who is my best friend. I have a son who thinks of others. And I do have faith, although it is often small.

But I am not like Jesus. I am not humble. I am not content. I often do not obey God, at least not without an argument. Maybe this is one of those lessons that expands as you learn.


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March 25

Comfort from Isaiah 40 . . .
    ²⁸Do you not know? Have you not heard?
         The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth
         Does not become weary or tired
         His understanding is inscrutable.
    ²⁹He gives strength to the weary,
         And to him who lacks might He increases power.
    ³⁰Though youths grow weary and tired,
         And vigorous young men stumble badly,
    ³¹Yet those who wait for the LORD
         Will gain new strength;
         They will mount up with wings like eagles,
         They will run and not get tired,
         They will walk and not become weary.

New American Standard Bible (NASB)
Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation


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February 01

300 Haitians in Your Hands
http://300haitianosentusmanos.blogspot.com/


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October 17

Proud to be Americans

It seems incredible, but I've finally reached an age where I'm beginning to think that I sound like my elders—the very elders that I had listened to as a child while squirming and asking myself, "Why me?" Take now, for example. I had been about to start this piece with the following statement: there was a time when America stood proud because she was different, but now I watch as she appears to be stumbling in her pride.

I've heard it said that America dishonors her differing cultures and that she does these cultures a huge injustice by claiming to be a melting pot. But still I write, possibly to be labeled as politically incorrect: the melting pot America was a far greater America—an America where we were a united front; we were all proud to be called Americans.

Let me explain. When I was in grade school, we celebrated cultures as what made America great. We had show-and-tell and classroom walls that celebrated the many amazing worlds that our cultures had come from. We even had walls that dared to display the many religions, all at once, Christianity included. We learned of our similarities as Americans and we were a unified front. Americans were just Americans.

I had friends of every color while I was growing up. We had our differing spiritual and religious views, and maybe even different life views. Yet we learned together, visited together, laughed together, cried together, played together, and yes, we even solved our conflicts—together. Most of these friends could be contacted today and we would still meet as friends—those who hold a high regard for one another. We grew in a world where people were just people; a world of unique individuals that united under one descriptive word—American.

Words of today most likely existed then: multicultural, tolerance, and diversity. Yet I don't recall such words being used during my childhood, at least not in the sense that they are thrown around today. We, as friends, and even as colleagues, accepted our differences as a natural part of life. We could talk about beliefs and religion and cultural differences freely, and without incident. We built bridges of understanding that were based on mutual respect. And we came together as Americans.

The buzz words of today exist as false cognates to the word respect. And the word respect has been watered down to mean mere acceptance. In the name of education and sensitivity, what it means to be an American has been weakened and nearly destroyed. My friends and I stood together in unity; we were, and are, Americans. Most today are separated out, differences emphasized, and similarities dismissed.

There was a time... yes, I remember it. We existed, ethnically different, all with varying amazing cultures within our separate homes, and we stood together. We looked past our heritages to our similarities and we overcame barriers with friendships that were built on respect.

We lived in a melting pot of cultures where the best of who we were came together to stand as Americans, each heritage adding further knowledge and understanding to the structure of our great country. We called ourselves Americans and were proud—proud to be Americans... nothing less and nothing more.



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January 04

Judgment Versus Observation

I found this statement from http://joy2meu.com/Personal_Boundaries.htm to be quite insightful:

"Judgment is saying, 'that person is a jerk.'  Observation is saying, 'that person seems to be really full of anger and it would be better for me to not be involved with them.'" --Robert Burney





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November 07

A Mother's Wisdom

I was standing with my mother in a grocery store line. I believe I was no older than seven, possibly younger. With the innocence and curiosity of a child, I pointed toward a man in the next aisle and casually said, "Mom, that man looks like my balloon."

The man behaved as if he had not heard. He just quietly stood in line, staring straight ahead. My mom, though, leaned down and quietly whispered, "Dianne, that's not nice. We'll talk in the car."

I knew these words to mean that I had said something wrong. I didn't understand: I loved balloons. Besides, the man did look like one; I hadn't lied. I remember being confused.

In the car my mom explained how the man most likely had a medical condition and that he probably felt badly about his weight. She explained how many people do not understand and sometimes tease or humiliate people who do not look like them. I recall thinking that this was stupid because God had made the man. Besides, balloons were nice. But I didn't say anything. I just listened.

As I went through grades K-12, I saw some teasing but did not really connect this to the classmates' weights. Looking back, it could have been a main factor. But I was quiet and shy and also sometimes got teased. I mostly stayed out of the way and tried to mind my own business.

In college, my mother's words of wisdom served me well. I had forced myself to come out of my shell and to make connections with people. I sometimes even initiated conversations.

I had an amazing friend. She was a graduate student while I was a junior. She reminded me of Snow White: her eyes were a vivid, sparkling blue; she had dark, wavy hair that framed her face; her lips were a cherry red against skin that was very light. But the resemblance did not stop here. Her smile could warm a room and her gentle kindness flowed out from her mouth in a soft, musical voice that revealed a deeper beauty. I could imagine her in a real-life scene with animals surrounding and coming right up to her.

This particular night we had agreed to eat dinner together. After paying for our meals, she went on to get us a table while I stopped at a counter to pick up some condiments. Two very thin, Barbie-doll girls soon set their trays beside mine. I recognized them as the same two girls who had stood behind us in line, complaining. They had piled their plates high while giving my friend the once-over. One of the two had scathingly made a highly inappropriate comment: "If I looked like that I would never put another piece of food into my mouth again!" The other girl encouraged this poor behavior through giggles and the accentuated nodding of her head.

These two girls had been responsible for my friend's quick retreat to a table. I glanced over at her to see that once again her food sat next to her as she wrote in an ever-present notebook. This notebook contained what would eventually become an award-winning thesis.

Memories of the grocery line flooded my mind. My mother's quiet wisdom rose to the surface. I, myself, had before been compared to Barbie.

I turned to the girls. Quietly, I spoke to them: "My friend has a medical condition," I began. "She is supposed to eat no less than five small meals per day. Yet this is the first meal that she has eaten today and still her plate holds less than either of yours. Some day your metabolisms might fail you. The difference is that my friend has an inner beauty that shines out, regardless of her weight. You two will be left with nothing when your outward beauty fades. But her beauty will only grow with age." I left them, stunned, and joined my friend at the table.

I dealt with teasing for being shy. Now I have gained an understanding of how it feels when you've done all you can but still do not meet the world's idea of normal. My husband struggled with his weight most of his life. My son plateaus at a set weight regardless of the effort he exerts. And I've gained weight. Please do not remind us of our struggles: sometimes weight is all we can think of; we are aware and we are working on it. Please let’s enjoy each other while we can.



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April 23

Forgetting the Son



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May 03

Sigh...



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February 02

apostrophes

Apostrophes

We possessives are a tricky lot...
Do we need apostrophes or not?
His and hers, yours, ours and mine
Plus her, its, your, and my are fine.
But the cat of the boy becomes boy's cat
While splat of the milk becomes milk's splat.
And it is raining is not possessive
Although it's raining might seem successive.
So careful with those apostrophes--
Their many uses sure can tease.

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November 09

Adult versus Embryonic Stem Cells
from http://www.i-sis.org.uk/stemcells2.php

Dr. Mae-Wan Ho gives the latest score-sheet in the great stem cell debate.

So, how do ES (embryonic stem) and adult stem cells score at this point?

These latest results show that the ES cells need to be genetically modified and extensive manipulation in vitro before they can be transplanted safely. Direct transplant of ES cells are known to give rise to teratomas and uncontrollable cell proliferation. There is already evidence that ES cells are genetically unstable in long term culture, and are especially prone to chromosomal abnormalities. The risks involved in using the cytomegalovirus promoter to drive over-expression of the transcription factor are undetermined. To avoid immune rejection, the ES cells have to be tissue-matched from a bank of stem cells created from ‘spare’ human embryos. Otherwise, a special human embryo has to be created for the purpose, by transferring the patient’s genetic material into an empty egg, a procedure prone to failure and morally objectionable to many, including scientists.

By contrast, adult stem cells could be transplanted directly without genetic modification or pre-treatments. They simply differentiate according to cues from the surrounding tissues and do not give uncontrollable growth or tumours. The adult stem cells also show high degrees of genomic stability during culture. There is no problem with immune rejection because the cells can readily be isolated from the patients requiring transplant. And there is no moral objection involved. Better yet, research can be directed towards encouraging adult stem cells to regenerate and repair damaged tissues in situ, without the need for cell isolation and in vitro expansion. By minimising intervention, risks are reduced, as well as cost, making the treatment available to everyone and not just the rich.

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