Author: Amy Spiegel

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Homeland Security

By Amy Spiegel

So the past few weeks have been . . . interesting. I feel like the end of August was like a micro-2020 for the Spiegels. We were just going along like any other fall and “Wham!” out of nowhere came a life-altering event.

If you haven’t heard, on August 24, Jim was unexpectedly fired from his tenured position at Taylor University, after 27 years, countless awards and accolades, not to mention decades of relationships and investment. If you want to know more, you can read any number of articles on what happened. Several news outlets have covered the story, including the New York Post, The College Fix, Religion News Service, Ministry Watch, the Todd Starnes Radio Show, and Taylor’s student newspaper The Echo. All I will say here is that Jim is not guilty of any moral failing and has been given the support of an enormous number of Taylor faculty, staff, students and alum.

While I doubt that many of you have experienced the exact same scenario, I am sure you can relate to the feeling of the rug suddenly being pulled out from underneath you. The one-moment-everything-is-fine-the-next-you-are-falling-teacup-over-kettle feeling that comes with a late night phone call, an unexpected diagnosis, or a disappointing fall from grace.

It seems appropriate that I am writing this on the eve of one of our nation’s collective rug-pullings. Anyone old enough to remember can tell you where they were on September 11, 2001 just like generations before us could tell you where they were on December 7, 1941 (the Pearl Harbor attack) or November 22, 1963 (the JFK assassination). I was making pancakes and my sister called. She thought it was just a small plane, and then news started coming in on the radio (we didn’t have a TV at the time). To this day, when I am listening to the radio and I hear confusion in the background, a jolt of fear runs through my veins.

So I am only a few weeks into processing this major life event, which, as major life events go, I have to say is not my favorite. However, it has already taught me something that perhaps I should have learned years ago: “On Christ the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand.” Think you have a solid career ahead of you? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the company goes under. Maybe you underperform and they let you go. Maybe you post a song on YouTube and they fire you. Think you have a secure retirement? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe a pandemic breaks out and you get trapped in your assisted living facility for months on end.  Maybe you get swindled out of your life savings. Maybe the stock market crashes, taking your dreams of days spent on the golf course with it. Think you have years of health and happiness ahead of you? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the test comes back malignant. Maybe the other driver doesn’t see the light turn red. Maybe she decides she doesn’t love you anymore. Our achievements, our possessions, our future plans, hopes and dreams. They are all sinking sand. Nineteen years ago, buildings full of people and all of their hopes and dreams crashed to the ground in a heap of rubble and ash.

But there is a solid rock on which to stand. This rock is sure and unmovable. It will not give way and is the cornerstone on which our faith is built. That doesn’t mean it is comfortable. Or even predictable. It is, however, a rock to which we can cling. It is Christ. He is perfect when I am not. He is sure when I am uncertain. He is steadfast when I am weak. This side of heaven, I can hold fast to Him in times of trouble and use Him as a landmark in times of plenty. On the other side of heaven, He will be the foundation on which my eternity is built. Christ is my ground zero. He is my homeland security. Here I stand. I can do no other.

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Unmasked by Masks

By Amy Spiegel

As we live through one of the most divisive eras in our nation’s history, I think there is something on which we can all agree, that being that 2020 has been one crazy ride and it ain’t over yet. Perhaps you, like me, have listened to the stories of our grandparents who lived through the Great Depression and WWII with just a tinge of envy or seen turmoil and uncertainty of the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam War era through the eyes of our parents and wished we could have witnessed history in the making as they did. Well, be careful what you wish for, kids. So far, in one year, we have seen a global pandemic, the near-total shutdown of our national economy, and violence and unrest erupting in our streets at unprecedented levels. When we think of those who came before, who lived through deprivation, unspeakable loss and seismic culture shifts, we often think of the ways in which those experiences shaped their character. And this, of course, is true. We all have the crazy (great-) uncle or aunt who lived through the lean times of the 1930s and 40s who saved every Cool Whip container and random scrap of metal because “You just never know when that might come in handy.”

But let us consider for a moment not what we become as a result of our experiences, collective and personal, but rather how our experiences say what we have become. Ironically, I see no greater example of this unveiling than in the various responses to mask mandates; how we react to being asked or required to cover ourselves reveals a great deal about what lies beneath. Here are a few of my observations.

Despite slogans such as “We are in this together.”, nothing seems further from the truth. We seem determined as a nation to label and subdivide ourselves and others as much as possible. You are a masker or an anti-masker. You are a fearful sheep or someone who has no regard for the lives of others. Prior to masks being mandated more broadly, there was a literal visible divide amongst us as we bought groceries, went to church, or stopped at the post office. As someone who is skeptical of the necessity of masks, I felt the stares of those wearing them and felt the instant connection of eye contact with those around me who were unmasked. Now we can argue about masks vs no masks some other day, but my point is no issue should prevent us from extending basic courtesy and respect to one another. Grown women should not yell at small children whose parents have chosen not to put masks on them and they should also not destroy displays of masks or, worse, urinate in stores that require you to wear them. We should look at one another and assume that we are pursuing what seems like the most rational course of action and move on. Isn’t this the era of you do you? I understand that if you are someone who believes that my not wearing a mask is a danger to you there would be a certain resentment on your part, but that’s where personal responsibility comes into play. Just as I choose to avoid stores that require masks while respecting their right to enforce that policy, you have the right to avoid spaces where masks aren’t required. In the age of grocery store deliveries and Amazon, you could avoid leaving the house all together. With the stricter guidelines now regarding masks, I find myself staying home more to avoid having to wear one.

In the course of my job, I meet with people from all over the socio-economic spectrum throughout the day. I look for ways to genuinely sympathize and identify with each of them. Not in a fake I’ll-just-nod-my-head-so-I-sell-you-some-life-insurance way but truly looking for common ground or at least sympathizing with their perspective even if I don’t share it.

Whether you have created a decontamination chamber in your foyer and require your family to strip down every time they enter the house or you are currently on Zillow researching properties in Wyoming and preparing to permanently live off the grid, our current situation should have us all unified in one thought: death comes for us all. What form it will take is unclear. But it will come and I believe that when it does, we will be unmasked before our Creator and asked to justify our actions here on earth. I for one have enough to be ashamed of in my thoughts, words and deeds. I don’t need to add pride, resentment, or unkindness regarding mask mandates to that list. So let’s all look for ways to make the world a little brighter, a little warmer. Smile big under that mask; pray for others while washing your hands and maybe when the masks finally come off, in this life and the next, we will be happier with who we see in the mirror.

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God in the Whirlwind

By Amy Spiegel

As Jim will tell you, my mind is generally a whirlwind of ideas, wide-ranging and seemingly disconnected ideas all swirling, and sometimes colliding, in my head. Thoughts about home improvement projects I want done spiraling alongside books I want to read and opinions about current events that make me want to cry.

The other day, I was definitely having a whirlwind-head moment, driving home from work and listening to the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” I’m not a big fan of contemporary Christian music, but I do have a mash-up playlist of classic hymns, Kayne West and a few CCM songs that I often unwind to at the end of the day. So I’m thinking about the time period in which this song was written, thinking about the times we are living in, and of the ways they are the same. The unrest and uncertainty. The violence and fear. The topic of race and injustice being on everyone’s minds.

I think there is another connection though: God’s uncanny ability to bring beauty out of the ugliest of situations; to salvage and even amplify joy out of great sorrow; to create glory in the midst of the horrific events. That’s what Julia Ward Stowe saw when she declared that her eyes had “seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Consider the America that she looked upon in 1861. I think few of her contemporaries would see glory on the march when they looked out and saw a country torn by civil war, fighting over the rights of all men to be acknowledged as having been created equal. But Howe believed that His truth was marching through the nation and that it would triumph and bring a “righteous sentence” to the guilty.

I want to see with the eyes of Julia Ward Howe and with the eyes of Martin Luther King Jr., who quoted her beautiful lyrics in the last speech he ever gave. He said “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land… I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

The union soldiers huddled around their campfires that inspired Howe to write her poem made many sacrifices. Some even laid down their lives, to free America’s slaves and to reunite our country under one flag. MLK wasn’t afraid either. He saw what was coming and stood in harm’s way to further the rights of blacks in the U.S.

There is no doubt in my mind that our country continues to be guilty of a great number of sins, both against God and humanity. You might believe those to be sins of systemic racism; I might believe them to be of the slaughter of the innocent. But something Christians from anywhere on the political or theological spectrum should all agree on is that there are wrongs to be righted in the world, and if Jesus “died to make men holy” we should be willing to “live to make men free…” Free from the bondage of poverty, from oppression and fear; but also free from gluttony and selfishness, from greed and lust. We can sing of liberty all we want but no one is truly free unless they are first free in Christ.

On the one hand, we must not neglect seeking to right wrongs where we see them done and to be the voice of those who have none. “For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another” (Gal. 5:13). On the other hand, we cannot preach for the sake of political power and neglect to preach for the sake of the Gospel. We are told in Luke that Jesus, speaking for one of the first times in public, said that God the Father “anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed” (Luke 4:18). Yet he never freed one slave or spoke out against one governmental policy. I believe he left that work to be done by his disciples and those who followed them, but he focused his time on earth in freeing the hearts and minds of those he loved from the burden and guilt of sin. If we do the same, the world will be transformed into his kingdom.

So let us climb the mountain top with MLK and peer over the other side into the promised land. And then let us set about working in our minds and hearts and lives to make that promised land a reality. While God is marching on.

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The Extra Mile

By Amy Spiegel

Sometimes my job requires going the extra mile. I’m sure this is true of most people, but for us—agents at American Income Life—it can often mean literally driving an extra mile, or two, or, in my case this week, one hundred. A union member didn’t feel comfortable sharing his info over the phone, so I drove two hours to meet him and go over his options. While on the road, I started thinking about going the extra mile and how making an extra effort is nine times out of ten rewarded in some way. Maybe not in dollars and cents, but I am a firm believer in my wise mother-in-law’s saying that if you cast your bread upon the water, it will come back to you as a sandwich. In other words, the gifts that you give will come back to you in greater proportion than you gave. I have seen this over and over in my own life. In fact, my entire adult life has been shaped by one act of kindness.

As a recent college graduate, an acquaintance needed a ride and I offered to give him one. Now this was no ordinary “Hey, can you give me a ride to the corner store?” ride. This was a 15-hour, 800-mile, two-way trek. I offered thinking he would probably turn it down. But he didn’t, so I drove from Knoxville to Jackson, Mississippi, got out of the car and was greeted by this acquaintance, only to realize in an instant that I loved this man, and we have been married for over twenty-two years now. I can’t imagine my life without that one “Sure, I can do that” and all the many blessings which have followed from it.

Reflecting on that instance has given me a boost of confidence in being, whenever possible, outrageously, foolishly generous. It doesn’t have to be money, or things, or long drives across the country. Maybe it’s the few extra minutes you spend listening to someone who needs a friendly ear. Maybe it’s the card you send or the smile you give or the prayer you offer up.

While driving the extra mile the other day, I was listening to a John Maxwell podcast that had been shared with me. He was talking about how we can prepare ourselves for whatever lies ahead. Along with being adaptable, promoting discussion and humility, he talked about the importance of being open-handed. The closed-fisted will be unable to grab hold of opportunity when it comes their way. I encourage us all to live open-handed and go the extra mile. You never know who or what you might pick up along the way.

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Contaminate the World

By Amy Spiegel

In our current circumstance, I’m sure you, like me, are thinking a great deal about the people around you. Especially in high traffic areas like the grocery store and . . . the grocery store, since that’s really the only place to go anymore. Not the passing thought of “Oh, I wonder where she bought those cute shoes.” But zeroed in like the Secret Service on high alert, assessing each aisle like a motorcade route in Dallas 1963. “Is it possible for me to reach the Ovaltine without coming within six feet of the woman with the mask whose been pondering the nutritional value of Nesquik for the last five minutes?” When I saw pictures like this one my initial response was “You have got to be kidding me.” But now I think I get it. This guy just wants a little clarity, clearly defined boundaries, no guesswork.

View image on Twitter All of this was going through my mind yesterday while shopping and recovering from a most unpleasant encounter with a member “at work”. I deal with a lot of unpleasantness as a part of my job, so it takes a special kind of rude to make me mad or cry. This guy did both. This guy was clearly a distant cousin of Hitler himself and destined to a special ring of Dante’s Inferno reserved for mass murderers, people who leave their grocery cart in the parking lot, and guys who yell at people over the phone who are just trying to do their job. But by the time I got to the store, I was considering the fact that I was forming a firm, and perhaps overly-dramatic, opinion of this guy based on a fifteen minute interaction. Surely there were times when I had been on less than my best behavior and left a bad taste in someone’s mouth. Did I really want people cherry picking when it comes to making assessments of the full measure of my character?
So as I navigated the minefield of contamination, I thought about the people I could touch. Not reach out and touch physically. Pretty sure that would get me arrested at this point. But touch with a smile or a kind word or a moment of patience. Pre-Coronavirus, after talking all day, the temptation for me to stick in my earbuds and get lost in my own podcast world would have been strong indeed. But with a heightened awareness of those around me and the power I have to spread “germs” of good or ill, I am going to try to contaminate as many people with kindness and love as I can. I don’t want to be judged on the briefest of encounters and certainly want to resist the temptation to do so to others. But at the same time, I want to be mindful of the power of those encounters. If our bodies can be put into crisis through exposure to the tiniest of contaminations, maybe the world can be made better through exposure to the smallest acts of kindness. We may not be able to heal those suffering or reopen the economy, but that doesn’t mean we are powerless. Let’s infect the world with light and love. Surely that is ultimately the cure for what ails us all.
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Courage, Faith, and a Little Bit of Crazy: Reflections on Entering the Corporate World

By Amy Spiegel

There are leaps of faith one takes in life which take all three. Getting married. Having kids. Jumping out of airplanes, though I think marriage and parenthood take a lot more courage, faith, and crazy. At 45, I thought I was past making those big leaps but last summer I proved myself wrong. Obviously, Jim and I are still happily married and our baby-making days are behind us. I didn’t go parachute jumping, though at times it felt like I had. Ironically the scariest decisions I’ve made in decades involved protecting people from the risks and dangers of life.

After years of staying home with the kids and struggling on one income, we knew it was time for me to find a full-time job. I loved being home with the kids, most of the time anyway; anyone who tells you they “loved every minute of it” has either forgotten a lot of minutes or is lying. To be honest, I have never seen myself as someone who would have a career. If money weren’t a factor, I would have been happy to stay at home. But with a kid in college and three to follow, that wasn’t in the cards.

So, after twenty years of odd jobs and false starts, I set out to get a job. I had some ideas of what I would like to do and what I thought I would be good at. I cleaned up my resume and waited. And waited and waited and waited. I had known it might be tricky for me to get my foot in the door, but I won’t lie—my pride took a hit. Out of desperation, I went to an interview with American Income Life, a life insurance company I had never heard of.

I sat through the interview thinking, “There is no way in a million years I am going to do this.” I studied for my licensing test thinking “I’ll do this while I look for something else.” And I prayed “Lord, if you don’t want me to do this, please help me to FAIL this test.” And I repeated that prayer many times during the 60+ hour weeks of training to become an insurance agent, right up to the point where I fell in love with my job and the people I work with and serve.

I won’t bore you with all the details of my job. I’ve done that to my family enough already. But I do want to share a few lessons I’ve learned over the last seven months. Hopefully they will speak to you next time life requires a big leap on your part.

Lesson 1: Don’t let plans get in the way of following the path God has clearly laid before you. It’s hard to believe all the friendships, opportunities, not to mention paychecks, I would have missed out on if I hadn’t taken this job.

Lesson 2: You are never just a missionary. You are always getting back as much, if not more, than you are getting. In the office and when I’m meeting with prospective clients and policyholders, I’m always looking for ways to make their day a little better. But I can’t count the times someone has offered a kind word just when I needed it the most; a glass of water or a shared laugh or a cry. Try not to be too selfish to help when you can, but pray to be humble enough to take help when it’s offered. You never can tell where that help is going to come from. I’ve spent many a delightful afternoon with clients thinking I was there to help them only to realize they were the ones that lifted my spirits or brightened an otherwise gloomy day.

Lesson 3: Don’t quit. That’s all you have to do. When I hear of the amazing things people in my office and company are accomplishing, the common thread that runs through all their stories is that they didn’t quit. That’s it. Of course there are times when quitting is the prudent thing to do, but we are capable of so much more than we think we are. Just keep going and you will surprise yourself.

Lesson 4: You are never in a holding pattern. You might feel like you are living in limbo but there is no such thing. I spent twenty years at home, changing diapers, doing laundry, etc. and assumed that I wasn’t acquiring any additional marketable skills. But when I came to work for American Income Life, I realized I had developed mad skills in hard work, patience, and persistence that I definitely didn’t have in my twenties.

I sell life insurance but in reality there is no such thing. There is no insurance that gives you the future for which you are planning. I can help you protect your family’s financial future in the event of your death. But I can’t prevent that death. Or all of the unexpected bumps along the way to that death. But sometimes those bumps and detours and unexpected side trips turn out not be detours at all. Sometimes it takes a while to realize you are headed in the right direction after all. It just takes a little courage, faith, and, of course, crazy.

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Book Notes

By Amy Spiegel

Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin: This was just what the doctor ordered for many reasons. Hearing of Griffin’s experiences as he traveled through the south in the late 1950’s disguised as a black man was a powerful and grief-filled reminder of our nation’s past sins and the historic burden blacks have carried. It was also an uplifting reminder of how far we have come. While I did feel conflicted reading from the perspective of someone merely pretending to be black, I certainly admire Griffin’s courage in seeking to bring to light the injustices suffered by so many.

I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe: I had a love/hate relationship with this book. Set on the campus of an elite, fictional Ivy League university, it tells the story of the title character and the many ups and downs of her freshman year. Tom Wolfe is a master storyteller, creating characters who feel genuine and yet act as perfect stereotypes of their demographic. The innocent country girl who wants to fit in. The frat boy who wants to get laid. The athlete who wants to keep his starting place on the team. The journalism nerd who wants to make his mark (and get laid). Wolfe captures them all and writes a story which is simultaneously personal and yet emblematic. This was why I loved Charlotte Simmons. What I hated was the deluge of profanity and moral perversity filling the pages from cover to cover. I am sure it is absolutely authentic, but it was so profoundly filthy that at times I had to step away from reading in order to give my sense of propriety a chance to catch its breath. I seriously doubt anything would have been lost had Wolfe dialed back the vulgarity, but it still one of best books I have read in recent years.

A Failure of Nerve by Edwin Friedman: There are only a few books in life about which I can say “Reading this changed my life.” A Failure of Nerve is one such book. In many ways, it seems an unlikely candidate. It can be rather dry and reading it was slow going given the number of times I had to double back and reread sections in order to be sure I understood them. But the profound insights into human nature I have gained from Friedman are ones to which I have come back to over and over in recent days. I now give myself pep talks, saying things like “Don’t triangulate here! Don’t triangulate!” or “Quick, self-differentiate!” Just as I believe that God has woven universal truths in the arrangement of the stars and the design of a single cell, I believe He has created patterns and complexity within our psychologies, both personal and interpersonal, which are waiting to be discovered. Friedman has taken a microscope to those patterns and laid out his discoveries for all to see. Whatever your vocation in life, you will find this book to be a game changer.

Endurance by Alfred Lansing:  I actually meant to read a different book by the same title but enjoyed this one nonetheless. While it filled me with a deep gratitude for the fact that I am not an explorer, nor do I intend to become one, I gained new found respect for men like Ernest Shackleton and the twenty-seven men who traveled with him in 1912. I think what struck me most regarding this story was the fact that not only did they all survive, but in their will to live they never seemed to sacrifice their humanity. I did wish the book provided more of an education regarding the technical aspects of the voyage but it’s a good introduction to an amazing story. Perfect for reading from the comforts of your climate controlled environment.

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Politics Gone Viral

By Amy Spiegel

For many years, as a mother of four, I dreaded this time of year. The excitement and cheerful decorations of Christmas are long gone. The green and sunshine of spring seem a still distant hope. When the kids were little, these were long and grey winter days with no snow spent wishing for sledding and igloos to help burn off some of that seemingly endless childhood energy. The long and grey days with lots of snow were spent stuffing kids in and out of snow pants and wishing they would just stay inside. But my greatest dread was sickness. Inevitably, we would schedule a playdate, spend several lovely hours with friends only to have someone throw up all over one of the kids as we were saying goodbye. Okay, that never actually happened, but there did seem to be a proportional relationship between the frequency of playdates and the chances of my kids getting sick. In order to avoid whatever gut-spilling, bowel-emptying plague which was currently laying siege to our circle of friends, I would become hyper-vigilant regarding contact with others. If I saw the slightest hint of illness, runny nose, sneezing, unidentified ooze leaking from any orifice, I would yell “Retreat!” and hustle the kids off as quickly as possible, giving the offending orifice a wide berth large enough to drive the Titanic through…sideways.

This season of political divisiveness and strife has me living in the same nerve-fraying state of alertness. Politics has become a virus from which I would like to be immunized or, better yet, simply avoid all together. I know this is not the way of the informed citizen and might seem a complete shirking of my civic duties, but I’m ready to at least use a few sick days. It isn’t that I don’t care about the issues being debated. Quite the reverse. The stakes have never seemed so high: illegal immigration which encompasses national security, our legacy as a nation of immigrants, and the fate of those caught in the middle; racial equality; issues of religious freedom and tolerance; abortion; gun control; and the list goes on. All matters of vital importance and deserving of our attention. Nevertheless, on a fairly regular basis, I dream of leaving others to solve our problems and packing up husband, kids and dogs (sorry cat, you are on your own) and heading to hill country with a lifetime supply of dehydrated beef stroganoff and the complete works of Sir Conan Doyle.

I know that in the last two hundred plus years of our nation’s history there have been times of greater political division (e.g., the Civil War, Vietnam, etc.). But what I find so maddening about our current political divide, beyond the character assassinations and untethered vitriol on both sides of the aisle, is its ever-pervasive presence. Go to the movies or turn on the television and you’ll have some high school dropout lecturing you about the environment or gun control or the “wage gap.” Try to watch sports and you’ll have it turned into a political exercise about racial prejudice. You can’t even shop for school supplies or buy a cupcake without declaring your support or disapproval of one side or the other. Every corner of our culture has been infected with politics. In other words, there is no common ground. There is no place to meet in the middle and enjoy a laugh or well-played game. Everywhere is a pulpit and everyone a preacher.

I’m not denying anyone’s right to use whatever platform they have been given to propagate their particular perspective. I only ask they consider the context in which they do so. We watch movies for their artistic and entertainment value, not to be indoctrinated but to be enlightened and uplifted. We watch sports to be amazed and inspired, to feel a part of so larger than ourselves, not to be lectured and subdivided.

Maybe if we spent a little more time on common ground, rooting for the home team, laughing together, enjoying the same musical or theatrical experience, we might find the road to political compromise a little less rocky. Maybe those moments of shared experience will be just what the doctor ordered.

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Lent: A Love/Hate Relationship

By Amy Spiegel

Well, here we are again. Lent. As we slip through winter days of snow and ice, with Christmas decorations once again stored safely away, Lent has a way of sneaking up on me every year. When I think of Easter, I imagine shoeless kids running through sun-drenched yards getting grass stains on the knees of their Sunday best; the glow of new life springing up all around us. This, however, is not what I see when I look out the window today. It is grey. Grey sky. Grey snow. Everything is frozen, grey and dead. Or so it would seem. Lurking just beneath the surface, there is life, waiting, holding its breath, waiting.

It amazes me how finely tuned a world our Creator has made. I could watch nature shows for days on end, marveling at the complex web of interdependence which has been spun all around us. And in the season of Lent, this physical world mirrors the invisible yet tangible reality of our spiritual journey. These forty days of self-denying greyness are reflected in the greyness of winter’s dying breath. (Unless you live in some unnatural tropical paradise of course, which just means you aren’t as spiritual as the rest of us. We would move to Hawaii or California but then I don’t want to miss out on all those spiritual insights that snow, ice and frostbite bring.)

When I wake up to chilly floors and fingers that can never quite get warm, my heart whispers “Hold on. Spring is coming. Hold on. The sun is closer today than it was yesterday.” When I stare longingly at the empty places on my phone where for the next several weeks my Netflix and Amazon Video apps will not be, a voice says “Hold on. They will be back.” And yet all this longing and waiting points to a deeper anticipation of joy yet experienced, longing never fulfilled. For spring and summer will pass and bleed into fall and winter and once again we will miss the warmth and green the sun brings. But one day, the Son will return and bring with Him an everlasting life that will never turn cold.

So I will wait. Staring out my window at the grey, holding fast to the promise that it won’t last forever. I sit here wearing the sign of the cross on my forehead, appropriately, in ash grey. This cross is made from the ashes of last year’s palm branches, connecting Palm Sunday’s shouts of “Hosanna” to Good Friday’s cries of “Crucify him!” and looking forward to Easter’s “He is risen.” Like our Savior, today I wear a cross so that one day I can wear a crown.

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The Old Grey Mare

By Amy Spiegel

Recently, our church held their annual Thanksgiving service and Jim and others in our congregation took a few minutes to share something for which they were thankful. They each did a great job, and as I listened to them I pondered the previous year and thought about gratitude-inspiring experiences, people, and situations I have encountered this year. Of course, there are the usual suspects: health, friends and family. While I certainly don’t mean to discount these blessings, I wanted to find something more specific to this season of life. What I settled on might surprise you.

I discovered that I am truly grateful for getting older. Now, a few decades ago, when birthdays brought new privileges, the ability to drive, to vote, to enjoy adult beverages, advancing in years was much easier to give thanks for. I suppose I still have senior citizens discounts and social security to look forward to, but, in the world’s eyes, there aren’t too many largely recognized perks to being on this side of the hill. And that is why I am so thankful for having been given a different vision through which to see my accumulating grey hairs and wrinkles. While those without hope look at the signs of aging as something to be denied and conquered, I am learning to see them as the scars of battles waged and won, of medals awarded for bravery in the face of the enemy. For those who call this life home, growing older is one step further in a finite journey, while for me and my brothers and sisters in Christ, this life is merely the womb in which we are being shaped and developed, and we are on a journey homeward bound.

This perspective is one I am working to cultivate and grow within myself as I face the indignities of middle age, especially in a culture which worships at the altar of youth. I don’t want to see myself as a clock which is slowly winding down and wearing out. Rather, I want to be a tree that is sending down deep roots, providing shade and shelter for those around her. There is an eternal aspect to trees which grow and produce seeds and eventually die and provide nourishment to the next generation of trees growing around them. They don’t cease to exist but rather take on a new form. The same is true in the life of a believer. My body might be a little slower, my mind not as quick or sharp as it once was, but each day I leave behind a little more of this world and the true me within grows a little bigger, growing to better reflect my true self. “The old grey mare she ain’t what she used to be,” and I say, thank heavens!

This fall, I had the immense honor of sitting with my mother-in-law, holding her hand and reading her the Psalms as she passed from this life to the next. I am infinitely thankful that God arranged circumstances such that I was able to witness this lovely lady going home. As she took her final breath, I felt sorrow at being left behind, but great joy in imagining her arrival in Heaven. She wasn’t leaving but arriving, and one day I will join her. One day, I will die, or in truth one day I will truly be born. And rather than filling me with a sense of dread or fear, this idea is a thrilling one.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not making plans to go skydiving without a parachute any time soon. Just like a baby in utero, I have some maturing to do before I go head first into the cosmic birth canal. I hope to live to pluck many a chin hair and continue for years doing my best to do my best. But one day this heart will stop beating, these lungs will stop breathing, this brain will stop functioning. And then I will know what it is to truly live. And for this hope and knowledge, I am and will be eternally grateful.