Rev. Stan Vander Klay's Memorial Service

The Memorial Service for my dad will be THIS coming Saturday, June 22, 2013 at 1:00 PM at Seminary Baptist Church (formerly Bethel CRC) on Haledon Ave, in Paterson, NJ.
My brother Paul will be speaking as well as Pastor Sheila Holmes from Northside Chapel. Music will be brought by Ron Foster (RONFO) and the Voices of God gospel choir. People are coming from all over the US so get there early enough to get a seat.

Wow - a chance to cry and marvel

I haven't written much lately - not that there's nothing going on in me - but things are marinating inside.

But here is something that is certainly post worthy. It warms the heart and soul.

Hot off the press....

If you have ANY health issue, you need to watch this video. This includes arthritus, allergies, skin conditions, colon conditions, neuropathy, diabetes, chronic fatigue, bi-polar, autism, MS, fatigue, any autoimmune disfunction which includes osteoporosis, etc. I wish that I knew this information 30 years ago and I wouldn't have been living my life with poor health. It is long but listen while you are working on something else, you will be SO glad that you did.

And here is the ultimate irony in this.... This institute is located in Grand Rapids, Michigan! This is where I lived when I became ill initially.

A little update on my health and veganism. So far to date I'm between 50 and 60 pounds lighter than I was last November when I started this new lifestyle. My cholesterol is down to 184 from a whopping 255 initially with my LDL being WAY too high back then. I didn't want to go on medication so I just avoided the doctor for a few years.... charming! My blood pressure is down 10 points. I walk five miles a day effortlessly whereas when I started doing 2 miles initially I had great difficulty breathing. I have more energy and health.

However, I am still suffering from migraines. My digestive tract becomes angry with me after I consume gluten and my weight loss halts along with lethargy and fatigue. My walking is slowed and all manner of health goes out the window from a whole wheat cracker. There is something to what this man is saying.  Apparently wheat and gluten are not what they were when God created the world way back when. Many foods have been genetically modified to increase productivity in the field. Pesticides aren't our only worry. We are killing ourselves with our food and then using drugs to try to correct it.

In this report, Dr. Den Boer spoke about a man who weighed in at 330 pounds and worked out three hours a day. He couldn't budge his weight (sound familiar). The culprit was gluten. When he went off he started losing weight rapidly. One day he treated himself to a pizza and a hot dog... gained 10 pounds... hmmm.


DBC Natural Health Website

Through the eyes of Edward Hopper...

Took a little trip to Cape Cod last Saturday. It was 37 degrees and the wind was crazy cold. I wanted spring and summer to come so badly.... But in the midst of the cold, I decided to take a little "Hopper" trip. Through some sleuthing, I found his home in Truro. I hiked along the beach to spot it and then took a drive through a dirt road to view the back. I also photographed the "Corn Hill Beach" scene. We then went into Provincetown and wandered around the shops and art galleries for a little while. As I walked, I tried to view the area through Hopper's eyes. These photographs were manipulated as a tribute to Hopper - clean, crisp and bold.

Stanley Vander Klay's Obit in The Banner

Dad's Obit

Above is the link to my father's write up in The Banner, our denominational magazine in case any of you are interested.

More Zion Beauty...

Vegan Update

Five months ago I became a vegan. I was tired of looking and feeling the way I did. Counting calories and exercising daily was not causing the scale to tip in my favor. Frankly, I was depressed about the state of my health and more than a bit worried about things like cancer, heart attack, diabetes and stroke. I was eating an average of 600 calories a day and exercising and yet gaining weight! I was not one of those people on "The Biggest Loser" that admits to eating bags of cookies and potato chips! I was just a middle aged woman whose metabolism had shut down.

I knew that I needed to do something drastic that had proven effective for me in the past. Since I was already convinced of the health benefits of a vegan lifestyle it didn't take much thought for me to know that this was the path that I was to take.

In five months, nothing has swayed me from my course. I have on a few very special occasions chosen to "lighten up" a bit on my rules, but have not been deterred. Even the death of my father and two weeks on the road didn't set me back.

So, how have I faired health wise?

Today I visited the doctor for my checkup. My last one was more than two years ago. I lost 40 pounds since my last visit. Since I know for sure that I had gained more weight in the past two years (the average person gains 10 pounds a year and well, let's just say that my jeans were not wearable), it might be more accurate to say that I've lost between 50 and 60 pounds eating vegan for the past 5 months.

I have a ways to go.... but I feel so much healthier. I'm able to run across the streets of Boston now without getting winded. I'm so much lighter on my feet... literally.

Was it worth giving up meat, dairy and eggs, sugar and ice cream, the pizza and thick juicy steaks?

Yep... no doubt about it! If you are feeling like you need a change in your health go back and read my old entries in November and December. It's good for the body and the soul!

Zion

Hebrews 12:22-23 But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven.

West...

Every year when I go to Vegas on business I rent a car and take off for "God's country" for a little photography break. Here are a few images from my last trip. 

I'll praise you in the storm

Reflections on Resurrection Sunday...

I have a few thoughts coming out of yesterday....

Church was tough... no way around it. I chose to go to my mom's church because that's the church where my dad spent many of the last years of his life ministering, so I was with many friends and relatives. It was still a tear fest for me. Every song set me off. Scripture comforted me. The message was great. But the songs... oh boy....

I never knew how much the songs on Easter referred to "the grave". It makes sense and on some level I always knew it to be true, but when you've just put someone you love dearly in the grave and the ground is still fresh and churned, that word takes on a whole new meaning. It's kind of like rubbing salt in an open wound.

The hope of the risen Lord coming to abolish death is a wonderful thing. I don't know how people who don't believe get through the death of a loved one. I would go stark raving mad. However, the hope we have is a far away hope - it's like the rest of the aspects of faith, you know God is there for you, but in the here and now, your circumstances still suck. To be reunited with that loved one you actually have to die too. There's no crossing over that Jordan river in the land of the living even for a little chat. It's a harsh reality.

People sure are happy on Easter. The same people who cried with us a few weeks ago have moved on, but we still cry. It's a bit of a lonely feeling. It's not to say that people weren't sensitive, because they were, but in the end, you are all alone in your grief.

While I could hardly get through church, dinner was a much better experience. My sister and brother-in-law make a spread that could rival any restaurant. They spice everything to perfection, always trying new recipes and succeeding. Everything was fantastic and I ate joyfully.

We changed things up a bit to make it more tolerable. My sister set up multiple tables which got us away from the "this is where Dad always sat" problem. Mom sat in his seat. The rest of us wandered around playing musical tables. The day was beautiful and we were able to eat outside. 59 degrees for the robust New Englanders seemed like real spring.

The company was superb! I didn't know how I could handle the day being with people. The good thing was these were good friends. Friends who love to laugh. Smart, talented amazing people who we've known for a long time and who loved my father too. They were friends that were well aware of the realities of grief because they had been through it too... in harsh, awful ways. They got it and it made the day that much more bearable. It's just so good to surround yourself with people who you love and who love you. It's really the best medicine.

One of my friends said to me that the reason that we just can't ever accept death is because we weren't created that way. We were never created to die or experience death. So true....

My mom and sister have been doing some research on my dad's cause of death. Death is so final, but it's normal to go back to those last few days before and wonder if it could have been prevented. I haven't spent much time thinking about "if only" but there has been a question in my mind about why the doctor didn't know this was going on when he had his heart tested and a clean bill of health given just a few days before his death. Apparently "ventricular fibrillation" happens when the bottom two chambers of the heart just shut down. It's a muscle issue as opposed to "arterial fibrillation" which tends to be more common and treatable. It seems that there would have been very little that they could do to prevent this kind of episode from happening in my father. If we had known this was the problem, we would have worried and watched him, waiting for that moment. I probably would have followed him around with fib paddles. It would have been no quality of life for him or us.

In addition, when "ventricular fibrillation" happens, the person passes out immediately, feeling no pain, and the blood is no longer pumped through the body. Brain damage happens within five minutes. If they had been able to bring him back it would have been a sadder reality.

Do these things make me feel better? No, I suppose not. I'd like for him not to have had that problem but I suppose at age 77, things do start to wear out. We speculate on why his heart wore out so quickly. Was it the scarlet fever at age 4 that almost took him back then? Did it damage his heart? Whatever the cause, our bodies all break down. I should know that as well as anyone. It's almost easier to have it happen to yourself than someone you love though.

It was four weeks ago today. That's one month. For most of life's little traumas we can move on in a few minutes, or days. Something like this... I hear three years to get to some kind of point of being ok. Here I am after one month still blogging about the same topic. I kind of hoped that I could go through the grief of lent and when Sunday came.... I could start focusing on the new life part of the equation. Grief doesn't work that way.... and that's alright.

So, no big answers or hope or meditation today. Yesterday was kind of draining. I'm going to lay low, bring my daughter back to her dorm, maybe clean the house (big maybe there) and take a nice, long walk. What are you going to do today?

Happy Resurrection Day!

Music says it all... Oldies but goodies....

Be Still.....

Today seems like the day to be silent. To cease from the hurried details of life and let the day be as it is.

Sometimes after the trauma of death, there is nothing more to do but sit and be silent. When your emotions have been wrenched and twisted, and your hope dashed to pieces; when there is no more fight in your bones and your heart is drained of all that was there... it's time to be still.

There is a stillness in grief that must be heeded. It's an act of surrender; a show of respect. Resignation has replaced purpose and it's time to sit in the presence of a still, quiet voice.

Be still and know that God IS. I AM THAT I AM.

Be still and know that God renews hope.

Be still and feel the peace; that someday, somehow, you will be alright.

Be still and know that God knows the pain you feel; He's been there too.

Be still and know that you and your loved ones are always safe in the hands of a loving God.

Be still and know that your heart will heal.

Be still....

He was despised and rejected by men,
A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him;
He was despised and we did not esteem Him.

Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God and afflicted.

But He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities,
The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
And by His stripes we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;
We have turned, everyone to his own way;
And the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.

He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he opened not His mouth;
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not His mouth.

Isaiah 53:3-7

Today, we are silent, as Jesus was silent. There is nothing more to say. We rest. We remain.

We trust in the will of the one who has paid the price and conquered death.

The above images were taken by a dear friend of mine, David Edmonson. He is not only fantastic wedding and portrait photographer, but he's a great person as well. David has "been through" this year, as we say in the inner city,  but his faith in God is steadfast and strong. He is committed to encouraging and pouring his life into others. He's a humble servant and greets everyone with a big smile and lots of love. He's my hero.

David sent me these images yesterday and asked me if I'd like to collaborate with him and do "my thing" to them, so when I viewed the pictures, I had to figure out what "my thing" was. This is what came out.  His images were stark and crisp and told the story of the crucifixion so eloquently. I felt that they needed a graphic touch to finish them off because they were good enough to be movie posters. I wanted something raw, ugly hand written because Christ's death was ugly, raw and gritty. It is about the ugliness of fallen humanity and sin transformed into a plan and purpose of God that destroyed that once and for all. In the image of the Roman soldier driving the nails through the feet I felt there need to be a boldness, in print for the verdict was determined before the beginning of time. An innocent man, a perfect God was to be condemned to death in order that we may live. Take some time to meditate on the truth in these words and images today.

If you'd like to see more of David's work check out his website at davidedmonson.com.

Today We Remember...

Today is the day that we focus the death of Jesus.

On this day we sing.... "Were you there when they crucified our Lord?" without singing the rose up from the tomb verse. We don't focus on the Resurrection today  - even though that's part of the story. Today is just set aside to meditate on the death of Christ. In short... today is the day we mourn.

I've become very good at mourning... unfortunately. Waves of deep grief and anguish still wash over me at the most inopportune times like driving my car down the highway and always in bed. When I stop moving and my mind has an open moment, it always goes there... to the dark cave of grief. It's a place that I try so hard to avoid. A reality so black that I can't say there too long, for I fear it will consume me.

The Bible speaks of "mourners"... people who wept with others in the times of their loss. My dad always said that I could be leased out as a professional mourner... and I'm sure he was right.

The moment that the shock wore off just a few hours after my father's death, I thought I would die myself. My heart was racing and my whole body shook violently. My vessel could not contain the deep reality of a loss so severe.

Mourning is part of having emotions, of being alive. Mourning is a process that cannot be circumvented.

Why did Jesus weep when Lazarus died (John 11) even though he knew good and well that he was going to command his wrapped, decaying body out of the grave? Jesus was deeply moved by the pain of death. Perhaps he was even thinking of his own impending doom.

When news of the death of John the Baptist reached Jesus, he took the boat and went off by himself for a while. To grieve... to pray... to feel.

Yes, mourning is real. It hurts, badly. And the pain stays fresh for years... for a lifetime. You never forget, you just learn to adapt to the pain I guess.

I had a talk with my barista in my Boston Starbucks the other day. For over a year, he has been making my coffee. When he asked me sincerely how I was, I could have given him the fine thank you answer but I wanted to be real with him so I shared briefly. And then he shared the details about the death of his father, quite a few years earlier, as if it was yesterday. Death is real and raw and ugly and grief remains in our bones, sometimes hidden, but it's always there. We bear the scars.

Jesus died to abolish death but as long as we live here, the reality of death will affect us all. Loss seems like such a benign word compared to the pain that it serves.

During the final hours of the life of Christ he took into account the pain of those left on the earth without him. He looked down from the cross, through his agony and saw the deep grief of his mother and his buddy James.  His poor mother who birthed and raised him, who loved him with a true mother's heart. "Woman, here is your son" and to the disciple he said "Here is your mother".

He knew his mother was heartbroken, crushed and destroyed by his death. He also knew that she needed more earthly provision and comfort for her days that remained on this earth. He didn't expect her to be stoic and rest on the knowledge that he was God's son and that she knew all along that she couldn't keep him. He didn't expect her little earthly mind to fully grasp the big heavenly things and live with an esoteric sense of comfort.

Jesus could have taken care of those family matters earlier in the week for he knew this day was coming. But he gave us a picture of grief and how to deal with it in that moment of time, highlighted by the fact that it was one of the few words and actions that he took on that cross that day. One of the ways to bring solace to grief is in community, in family. Interacting with others reminds you that you are alive, and pulls you out of the depths of loss.

In the midst of grief, he brought hope, new life, new relationships. This of course is the complete picture of his death, the promise of eternal life in the family of God.

Jesus death cost him. It cost God the father too. He had to watch his beloved son die. He suffered great grief as the drama unfolded, even though he ordained the whole thing. He didn't sit on the throne smiling that day. No, the sky turned black for three hours. Darkness covered the earth. The grief of God made concrete and visible. The earth shook. Rocks broke. Graves opened. The curtain in the Temple was torn in two.

Today we mourn, but not without hope. Because of today we know that some day our grief will end. Some day we will be reunited with our loved ones. Some day we will live in perfect joy with the one who still bears the scars of his death. Someday the sting of death will be gone. Some day....

Lead Me to the Cross

Here is a youtube video - a dance to Lead me to the Cross by Hillsongs. The video capture is horrible, obviously held by a friend or sister. The microphones are obstructing the view. The video shakes and whoever was holding it got caught up in worship and sings at times...

BUT having said all that - if you can look past all that and watch the dance... wow... powerful....
When I get to heaven, more than singing or painting or playing the piano... I will be dancing.

Creative Lenten Services

Dad in Northside Chapel soon after it was built

I love the week between Palm Sunday and Easter. Do you know why? It's because things get a whole lot more creative in the church services!

Tonight I'm heading into Boston for one of my favorite services of the year... The Tenebrae service at Old South Church. I've always had a thing for candle light but when you put that together with the incredible jazz musicians, classical sacred music in the choir and the old stone arches and columns that look ever so like an old courtyard, you have a winner in my book.

In the Tenebrae service as each step of the holy week is recounted they extinguish candles until you are sitting in the dark with one, lone candle for light. A hush comes over the room as the bells strike. The light and it's bearer quietly lead the community out the large wooden doors into the streets of Boston.

Wow....

I really appreciate creativity in worship services that address all the senses. A great service should include the appropriate atmosphere to set the mood. This includes lighting, music, scents and art. When we engage all our senses, we can more easily assimilate what we are learning.

Nestled in my memory are my happy days of worshipping at Madison Square CRC in Grand Rapids, Michigan. One service in particular stood out as the best that I had ever encountered.

It was Good Friday. We were led into our new sanctuary. A huge, rough cross had been constructed earlier that week for this very occasion. The stage was assembled in the center of the room with lights on the rugged cross and a crown of thorns dangling precariously at the head.

We all sat at the foot of the cross in a circle. Lights were dimmed, music deep and meaningful. Dancers twirled their way around the cross to the music. Scripture was read dramatically, communion served, lights were extinguished and we left in silence.

20 years later, I'm still thinking about that service...

On Resurrection Day the atmosphere was completely different. Brightly colored flags, dancers, gospel choir, lilies and triumphant music created a party that was not quickly forgotten!

One more example from my past. I used to go to monasteries or abbeys when I wanted a little retreat. I liked them because of the atmosphere. In a particular monastery in Three Rivers, Michigan I found a very special treasure. There was a grand wooden chapel fashioned with wood, floor to ceiling nestled in a very natural environment. The monks were clothed in hooded robes and made regular prayer rounds through the chapel swinging the incense and bowing at different stations.

Early one morning when I was there with a group of young adults, including a fresh ex-boyfriend, I was awakened by a bad dream. It was actually a very telling dream but right now that's irrelevant to my story. The point is that at 4 AM, I got out of bed, dressed and found my way to the chapel, hymnal and Bible in hand (praise songs seemed a bit wrong for the environment). I was all alone in the chapel for a good part of the time except for the occasional monk doing rounds. The room was dark with just the glow of candles and dim lights. My voice echoed through the building as I sang and prayed. I encountered God in a very special way that morning and I dare say, the atmosphere had a lot to do with my ability to receive. The architect who fashioned that room did it to lead the worshipper into a higher state of contemplation and reception.

In our small little inner city church in Paterson, New Jersey, my father could be as creative as he wanted to be. He was always open to trying new things and invited people to share their gifts and participate. I was most eager to facilitate this process. He never stifled his creative daughter but encouraged those artistic worship gifts to bloom.

One day I was in the mood to make a banner. I decorated the church on occasion with my felt wonders. Banners were big back in the 70's and early 80's and I designed a really cool one with the text "By His Wounds, We are Healed". On a large block of purple fabric, I fashioned a stain-glassed window effect of thorns, outlining the shape of three crosses, with one front and center. It was beautiful and I was very proud of my 20 year old self. I wouldn't be surprised if it still hangs there during Lent, but I don't know for sure...

I'd like to see more art and creativity in churches. Services have become so cerebral. Stimulating the intellect is fine but spiritual matters are really nurtured in our right brains, the creative centers. Our souls are touched through emotion and beauty. When we get in touch with our own creativity, we are more in touch with the great creator and that after all is why we go to church in the first place right? It's about communing with God and his people.

If you are creative, consider sharing your gifts to make a difference in your church and community. We should be pulling out all the stops, don't you think?

Do you have stories of really cool services you've been to? Leave them down in the comments below or on my FB page. I'd love to hear about them.

Grandma's Walks with the Man with Kind Eyes

Grace Vander Klay was a lovely creature. I have to think so because she was my grandmother... and a most remarkable woman.

Grandma and I had a very close relationship. She often said "I know it's not right to have favorites, but there's something about that first grandchild." She truly loved ALL her grandchildren.

Perhaps I was so special to her because she "got" me. My folks used to look at me and say "Where did SHE come from?" and then together they would say "Oh yes, Grandma!"

She took an active role in my life, visiting often and then when they were living further away, sending me letters. I went to college one block away from their retirement home. We had many wonderful adult years together full of memories.

I could write a whole blog on stories about the woman my grandma was. The intuitive, resourceful, intelligent, gifted pastors wife who lived through the time of the depression. Today I have just one story on my heart.... it's the day that Grandma saw Jesus.

It was her 89th year of life. Grandpa had passed away a few years earlier. Grandma's eye's were failing her. For years she listened to tapes for the blind but her interest in that had waned as of late. Her joints hurt to the point that she could barely walk. She was showing signs of congestive heart failure and her ears were no longer working too well. In short, her body was deteriorating.

Grandma did not want to make it to her 90th birthday. "I don't want to be here anymore! I don't know why God doesn't just take me home!" she would say with great dissatisfaction in her voice. "I'm no good to anyone here anymore anyway! Don't throw me a party."

We would answer her with the obligatory, "We don't know why, but we sure like having you here yet." kind of responses and assure her that when it was her time to go, she would. And despite her initial protests, she did rather enjoy her 90th birthday party.

On one very special afternoon, a day like any other day, Grandma laid down on her twin bed in her single room in the retirement home to take a nap.

She wasn't asleep very long when a young man looking to be in his thirties, in a white robe and beard stood at the foot of her bed and touched her big toe to wake her. She opened her eyes and looked at him. (Remember, she was blind at the time).

He said to her, "Grace, get up" and stretched out his hand.

She looked at him and in total Grace fashion said "But I don't walk well, my hips hurt". But she obediently got out of bed, with no pain.

Hand in hand he led her out of her room and in just a millisecond of time they were walking along a beach. As they walked Grace kept looking over at this man. He was so kind. His eyes were so loving. His voice was so soothing. They spoke together.

Grace said to him, "Who are you?" she said.

"Who do you think I am", he answered.

"Are you Jesus? Because you have the kindest eyes."

He smiled at her and they continued to walk.

Soon he said "Grace, climb these steps with me."

"But I don't see any steps" said Grace.

"It's okay, they are there. Just follow my lead" said the kind man.

Step by step they went up. Higher and higher they went until they were viewing the earth as if from space.

Grace stared in wonder and amazement. Still in great peace and holding the hand of the kindest man she had ever met.

In the blink of an eye, she was back in her bed...  never to be the same. She had a renewed sense of peace in her place in life.

When Grandma woke up from that experience it was all that she could talk about for days. She wondered what happened. Was that a vivid dream? It felt so real. How come she had no pain? She could hear and see. Was it a vision? What was it?

Was Jesus taking her to heaven and if so, why did he stop? Why was she still here?

Those were questions that I'm sure she has the answers for now. Within six months after that experience, she walked out of this world holding hands with the "man with kind eyes".

That man with kind eyes gathers his loved ones in close. His love is deeper than our deepest pain. My pain and that of others that I know and love is kind of raw right now... but I'm thinking that is going to make this years celebration that much more meaningful for us.

It's Friday and we're feeling a bit jarred, a bit lost, a bit defeated, a bit overwhelmed... but Sunday's Coming!!!

Davey and Goliath Easter Special

I know that this dates me.... yikes... something my hairdresser and I try very hard to hide but when I was growing up I loved this show. The Easter Special was by far my favorite. Perhaps part of it was because Davey's grandma reminded me so much of my own grandma. (I have a story about Grandma that I will be putting in my blog tomorrow so make sure to check it out, it's a cool one.)

This year.... I wanted to watch this SO BADLY for obvious reasons... fortunately someone who lost his dad right before Easter a few years ago posted it on Youtube for all of us to enjoy. If you are pressed for time - part three is the one that really counts.

I have to say it seemed more profound when I viewed it as a child... It's probably been at least 30 years since I've seen this, maybe more but it's a classic that deserves to be aired.

Now is the Time to Worship....

Woke up early from a dream. They say it usually takes at least three weeks after the death of a loved one before you dream about them. It was true for me... three weeks to the day and then came the dream.

It was not a dream of my father in heaven comforting or reassuring me, rather it was one of those "trying to work things out in your psyche" dreams... but it had a rather interesting ending so I'm going to share it.

In my dream I'm at work and I see dad running/walking through the woods. He's not himself, kind of tripping over his feet and stumbling. He falls down and I think... I have to go make sure his heart is working. So I run out and revive him. I convince him to come into the building where I'm at and we take an elevator up to the 4th floor. We are in a room with windows all around us. It is dark outside. He doesn't want to stay, he seems bent on dying. By now I'm realizing that there is very little I can do to keep him with me and safe, although I continue to try.

I call my mom and tell her I found dad but she better come right away because I'm having a hard time keeping him with me. Seems to take forever for her to get there but she finally arrives. She suggests that I play the piano so we start to do some worship songs. She tells me that will keep him with us.

First we sing something I don't even know, it's a new song but we join right in with a bunch of Hallelujah's. Then we find a song that dad wants us to sing. The song, "Now is the Time to Worship".

That's when I woke up.

A friend told me last week that it is in drawing closer to God that she feels the most peace and the presence of her lost loved ones.

When my mom's dad died suddenly, she took all his sacred records home with her. I remember her playing them over and over and over again. It was her way of plugging into her source of all comfort and keeping her father close.

I'm going to share something here... and you may think I'm crazy but rest assured I am not. What I'm going to tell you is absolutely true. I've always sought out amazing, creative worship. While we were pastoring in New Jersey I was fortunate enough to be associated with a few wonderful ministries and took our vacation time to attend worship conferences. At one conference that I attended about 12 years ago, we had been in an extended 90 plus minutes of extraordinary spontaneous worship. I'm talking with dance and flags and surrender and passion. As we were quieting ourselves before the throne of God a holy hush filled the room. Voices were rising, but they weren't voices from the church building. They were voices more pure than I have ever heard, in harmony and singing notes that no person on earth could sing. I heard beautiful bells, strong and bold yet very quiet. A peace filled my spirit as I sat and absorbed the reality that this was a heavenly gift. I've told very few people until now for it was so sacred a moment that words cannot share the impact that it made on my life.

Heaven and earth join together to sing God's praise. The saints that have gone before us, my dad, your loved ones, are all there in the throne room of God in a level of passionate worship that we cannot even imagine. Our worship down here is just a small picture of what's going on up there. But I KNOW that when we join in that worship, we are joined with our loved ones. In that moment, in that space, we are all together. It is as if we are in the same room! In the act of worship, we truly are keeping our loved ones close.

I know, it's not the reason that we fall down on our faces before the throne. There are so many other even better reasons to make a joyful noise. For one, that's why we were created. Secondly, one little peak into the magnificence of God causes our hearts to sing. We worship in gratitude for our gift of eternal life with him. There are so many reasons, but knowing that I'm closer to those I love and miss so much is the icing on the cake for me.

When we are surrounded by darkness and grief, praise is the only way out. Yes, it feels like a sacrifice. It's maybe the last thing that we want to do but it is exactly what we must do. It's in this act of surrender that we are filled with the peace that we so desperately desire.

My aunt was preparing to "graduate" the week before Easter many years ago. She so wanted to make it through the pearly gates before "Resurrection Day" came because she KNEW it would be amazing. She missed it by a few hours, but I imagine that every day is an Easter celebration in heaven. As we observe the events of this holy week remember what my father told me in a dream just last night.

Now is the time to worship....

I'll Never Let Go of Your Hand

Songs have been going through my spirit the past few weeks, all that have brought great comfort. This blast from the past was deposited in me this afternoon and good old youtube didn't let me down. Thought I'd share it with the rest of you.

Behind every great man is a great Woman!

Over the past few weeks, I've spent a great amount of time eulogizing my father. And I'm sure that I will continue until I've said all that is in my heart to say.

However, there is still one left who I do not need to grieve yet (thank God!) My mother, the strong woman behind the man.

Yes, as I said yesterday, my father was a great man because he gave his life over to a great God who moved through him in every way. But there is yet another reason why my father was a great man, he was given a fantastic helpmeet who draws her power from the same source.

Dad could not have been in the community being the father to the fatherless if my mom wasn't home caring for us!

Dad wouldn't have been ministering to the kids on the streets if we were running around on those very streets. He would have saved the world but lost his own family - as so many "great" men do.

Mom was there to feed him on schedule so that he could run in, eat, lead family devotions, do the dishes and run out again to a meeting.

My mother took care of paying the bills and monitoring the money so that it could go to places. In a sense she multiplied the fish and the bread for I think she was able to provide us with more than the money that came in justified.

My mom was his CEO. She helped him think things through from a practical point of view. She helped him distinguish dreams from reality.

He could put himself 100 percent into his ministry because he knew she had things under control at home. He told me that on many occasions.

She was his sounding board and he was hers.

She was the stability in our home. She didn't invite strangers into the house. Dad did and we have one less camera to prove it! She set firm, strong, boundaries around her family to protect us.

She supported, trusted, respected and adored that man that I call my father. They were a team.

Even with all her duties at home, she still had her own place of ministry. She taught Sunday School, led numerous Bible studies, engaged in people's lives, held friendships, sang in the choir, met with other pastors and their wives, started an inner city school and volunteered there for years as the secretary using her vast abundance of organizational skills to keep it running. She shares the "Stan and Barb Vander Klay Day" in Paterson and is also a distinguished alumni of Calvin College and Whitinsville Christian school where she serves on the board. She has been involved in more committees than I will ever know. She too has made her mark on this world... all the while being a mom and friend to her children and grandchildren, who she loves so much.

Yes, my father is gone and with it mom is no longer lovingly referred to as "the warden". Her role in this world has changed somewhat. She's no longer a wife... but she's still a mother, grandmother and plays a crucial role in her community. She is still organizing her world. Still touching other's lives. Still making a difference.

I visit my mom daily. Not so much because she needs it - but I need it. Not to get anything from her. Just to be reminded that the world is still alright. Her home is still clean, her bills are still paid and she's still on top of all situations, even though her world has been dramatically altered.

She led devotions the other night at the school board meeting, and from what I hear, did a fantastic job. I don't think I could have gotten through it, especially when our own family was brought up as a prayer request. I would have been reduced to a puddle, but not mom, she is strong and her faith is secure in the one that both gives and takes lives.

My mother shines as her own bright star and I'm proud to be her daughter.

Today, tell those you love what they mean to you. Don't hold it off another day or until next time you see them... because.... You know.

What makes a Man Great?

"Relationships take up energy, letting go of them, psychiatrists theorize, entails mental work. When you lose someone you were close to, you have to reassess your picture of the world and your place in it. The more your identity was wrapped up with the deceased, the more difficult the loss."

                                                                                                      -Meghan O'Rourke

How does a daughter ever get over the death of her father - her good father?

The man who joined with my mother, gave me life.

The man who provided financially with food, clothing, private education, piano lessons, instruments, paints, a roof over my head....

This was the man who gave me bottles in the middle of the night, changed my diapers, held me when I cried.

As I grew he dropped me off at school, kissed me and told me to have a good day. He listened tirelessly to my emotional, academic and friendship dramas. He helped me with my math and science homework.

He taught me the Bible.

This godly man prayed for me EVERY day of my life.... EVERY day.... for over 51 years!

He showed me what a man was supposed to be and how he should treat a woman with love, respect and and an even tempered nature. He taught me that women were not only beautiful, but that they had brains and gifts too, that were allowed in the world and church in equal measure to a mans.

He taught me how to read with great expression by the many books that he read to me over the years. As his voice boomed over Narnia, my imagination soared.

By example, he taught me to preach, to love, to be.

He showed me who God was.... that the Love of the Father, God was expressed through our human hands and feet. Our mouths were to speak of good things.

He taught me to always believe the best in people. To persevere through all circumstances, always hope and believe in the love of our heavenly father.

He cheered me on as I played the piano, making room for me to share my musical and artistic gifts with his congregation.

He took me on pastoral calls, visiting, praying with people, delivering food. He taught me that we were blessed even if others had more and to always share with those in need.

He taught me that a life well lived, was one spent on others... not oneself.

He taught me about contentment. It wasn't about having the biggest toys, or pretty things (which I really like truthfully), it was about being content with everything you had. Money doesn't bring joy.

He taught me to drive.

His big hand held my little hand and supported me through life... even life as an adult.

He kissed my mother goodbye EVERY TIME he left the house. If I was there, I got a kiss too!

His smile lit up my heart and my life.

I was forever proud of my daddy.... a man who loved wholeheartedly. A man who truly made the most of every opportunity to spread grace. I loved meeting people who respected him and thus passed on the respect to me, his child. I didn't earn it - I got it by very nature of being Stan's daughter.

I visited my father 3-5 days a week. This man was one of my best friends through my entire life. And yes, my understanding of the world and my identity was most wrapped up with that of my father's.

Am I hurting.... you betcha, maybe more every day. My heart feels as if it has been ripped forcefully out of my body.

This is the season of grief and hope for christians around the world. The season when we remember a price paid for our sins. The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, was the truth that my father based his whole life on. That's where he got the ability to be all those things to me. Without that crucial relationship, he would have been just another man... 

He could have been just another man, but he let the transformative power of Jesus change him. He invited the Holy Spirit to come into him and give him that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Dad didn't try to manufacture them on his own. He didn't just  pretend to have those qualities, he possessed them. God gave them to him, just like he can give them to anyone else who asks. Letting your higher power take over your life is really the only way to make your life count for something that will last. All the stupid things we strive for in life really mean nothing in the end.

My father left his body, his loved ones and all his belongings on this earth. He only took his spirit with him. Our spirits are our core essence and in the end, it's all we have.

I think about reincarnation sometimes. I joked with my dad that he was Abe Lincoln reincarnated. The resemblance was uncanny in spirit and physically. Jesus paid the price to perfect us with his blood. I'm thankful that dad doesn't have to do more rounds of life to "get it right". He got it right because he gave his life over to the one that would make a difference. He is now reaping his "reward" for that beautiful life. He now sees face to face the one that he gave his life to. He feels the true measure of love that we only get a faint glimpse of at present.

Dad would say. "Keep on keeping on. Keep the faith. Be faithful in the little things and in the big things. Don't sweat things because God has it all figured out. Daily, hourly, every moment, go to the one that will perfect your spirit. Allow the greater power to live through you and then you too can leave a testimony on this earth... not of your greatness but of God's greatness through you."

Yes, my daddy was a great man.... but it was because God lived, talked, breathed and walked through him on this earth. My dad would wish the same for all of you.

Words from Alan Moore

“If you wear black, then kindly, irritating strangers will touch your arm consolingly and inform you that the world keeps on turning.

They're right. It does.

However much you beg it to stop.

It turns and lets grenadine spill over the horizon, sends hard bars of gold through my window and I wake up and feel happy for three seconds and then I remember.

It turns and tips people out of their beds and into their cars, their offices, an avalanche of tiny men and women tumbling through life...

All trying not to think about what's waiting at the bottom.

Sometimes it turns and sends us reeling into each other's arms. We cling tight, excited and laughing, strangers thrown together on a moving funhouse floor.

Intoxicated by the motion we forget all the risks.

And then the world turns...

And somebody falls off...

And oh God it's such a long way down.

Numb with shock, we can only stand and watch as they fall away from us, gradually getting smaller...

Receding in our memories until they're no longer visible.

We gather in cemeteries, tense and silent as if for listening for the impact; the splash of a pebble dropped into a dark well, trying to measure its depth.

Trying to measure how far we have to fall.

No impact comes; no splash. The moment passes. The world turns and we turn away, getting on with our lives...

Wrapping ourselves in comforting banalities to keep us warm against the cold.

"Time's a great healer."

"At least it was quick."

"The world keeps turning."

Oh Alec—

Alec's dead.” 
― Alan Moore, Swamp Thing, Vol. 5: Earth to Earth