Great Happiness!

A group of us were talking about the meaning of names, and I said, “My friends are always asking me what my name means, but in English names don’t have meanings.  They’re just names.”  One girl said that she knew of a website where the meaning of names can be researched.  So she looked up my name, Alisa, and said, “Great happiness!  Your name means great happiness in Hebrew!”  All the other girls said, “Yeah that fits you!”

Now, that blows my mind because all my life I’ve had the opposite spoken over me.  I was born on a Wednesday, so I was told “Wednesday’s child is full of woe.”  I believed it!  Depression has been a plague and a curse on my family—one which I recently broke.  I have suffered a couple of bouts of depression so severe that I slept only 1 or 2 hours a night for almost 3 months, and had suicidal thoughts and even suicidal hallucinations.  The longest period of depression lasted about 2 ½ years.

Once during a bout of severe depression I saw a funny clip on America’s Funniest Home Videos.  I laughed so hard that I couldn’t stop.  Then I began crying just as hysterically, thinking that surely this is the last time I will ever laugh.  It really alarmed my family, who had no idea how to help me.

Another time I literally felt something inside of me break at an unkind remark that I would normally have shrugged off.  After that, I passed entire days looking out the window and crying.  The sight of a bird flying by was enough to start me crying.

I don’t like having to depend on medication, but Prozac probably saved my life.  It didn’t make my life less painful, but it cushioned the pain enough to help me keep a grip and not act on those bad thoughts.  To be honest, all that feels like it was another life, a different person.

Nevertheless, despite the depression and the bad stuff in my life, I have always been able to remain mostly upbeat and positive.  Perhaps that is because even without knowing it, whenever anyone said my name, they were proclaiming great happiness to me without even knowing it.  Now that’s a great thought!

And now that I have truly surrendered all to God, I do have great happiness.  I never would have thought it possible—at least not in this life.

And here’s a fun thought, inspired by 6 year old Dave Junior: logic and chocolate do not go together.  Chocolate is not a great anti-depressant (the calories are unfortunate), but it does help some.  God is good!

Take a Walk

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“Take a walk,” the Lord told me.  So I put on a light jacket and headed out.  It was a nice, sunny day, and much warmer than it has been in months.  When I got to the piazza near my house, I took out my camera and took some pictures of the flowering trees—straight overhead shots so that they were against that background of clear blue.  I took another picture of petal litter because the trees are raining petals.  Petals make a much prettier fall than leaves in autumn, and they smell a lot better, too.

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Yesterday was a miserable day.  It is always difficult eating again after a 3 week fast.  Your stomach has to re-learn how to digest solids, and the size has shrunken.  I know this, and had eaten only a very small meal, but it was still too much.  I woke up with severe stomach cramps (not abdominal, these were localized to the organ, itself).  Then about 12 hours after eating it, the meal came back up, untouched by digestive acids.  The Lord told me to lay on my left side, and I was able to sleep.  But when I rolled onto my right side, my stomach immediately cramped again.  It felt like a rock a little bigger than my fist, just under my heart.  You can’t even imagine the pain.

Now, some people will read that and say, “Why fast, then?”  Fasting is an important spiritual practice.  I just haven’t gotten very good at getting back into eating again.  But there are things that you must fast and pray to get to a deeper level.  Am I going to quit fasting just because I go through some physical pain?  (Really excruciating pain!)  No!  Because it is more important to me to have that time of closeness with God.  Besides, He did help me through it.

About mid-afternoon I began to feel better, but still not 100%.  I went to bed about 7:30 and slept 8 hours straight through—something I haven’t done in decades.  This morning, although I woke early, I felt really good.  I had some business to take care of (printer problems and a dishwasher that sometimes wouldn’t drain), but those things that had seemed enormous when I was feeling so bad turned out to be very easily and cheaply fixed.  And that’s when the Lord told me to take a walk.

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But flowering trees and petal litter, although nice, were not why He had me get out.  My spirit’s attention was called to 3 things:

  1. A notice about a missing cat
  2. A street vendor hawking his wares
  3. A massage parlor

You don’t see this so much in the US, but here in Italy there are people who set up tables outside the subway entrances or the grocery stores and sell belts, hats, sunglasses, umbrellas, cellphone covers, or purses.  Many of them have their spot and will return there daily to set up shop.  These people do not have a license and do not pay VAT (or in Italy the Partita IVA).  They are illegal.  The laws are not enforced rigorously enough to prevent them from their activities.

I knew this already.  But the Lord showed me that these vendors are modern day slaves.  They came here based on the promise of a better life, and many actually risked their lives to get here.  Now they work for a boss who supplies their goods and takes their profits.  They live in wretched conditions without legal documents, afraid of what will happen to them and to their families if they don’t sell enough.

The massage parlor is also a place of slavery, and there are massage parlors every few blocks throughout Milan.  At first I innocently believed that the Milanese were just a very stressed-out bunch of people.  But then I began to notice that the massage parlors had names like Desiderio (desire), and had pictures of beautiful women either draped as when receiving a massage or scantily clad and giving a massage.  One even had a picture of one of the rooms which had a double bed.  My older son is a massage therapist and he uses a massage table.  The massage table is high enough not to hurt the back of the massage therapist.  It is very firm, though padded, and is actually less wide than a single bed.  There is no legitimate reason for a double bed in a massage parlor.

Traditionally, the police have arrested or chased away both of these kinds of slaves, succeeding only in scattering them briefly.  The only country that has had any effect upon stopping prostitution is Sweden (see Nefarious Merchant of Souls for more information).  The US doesn’t see much of the street vendors because the laws are enforces, but that only drives the vendors indoors, where they set up sweatshops to do tailoring or manufacturing of cheap goods, or nail salons.  I would be very interested to see what we find if we investigated all the people who work in the nail salons.

There are 27 million slaves in the world today—more than in all history combined.  And this is despite the fact that slavery is illegal in virtually every country of the world.  We can’t afford to ignore this any longer.  Money paid to sweatshops or street vendors goes right back to the traffickers.  Hit them where it hurts: in the wallet.  Make a decision today.

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Oh, yes, and the cat?  Just like that lost kitty, there are families that have lost their loved ones into the black hole of slavery, never to hear of them again.  Take a walk.

Lost cat

Heaven’s Response

Day Twelve

I had a pretty rough day yesterday.  I was not feeling good, having slept little.  By evening I began to feel truly wretched from lack of sleep and weakened from fasting.  So last night (really early this morning) I found myself preyed upon again by the enemy, attacking me with a migraine.

Peter was right when he said: “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour,” (I Peter 5:8).  If you’ve ever watched nature shows, lions are opportunistic.  They hunt the young, the weak, the crippled, and any prey that have strayed from the fold.  The majestic males leave the hard work to the females, then bully them away from the best parts of the kill.  King of the beasts?  Hardly!  Lions are lazy, proud, bad-tempered, and opportunistic.

Just like a lion, the enemy attacked me when I was at my weakest: asleep.  In fact, that’s when these attacks usually have occurred.  So still desperately needing sleep, I woke up with a raging headache.  Usually I can pray these attacks away in an hour, but I was so weakened and in such pain that all I could manage was a wordless plea to God.

The pain subsided and in came His voice: “You’ve got to fight the enemy.  Fight with all the love in your heart.”  Immediately, I understood that when the pain is so bad, I have always longed for death’s release.  But instead what I got was Heaven’s response.  I understood that fighting with all the love in my heart means fighting for the love of my children and my grandson, fighting for the love of the missionaries that I’m here to serve, fighting for the love of Europe and her lost people.  Most of all, fight for the love of my Savior, who called me from the womb, and has a plan for my life.

When I thought about these people I love, the passion for them made my heart burn and suddenly all weakness was gone.  I stood up.  I took authority and told the enemy to get out of my house in Jesus’ name.  Then I started to praise my God—the best release for this kind of burning passion.

After a little while I returned to bed and slept.  This morning I awoke feeling much better.  The time I spent in prayer was delightful, and I didn’t want to stop.

I have heard many Christians say how tired they are of always engaging in battle.  Well, that’s life!  We live in a battlefield, like it or not.  We ignore that fact to our very great peril.  The good news is this: if we fight, we cannot possibly lose.  We are fighting a winning battle in a war that has already been won.  And the only thing we are told to do is to stand.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.  Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.  In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.  And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people, Ephesians 6:10-18 (emphasis mine).

Stand, fight with all the love in your heart, and win!  God is good!

Mourning—The Second Time Around

Grief is a process, and not an easy one.  This morning I learned that my father-in-law died.  This is the second time I’ve mourned his loss.  And I can tell you that it hurts just as badly the second time.

Let me explain: I was divorced in 2008.  I noted at that time that divorce is like a death in the family—multiple deaths in my case, since my ex-husband’s family has been cut off from all contact with me.  We had been married 33 years—all my adult life.  I had embraced my husband’s family and loved them as my own, so losing them made divorce all the more painful.  At that time I mourned the loss of each member of his family, including my father-in-law.  Now I ache at the thought of how these people I loved (in truth still love) are suffering the loss of this sweet man.  But they are as dead to me as he is, and that makes it very hard to endure.

My sons, although grown at the time of the divorce, have been caught in the middle.  We are all doing our best to learn how to live with the fact of divorce.  They’ve been told not to talk to me about my ex or any of his family.  At first, I had also asked them not to talk to their dad or his family about me.  But when I saw the difficult position it had put them in, I relented.  It has been said that to truly love, you’ve got to be willing to be vulnerable.  For my sons, I am willing to be vulnerable.  I would rather suffer than cause my sons to suffer.  But I can’t do anything about what they’re going through now.  I can only stand by and watch them in their pain.

When my younger son called this past winter to tell me of his dad’s impending heart surgery, I could only listen sympathetically.  His voice was constricted with pain at the possibility of losing his dad.  At the same time there was another worry: he told me that he had gotten his dad’s permission to call me only after promising to make me promise not to try and contact his family.  Of course I assured him that I wouldn’t try to contact any of them, while also trying to reassure him that his dad would be fine (which he was).

But there’s more to my pain than all this: I was the one who initiated divorce proceedings.  That’s a fact that I don’t share with everyone because Christians can be very judgmental about the issue of divorce.  My sons know that I divorced their dad, and not the other way around.  No doubt his family all know that, too.  At times like this I sometimes wonder: if I had known the pain it would cause my sons, would I still have divorced their dad?  But I know the answer.  I had to divorce him.  Knowing that doesn’t make all this any easier.  This is the path I’ve got to walk, and unfortunately my sons share the suffering.

Most of the time I live my life in the present, facing the future, and busily focusing on the tasks God has for me this day.  But when something like this comes it’s an emotional blast from the past—in the explosive sense.  And the pain, self-doubt, and loss are fresh and new.  And yet in the midst of all the suffering (mine, my sons’, my ex-family’s), I know that God is good.