Robin Gilbert Luftig's Blog, page 47

A Summer of Binging

I always get  excited when  I see the new posts from Lori Roeleveld. Once you read her work, you’ll understand why. This post is totally worthy of sharing to as many of my readers and I possibly can.

Thank you, Lori, for showing me what it looks like to love Jesus and all those around me.

Celebrating Les Green and Mourning My Temporary Loss

Every day counts and I’ve never felt that as poignantly as I did this past week.

I found out about the death of my cousin, Pastor Les Green of Nebo Crossing Church in Nebo, NC, on July 2 through social media. Les and I had drifted apart over the years. I can’t speak for Les, but I know I had become more involved with my life than the world I had left behind. Once I finally reconnected with Christ, too many bridges had been burned and it seemed almost impossible to reconnect with everyone from my past. Unfortunately, some of those bridges were with family. And one of the relationship casualties was with Les and Debbie.

The last time I saw Les and Debbie was briefly over thirty years ago at our Grandpa and Grandma Green’s house. I was coming in and they were leaving. A quick hello was all we shared. Then they were gone. Little did I know I’d miss out on some incredible life experiences.

I missed sharing in Les’ journey in knowing Jesus. I missed experiencing the protection gleaned from of Les’ wisdom as he served others in different churches across the country. How rich his stories must have been.

I missed the seeing the range of blessings he experienced through his marriage to Debbie (Rice) Green. I missed his pure joy and exhilaration that he lived through raising his girls, Tonya, Tammy, and Tiffany. I missed hearing them blend their voices as they praised God.

I missed how he took great joy in making each day count. I missed that he found his way through cancer, and through it all, maintained his incredible relationship with his savior. From listening to those who knew him best, it was clear to see that his first love was his savior and, oh, he basked in the knowledge that Jesus loved him, too.

I missed so much. But I celebrate in his legacy. I rejoice that I will see him again and worship alongside him. When he died he was loved by a mother, sister, and wife, along with his children/spouses, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. He loved and served up till the end. And he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Listening to Les’ celebration of life  I heard it said, “Dad gave everything with Heaven in view.” If you listen to the service you will understand what filled Les’s heart and what keeps his family going still–it’s the love of Christ.

I look at his picture and I see resemblance to his lovely mother. I look again, and I see the face of our grandfather. Funny how that works.

I’m sorry I missed so much. From everything I’ve witnessed since his death, I now know his greatest song was his life. Until we meet again, Les, I’ll hold onto the fact that you love me even now. And Debbie, you will forever be in my prayers.

If you have a cousin or anyone in your past that you need to reconnect with, learn from my temporary loss. Celebrations of reconciliation can be sweet on this side of heaven, too.

Robin, Interviewed by Nancy Kay Grace

Here’s Robin’s latest interview by Nancy Kay Grace on Living Life Unedited on CWAradio.com. I hope to have news about the book, Ten Days to Live soon!

Listen for the Whispers

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. 1 Kings 19:11 – 12

Elijah—a powerhouse for God—experienced one of the greatest stories of the Old Testament. He was invited to see God. But he had to experience destruction before he heard God’s voice.

Isn’t that how Life turns for us? When life’s winds and storms fill our world, we call out to see the power of God. Somewhere in our heart we hope He’s greater than our current storm.

But sometimes the storm gets bigger.

That’s what happening for our country as well as other places in the world. Our country has dealt with some pretty mighty storms over the past few weeks. We watched as Orlando dealt with unbelievable tragedy and loss—first at the Pulse nightclub then heartbreak surrounding the death of a two-year old boy at the Disney World Resorts. We then saw fires in California rage  beyond comprehension. We heard of floods in West Virginia. Many began to wonder how communities would ever recover from such devastation.

And the storms kept getting bigger.

Recently we watched as our British neighbors voted to exit the European Union. Talking heads began tell us this was the beginning of the end. Watching the 24-hour news feed we saw commentators wringing their hands, telling us that the sky was falling. Then Turkish airport attack sent even more shock waves through

Well, maybe it was.

http://www.express.co.uk/pictures/galleries/6661/Brexit-What-happens-next-pictures/Sterling-has-plunged-144846

But just as God loved Elijah and He loves us, too. Just as God came to Elijah in a gentle whisper, we need to be alert to God’s whisper to us as well.

Storms are powerful, but they are not bigger than the Creator of the wind. Fires and floods can take away a life-long accumulation of possessions, but do not dominate the Author of Life.

Mourn with those who have suffered loss. Be there of offer what support you can. But mostly listen for the voice of Almighty God. He is there … whispering.

This is Because of You, Aunt Opal

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1 (KJV)

For those of you that read Michelle Count’s post, Nothing to do with Baseball from May 19, 2015, you will remember she survived the brain surgery. Here’s a followup on her story.

Funny, even my own neurosurgeon said it would take a miracle to bring me through my surgery. But if you’re like me, it is sometimes through our greatest struggles that we feel Christ the most. I think this experience has left me with a gratefulness I will never be able to repay. It has been three years since my surgery and with every passing month I feel stronger. As I reflect on this experience I realize how important my faith is to me.

Recently my husband was reading from one of our bibles. He asked me, “Do you remember the date July 14th in the early 1980’s?”

I laughed and said, “No why? Should I? I was a little girl.”

“I just assumed it was the day you were saved. You wrote on the inside cover of your Bible that date with, ‘I Met Jesus.’”

I was struck by the words. Not that I had I been saved on July 14th but that I had met Jesus. I thought about how strong my faith was when I wrote those words. I remember receiving that Bible. I was at a Christian CFO Camp where my Great Aunt Opal took me and my family to every year.

Some of my greatest childhood memories came from time spent at that camp. I had also survived a troubling childhood early on and my Aunt Opal, a retired school teacher, made it her mission not to let me become bitter or angry. Instead, she shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ with me. For that I am grateful.

I think the world truly needs more Aunt Opals. I wonder if we all doing our part in spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ to a broken world?

I hope that anyone who meets me isn’t looking for a perfect Christian because I am not, I fall short every day but I hope people do see my faith. It makes me sad when I hear people say “I would rather be an honest sinner than a hypocrite” or” I will go to church once I am living right.” I am a living testimony that God still loves us at our best times and our worst times.

I am glad to share my testimonies with anyone who needs it. I have lived through way too many heartaches not to believe in the power of God. I don’t believe in chance or luck but I believe in an all-powerful God.

Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost. Romans 15:13 (KJV)

You can read more about Michelle on my Guest Page.

Book Review, Red Pen Redemption by Lori Roeleveld

Would you be bold enough to challenge God with your life? Helen Bancroft did in Lori Roeleveld’s, Red Pen Redemption.

It’s a story of Helen’s self-justification and self-indulgence. She is both hero and villain. I loved her and hated her. I wanted to reach through the pages and shake her by her shoulders, then I wanted to hug her close to protect her. Ironically, it wasn’t until I was closing into the end of the story that I realized I had seen myself—my own life—reflected in parts of this story.

Roeleveld’s use of scripture soothed, guided, and enticed me as a reader. She also expertly offered example after example how Helen tried to look God in the proverbial face, only to blink and turn away. Just as I had tried in the past, and if you dare to read this, you may see yourself, too.

I rarely give five stars ratings. I think five-stars are reserved for mothers to give their children. But this book has what it takes to change lives. A tall order for a piece of fiction. Lori Roeleveld’s, Red Pen Redemption is slated to be a beloved Christmas Season staple for years to come.

Memories of Treasures Long Ago

J. G. Gilbert & Robin Gilbert Luftig at Lake Lavine, MI, Summer 1958

Even though my family of origin was pretty dysfunctional, one of my favorite pastimes when I’m feeling a bit low is to remember stories about my dad and how he honored my feelings and held them close to his heart.

I always jumped at the chance to be with Dad in his room—the Gun Room. It was a treat to steal away with him when he went upstairs to his room. He kept guns, cameras, family photos and film equipment, and special sentimental pieces from his childhood there. I am certain he kept us out for our own protection when it came to the guns. We were all told the only time we were allowed to go in there by ourselves was if the house was on fire and we could safely get the family’s 8mm films out and save them from being destroyed. Other than that, the Gun Room was strictly off limits. Whenever I saw him in there, I would beg to join him. And he always obliged. While he worked away on whatever project he was concentrating on, I looked around his private sanctuary with marvel. I would fold my arms behind my back holding tightly on to my wrists, just to make sure I did not touch anything. I did not want to run the risk of inadvertently grabbing for something and causing harm.

One of the items I often searched out was a stuffed bird, about the size of my palm, with wild ostrich feather plumage glued onto it. Dad kept it secured away in a glass cabinet I was completely mesmerized by its splendor. It was so odd to see this delicate piece of fluff surrounded by items dedicated to hunting and killing animals. I made stories up in my mind about why this fragile object was set apart with reverence and displayed only for Dad’s eyes to see. Was it a gift from a princess he had rescued from the grips of a ferocious dragon? Was it a piece of treasure he had found while hunting with Indians? My imagination knew no boundaries.

I figured—with all the wisdom that a four-year-old could have—that since Dad liked it so much, I should give it to him again. Father’s Day was quickly approaching and, lucky for me, Dad and I were already in his room, so I had access to the sacred bird. When Dad was not looking, I carefully walked over to the display case and opened it. Slowly, I reached into the case and carefully grabbed the stuffed bird. I held it in my tiny hands as if it were precious jewels. I abruptly left and took my stolen booty to my bedroom. Securing the bird in a safe place, I left my room to bring back newspaper and masking tape. With all the care I could muster, I wrapped the stuffed bird as his Father’s Day gift. I was sure he would be thrilled with my present.

On Father’s Day, after dinner was finished, Mom and Dad were having their coffee and The Boys ran out to play. I ran upstairs to bring down my special gift for Dad. Standing before him I ceremonially offered him my carefully wrapped package. He looked at the crumpled ball of newspaper encircled with bands of masking tape and pulled me up into his lap so I could have the perfect view of the unveiling. As he carefully unwrapped the mound of tape and paper, he revealed the soft, fragile stuffed bird that I had taken from his glass cabinet. He paused, smiled and said that he loved it. Thank you for the perfect present, Robbie. This is such a cute bird. I’ll keep it forever! With that, he smothered me with hugs and kisses. I strutted away as if I had just been awarded a national medal for being the most loving and awesome child of the year.

Later that summer, we began to prepare to celebrate Dad’s birthday that September. He never wanted much of a fuss, but we enjoyed honoring him the best we could. I had no idea how to out-gift Father’s Day. Then the answer came to me. One day while he was in the gun room, I asked to come in so I could see his precious treasures. Again, I carefully opened the display case and grabbed the feathered masterpiece. And as before, I took it to my room and wrapped it with newspaper and masking tape.

When the time came for presents after dinner, I made sure I was at the front of the pack. Dad, once again, scooped me and my ball of newspaper and masking tape up and pulled me on his lap.

Then he opened the present.

When he saw all the plumage and beautiful colors, he never missed a beat. He raved on about how beautiful this present was and how he was so pleased that I knew just what he liked. He never let on that he recognized the bird from the glass case in his room or that he even knew I had taken it. Instead, he made a fuss over me and my re-re-gifted item that had already belonged to him. He made me feel like I had offered him the moon and it was the most special gift he ever received.

In my preschool mind, life with my dad was the most perfectest life ever.

I have so many wonderful memories of my father. With Father’s Day around the corner, I will—just like every year—miss his hugs. Memories will have to be enough.

If possible, find something to thank your father for. You’ll be glad you did.

Even in the most dysfunctional family, there are good memories. What stories do you carry in your heart?

(Re-posted from June, 2012)

When Making Amends Isn’t Enough

I felt the clamminess of my palms as I rang her doorbell. She and I had been friends years ago, but the choices I had made now separated us. Would she entertain rekindling a relationship with me again?

I went to her house to tell her I was sorry for doing the things I had done—that I hoped she could forgive me for all my foolishness and sinful behavior. I wanted to tell her I realized I hadn’t taken into consideration how others would be affected by my actions. That I had made a real mess of things—my life. I wanted to say I was sorry.

I wanted to tell her there was good news! I had learned from my mistakes. I had turned the corner. I was on the way to becoming the person God intended me to be. I had hoped she’d be happy for me. I thought she’d celebrate a Prodigal Daughter finding her way back home.

That’s what I thought. But I was wrong.



When she opened the door, her eyes gave her away–first of unrecognition, then of remembrance. I saw it flash across her face as she remembered me. Then came the frozen smile. The smile reserved for those we have to be kind to but would prefer not to know. Her lips smiled while her eyes shot daggers at me. She stepped outside, not letting me into her house.

“Hi, it’s been a long time? How are you?” I asked, trying to warm the coolness between us.

“Good. Good.” Then with a polite, hushed voice, “You look good.”

I asked about her family. Her brothers and sisters. Her children and husband. I knew them all. I had laughed over dinner with each one of them. I had tucked her children to bed at night. We had been like sisters. Once.

“Good, good. We’re all good here.”

“I came to tell you I’m sorry. I made a mess of things years ago. I did things that set into motion consequences I didn’t understand. I hurt you. Can you forgive me? I’d like to make things right between us again. Could you see your way to giving me a second chance?”

There it was. I had exposed my emotional underbelly. I felt my chest tightening. Every fiber in me wanted to hear that she’d let me earn her trust back. That’s when it happened: she blinked and looked down.

“Don’t be silly, we’re good. I’m sorry, but I have … something to do. I have to go.”

“Maybe we can have coffee sometime?” I needed time to follow-up, tell her about how I had changed. I had given my life to Christ and was a new creature. I wanted to see her smile again.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she purred.” My days are pretty full. But it was good to see you. Yeah, it was … good. Take care of yourself. I’ll give you a call sometime.”

With that, she backed into her house, closed and locked the door behind her.

Sometimes situations don’t go as planned. You follow your script. You offer repentance—true repentance—and even ask for suggestions on how to re-build trust. You open up. You become vulnerable and transparent. And the door still closes in your face. You experience Christian invisibility—when you’re told things are good, but clearly they aren’t.

Painful—yes. Not what you expect—yes. All lost—absolutely not!

Forgiveness is for the person forgiving as much as the person forgiven, and so are the effects of making amends. You may walk up to a door as I did and suffer the same shame and heartbreak, but the amend did not go unnoticed. Apostle Paul tells us how to live like Christ designed in Romans 12:18, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” As far as it depends on you. Those words carry power and freedom.

You may get shut out of lives because of choices you made in the past, but please remember those sins were covered by Jesus’ blood when he died for our sins.

When you walk up to a door, know your audience includes Christ Jesus himself! He saw you. He felt your conviction and broken spirit when you offered to make the relationship right again. He saw making amends to your past friend wasn’t enough for them—but it was enough for Him.

When making amends doesn’t seem to be enough, focus on whose opinion counts the most. Focus on Christ. And if you do not know Christ, oh, friend, please ask to know him right now. Your heart will forever be changed.

When Suicide Hits Close to Home

Those of you who know me know I have a heart for those who deal with various forms of brokenness. Most forms of brokenness come when Life veers from what’s perceived as normal. A year ago my path briefly crossed with Beth Saadati, and I counted the days until we could meet again.

Beth is an author, blogger, and public speaker, so her schedule is quite full. But last month my patience paid off and I was blessed with hours of time with Beth—through attending conference classes with her at Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writing Conference as well as sitting together, discussing the pain that follows when a loved one commits suicide.

Vonda Skelton, founder of Christian Communicators, interviewed Beth on the topic, When Suicide Hits Close to Home. Take a few moments and listen. Hear her heart. Your life will be changed.

Beth follows Christ through service. She embraces 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

I love Beth, and you will fall in love with her, too.

 

 

Discovering Freedom in All the Things You’re Not

Having trouble wearing all the hats you own? Lori Roelveld’s blog hit me right between the eyes.  She offered that maybe I should sell some of those hats at the next neighborhood garage sale, because maybe they’re not meant for me to wear.

Ever feel like you’re not enough? Consider this, even Jesus wasn’t enough for some people. Check out Lori’s post as she offers insight on discovering freedom … in all the things we’re not.

And check out Lori’s latest book, Jesus and the Beanstalk (Overcoming Your Giants and Living a Fruitful Life) due to release September 20, 2016!