It was dark and rainy outside, so my daughter invited the driver in. She had used a service that picks up her car, takes it to be serviced at the dealer, then drops it off at your home when the service is complete. Normally this happens without a hitch but, when the driver brought back her car, he was not going to be picked up any time soon.

 “How are you going to get home?” she asked him.

“What's this?” My daughter asked, as she handed me a small booklet. I was lying on the sofa in the living room nursing a bad cold, but I noted the booklet was by Francis Shaeffer, so I began to read. I remembered him from my college years, an intellectual giant and source of solace when I was struggling with my faith.

Francis was the founder of L’bri in Switzerland, and I found he often spoke prophetically. This essay below was published in 1974 by the International Congress on World Evangelization but seems timely today.

I’ve been recovering from my maturity deficits for over a decade. I’ve made a lot of progress and it has changed my life. It’s amazing looking back at how much my deficits were holding me back. I once thought it was normal to get angry and vent at my loved ones when I was upset! After all, I felt better when I got it off my chest, and secretly I thought they deserved it! I didn’t know I had picked up those beliefs from my family of origin and that not being able to regulate anger was an infant deficit! Imagine that! Here I was leading a healing ministry and I had infant deficits. And regulating anger was not the only one.

It was a week of little miracles, if there is such a thing as little miracles.

Miracle # One: The Sick Man

For some time some friends in Europe were asking for prayer for their son-in-law who had an aortic dissection and needed surgery. Living with an aortic dissection is life threatening but the surgery is life threatening as well. He waited several years and then was scheduled for the surgery. He had the surgery and then one thing after another began going wrong. He had over a months’ time seven surgeries. The last I'd heard he had nearly died the night before. The doctors had spent 25 minutes resuscitating him and he was now on a ventilator. The doctors had asked the family to come to the hospital at 11:00 to talk to them. I could only imagine how that conversation would go, having just recently experienced similar conversations with doctors about my beloved Sam.

At the close of the year I want to encourage you to go back through your journals, back through the little spaces we give you to make notes in your class and retreat workbooks, and drink in what God has been saying to you over the last year. How quickly we forget the thoughts, words and impressions that come to us from God throughout the year and how much we need to remember his sweet whispers!

On August 13th, I had no inkling that I was in any danger. I was interacting with a dog I knew well; a big dog that was always happy to be with me. He had brought me the ball and I was trying to get him to let it go. I had done the very same thing five minutes earlier with success, but this time when I reached back with my right hand to give his collar a tug, we were suddenly airborne. He leapt to my right and my fingers got entangled in his collar. I landed hard on my shoulder and hip. For a second all I felt was that pain, but it subsided quickly. As I sat up, I felt a burning in my hand. I looked down and could not believe what I was seeing; my fingernail was gone and so was the top half inch of my finger. My right hand, my dominant hand, my middle finger. I held the amputated limb with my other hand, trying to stop the bleeding. The owner of the dog was crying, “Oh no oh no oh no.” I got to my feet and began to look for the rest of my finger, but I could not find it as the tennis court we were on was strewn with leaves and dirt. I was nauseous and lightheaded. . .

Early in the pandemic God spoke to me: There would be people who were isolated and would need to connect with him and others on a daily basis. He gave me the name, Daily Connect, and told me what we should do: Open in prayer, do Shalom for My Body in unison, share our highs and lows in breakout groups of three, followed by a time of Lectio Divina, group Immanuel, and intercession. I was delighted to realize after we tried this collection of spiritual exercises that our new daily rhythm took one hour. Who would have thought? . . .

n last month’s newsletter I described events leading up to Sam’s hospitalization on May 9th, 2024. He had been home five weeks and five day. We loved having him home, but it was daunting taking care of him as he could not walk without support and there were so many tasks to complete each day—breathing treatments, medications, exercises, bathing, nebulizing, eating. External ventilation at night. But was still Sam in his hospital bed in the living room. Still with us. Alive. Breathing, though with effort.

While he was still in the emergency room, we learned that despite all our efforts, his CO2 levels were higher than measurable. In that moment, we knew what was wrong (at least one thing!) and we believed that with time, he would come home again. We (me and my two youngest children) (my two youngest children and I) were also exhausted. . .

How can we make joy our natural state? This was the maturity deficient—and infant deficit—I chose to work on last year. I failed utterly, but renewed my determinization to peruse it again this year despite the hardships we are enduring at home.

Today I want to share with you what this looks like, the daily practice of living in joy. Since your brain’s dendrites only grow 1 millimeter a year, making joy your natural state should be practiced every day. Here is how I did it on May 9th. The day I had to call 911 to take dear Sam to the hospital.

It had been a long day. I knew Sam was struggling with low oxygen saturation levels but he did not want to go to the doctors. I was on the phone with Kaiser multiple times and they insisted that he needed to be seen in person. When Sarah got off work, she listened to her dad’s lungs and told him, “We have to go to the emergency room. Your lungs never sound good. Now they sound terrible.” He reluctantly agreed.

Sammy met her there and I went to bed worried and exhausted. I soon heard that Sam was admitted with a white blood cell count twice as high and normal. Infection. Maybe.