Beauty for ashes

Posted on Sunday, March 8, 2026 by Rebecca

Recently I was listening to something that made me ponder the question: if I could ask God for a “re-do” — if He could take me back in time and prevent every instance of sexual abuse, rape, and intense suffering at the hands of others — would I want that?

I was reminded of something I wrote a decade ago in a private online forum. We were a “tribe”, a group that were helping each other heal from sexual abuse and trauma. This is a slightly edited version of my response to an eloquent post from one of our members:

Yes, we’ve lost a lot. And the losses are overwhelmingly painful and deserve to be grieved, need to be grieved. But I’ve clung for hope to the second part of that journaling assignment, where we write about what wasn’t stolen from us. I’ve also clung to a phrase from the Old Testament about “God restoring what the locusts have eaten”.

When I felt like a hollow, decimated shell, barely alive, little more than a reservoir of pain and desperation, irreparably broken and crushed, my therapist and you, my tribe, saw in me what I couldn’t see. You helped me to believe in the truth of what you saw.

God doesn’t undo the past or replace everything that’s been lost. But I’m living proof that He restores, that He gives beauty for ashes, joy for mourning, and a beautiful garment for our tattered, heavy-laden spirits. My prayer is that He would continue to do that for you, my dear friend.

Back to now… would I wish that these debilitatingly painful, anguishing, despicable acts had not been done to me? I found myself wishing that certain people, for their own sakes, had not sinned so egregiously, but I could no longer say that I wished such things had not been done to me. (I wish that I had sinned far, far less, and that I had not responded so sinfully to the sins of others.)

What I am even more sure of now is that God is a redemptive God. He is the God Who heals. And I’m not just clinging to hope — I have tasted and seen the goodness of the Lord. And, although the past decade has had its own share of loss, difficulty, and grief, I’ve experienced depths of beauty, joy, and praise that I never dreamed possible.

Interpreting something differently doesn’t make you a liar

Posted on Tuesday, September 19, 2023 by Rebecca

Confession time: I was once so obnoxious in online debates — about theology of all things! — that, a few years later, memories of my ill behavior compelled me to track down and apologize to several people. (And, yes, I know I’ve already confessed this on my blog.)

Why on earth had I been so unpleasant in the first place? I should have known better. After all, my father tried to teach me the art of diplomacy. Even in the case of strong disagreement, he modeled humility and integrity, and those virtues kept him from misrepresenting the beliefs and arguments of others. Those same virtues, and the fact that he was a true gentleman, kept him from viewing someone with a different opinion as an “opponent”, or from denigrating them in any way. Even when I voiced some wackadoodle ideas as a disagreeable teenager and young adult, Daddy responded to my half-baked notions with the utmost charity and respect… far more than I deserved.

In high school, I was excited to discover the names of the rhetorical fallacies that my father had been teaching me about for years. I already knew the term “straw man fallacy”, but now I was learning even more about these faulty ways of thinking. Daddy and I had great fun doing one of my homework assignments together: watching news commentary on TV and identifying the various logical fallacies.

Unfortunately, in the heat of later online debates, almost all of my father’s lessons, as well as his godly example, flew out of my head.

In the years since becoming determined to mend my ways, I’ve had the privilege of interacting — in real life and online — with a number of people who have apparently mastered the art of charitable and respectful disagreement. I’d lost my stomach for heated debate, so this was a welcome contrast to the contentious exchanges of yesteryear. When I repeated a relatively common misunderstanding of another faith, my online acquaintance whose faith we were discussing didn’t retort, “That’s a lie!” or “You are making false statements!” She politely corrected me — and I took her correction to heart. (In case you’re wondering, neither of us converted the other. But at least I understood her religion slightly better, and stopped making the same inadvertently erroneous statements about it.)

When I was discussing a passage of Scripture with someone I know, and we interpreted the passage quite differently, he didn’t shout me down with, “That’s not what that verse means at all! Why are you allowing Satan to deceive you?” Nor did he remind me of his extensive theological education. Instead he explained, quite patiently and charitably I might add, why he believed his interpretation was the correct one. He didn’t take my disagreement as a personal attack. Even if he had, I’m convinced he wouldn’t have abandoned his usual good manners.

It seems as if the more truly knowledgeable someone is, the less they feel the need to cover up what they lack by being strident and argumentative. Those who know their subject well can simply be reasonable, calm, and well-spoken.

But maybe there’s much more to it than that. I’ve been on the receiving end of unpleasantries like “May God rebuke you for your love of deception and deceit” as well as the far more palatable “We will probably never agree, and I know each one of us thinks the other is wrong, but I appreciate our discussions.” I’m not convinced that the vast difference in those two responses is entirely due to education or the lack thereof.

At any rate, I don’t want to wait to be some sort of all-around expert in order to be more like the good examples I’ve cited. Great knowledge is not required in order to become more reasonable, more charitable, more humble, and more kind. By the grace of God, even a college dropout like me can grow in virtue.

Maybe I’m finally starting to learn some of my father’s lessons after all.

An addendum on what does constitute lying:

The most widely accepted definition of lying is the following: “A lie is a statement made by one who does not believe it with the intention that someone else shall be led to believe it” (Isenberg 1973, 248) (cf. “[lying is] making a statement believed to be false, with the intention of getting another to accept it as true” (Primoratz 1984, 54n2)). (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/lying-definition/)

Who should we allow to influence us?

Posted on Tuesday, September 5, 2023 by Rebecca

When I was competing at karate tournaments, and especially when I became a judge, it got so that I could recognize the intermediate and advanced students of certain instructors, even if I’d never seen that particular student before. It wasn’t just how that student performed techniques, it was how they carried themselves, how they wore their uniforms, how they treated fellow competitors, how respectful they were, how well they adhered to tournament etiquette, etc. The best instructors produced the most recognizable students.

At the same time, I remember one particular black belt competitor who was embarrassingly lacking in both technique and effort, and his students gave almost identical lackluster performances.

We can’t pass on what we ourselves lack.

What some quoted to me as a martial arts saying (“The student, when fully taught’ becomes like his master”) was actually Luke 6:40. “A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone who is perfectly trained will be like his teacher.”

I’m thankful that my first teacher — my beloved father — who was also my pastor from age 5 to adulthood, was a man of great integrity and humility. He was an excellent student and thus an excellent teacher. His life of virtue was one worth emulating.

So he set the bar really high for other pastors and teachers of things religious and theological. Very high indeed…

I was pondering this, and some of my own weaknesses, sins, and failings, after a conversation I had today with a dear friend. We were discussing my recent retreat and some other things, and several teachers — including a few priests — had come up in our conversation. It struck me later: all of them exemplify virtues that I want to emulate.

I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 11:1, where a Paul wrote, “Imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ.” I am in no way qualified to say that to anyone — sometimes I think much of my life should be viewed as a cautionary tale. How thankful I am to have teachers whose lives and character qualities are worth imitating!

As I was pondering these things again today, I was reminded of a self-appointed public teacher from my past who forever turned me off to his particular theological hobbyhorse, because he was so strident, so lacking in charity, and so argumentative. He was the opposite of a gentleman; in fact, he tended to be quite rude and demeaning to anyone who disagreed with him. Someone described him as a “pompous blowhard”. I had actually been intrigued by some of his theological insights when I first encountered them — at least as those insights were expressed by someone else — but I found it almost painful to listen to the teacher himself, and especially to see how he interacted with others.

Obviously we shouldn’t judge truth by whether the person stating it is a gentleman or a jerk. After all, even the rudest person on the planet might not be entirely wrong about everything they say, and gentlemen can be misguided. Back in the working world, I even learned some valuable life lessons from some unpleasant people.

However, it’s a different situation when it comes to faith and morals. How they live out their belief system, how they exemplify Christian virtue, how they treat others — all that is vitally important. I don’t want to imitate someone’s walk with God if I don’t want to imitate them.

Years ago, I used to get in quite heated debates online, to the point that I would forget that those who disagreed with me were created in the image of God and thus deserving of my respect. Stuff happened… and God brought me to a state of repentance (and to a major theological shift). I remember trying to track down some of the people I’d most offended in order to apologize to them. Most were gracious and forgiving, but one person let me know that I had so deeply wounded her that she would never be able to trust me again.

Ouch. I couldn’t blame her.

Contrast my previous attitudes and behavior with the dear, sweet souls who, over my lifetime, have made their faith so attractive to me. I’m especially reminded of specific people God has sent my way over the past few years who have not only exemplified the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love, but also the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. The fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control) have been obvious in their lives. Because of all that, they are also humble and honest. Those are the sorts of people that I want to listen to, because I want to become more like them. I want to imitate them as they imitate Christ.

(This was adapted from something I previously posted on Facebook.)

Not all “advancements” in commercialized medicine are improvements

Posted on Saturday, February 5, 2022 by Rebecca

A discussion on Facebook reminded me of how easy it is to smugly view previous generations as “ignorant” or even “stupid”, without realizing how little of their practical knowledge and skills we possess. We are often far more reliant on others to do for us what previous generations did for themselves.

The field of medicine has made enormous strides. But it has also become commercialized, and too many people have become overly reliant on pharmaceutical remedies.

I grew up before medical insurance in a family that had to consider every expenditure carefully. I was blessed with a Daddy who had been a medic in the Korean war, and I was thankful he was able to “fix” my broken nose, help me avoid stitches several times (except for one dramatic injury) and, along with my mother, nurse me through various illnesses and injuries. He also knew his limits and knew when a call to the doctor or an ER visit was necessary.

At age 18, I was diagnosed with a mild case of a serious, usually progressive, neuromuscular disease. (God later healed me during pregnancy, but that’s a story for another time.) While at UCLA, I read everything in the BioMed library related to my disease and watched/listened to every lecture, symposium, and presentation available in the library. I was so up on the latest research that, moments before I had my wisdom teeth extracted at the dental school, one of the professors asked me to explain my condition and its implications to a group of dental students.

It never dawned on me to consider investigating “alternative” treatments.

Then an interesting thing began happening. I’d get sick with something and go to a clinic or doctor — including the top specialists at UCLA — and we would end up having conversation after conversation along these lines:

Doctor: Normally I would prescribe x or y, but those are contra-indicated for you, and there is no safe or effective alternative.

Me: [alarmed, frightened face]

Doctor: Don’t worry. [recommends some home remedy or describes how this sickness was treated before current pharmaceuticals were developed]

Me: Seriously? Just go home and do that? Does it even work??!!

Doctor: The old remedies and treatments don’t lose their effectiveness simply because we have discovered new ones.

Me: Oh.

One doctor, offended at my youthful arrogance: Doctors knew what they were doing long before you were even born, and what I’m recommending has worked for centuries.

———————-

“Yeah, but we know better now!” people protest. They act as if everyone used to die of every childhood disease pre-vaccine. They can’t imagine a world before pharmacies in supermarkets and on multiple street corners, before medical insurance, before medical imaging and lab tests…

I’m thankful for many of the advancements in medicine. I have benefited greatly. But I’m not thankful for big corporate medicine, or for how many of us have been turned into helpless consumers of medical services. I’m not thankful for the opioid epidemic, the over-reliance on pharmaceuticals, the obesity epidemic, etc., etc.

Oh, and the “home remedies” those doctors suggested to me back in the day? They worked wonderfully… and without side effects.

[Previously posted on Facebook]

Some thoughts while “sheltering at home”

Posted on Saturday, March 21, 2020 by Rebecca

I was wrong.

At first, I thought measures being taken against the spread of the Coronavirus were extremist and bizarre. Then I reviewed some of what I’d learned in a long ago Public Health class about the history of virus diseases and virology. I read some articles being written now by leading epidemiologists, consulted the WHO and CDC websites, and examined some of the resources being compiled by trusted friends in the medical field.

That’s when I had to reconsider things.

I’m the caretaker for my elderly, frail parents. I need to be at their home at least 3 times daily, making sure they get their medications and food. Needless to say, they are not leaving the house. We even cancelled respite care for this week; I decided that a “day off” from my duties is an unnecessary luxury for me and risk for my parents.

I understand that for many, the very idea of staying home and not going to work or socializing is simply too awful to contemplate. I get it. I was already feeling stir crazy before the “shelter in place” order was issued for my county and then my state. No one says this will be easy.

But the rest of this is for my professing Christian readers…

This is the season of Lent. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, this might be a good time to find out. It’s a penitential time leading up to Easter. Many of us use this season to pull away from life’s distractions and addictions in order to focus more on Christ, and especially on the meaning of His Crucifixion. It makes Easter all the more glorious.

We “give up” for Lent in order to gain more of Jesus, in order to experience Him more fully.

Some of my friends, now confined to their homes, have commented that this is the greatest Lent ever, and they are fully embracing this opportunity.

This is not an easy time, by any stretch of the imagination, and I am in no way minimizing the suffering of those who are sick, those who have lost loved ones, those who are without income, those facing the the very real possibility of losing their homes, etc. I’m talking to those of us who, like me, are as of yet unscathed and still can’t figure out why our government is taking such extreme measures.

Use this season. Allow God to use it. Be willing to sacrifice. And please, please stay away from people as much as possible, no matter how people-starved we all might be right now. Let me get personal. You may think you just have allergies, or it’s just a cold, or you may even think you are the healthiest person on the planet. But unless I invite you into my life and home as a necessary presence, or as a family member needing to shelter here, this is not a time for in-person socializing. This is not a time to “drop by”. Please don’t disregard the orders you are under where you live, or the advice of those who know a lot more about pandemics and epidemiology than any of us ever will.

I have two dear parents who need me to be healthy. My husband is in that over-65 vulnerable group. I have asthma too (which, thank God, rarely troubles me these days) and pleurisy-scarred lungs, and I’m not exactly youthful. Pray for my parents. Pray for us. Pray for the many who are like me and like my parents. Pray for the many younger people who, thinking this disease posed no threat to them, are now suffering and even dying.

Use this season and any extra time you may have to seek God’s Presence as never before. Regard this as a spiritual retreat. May this Lent be a time of personal renewal for all of us. May it be a time of breakthrough.

Adapted from something I posted on Facebook earlier today.