Kristina Lunde

The Lord is my strength and my song.
Psalm 118:14a

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March 28, 2023 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Rebekah’s Advice: Avoid Favoritism

Dear Modern Mama,
Long ago, before any children or favoritism, I moved from far away to marry my husband Isaac. My father-in-law Abraham sent his servant back to their country of origin and that’s where he found me. All I did was offer a drink of water to a weary traveler and his camels, but that hospitality answered a specific prayer of Abraham’s servant. (Check out Genesis 24 for details of God’s miracle.)

Although Isaac and I loved each other, I did not get pregnant after almost twenty years of marriage. They called me barren, but Isaac prayed for me to conceive and God answered Isaac’s prayer. God answered with a two-for-one miracle, but the pregnancy felt awful. Like a war between twins in my belly! I wanted to die. Didn’t think I could take it much longer, so I asked the Lord about it.

When the Lord confirmed the conflict inside of me, He said it would extend throughout my twins’ lives. Two babies, two nations, two peoples. They would be divided, with one stronger than the other and the elder serving the younger. Isaac and I didn’t really understand the entire prophecy, but it made sense later as we raised our boys.

From birth on, the boys were opposites. Our oldest, Esau, had red hair on a hairy body. He loved the outdoors and developed good hunting skills. As a tough hunter, Esau became Isaac’s favorite. They loved to eat wild game and talk about hunting. My Jacob had a quieter nature and liked to stay home. I loved having him around the tent to keep me company; you could say I favored him.

Esau and Jacob fought a lot, mostly because they were so different. Once Esau came in hungry after a long day outside and demanded some of the stew Jacob had cooked over the fire. (Did I mention that my Jacob was a great cook?!) Jacob insisted that Esau sell his birthright in exchange for the stew. In desperation, Esau traded his privileges as the oldest son for Jacob’s bread and lentil stew. Not a fair trade, but no one could change the outcome of their decisions.

Other battles followed. My favoritism toward Jacob progressed to a desperate desire to get the birthright blessings for him. I sinned against God and my family as I lowered myself to lie, cheat, and even betray my husband. I am ashamed of the treachery that I encouraged in Jacob when my dear Isaac lay on his deathbed. (Genesis 27 tells the full story.) Our sins only worsened the family conflicts, sibling rivalry, and long-term consequences.

My advice to you, modern mama, is to avoid favoritism. Recognize your child’s unique nature as a gift from God. Our Creator God gives children different skills, character traits, and interests. Do not let that determine how much you love your child or what you will do for him. Take it from me, the consequences of favoritism and deceitful maneuvering to get advantages for your child will only cause heartache—for a long time! I learned that lesson the hard way.

Trust my advice: the best way to parent your children is to follow God’s way and love all of your children wholeheartedly.

Shalom, in your relationship with God and also in your parenting.
Rebekah

Filed Under: Letter, Parenting Tagged With: children, Esau, favoritism, Isaac, Jacob, marriage, mother, parenting, Rebekah

January 30, 2023 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Gomer’s Lessons: Love God and Love Your Husband

Dear Modern Mama,
Not sure why I got asked to give advice. My life lesson sounds simple: love God and love your husband. But I learned it in painful and difficult ways. Let me tell the story.

Elohim, the one and only God, asked Hosea to take a prostitute for a wife. Can you imagine? A prophet of God sent to pick a prostitute for a wife! Pick any woman. No divinely selected woman. No promised blessing on the woman or the marriage. The prophet Hosea faithfully followed God’s direction, purposefully choosing a wife with a bad reputation. Hosea’s difficult marriage became an object lesson, played out publicly to teach all of Israel.

I know, because I am that whore, chosen out of my life of sin and debauchery. For Israelites, sexual sin outside of God’s design of marriage carried a penalty of death by stoning. But in the idol-worshipping society of my day, Israel tolerated all kinds of sexual sin: temple prostitutes, prostitute daughters, adulterous daughters-in-law, and men who indulged in all of that. As a wayward and rebellious woman, I indulged in that sinful culture, too. I earned a good living by selling myself. My male customers paid me generously in bread, water, wool, flax, oil, drink—even silver and gold.

Image by Atanas Paskalev from Pixabay

I did not know God when I met my husband Hosea. Back then, I didn’t want to meet God or some strange guy who thought he should be my husband. In my depraved lifestyle, I enjoyed earning money by fulfilling men’s sin-addicted thoughts. You can imagine how uncomfortable Hosea felt coming to where I worked. He looked so out of place, until he saw me and chose me. The idea of marriage came from Hosea, not me. At the time, I didn’t want to get married or have children. Somehow, I agreed to Hosea’s plan.

We had kids right away. Hosea insisted on naming our kids, with names he said God gave him. Fine with me, I didn’t care about the kids at first. I didn’t know how to parent children. I didn’t want to be a mother; kids just interrupted my work. Hosea named our first boy Jezreel, same as the valley city where King Jehu massacred the house of Ahab. With our daughter, Hosea said God wanted her name to be Lo-ruhamah, or “not loved.” Hosea called our next son Lo-ammi, which means “not my people.” I figured Hosea and God tried to shame me with that one, because, with my extramarital activities, how could I ever know who was the father?!

Even stranger, Hosea later renamed our younger kids. He took the “Lo” part off, calling them Ruhamah, or “loved,” and Ammi, “my people.” Later, I ran out on Hosea, so I didn’t understand these things until I went back to my family.

According to Hosea, God came up with the plan, the one thing Hosea did that I most love him for. After all my sinful betrayals, would you believe Hosea came to the slave block to buy me back? Not that anyone else cared to bid. But it got a lot of attention—everyone in town knew about our sham marriage and how I lived. I deserved nothing, but my dear Hosea bought me back and took me home.

Hosea taught me about true love, and more importantly, about God’s love. Just like God does for us, Hosea demonstrated unconditional love for me, an unworthy sinner. Our story became an object lesson of God’s mercy and forgiveness for all Israel. Not just a lesson for that time, but an enduring human parallel of God’s love and redemption. (Read it for yourself in my husband’s book.)

My Hosea is my hero. So many times I betrayed Hosea’s love and brought him nothing but shame. Yet he never stopped loving me. He bought me back from slavery when no one else would look at me. I know now that God chose to redeem me through Hosea’s love. My dear Hosea taught me how to love and obey Elohim. I am so grateful for my Elohim who gave me a chance.

Elohim, my one and only God.
Me, the sinner and whore.
Hosea, my beloved husband and redeemer.
My advice to you: love God and love your husband.

Love to you,
Gomer, late to learn about love, but grateful to be redeemed and restored

Filed Under: Letter, Parenting Tagged With: children, marriage, mother, parenting, redeem

March 31, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Parenting Advice for the Mama of a Wild Child

Hey Modern Mama,
Greetings to you from this mama of a wild child, from long ago, back in Bible times. You won’t find my name in the Bible, not at all. I am only referred to as Manoah’s wife, but he loved and respected me. Even so, infertility made me feel insignificant and inferior, because I could not fulfill the role I dreamed of: to be a mother. Your situation likely varies, but back in my time, we had no idea why or how to deal with infertility.

One day as I worked, an angel of the Lord came to me and verified that I could not have a child. He called me “barren.” (Oh, how I hate that word!) Perhaps there are aspects of infertility that hurt you emotionally, physically, and even spiritually. Please know that God hears your pain and can comfort you through the challenges of infertility. Maybe an angel will not come to you—it only happened to a few infertile women in the Bible—but God does hear your heart’s cry.

This angel of the Lord prophesied that I would have a son. Unreal and hard to believe, but somehow I trusted his words as true. Then he gave me pregnancy care instructions—how strange for a man to know about that! You have medical experts, books, and even Google, but we only get advice from the women in our tribe. Those instructions about taking care of myself during pregnancy meant that from the beginning, our son would be dedicated to God. The angel said that our son would deliver us from the Philistines, our oppressive rulers. This son would not only deliver Manoah and me from infertility, but deliver our tribe and our people. What exciting news!

As often happens, what we expected as parents differed from God’s plan for our son. Our Samson, an unexpected gift from God, certainly surprised us in many ways. Calm, compliant, rule-following—none of those aspects described our Samson! He came out of the womb large and in charge. From day one, the strength on that kid amazed us. And what a challenge for Manoah and me to train, discipline, and correct our wild child! We wondered if Samson would ever learn to control his impulsive nature.

Photo by Keira Burton/Pexels

Maybe you have a wild child and wonder how and why God blessed you that way. I found myself saying the same things over and over—for decades:
“Can’t you be kind? Can’t you be patient?”
“Samson, stop swinging that rock/stick/table above your head!”
“You beat up the neighborhood kids—again?!”

Manoah and I reminded ourselves that Samson was God’s child, dedicated to God, and created with characteristics for God’s purposes. Please appreciate the child God gave you, instead of comparing him to your friends’ kids. I made that mistake a lot and finally realized my need to rely on God for parenting help and guidance. God knew best how to prepare Samson for the future, and He helped us train Samson. No matter how discouraged I became raising Samson, I knew that God would prepare Samson for his God-ordained job. God’s plan for Samson ultimately affected others—even our nation—in ways that extended far beyond just Manoah and me.

For you parents of wild children growing into wild adults, I could add stories of Samson’s gambling, womanizing, murder, etc. All those nice Israelite girls—but instead, Samson chose nagging, sleazy, heathen women. Let me just say that God may use your children in ways that do not make sense to you. God is not concerned about our desire to have compliant kids who reflect well on our family. Being stewards of our children means recognizing when to let them go and trusting God to work in their lives. For you helicopter parents, realize that we have to let go of what we think is best for our children. I had to learn and relearn how to entrust my child to God. Even after Samson grew up, I had to remind myself to let go of my dreams for my son.

Check out my story in Judges 13-16 to read how God used my wild child to accomplish His sovereign plan in our country. My Samson, despite his bad decisions, hot temper, impulsive acts, gambling habit, womanizing, and multiple murders, accomplished God’s purposes in surprising ways.

May God teach you how to love your wild child and to recognize that God loves your child even more than you do. May God encourage you in your parenting, today and always.

Love from Samson’s Mama

(Designed to encourage tired mamas, this parenting advice is written using sarcastic humor to reflect on a biblical family’s narrative. Please read Judges 13-16 and study the account of Samson for yourself. In no way do I intend to misinterpret or misuse biblical passages.)
[Originally posted September 2021]

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: helicopter parent, infertility, launch, marriage, mother, parenting, teenagers, trust, wild child

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Inside the Window: A Battle Against COVID

Inside the window, she battles COVID-19. One long day at a time.

That last phone conversation with my husband. Now I remember! Me coughing and hacking, as he suggested an emergency room visit because I might have coronavirus. Independent me—of course I said no. Until that next day, when I started sucking air like I was breathing through a coffee stir stick. Only then did I drive myself to the hospital. Did I call him when I was admitted?! Everything is such a blur now. What November day was that? How many days have I been here? The news reports describe how COVID-19 progresses from breathing problems to ventilator, and then to death. I am so scared. And tired . . .

Inside the window, she confronts COVID. Alone in her thoughts.

The nurse pointed to my husband, standing outside my ICU (intensive care unit) window. With the sun behind him, I recognized his profile. My personal strong man. I so wish I could see his face. Before this breathing tube kept me from speaking, I remember how he yelled at me from outside the window. I barely heard him through my Darth-Vader-sounding oxygen mask. He yacked on and on about memories of our honeymoon, family trips, and our special trip to California last year. How embarrassing: he was outside practically shouting about our personal life while people walked up the hospital sidewalk! Like they want to hear our litany of family vacations. But he confidently reminds me of our memories and keeps his promise to be there for me. This coronavirus thing, why can’t they let him inside to visit me?!

Inside the window, she faces an unknown battle against COVID.
Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

There he is at the ICU window again. My man. The one who thrilled me on that day so long ago when my friend and I hitchhiked in the city. Me, the small-town girl who planned to see the world. Him, the sun-bleached dude with the big smile. I can’t remember what I said when the guys picked us up, but I gave my usual smart-mouthed comment. The good-looking one didn’t shrink back from my sharp tongue, but was impressed with my humor and took it as a challenge. Like a comedy routine, we bantered back and forth: his heckling to my irreverence, his gentle mocking to my biting sarcasm. How I love his sense of humor! He still won’t stoop to my snarkiness, but he makes me laugh every time. Our secret to forty-plus years of marriage.

Inside the window, nostalgia comforts her in the struggle against COVID.
Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

I am tired and scared. The low whoosh of air flowing and the muffled pump sounds of the ventilator can be soothing, but I startle awake every time it alarms. Someone in head-to-toe blue paper with a clear windshield for eyes comes in to check the alarms. The same generic outfit, but this time it’s the nurse with the high ponytail bump. The tube in my throat keeps me from talking, but not from terror. She gently brushes my arm as she silences the alarm, telling me that she just updated my husband on the phone. Then she hands me the letter board. Of course, I could spell out my million questions, one stupid letter at a time, but that would take all day. How do I get this tube out of my throat? Will I ever breathe on my own again, or will I die connected to this ventilator?

Inside the window, she combats COVID. One ventilator alarm at a time.

There is my husband, outside the window again. What?! Where am I? Oh yeah. Still in the hospital, in the town where I worked, three hours from our home in the city. Still on this ventilator that keeps me alive. Every time they give me a trial to breathe on my own, I panic and can’t continue. Then they medicate me so the ventilator can do my work of breathing. The tall nurse gives me updates, not that I understand it all, but he explains more of what “the team” is doing and why. But no one answers the big questions: will I get better? Do they explain this to my husband?! Will coronavirus kill me? I’m tired. I ache. I need to sleep . . .

Inside the window, she drifts in and out, fighting for breath against COVID. Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

I have to remember . . . through this mental fog . . . past the alarms . . . about the people in blue. Wasn’t that him I saw, dressed head-to-toe in blue paper garb? Or was that a dream? The window was dark, so he wouldn’t be outside. How could he be inside this ICU at night?! Is it only in my hopes and dreams? But I remember his voice, his outline, his presence. So real.

The next day, my “morning numbers” were surprisingly good; the team disconnected me from the ventilator for hours in a breathing trial. Some days later, they pulled the tube out and gave me an oxygen mask. For the first time in months, I talked with my husband on the phone. (Oh, how we used to take our daily phone conversations for granted! Never again.)

I used all my energy to speak, one breathy word at a time. “I . . . am . . . so . . . glad . . . to . . . be . . . alive.”

Inside the window, she finds her voice against COVID.

Lord Jesus, please be with her inside that window and battle the COVID-19 virus for her. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
[Originally posted January 2021]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: coronavirus, COVID-19, hospital, love, marriage, ventilator, vigil, window

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Outside the Window: A COVID Vigil of Love

Outside the window, he stands. Alone in his COVID vigil of love.
The ICU Window

The vigil became his new routine: park in the hospital lot, walk across the grass, and take his place at the window. On the other side of the ground-floor window, his wife fights COVID-19 from an ICU bed. She contracted the novel coronavirus after exposure from a friend. The elderly friend recovered after several days of a mild case of COVID.

COVID-19 first made his wife achy and chilled. Working three hours away from their home, she initially complained of fatigue; days later, her breathing changed. He noticed her ragged breathing on their nightly phone call. “Please go in to get checked out. You might have COVID. At least get a test.” By the time she checked into the local emergency department, she could not catch her breath and felt like she was drowning. So began the weeks of hospitalization and isolation. The contagious nature of COVID-19 restricted any and all visitors; only staff in personal protective equipment were allowed in the ICU.

Outside the window, he stands. Alone. A COVID vigil of love.

While she was on oxygen and sitting up in bed, he stood outside the window. He drove three hours each way to visit, promising her that he would come every day. At first, they texted by phone; then the COVID battle left her no energy to hold the phone. He spoke loudly, almost yelling through the window in his attempts to communicate with her directly. People walking to and from the hospital could not help but overhear his words. He spoke of memories, nostalgic recollections of trips from their honeymoon to last year’s California trip. “Remember the goats at the Air B&B?” he reminded her. He smiled at the memory of her instant love for those crazy goats and how that trip sparked her retirement dream to buy a hobby farm with goats.

Outside the window, he stands, keeping his promise to visit daily.

The six-hour daily drive was exhausting, so he rented a nearby place to stay during the week. The doctor’s assessment revealed significant lung damage and a recommendation to place a tube into the lungs. “Putting the tube into her airway and connecting the ventilator will decrease her work of breathing. The ventilator will transport air to her lungs, and save her effort and energy.” But she thought the ventilator was a death sentence, so she refused to be intubated.
After hearing about her mother’s fears, their daughter drove up from Chicago with her two small children. “Mom, please. The doctor says the vent will help your breathing. Please, Mom! My kids need their grandmother!” After his daughter and grandkids joined him at the window during that visit, he returned alone the next day. A week later, his son also made a visit to the window.

Outside the window, he stands. Alone again.

In the bleak November of 2020, the hospital grounds looked as cold and frozen as he felt. Numb to his sacrifice, he visited every day for his window vigil. She was on a ventilator, unable to speak. They had always talked every day. Years ago, he traveled overseas for his job. Regardless of time differences or the high cost of overseas calls, he and his wife spoke daily.

Now on the ventilator, she could not speak. He ached inside, missing that sweet voice, that sharp-witted humor that had initially attracted him to her. He nostalgically remembered that cute 20-something girl, wisps of hair framing her face, her ponytail swiping back and forth as they flirtatiously bantered. That wise woman still bantered with him, her intellect and humor always drawing out his kinder, gentler humor. Like their differing senses of humor, their partnership was a synergy of unique characteristics. From those early days of courtship and through their 43+ years of marriage, he loved her. That love and appreciation for his wife grew as she became mother to their two precious children, now grown. These empty nest years were a chance to savor their time together, just the two of them. How he missed her. The window—and the coronavirus that isolated her—created a painful barrier between them.

Outside the window, he stands, keeping his vows: for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

During his daily phone conversations with the nursing staff, he reminded them to tell his wife that he was there, standing outside the window, as close as he could get. The staff were hard to tell apart in their identical uniforms of personal protective equipment. Some of the day shift nurses, the most frequent visitors, he learned to distinguish. The kind one had a high ponytail bump under her blue cap; she always greeted his wife with a soft touch on her arm. The tall nurse walked straight to the machines, directing his eyes to the IV (intravenous medications) stands first. Her mask always moving, the older nurse was either singing or talking. He was glad that his wife could listen to something other than alarm bells and pump noises.

Outside the window, he stands alone, supporting his COVID-ravaged wife.

Weather: sunny and 72 degrees. Forty-eight degrees, cloudy with rain. Fifty-four degrees and drizzling. Snow flurries and 37 degrees. The only thing that changed was the Midwest weather. He kept his vigil outside the ICU window while she lay motionless in bed. In the mornings, the nurse let the sedation wear off in preparation for the assessment of spontaneous breathing, or weaning trial. Without sedation, his wife could try breathing on her own with the tube still in place. Sometimes she would wiggle her toes or move her hands.
To see her move, even such a tiny gesture, was a glimpse of hope through the window. She was understanding instructions and her limbs worked. His wife was still there! The medical staff did not offer encouragement about the weaning trials; they continued to speak of fatigue, COVID lung damage, and fluid noted on the chest X-rays. But he had seen her move, and for that sign of life he was grateful.

Outside the window, he stands alone, keeping his COVID vigil of love.

Lord Jesus, please meet him at the window. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
[Originally posted November 2020]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: coronavirus, COVID-19, hospital, love, marriage, ventilator, vigil, window

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Recent Writing

  • Rebekah’s Advice: Avoid Favoritism
  • Gomer’s Lessons: Love God and Love Your Husband
  • Prayer & Architecture on a Clinic Visit
  • Psalm 23 Kids’ Prayer
  • Two Widows, Two Sons and One Powerful God

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