Burial and Exhumation

I buried my mother. She wasn’t dead. It was a desperate metaphor to bring back some sense of normalcy. I made a green bean casserole and sang “Amazing Grace”. The scene was really touching in a twisted sort of way. There was no body, like I said, she wasn’t, and still isn’t dead. Good news is, she has been exhumed, dusted off, and is back in all her glory.
There were years and years of pent up problems. She drank hers. I evaded mine. Finally, I decided I couldn’t do anyone any good if I didn’t take some action. One tearful night I decided I had to be done with it.
The culminating event occurred on 3211. I was driving home and she was telling me that she was going to be friends with Mr. E’s bio mom. I can still feel the wounds that girl caused me. Deep in the night I can sense the pain that girl caused her baby. There is so much hurt in that one sad girl’s path. And my mother wanted to be her friend. It was just too much. So when I hung up the phone and thought about the slurred speech and the rambling sentences, I decided that I was done. Being the sort of person I am, I needed the ceremony.
I want to make my mom happy. I want to protect her from the consequences of her actions. I don’t want to force her to look at the messes she’s made. I know those things hurt her. I know that she isn’t strong enough to handle looking at it (Ok this is a happy story-She wasn’t strong enough.) I played along with her hiding and protecting her until that night, the night of green bean casserole and Amazing Grace and no more contact.
Christians are a people of redemption. My most basic belief is that Jesus can change anyone. This belief ate away at my resolve, digesting it. Long motorcycle rides followed by redemption themed preaching shredded my resolve. One night swinging a tired leg over the seat, I realized I can’t bury anyone who isn’t dead. I decided an exhumation was in order.
It was hard to bury my mother. It was even harder to exhume her. Who wants to be wrong about such a thing as death? Who wants to face the anger of the newly exhumed person? Humility bites (vampire metaphors could easily fill the rest of the post ).
While I had buried her, my mother had worked. She had gotten clean. She had worked through things, things I’m sure I don’t want to know. She had regained her strength and her beauty and her self. When I broke down and talked, she talked back.
I’m now happy to say that my mother is alive and well. There is no grave dust clinging to her. We talked the other day and had the best conversation in a very long time. My girls talked to her too. They were so excited to have her back.
The road is long. There will be bumps and toll roads and rickety bridges. She may disown me when she sees this. But, my mother is alive and well and re entering our lives, not as a vampire or a ghost. She is my mother.

Confessions

Confessions come hard. This one is really difficult. I have to confess that I’ve acted like Jonah.
Jonah didn’t have a whole lot going for him. I imagine his story going like this. (Remember, this is just my imagination).
One day Jonah was sitting in his house doing his daily chores. He was feeling pretty good about himself because he was rocking the whole prophet business. He was respected, a little feared maybe. He was obeying all the rules and regs and feeling good. Then, God says “Jonah, I got a job for you. Go tell the people of Nineveh they need to repent.” Jonah wrinkles up his shaggy eyebrows and says “I just remembered I have to head out Tarshish and visit my auntie. I haven’t seen her in a long time and she might die any day. Surely, this whole Nineveh thing can wait awhile.” So off he goes on a ship in the opposite direction of where God told him to go.
See, this is where the story gets bad. What kind of moron would do exactly the opposite of what God TOLD him to do? I’ve always liked thinking I would never do something that defiant. Because, you know, I’m a good Bible study girl. I’m rocking the whole read your Bible every day, listen to the right music, talk right thing. Umhmm, just like Jonah.
So, Jonah’s on the boat and God outs him. I like that his shipmates don’t immediately dump him. They tried really hard to get back to land before they dumped him. That’s awful nice of them considering they were idol worshipping heathens and Jonah was a prophet of the Lord most high. They finally dump him. He gets swallowed by a whale. He repents. He gets spewed up. He goes to Nineveh and starts rocking the whole prophet business again. He does such a good job that even the king repents. But, when Jonah sees that God has mercy on them, he gets mad, REALLY mad. God, being the merciful God He is helps Jonah to understand what happened. The Bible ends the story with God’s explanation. I wonder what Jonah’s reaction was.
When I realized that I was acting like Jonah, I was embarrassed. How many times have I been shown mercy and grace? Yet, here I was throwing a hissy fit. All around me, the heathens were offering to help. I was so caught up in my self that I missed it. The stench of fish puke seemed to be following me.
The word says we are to confess to one another. Here is my confession to my brothers and sisters. I acted like Jonah. I am praying I don’t do it again. I think I share a fatal flaw with him though. That flaw is pride. But even though I have that flaw, “I called out to the LORD, out of my distress, and he answered me” (Jonah 2:2). Our God is an awesome God. He rejoices when we realize what goobers we are return to him. So even though we have to figure out how to get the fish smell off of us, he will forgive us and love us.
I used to think Jonah was a loser. Now I know Jonah was just a man and I am just a woman. We have more in common than I ever knew.

Hannah's Story

Sleep was hard to find last night. Laying in bed for hours just thinking without getting anywhere. Hannah’s story filled my head for hours last night.
Hannah was a woman who was the favorite of her husband, Elkanah. I’m not sure how she could be his “favorite” if he chose to marry another woman too but we all make mistakes. Her sister wife, Peninnah (or Peni as I like to call her) had children. Hannah did not. Even though children were usually a sign of being well loved, Hannah had no children. Elkanah was a pious man. He took the family to the temple once a year. He even journeyed a bit further with two women and several children so that they could go to the temple where the Ark of the Covenant was kept.
Hannah would go and Elkanah would show her favor. I can just see how well this went over with Peni. Here is the childless woman receiving the best piece of cake and the nicest bed, while the mother of all the children had to have the left overs.
I imagine Hannah as that type of woman you see and think “nothing bad has ever happened to her.” She would be beautiful. Her kindness and faith would shine through making her seem even lovelier. But there, behind her eyes, you might catch a glimpse of the sadness. She wanted a baby to hold. Not a baby she had to borrow but her own baby, a sign of God’s favor and her husband’s love. You know Hannah had to think that everyone watching the family go down the street would think her husband didn’t like her. If he loved her, she would have all the children, not Peni. Peni would take advantage of the situation and ridicule Hannah. I imagine Peni, with her head held high calling her children to her in front of the other ladies at the temple. Peni would share stories of the kids while Hannah sat to the side with no stories to tell. Peni would throw barbed comments at Hannah and imply that Elkanah preferred her bed to Hannah’s.
So, year after year they go to the temple. The children of the other wife play and laugh while the “favorite” wife is barren month after month. One too many times Peni rubs her pregnant belly and makes a joke at Hannah’s expense. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. The teasing and ridicule and emptiness leave her desperate. I can just see her getting up from the meal, wrapping her shawl around her head to hide her tears. She walks quickly but purposefully into the chapel. She throws herself in a pile on the altar steps and starts to pray. She is so deep in prayer that Eli, the priest, can see her lips moving and her body swaying but can hear nothing.
Eli, looks at her and thinks she must be drunk. He would think that because he sees his sons abusing the altar every day. He sees people as awful. He is old and unhappy and feels a failure because his sons who should be so righteous are so awful. Of course he thinks this woman has to be drunk. He gathers his courage and all his righteous indignation. He marches up to her.
“Ma’am” he says. When she doesn’t respond, he repeats himself louder this time. He would touch her but she might be unclean and if she is he will have to purify himself.
She moves her shawl and looks up at him. Her eyes are red and her face wet with tears. Her mouth is contorted in that awful crying grimace.
He says “Get out of here you drunk”
She swallows and says “I’m not drunk. I’m pouring my heart out to God. He alone can help me. I have prayed and begged Him to give me child. I’ve even told Him, if only he will give me child I will bring the boy back here and devote him to the LORD’s service.”
Eli looks confused. Then the heart deeply buried within him, cracks. He looks at the woman with new eyes. He sees the sincerity. He tells her that God will honor her request. Maybe he hands her his handkerchief so she can wipe her face. She begins to smile. The priest has told her she will have a baby. The Lord has heard her.
I can see her running into her husband’s arms. Elkanah has been waiting for her to come back. He was worried when she left because he could feel her sorrow. He had heard Peni’s mean comments but he didn’t know how to help. When she comes back, he can see a difference in her face. She tells him what she has done and what Eli has said. He holds her. I wonder what he felt about her vow to give the baby back to God. He was the man so he had to agree to make the vow apply. He had the power to tell her no, to tell her that the vow could not be made. But he didn’t. He agreed to it.
The time came and she had the baby. She held him in her arms. I know she loved that baby more than words can say. He was her miracle. He was her proof that she was loved. I can see the little family surrounding little Samuel. I can see the sister wife sulking in the corner. And I can feel the sadness mixed with joy that Hannah must have felt.
She knew this baby was not hers to keep. She knew that when the baby was weaned, she would take him to the temple. The first year, she sent the rest of the family off without her and the boy. She cherished him for as long as she could. Then, when the time came to fulfill her vow, she did it.
Samuel would have been somewhere around two I guess, maybe three depending on the timing. He would be at that sweet age of pudgy little fingers and mischief. He would be running and laughing as they walked to the temple. He would be playing with his half brothers and sisters. But Hannah, she would be watching while her heart broke. There was no question in heart about what was to come but the pain would still be there. I wonder if maybe God was kind to her and maybe she was already pregnant with her next child. Not that one child can make up for another but palpable hope always helps. To make a vow like hers would require great faith.
I wonder if Peni was still making comments. She would be sitting with her friends over coffee and one would say “I heard Hannah was dedicating Samuel to God’s service”. “Well, of course she is,” Peni would smirk. “You know she had to beg God to give her that baby. She even had to beg Elkanah to sleep with her.” Peni would know it wasn’t true but it didn’t matter to her. She would be able to hear Elkanah and Hannah crying together as they prepared to leave this child. She would be able to see him comfort her. Always slightly on the outside, Peni’s pain would continue as she watched Hannah have more babies.
And then Hannah would walk with Samuel, her beloved child, to the old priest Eli. The boy would look at her with eyes wide. She would brush the little curl of brown hair to the side and she knelt down beside him, her eyes overflowing with tears. She would kiss his little lips and tell him “Mommy loves you. I’ll be here to see you every year. I’ll bring you your favorite baklava and a new robe so you’ll look just like the big priests. You be a good boy and serve the LORD with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. My beautiful boy.” Elkanah would pat his head and place his little hand in Eli’s old hand. He would take Hannah in his arms and walk her away from the place. The old priest would walk with the boy into the house. I think God would comfort Samuel. He would hold the little boy in his arms and keep him from fear.
When they got back to their tent, Elkanah and Hannah would go into a corner and hold each other and cry. Peni’s children would come to her and ask what is wrong. She would say that little Samuel is living in the temple. The little sisters and brothers would cry at this and even Peni would feel a tug of sadness. She loved that little boy too. You can’t live that close with someone and not love them a little. Elkanah would leave at some point to go work. Peni would come to Hannah and cry with her. Then, maybe, Peni would look at Hannah and Hannah would look at her. The two would get up together and start to make the food for the next day. Like sisters they would start to talk and maybe even laugh a little together. Then they would go back home and start life over again.
It would seem easy to cast each player in the story in a role of hero or villain. How could Peni tease Hannah? How could Elkanah run a house loving one wife more than the other? How could God require a woman to give up her son? People are not one sided and our God is not easily understood. Our God is holy. We are not. His ways are not our ways. We do know though that we are to love one another. This family went through a severe trial. Their trial set in motion an amazing string of events that impacted all of history. As a mom, I’m pretty sure there are moments when Hannah wanted to scream “I don’t care about history! I care only about my baby.” Thankfully, her faith was stronger than her need to understand. I think about this family late at night when sleep doesn’t come. I think about them and wonder how it felt to walk where they walked. Then I give thanks that I live in a time where there are hot showers and air conditioning.

Heart Condition

I have a heart condition. It is a very minor, very boring heart condition. Most of the time I don’t even think about it, it’s that boring. Every day I take a pill. As long as I take that pill every day, the heart condition is all good. But, I have another condition. I’m not sure if it’s laziness or hard headedness or what but it is a much scarier condition than the heart condition.
This other condition causes me to not do the very simple things I have to do to keep the heart condition under control. I’m talking simple things like dropping the prescription off at the pharmacy and then picking it up later. I really don’t like to do that.
So, I started feeling funny yesterday. I realized I was out of the medicine I needed. I ignored that first warning. I mean maybe this month would be different than all the other months. See, about once every three months or so my second condition pops up and I decide I don’t need the medicine. Yeah, that doesn’t work so well. It is a little unnerving to feel your heart beating at 130 beats a minute. It is unnerving and it interferes with drinking coffee. (Coffee will speed up your heart beat. I like coffee. I do not like interference with my coffee which is why I usually just take the medicine.)
The most exciting thing about this heart condition is that it is a great metaphor for my relationship with Jesus. Most days I get up and open my Bible. I love to read it. I even love reading it when its all numbers and lineages. But there are days when I get up and that other condition hits. I guess we could call it my “sin” condition. I don’t want to read the Bible. I want my coffee without wisdom (sounds pretty goofy like that but…) Maybe I have to be somewhere or maybe I’m just mad at God.
How foolish is that? I’m mad at God so I don’t read His word. Works out about as well as it does when I decide I’m mad at Michael and don’t talk to him. I stay all grumpy for a few hours and then have to admit I was wrong. Same thing happens when I chose not to read my Bible. When I chose to read it, I make much better decisions. My anxiety level goes way down when I take a few minutes and read and pray. That lurking depression is easier to battle when I’ve taken my “medicine”. But that sin condition comes in every so often and gets me off track. The result, like the result of not taking my heart pill, is that I feel awful. All I have to do to feel better is take the medicine. There is a residual icky feeling but we always have to deal with the consequences of our actions. Once the pill is swallowed, or once I’ve asked forgiveness, I know it will all be better.
Our God wants us to do the simple things that bring us closer to him. The closer we are to him, the less powerful the sin condition is. Simple things like reading the Bible, praying, and telling others about him bring us such joy and comfort. To live life to its fullest we have to do these things but the trick is they are enjoyable. Unlike my medicine with its funny side effects, doing what the Spirit tells us to leads to side effects like love, joy, peace, and patience. These are very good things.
I ran to the store this morning and got my heart pills. I’m feeling much better now. On my way there, I talked to God about why I still have this sin issue. He listened. He’s good like that.  I’m pretty sure his answer is something along the lines of “because you aren’t home yet. I’m here with you though and I love you. Now get back to work.”

Butterfly

Stretching- pushing across and above and beyond. Stretching and begging for more room. When the time is accomplished, the pushing and stretching gives way to tearing, the tight cocoon walls tear and the first bit emerges. The first part of the butterfly to come out is covered in goo. It is slimy and fragile. It is far from beautiful.
I can almost hear it begging to break out. If butterflies speak to the Lord, I’m sure there is a time of desperation. A moment, or perhaps two for the more impatient, when the half formed creature screams out to its creator “Free me! I need to feel the air rolling off my wings.” A moment of fear that the current state is the permanent state, a moment when the stretching becomes almost panicked, or is there? If butterflies speak to the Lord, maybe they know that the time of transformation is required. Maybe they have a faith even clearer than that of child. Maybe they have laid down the need to know what happens next and simply trust that no matter how tight the chrysalis seems, there is freedom to be enjoyed- a freedom that transcends every circumstance-a freedom that sings of the Father’s love so loudly and surely that there is no reason for panic.

Butterflies seem so fragile. Their beauty is delicate. It cannot hold up for long or against difficult circumstances. At least that is how it seems at first. Then the slow realization dawns that these tiny creatures travel many, many miles each day. These tiny fragile creatures float on the wind. They soar and dip and dance on invisible air streams over amazing distances. There is nothing weak in their fragility.

Women appear fragile. We spend hours bending and stretching and begging for a different shape or a different look. As young teenagers we look at the other girls around us and wish we were them. As young mothers we look at the other mothers and wonder why our lives are so hard and theirs is so easy. Always, always we are comparing ourselves. We measure our success in terms of our relationships to others. We cry when we’re frustrated. We cry when our bodies refuse to be whatever it is we want right then. We cry and we appear fragile. We are not fragile.

We are the beloved creations of our Father. He has created each of us to be a wonderful person. He has given us our children because no one else will raise them the way we will. He has given us our trials because He knows how we will respond. He has chosen to give us a strength that mirrors that of the butterfly. The strength that appears weak but can do amazing things through Him.

He commands sometimes that we wait. He says “not yet”. For the more impatient of us, these times are more painful than the moment when the butterfly is breaking free. Our strength though lies in knowing that He will remove the walls. He will remove the walls, make us beautiful, and set us free. Free to fly on the wind, free to love, free to dance, free to worship our Lord and Savior who loved us enough to redeem us and remake us.

I love to watch the butterflies.

Time- for Amy

Some people have a love affair with clocks. My middle daughter is deeply in tune with the passage of time. She knows the minutes intimately. She feels the seconds moving and for her, I think, they move steadily.
Others may not feel the flow of time but they are keenly aware of tiny marks that indicate seconds. I have seen these people. They look at the clock and instead of seeing a clock they see a million tiny pieces. One glance and they can tell you all about the thing. They know what color it is. They know that second hand is slightly bent. I look at these people in a sort of puzzled awe.
I have looked at the clock in my kitchen a million times and I have no idea what color it is.
This is the beauty of my God. Not just that we are all created differently but that each tiny variation is valued and needed and on purpose. The word says “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Oh praise Him that He has thought out each detail and not being content to just focus on the details, He has designed an intricate, dazzling universe. The same God that created each blade of grass set in motion the processes that allow the grass to grow. And, one day, He chose to create me. Then after (or before or during-His time is even trickier than mine) He created me, He placed me in this moment in time and space where a comment triggered a thought.
See, school is about to start. When school starts, stress runs high and things fall apart and in my job as principal I’m supposed to manage all the falling pieces while teaching, scheduling, tap dancing, and redirecting. Time runs from me as fast as a laughing toddler from his momma in Wal-mart. And, in my worst moments, I want to scream in exasperation as toddler time peeks around the corner of the aisle just out of reach and giggles.
Then, a teacher, gifted with an eye to details, tells me we need to recoup a minute. A minute, she says! A minute when all around us things are raining down, she cares about a minute! And then I realize the toddler, laughing just outside my reach, isn’t time. It’s God. God cares about every minute and every person. God has orchestrated this whole beautiful crazy world with its beautiful crazy people whom He absolutely adores for this one minute…and the next “one minute”…and the next “one minute”. He takes joy in our brief moments of understanding. The moment when we truly realize that we are His creation, that each of our flaws, imperfections, talents, and skills are all His to use for His kingdom.
Thank you Lord for those who are obedient to do your will even if your will is only that each minute be noticed and accounted for. Because Lord, in that act of obedience, another act of obedience is born and dear Lord, for you to allow such a person as me to be obedient to You is the greatest gift imaginable.

Hot and Dry

3211 is hot and dry these days. As you round the curves you can see the heat waves rising from the asphalt that has bubbled up from between the tiny rocks that make up the road. The ac can’t keep up with the heat. It’s almost too hot to pray. Disquiet is settling in my heart as I drive by cattle trucks and see the boney hips and ribs. As removed as most of us are from agriculture, there is still something primal that screams danger when the food supply looks like something out of pharaoh’s dream.
The temptation is to try to do something to change the circumstances. In college, I studied about witchcraft in primitive cultures. The people with no power over their environment would resort to hidden ceremonies to influence spirits to help them. They constructed elaborate systems of taboos and good luck and spirit worship. Because they felt so powerless and so desperate to influence they would do terrible things to themselves and their children. Desperation breeds both evil and law.
We aren’t so different. As the drought continues we set up more and more restrictions. We can only water on certain days at certain times. Billboards scream out that wasting water equals wasting money. The tv news threatens rolling blackouts if we do not use our electricity wisely. All this and it’s almost too hot to reach out to the One who can change the environment.
I find myself returning again and again to the idea of freedom. For so many years, I was bound by fear and anger. Now, I can taste freedom. I drink it in from time to time, enjoying the freedom to dance and laugh and play. Except, sometimes, when I start to feel things slipping through my hands and I want to hold on to it. Those are the times when I want to start imposing rules on myself. The concept is tricky. Some things that might seem to be rules are more habits and some things that seem to be outward signs of my devotion are really rules. I can see the orthodox Jew wearing his prayer shawl and almost envy the sign of righteousness. Then I remember, we are called to be free. Because our Jesus sacrificed Himself for us, we are free to run into our Father’s arms as beloved children. This freedom is a most marvelous gift. We don’t need elaborate rituals. We just need our Father, His Son, and the Spirit. With God, all things are possible.
So, while the road boils and the cattle wither, I will remain free to love my God, free to rejoice in His goodness, knowing that in time the rain will come.

Be Brave, Be Free, and Eat your Fruit

This is for you friend. You are there all the time. You sit in the middle, slightly to the left and if you can’t sit there you find a spot on the far right. You think you blend in. You think that you are just ordinary enough not stick out too much and just pretty enough to be noticed. You sit there and listen. You listen and you dream. Of course, your dreams aren’t very big dreams. You want to take care of your family. You want to do your job. You want to love and please your God. You are a good and strong woman, a woman of faith.
Do you realize that you are beloved? Do you know in the pit of your stomach that the God who created the universe calls you His precious daughter?
God loved you from the minute He made you. As He created your tender eyes, He knew the things you would see. When He formed your feet, with the slightly turned in toes, He smiled because He knew your foot prints would lead tiny foot prints across wet sand. He knew your feet would dance and run and jump and ache after days of work. He knew your temper would flare and cause you to have to turn to Him to be calmed. He knew every bad habit, every flawed thought, every secret shame. He knew all of it and He loves you.
He delights in you. He wants you to be brave. You are His daughter after all. Step out in faith that your Father is the biggest authority there is and He delights in you. You can speak the truth in love even when your heart is pounding in your throat because you are the daughter of the Most High God!
He delights in you. He begs you not to accept the yoke of slavery ever again. You are free. You can dance and laugh and love because you are not a servant. You are the beloved child!
He delights in you. He wants you taste the good things in life. He wants you to feel the joy of biting into the sweetest most fragrant fruit and know that He is good. He wants you to care for yourself so you can minister to those who depend on you. He wants you to be careful with that body He gave you. He wants you to know how beautiful you are.
He loves you so much!
Just remember that even when you mess up really, really badly that He really, really loves you. If you are ready to come back, His arms are open and He is waiting.

It IS Well

I used to wonder how long an encounter with the divine would sustain someone. I thought of Isaiah and the burning coal that touched his lips. How long did he remember that pain? Did the memory last as long as the memory of the pain of childbirth? Was it brought up more as a story to inspire awe or garner guilt? Or, did that pain linger like the constant ache of arthritis in a joint? Did the pain serve as a constant reminder of the holiness of our God?
Then, I think of Elijah. I understand him so well. One minute he was the strongest of all the prophets. He talked and God listened. The next moment he’s running, terrified of a woman. It seems that he forgot the encounters with God as soon as they happened.
What of Mary? The word says she treasured these things in her heart. Did she draw on the vision of the angel on those days when the world was just too much? Did she take a moment in the corner of her house to remember holding the baby Jesus and find peace in that memory?
And what of my own encounters with the divine? How long do I remember? After the incident, I shoved all memories of the divine Father into a little space in the back of mind. I started stuffing everything I could into that little pocket back there. The piles of trash stuffed into that space started to fill the soft inner parts of me with rocks. I used those rocks to build walls.
Time and circumstance allowed me to quit talking to God. The enemy used that separation to lead me down dark paths. I wanted so badly to rekindle that spark of power I had felt when the spirit was alive in me. I thought I could find it in the “supernatural”.
In college, I took classes where I learned that the poor and powerless would turn to witchcraft in order to gain control over an uncontrollable world. All around me the world would spin so far out of control and I knew there should be order. Philosophy classes filled my mind with wonderful connections. Connections that proved beyond any doubt that the bible and its stories were myths that had counter parts in all cultures. Oh I felt superior in my knowledge. This world was mine. I could control the elements. My will could be rationally imposed on the cosmos. I, as a human, was god!
I still see the vague outlines of His hand on my life. As I tried to cross lines, an overwhelming presence would tell me to stop. Somewhere deep inside I knew not to cross that line. From time to time, I would remember a bit of the vision from the library window. I would remember that I had a job. From time to time, my heart would leap in response to a hymn playing on tv. From time to time but little more.
These were the cold dark days. Days of driving the streets of Boise wrapped in a blanket of depression. Days of trying to sing to my baby but not having the strength to put words to music. Days of fear because the man I married refused to buy heating oil and it was Boise with a foot of snow on the ground. Days of longing as I drove by the softly lit churches. Days of failure after failure.
I’ve told the story before of my deliverance. I had lost my job and desperately sought another teaching position. In pure desperation, I applied at a Pentecostal private school. I don’t know why they even interviewed me but I made it to the third round. I had to go to the preacher’s office. I quickly realized he wouldn’t hire me. But then, he prayed over me. That touch I hadn’t felt in years tapped my heart. A touch of life and of spirit awakened my dead soul. But I am a hard headed woman and I tried hard to shut it down.
God said it was time to come home.
I came home and began my great journey on 3211. 3211 became the metaphor for my reunion with the Savior. During that reunion, the memory of the divine came back full of life and of joy. I was healed. I was blessed. I learned “It Is Well”.

It Happened

There comes a time when speaking in circles and metaphors don’t serve the purpose of the story. This is the point where the beauty of words intersects with harsh reality. The point in space and time where there is no more cover and in order for the story to move on to its delightful end, the nasty inciting incident has to occur.

This is that point. It is a point I very rarely come to. There are so many fears and failures that happen after and because of this point. But, the important thing to remember is that this point is only the inciting incident. This point is not the climax. It is simply (but only after all these years) the place where I began to step off the path.

Hot summer nights wrapped themselves around my brothers and I. Record heat cut through the lazy boredom of summer. We couldn’t go out much so we stayed inside and watched the new tv with the amazing colors. It was too hot to sleep in my attic room. Mom was working out of town. Dad didn’t have as many rules. We fell asleep in the living room with the tv blaring. I was the oldest so I got the couch. The boys slept in the pallets on the floor.

I woke up deep in the night. I could hear the 700 club in the background. My nose filled with the smell of old cigars. I realized I couldn’t breath. Then I realized the hand over my mouth and nose was preventing my breath. I felt his weight and could hear his voice.

Even now, thirty years later the memory causes my heart to race. Evil and fear and in the background I heard “Praise the Lord”. He left without accomplishing his full mission but the impact was permanent. An assault on the physical self creates the beginning of a crack in the soul. The crack would grow wider and wider and I would fall deeper and deeper into it.

I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know how to string those words together. I just knew that now I was alone. I was alone and so very afraid. I wandered through the next year in a daze that blocked out everything. Somehow we moved. I left behind the back yard with its snakes and trees. I left behind the magical world. I took the night gown I had worn that night and buried it behind the asparagus plant. I buried the evil done to me with it. Buried it and moved away to a new city.

We moved into an ordinary suburban neighborhood. We moved into an ordinary house. We went to an ordinary school with no library with windows that opened into a vision-filled blue sky. For some reason, we quit going to church. I started reading. I read and I read and I read. I filled my head with the stories. I lost the path to my Jesus. I started to forget the Bible stories. I started to forget the comfort I had found in them. I read more and more about witches and vampires and dark magic.

And yet, sometimes in the deep of night, when I woke up covered in sweat with that smell in my nose, I could see my Jesus. I could see Him telling me I was His.

This is not the climax and it is not the end. This is still only the beginning. This does not define who I am or what I do. It did for awhile like it does for most victims. Trying to decide how to take the pieces and put them back together was harder than I ever imagined. Of course, what need does anyone have to imagine such a thing.

I don’t know all the theological answers to the “once saved, always saved” question but I know this-despite my every effort to separate myself from my God, He never left me. Even in the bits that follow this incident when I walked a million miles away, He never left me. The crack in my soul that swallowed me, that blocked out every other light, did not remove me from Him. What greater proof of the Word is there than the testimony of a girl who divorced God but could still feel His gentle hand in her time of greatest need. This incident was not my time of greatest need. It was just the beginning.

And, if any others who have been hurt like this feel it is, I offer this word. You are loved. There is nothing, no one who can separate you from the Love of the Father. Jesus will make you whole again. Jesus will make you pure again. This incident is not the end. It is just a step in your journey.

The Beginning part 2

Beginnings are rarely one dimensional. Beginnings tend to gather like tiny cells and once gathered divide and specialize. Like the embryo knit together in the womb-two separate pieces become one and a spark of beginning, of unity, becomes a fire of division which burns into a pile of ashes. Or, something like that.

There was a little more to the beginning. Quantum physics has realized that looking at the pieces of something tells only part of the story. The story isn’t seen in the separate bits. The story isn’t seen in the whole. The story is seen in the spaces where relationships play out, the places between the separate bits. This is where God is seen too. Like Moses glancing out of the space between the rocks to see Him. Or the times when the mystics slip between the breathes of reality and see something those bound by time never see.

That year was magic. The backyard was attached to a rock house with an attic. My room was in the attic. Up in that space, the eight track stereo didn’t bother anyone else. Up in that space, I searched the places between childish things and the mysteries of becoming a teenager. There my life was lived in space between reality.

I knew my Jesus there. He had become a good friend of mine a few years before. I went to church faithfully and prayed fervently. One day I was working in the library at school. It was a beautiful place, the second story with a broad row of windows at the perfect height. I spent hours there every day. It was a refuge from the tedium in the classes below me, these classes where everyone else had known each other for years and I was new. Not only was I new, I was a little different. (I can hear my family laugh and say “a little?”) I was ok with that. I had my attic room, my magical backyard, and my Jesus. I was good.

Anyway, it was a bright beautiful day and the sky was its normal brilliant blue that day in the library. I stood for a moment watching a cloud float by and then… Then the sky opened. The sky opened and there was my Jesus surrounded by angels with flowing robes and a million other people and creatures. I said “I’m ready Lord. Take me.” He said “No, your job isn’t finished yet. I will be back for you.” Then the noise faded away and the sky cleared and I looked around. I looked around and seeing I was still in the library I went back to shelving books.

This was the world in which I lived. A world where in the space between thoughts miracles just happened. Miracles and normal experience were as routine as day and night.

Then the beginning happened. The beginning of the snakes and pure fear. Fear that locked me inside the little kitchen with its almost antique stove. Every runner of grass looked like the snake that was coming to get me. It was coming to get me and it was bringing a million friends. I could almost hear them rustling in the asparagus, slipping through the juniper branches, hissing to each other. But nothing is ever as easy as it looks at first glance. Fear mingled with other sparks and the fire that began choked out my Jesus and my God. It choked out understanding, faith, trust, and sent love crawling under my bed. The life of fear replaced the magic life where Jesus and I had visited in the places between the minutes.

The beginning became like our new tv. I didn’t know what was so special about our new tv. Then I heard dad exclaim that the colors were so real. It dawned on me then that the other tv had been black and white. In that moment of realization, I lost the ability to see the colors on the black and white tv. The beginning became a void that swallowed the beauty that surrounded me.

The Beginning

This is the beginning-the place where things start. The most amazing things begin in this space. This is the space where now, the future, and what was all intersect. This is the sharp intake of breath the moment before the smoke covers your eyes. Not the moment when the smoke hits. That moment is the end. This is the moment when it begins.

This is the beginning of the story. It is a story that begins and ends in one breath and it is a breath that paused for years. It is the story of a road traveled daily. It is the story of love and growth and pain and joy. It is the story of one life. In all honesty it is the story of one very small life in the grand scheme of things. In all humility it is the story of one life lived in relation to a million other lives. But ultimately, it is a story of our Father’s love and salvation found in the Son.

God is found in the paradox. He is so simple. I AM. That is all that we need to understand. How though do we understand I AM? Within that simple statement are so many bits and pieces to ponder. Like the bit about creation- or even more difficult to consider-Jesus. And if we, in a moment of divine clarity, grasp a tiny bit of that concept there are a million more to consider: snakes, tornados, roses, cookies, wine, shrimp, mothers, baklava, onions…a million more to consider.

So in the paradox we find the Father. He isn’t found in the obvious but He is always present. For the beginning we can start with something easy.

I’m not sure where anyone else keeps their memories. I try to keep mine wrapped up neatly in a box off the left side of my mind. They don’t stay there. They pop out unexpectedly. Like the night I tasted strawberry ice cream and became that little girl I was sometime in years past. Other times, they refuse to even peek out of the box. I try desperately to remember an event and the memory sits stubbornly just out of reach. But there was some point to this, some point beyond memory. Ah yes, the beginning.

There was a time before I knew about snakes. I knew about Eve and her issues with serpents but I didn’t personally know about snakes. I’m not sure why I decided that snakes were awful. Maybe it was the picture in my children’s Bible. The picture of the beautiful woman and man standing beside the tree holding an apple while the snake looked straight into their eyes. Or, perhaps it was the story of the mongoose and the awful cobras.

But the beginning happened one summer day in the neighborhood with streets lined in magnolia trees. The back yard was amazing. I would step out on the concrete back steps with the swirly iron railings. On my left was a thick line of juniper trees with their brilliant lacy green leaves and complicated blue berries. To the right was an enormous pecan tree. Directly in front was a white garage that divided the front part of the yard from the back. The passage way to the back was lined with asparagus plants. They were magnificent. They were the perfect hiding place for fairies and angels. The far side of the garage was lined in blackberry bushes.
It was the in the blackberry bushes where the beginning happened. One summer day in my magical neighborhood I reached my hand into the bush to grab a berry. One quick bite before dinner and no one would ever know. As I reached in, a snake slithered through the branches and over my toes.

In that moment, I took flight. In that moment, I realized that the beauty surrounding me was tainted. It was tainted beyond any hope of reconciliation. My back yard that held so many intricate examples of God’s creation held the most horrible of all the creations. How was I supposed to step foot in that yard ever again? The rest of the summer I lurked just inside the kitchen door looking out the small window at my playground terrified that if I were to step out there the snakes would swarm.

And that was the beginning. It is a somewhat sad, almost pathetic beginning but it was the beginning. Up to that point, God was easy. God was there. God created us. God loved us. God would protect us. There was safety. Then, in that moment, all safety was removed. The terror of the unknown washed over me and held me. That though was just the beginning. The rest of the story is much happier. Well, it ends well anyway.

Time

Time.
There is a story. The Native Americans had a tradition. When someone was bit by a poison snake, they started applying medicine and treating it but they also called for someone who had survived the same kind of bite. The survivor would sit beside the person in pain and tell them “this will pass”.
Who else could tell you “this will pass” when you are writhing in pain? Who would you listen to? The survivor is sitting there beside you. You can see the scar on their leg where they were bit. If you can see outside of your own pain for a moment, you can see that the survivor is reliving his pain. You can also see that he is only reliving a memory. It is in the past. He is alive. He knows this will pass.
Time is a tricky beast. When you are the one writhing in pain, the minutes stretch into unbearable eternity. Seconds burn through your veins. Trying to see beyond the next minute requires more strength than moving a mountain. On the other side of the pain, time is easier. You don’t feel each second. You reach down and feel the smooth skin that formed the scar. The memory is close but in time, as measured by the calendar, the event is years in the past.
There is another story about Native Americans and snakes. I tell it to my girls often. There was a young girl walking through the forest on a cold winter day. A snake slid out in front of her and called “little girl help me. I’m about to die from the cold.” She looks skeptical and says “But you’re a snake”. He says “Trust me. I won’t bite you. Hold me”. She, being kind, picks him up. They walk a little way and he says “Little girl, put me next to your breast. The cold is killing me.” She says “But you’re a snake. You will bite me and I will die.” He says “I have not bitten you yet. You can trust me. I don’t want to die”. So she puts him against her chest under her dress. He rests there against her heart and warms up. They walk a little while further. Then, he bites her. She screams and falls to the ground. She says “You said you wouldn’t bite me. I took care of you.” He looks at her as he crawls away. He says “I’m a snake.”
So in time, she learns that snakes are snakes. It hurts to be bitten. If you survive, then it is your duty to walk with others. Some journeys are easier than others. All journeys though begin and end in time.

The Tower

I didn’t want to go down 3211. So many times I’ve driven down that road and encountered our God. Today I didn’t want to take a chance of encountering God. I’m mad at God. I’m mad and I don’t understand and part of me wants to run so far away that…oh wait, I can’t run away from God. So the next best thing would be to avoid His touch.
I have the defense built up. This ugly tower that is insulating me from that particular pain. It is thrown together pieces of scrap metal with nails jutting out of the corners and I’m huddled in the middle like a little girl with two skinned knees from the race she lost because she let the other girl push her down. I know all it would take to knock down the tower would be a hand outstretched in love. But I also know that if that tower comes down, the pain that has been seeping in through the cracks will come in a flood and there is a good chance it will wash me away. Oh wait, I can’t be swept away from God. His touch will hold me until the flood is over.
The first event, x, was supposed to lead to the next event, y, and together they would equal z. “Z” would be the best thing ever. X to Y =Z. I never was very good with Algebra though. Once letters got into the equations, I would always get confused. Apparently God wanted X to Y to W to M to whatever before we get to Z. I’m not even sure there is a Z now. Oh wait, I know there is a Z because there is a God and He loves us.
Now I’m back to the little girl with two skinned knees crying on the sidewalk. I don’t know how to get up because when I do the thin scabs that have barely formed will rip open and the nerves will scream. I’m crying and I’m mad and embarrassed and I don’t understand. I don’t know what to do next. If I call for help someone will know …Oh wait, God already knows and I’m not hiding from Him. I’m not hiding from Him or anyone else. I’m trying to hold together a tower that isn’t even really there. It’s just an imaginary defense.
So I turn down 3211 at the very last minute. God is not standing there resplendent. There are no angels. There aren’t even any birds. There is nothing but the road. New song starts to play “Every little that I believed would be just slips away like water…” I can feel His hand on my shoulder and the pieces of scrap metal start slipping down. X was supposed to lead to Y which should have led to Z but this is God’s equation. My job was X and I may never know what comes next. I do know that God is God and I can trust Him. That will be enough.

The Balance

She cannot resist the impulse. Walking on the edge of the curb is so easy, so innocuous. Just a quick little step and she is up. Feet bare for the summer carefully step heel to toe and instinctively the arms fly out to help hold the position. Of course, a song starts to well up and bubble out through her lips. The sky and trees and little bits of grass all reach out to hold the ballerina dancing on the curb.
Curbs are attached to streets though and this creates a problem. Streets are used by cars. Cars that are driven by people who are distracted. People too distracted perhaps to see the ballerina singing on the top of the curb carried away in the moment of sky and trees and little bits of grass.
Curbs are also attached to sidewalks. Sidewalks are innocent except for the things that are on them. Things like ant piles that house a million stinging insects. Things like the broken glass from the bottle chunked out the window. Things like the dog charged with guarding his territory. Things that cannot or will not hear the bubbling song sung to the trees.
What is at once delightful is at the same time fraught with danger. Freedom and risk mingle in the balance. The edge is the beginning and the end but mainly it is the middle. It is in the middle where balance must occur.
She does not know this. She is lost in a moment in time and space. She is balanced in a moment of joy. For this moment there is no more world around her. There is only the world of her imagination. There is only the freedom. She can feel the blue of sky on her cheek. A leap and she is the star dancer.
Danger comes now. The car driven by the woman as lost in her thoughts as the girl is lost in her music. Neither is aware of the other. The woman is speeding and the girl is swirling. The Father though is orchestrating the dance. He holds the balance. His hand grabs the girl and guides her spin to the grass. His hand gently turns the steering wheel. Neither of them are even aware that the balance has been maintained.
The girl throws her arms up and over her head. She sings one more brilliant line. A quick hop and she is on the sidewalk running home before dark falls. The woman sees the stop sign and awakes from her thoughts. She drives home.
The balance is maintained.

At the end

At the end is the beginning
At the end of our abilities, God’s abilities begin. At the end of a breath a new breath begins. I am at the end and because of the end, I can see the beginning.
The mysteries of our God wrap around the edges of understanding. They wrap around the edges and leak into comprehension. He uses the weak to confuse the strong. How does the Lord of Lords direct a million and more lives knowing just at the moment one of us recognize our deep need for guidance? Knowing the moment we cry out and knowing the answer even when we can’t find the question.
How did He conceive of such a plan as sending His own Son to be the perfect sacrifice? He despised the sacrificing of children and yet He did not even spare His own son. And then, right before there is hope of comprehending just a bit of this mystery, there is the whisper. The still voice that says, this sacrifice was not permanent. This sacrifice became the greatest victory. The victory that reaches down, grabs the dead by the hand and raises him to the place of highest honor. At then end, the beginning came.
Now, laying down to sleep in the quiet after many storms, in my bed, in my house filled with my things and my family, now laying down to sleep I feel the end of my “self”. This self that is being lifted off and away like the roof painfully separated by the wind. Yet at each layer lifted away something more wonderful is revealed. Not a piece of me that is more wonderful but a piece of Him. How is it that I should be so blessed? So blessed to lose pieces of myself that I might be clothed more and more in His righteousness.
This is my God who has overcome all evil. This is my God who loves each of us so much that at every end we find a brilliant new beginning. This is our God who every moment gives us new beginnings.

Here

I'm sitting here in the same place where days ago my pain was so intense. Just hours ago, hours and minutes and seconds ago, I couldn't breathe because every inhalation felt like betrayal. I'm sitting here and rejoicing.
Watching our Father work is better than watching the greatest chef prepare a meal. Watching the pieces come together where there was no earthly way for them to fit is more amazing than watching any chopper OCC has ever built come together in the midst of family drama. Our God is so much bigger than we can ever comprehend.
I'm sitting here in the same place where just hours ago I prayed the prayer I heard on the radio the day before things fell apart. The preacher said "When you talk to God, tell Him: you told me to do this, now tell me how to get through it." I'm not sure what else he said because all I could here was that line. Hours later I said "Lord, You told me to do this. Now tell me how to make it through." He said go.
Every step seemed more than I could possibly take. But, He said go. I took each step. I remember some of them. The ones where I told my foot "move" and He moved it because I couldn't. I prayed over and over "You said do it, help me through it". He didn't need the reminder but I did.
Today I wore mascara for the first time in a week. When I woke up this morning I knew the steps would be easier. I thought about walking on water. I thought about how some days, you step out of the boat and are swallowed by the waves. I thought about other days when you step out of the boat and stay dry for a moment. One day I will step out of the boat and fly.
I'm sitting in the place where my heart felt more pain than I thought was possible. I'm sitting here hours, minutes, and seconds away from that pain and I'm rejoicing. My Father said go and I went. He moved heaven and earth to comfort me.
And the greatest thing is, while He was comforting me He was orchestrating a million other rescues, blessings, healings,comfortings. I am only an example. He will do even more wonderful things for you. I hope I get to watch. I want to see the miracles He works in the lives of everyone.
I'm sitting here in expectation of wonder and awe praising the creator of the universe who loves us!

Holding Him

How much easier would it have been just to keep holding him? So many days I dreamed of his future, dreamed of his little crooked smile hopping off a dirt bike. I could see him throwing off the helmet in disgust and then grinning when he saw me watching him. The impish glint in his eyes giving away the pleasure he felt in being noticed. Then he would tell me all about the ride.
How much easier would it have been to just keep holding him? Late at night when it’s just the two of us and he reaches over with the big wide mouth kisses. The nights we argued for hours about his going to sleep so I would have a chance of functioning in the morning. How much easier would it be to just keep rocking him? The old recliner clicking with each push, the minutes falling over each other in sleep fog. How much easier would it be?
It’s not a question of love. It’s not easy to understand. The decision hurts as badly as any I could think of making, and yet. Yet, He says this is what we will do. In the moments when my heart is being torn through the layers of bone built to protect it, I feel His peace. When the tears fight for space in the corners of my eyes and there are no words to express how I feel, I can hear the still small voice.
In my doubt He sends a messenger. The messenger is compelled to tell me what I need to hear. The funny thing is, she has no idea what she is saying. I can see the places where she is trying to make sense of the message and I tell her it is ok. The message is heard. This is what He would have me do.
Then I think of Abraham. I see him climbing the mountain, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. I wear my sunglasses to hide the tears from my girls. Did he wear his prayer shawl pulled tight? Faith in God does not keep the tears from falling. Grief happens. It overwhelms us, wraps itself around us. When we think we’ve left it behind, it sneaks around the corners of our minds and whispers words of longing. Then the comfort comes. Sometimes the miracles are not grand rescues. Quite often the miracles come in the form of a friend’s comment that makes the next step possible.
And then there is the top of the mountain. The moment when the knife is drawn and you are waiting, begging to hear “stop”. And it doesn’t come. There is no word. No way to stop until it is done. Abraham heard it but God isn’t asking me to take a life. He’s asking me to save a life. He's telling me to step out in faith that His way is right. Sunglasses can’t hide the anguish and of course, God knows no matter how hard I try to hide.
In the middle of mourning, a glimpse of the joy peeks around the corner of my mind. I think of the mother who will get the phone call. I can almost see her face as the worker tells her “We have a baby for you”. Her mind starts racing. She calls her husband and tells him. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this is the son we have prayed for. Maybe he is the one we have waited for. Peace comes then.
We have done our job. It was such a hard job but it will soon be done. Now we start the walk down the mountain. We walk in the peace and joy of the Lord. We will miss him. We will miss his kisses, his patty cakes. We won’t ever forget that stubborn streak that drove us crazy but probably kept him alive in awful circumstances. Maybe his real parents will send us cards every once in awhile. Maybe we’ll run into him in the store. We will pray for him no matter what. One day, maybe, he’ll ask about his life and his parents will say ‘you were loved so much’. Maybe. I’ll remember holding him. Holding him in deep silent hours of the night when it’s just the two of us and he smiles that crooked smile.

She takes a pastry from the plate and sits against the wall. She tucks the stray hair back beneath her veil. The hair is slightly damp with sweat. She almost frowns and then the corners of her lips turn up and her eyes begin to water. This is the first wedding she has danced at in many, many years.
The last one was her daughter’s. Oh the girl was beautiful that day. She was so happy. It makes a mother happy to see her daughter happy. They had all danced and laughed. The marriage was good. The two of them still loved each other.
She thought longingly of her husband. He had been a good man too. It was rare though that a couple would live long together-so many diseases and accidents were visited on the people. Her people were better off than most. They at least washed on a regular basis. The Romans-they didn’t.
Ah anyway, she thinks and leans her back against the wall. It is still strange to feel the wall down the length of her back. It wasn’t so long ago that she was bent over, able only to look at her feet. The wall would have touched just her shoulder. The memory of the pain sent a shock through her. She sat up straight. Then, she smiled- a full smile this time.
Jesus! Thank God for Jesus. He saw her in the temple. He saw her bent over, miserable in pain, tired of looking at nasty toes. He saw her! He touched her and her back straightened and she looked HIM in the eyes. They said he said something to her but all she heard was the sound of heaven. Still, late at night she holds on to that little whisper of sound. Oh, to go there someday.
She can still feel where his hand touched her. Her heart jumps every time she thinks of it. Her heart jumps like a silly young girl in love but she knows it is so much more than silly young love.
She snorts a little under her breath and the smile fades. She bites into the pastry and lets the honey fill her mouth. She saw how they treated him. She saw them crucify him. They crucified her savior! She knows that he could have stopped it. She felt that rush of power and heard heaven. He could have stopped it. But he didn’t. She winces at the image in her mind.
As her back teeth grind into the pastry and the sweet honey flows from the layers she relaxes a little. They say he rose from the dead. His followers say they have seen him. They say they have eaten with him. This makes her happy. This makes sense. God could not be killed and she knows he was God. The wrinkles on her forehead spring up at that thought. He was man too. Another bite of the honey and she smiles again. It isn’t for her to understand.
All she has to understand is that because of him she can dance. The tambourines start up again. She rejoices in the strength of her legs and back. She licks the last bits of honey from her fingers and joins the dance.
In her heart, she knows he is alive. She knows that he saved her. She laughs with a heart as light as a child’s. She knows he will call her home when her time is done. Every footstep is a prayer of thanksgiving as she dances at her granddaughter’s wedding.

Love-not a good title but compelling

Love is messy. Love makes people do the strangest things.

I knew this one guy. He loved this girl. Well he thought he loved this girl but I guess somewhere deep inside he hadn’t figured out what love was so when he said he loved this girl he probably meant it but …but his meaning was slightly twisted from the original intent of the word. See he said he loved her and he wanted to be with her all the time. And she had no clue. Really, she didn’t know he “loved” her. She knew he would follow her around. Everywhere she went, she would catch a glimpse of him hiding behind something and staring at her. She didn’t think that was love. He thought about her day and night. He talked to his friends about her. The image of her grew and grew in his mind until all he could think about was her. Meanwhile, she’s living life wondering every once in awhile “why is this guy always around”. He thinks she is deliberately avoiding him. He starts to see all her actions as somehow being directed to him. “oh” he thinks, “did you see that? She moved her hair out of her eyes with her left hand. That’s how she shows she’s hiding something.” One day, she brushes her hair out of her eyes with her left hand and he loses it. He comes flying from behind the locker door, screaming at her. She’s so confused. She just looks at him. He thinks that means she hates him. That she’s having an affair. So he throws his fists in the air and screams and screams at her and she runs away. He’s standing there angry and humiliated.
There’s another man. He’s a good man. He loves his wife and children. Every day he goes to work and does what he should do. Some days he messes up. Some days he says the wrong things to his wife. Some days she hears the wrong things. But overall, he’s crazy about her and the kids. He does these amazing things every day. Besides going to work, he comes home even though home is a house full of women and children. He smiles and laughs and plays with them. He takes care of them. He makes sure they have the things they need. He even takes care of himself-and if you know most people, you know that is a very strange thing. If you ask him why, he’ll tell you it’s because of love.
I know this other person. This person was the most powerful person in the world. He was there at the creation of the world and he already knows the end. His dad said there is a very hard thing to do and you are the only who can do it. This person loved so much that he went and did that very hard thing. He became a man and lived here. This was the “here” before indoor toilets and hot showers and clean food. This was the “here” that involved dirt and heat and pain and no iced tea. He lived here as a poor man even though his father was the ruler of the universe. Even stranger than that, he allowed himself to be crucified. He allowed himself to be humiliated and beaten and ridiculed. He did all of it for love. How crazy is that? He didn’t stay dead though. He is alive now. He is alive and he still loves us so much that he changes our lives. Every day he brings us change. The kind of change that makes us better, more loving people. He causes the best changes and the changes that hurt the most.
This is crazy love. This is love that is and will be. This is love demonstrated in all its possibilities. It isn’t sneaking around and wishing. It isn’t flawed. This love doesn’t make mistakes. This kind of love is so much more than we can even think about. This love is messy-covered and washed in blood. This is God love. This is amazing.

Thank You

  Our God is magnificent. This may seem like a tiny statement. It could be a statement uttered in ignorance of any other god. In this case it isn't an empty, tiny statement. The statement rings from mountain to mountain. The stones themselves sing of His greatness.  Flowers bloom in praise of our God.  Waterfalls dance from deep within the forest to echo the angels' song.  Brothers and sisters in Christ lift their hands in every corner of the world reaching for our God.
  Some of our future brothers and sisters do not know our Lord.  Many are still striving to serve angry gods.  They are watching every move wondering which will stir their god's wrath.  Then when evil follows on evil, when every pain of life is returned without love, they cry out to another form of god. The Hindu people serve many gods and goddesses. The art of their deities is amazing and terrifying.  They say that each of the gods and goddesses are aspects of the one unnamed god force. The descriptions of the deities do not mention love.  Battle is a frequent theme but not love.
  The Greeks had a multitude of gods and goddesses.  They loved the humans but not in a pure way.  There are so few gods whose central theme is love and so many people who are searching for that love.
   The art work of our God is the sky with its stars and moon and sun. The aspects of our God are not masked as little gods with little purposes. While we cannot understand every part of our God, it is ok. We can see His love for us in the wildflowers that line the roads. We can taste His joy in cakes and bread and spices.  We can drink in the hope only He offers in the clean water and warm coffee.  Our God is the beginning and the end, the giver of all good and perfect things, He loves us. He who carved the most beautiful canyons loves us. He who designed the intricate chemicals that form life loves us.  No matter what happens in this life we rest in the joy and peace and hope that our God is with us and when we are done here, He will take us home. Thank you Lord and Father that You sent Your son to die for our sins. Thank you that Jesus defeated death through His resurrection and that through Him we can know You.  We give you praise that we do not live in uncertainty. Because You are You we live in the knowledge that we are loved.  Thank you. Now let us go and do Your will.

Beauty

    There is a color that dances in the sky on certain mornings. It is an almost orange, soft peach with pure white sparkles. I would catch that color if I could. I would catch that color and paint every surface I could reach. It is an amazing color. It is rich and soft, an explosion of downy feathers.  It is beautiful.
    The serpent is beautiful. Its movements mirror water flowing.  The scales shimmer with indescribable intricacies like diamonds and opals.  It is silent. It appears and disappears in waves through grass or under twisted metal.  Chains in my jewelry box lay carelessly dropped over one another like the snakes curled together in their dens. There is an unknown power that lies in the snake's belly. A frightening strength that rises up at will and strikes the unaware.
   Beauty is strange concept.  People can be beautiful inside or out or sometimes both. The same object can be seen as beautiful and horrible. The same words can dance with joy and sink in despair.  Beauty comes in the morning. It rises in the clouds with that certain color painted miraculously across the sky. Beauty arises and shouts for our attention. It shouts out "Rejoice! The Lord our God is the Great I AM"

Peace in the Storm

My little dude is being challenged.  All around him flies a whirlwind of talk, of whispers, of plans, and of prayers. I would say that everyone is anxious but that really isn’t the case.  I’m impatient. I want the days to fly by and the answer to be apparent. It would be wonderful if I could know what the outcome was…today! Now!  I cannot know the outcome now. It isn’t mine to know.  The others in the house are wondering too.  How can we plan our time if we don’t know where he will be? Late in the night, the tears come, only late at night though and only after the hours of silent prayer begging that God’s will be done.  It has to be God’s will because I can’t see any answer that is clean, easy, and right.

But the point was my little dude is being challenged and he has no idea.  He knows that if he is hungry, he can come over to me with his arms raised and I will feed him.  He knows that if he is mad, he can scream and I will wait until he is over it then we will move on. He knows that even in the middle of the night, he can call out to me and I will come running.  He is secure and safe in his world.

Jesus said that we are to come to Him like a child.  We are to rest in the knowledge that He is the giver of all good things and that He wants to give us good things.  This child in my house has no doubt that he will be taken care of. He starts to climb down stairs but checks to make sure one of us is close before he takes the first step. If he sees us, he knows he will be safe going down the step.

I think of David as a boy getting ready to fight Goliath. His youth may have shielded him from the knowledge of all the implications of the battle he was fighting.  Did he have to calm himself at least a little before he stepped out onto the field? When he was being dressed in Saul’s armor did he think, if they are all fussing this much there must be a reason?  Did he then talk to his friend, God, our  God?

The legal system is my giant. This morning I could almost feel its nasty breath on my shoulder as it loomed on the other end of 3211, my road that connects me to the city. I have seen the court destroy more often than I have seen it build. I have felt defeat and known first hand the sting of injustice this beast can deliver. As I turned onto 3211 and drove nearer and nearer to my battle ground I thought of all those who had prayed for us. I saw the road lined with saints and angels.  The entire road lined on both sides. If I could draw it would be a magnificent piece. Angels dressed for battle with swords at hand standing guard over saints praying on knees and face down.  Armies of believers stretched out over the new green grass- some with Bibles and some with weapons-all ready to go to battle. The vision is almost terrifying in its scope-weapons, angels, sheer numbers but instead of terror the most wonderful sense of calm. How could I fear the giant knowing so many are with me? How could I keep from telling all the believers that our God is awesome and the saints are praying?  This mighty army speaking to their friend, God, our God on behalf of children, missionaries, spouses, leaders, preachers, friends, and the people of the Amazon. The moment of fear disappears. The nasty breath of the giant that once made my blood freeze is gone and the perfume of heaven surrounds me.

The battle for my little one has been delayed. We won the first victory-the victory of time.  God will grow patience in me as the days move forward but I will rest in the knowledge that the creator of the Universe loves me and my little one and that an amazing army of believers stands with us.

Silence

The line of students and teachers stretched the length of the campus.  Side by side, an arm's width apart they stood. At first, they talked. They were cold. The wind was messing up their hair. The flags were fun to watch playing in the wind.  Then the teachers started to explain. It didn't take many words.
This man served our country. It was very uncomfortable where he was. His wife and family won't ever get to talk to him again.
Those were the only words it took. The students started to talk about war. They tried to figure out what it meant. The teachers tried to figure it out too.
Cars flew by. Some would slow down to see the kids. The boys started talking about the motorcycles. "You'll hear the motorcycles, then he'll come".  Finally, we heard the motorcycles.
The helicopter cut through the air with loud chops that caused a silence to fall on the crowd. The police cars turned the corner and the students put their hands over their hearts.  As each police car passed, the students grew more somber. The quiet wrapped around each child, each teacher, each person. Then the motorcycles. I stood on the side mixed in with the students.
Then the family. Then the...then the rest. I prayed as we stood there. I prayed for each of the participants in the procession. I prayed for each of us on the side of the road. I prayed for every soldier.
One song dominates my silent prayers. How Great Thou Art plays through almost every silent conversation with my Lord.
The children saying "When you hear the motorcycles, he's coming" echos within me.  When you hear the trumpets, he's coming. How long now until He comes? He who has conquer death is coming to rescue His children. He is coming to take us to heaven where God himself will wipe away our tears.
Do you know Him? When the trumpets sound, will you know what it means? We don't know the day or the time. I beg with one breath "take us home". With the next, I beg "don't let any perish". In His infinite wisdom, He will accomplish His plan. I will wait. Wait and remember, He is coming.

The Rock Star vs the Mom

My mind is a flurry today. Ok not just today, all week. To make it more interesting, I'm stuck at home with a sick baby. 
One of my favorite flurries today is to think about how God has worked things so that I have this particular baby at this particular time. There is no way I could have successfully helped this baby a few years ago.  My temper was too quick. My impatience was even more pronounced than it is now. I still feel like I'm on speed in a world that's chosen valium as its drug of choice. But now I know that its ok. It is ok that my mind flies off leaving me staring off into a vacuum as long as I can keep my mouth quiet.  Our family would not have been able to offer this baby his sanctuary a few years ago. Now the biggest question is how long will we be his sanctuary. How many more days until he is gone? How will he reintegrate into the other family unit? Will they be able to care for him like we do? And then I hear, God took care of him before you got him. God will take care of him all his life. I give that burden back to God and go on to think about my inner rock star.
3211 was a really long road yesterday. Everyone in the car was tired and stressed.  All the familiar twists and turns seemed to tease me with threats of hay bales or cops while my ever wandering mind lingered on thoughts of "the rock star". Somewhere beneath this veneer of quiet mom lies a rock star. She is the woman who commands the attention of everyone when she walks in the room.  She is dressed in the most shocking fashions. She says the most shocking things. She doesn't care what anyone says about her because she is "all that".
For a long time I denied her. I thought she was obnoxious and vain.  I denied her and squished her into a little ball.  She isn't all bad though. She is the essence of self confidence even if that self confidence is really God confidence. True Jesus girls don't measure themselves the way the world measures women.  Their words are shocking because the truth is shocking. The only person they are trying to impress is Jesus because he is "all that". So I will welcome back the rock star.

Layers

When you first meet someone, you see all the wonderful things about them.  Thinking back to those first encounters is amusing.  Heart racing afraid to say or do the wrong thing. Working so hard to know everything you can about them.
One of the exciting things about affairs is that they allow you to go back to that idealized time.  You can focus solely on a "perfect" person who will love you in all the ways your spouse can't.  That's what the therapists say anyway.
Over time, the reality of the person you were so enthralled with begins to show.  Layers start to flake off. The carefully ignored bad habits become too big to ignore. Of course, losing layers isn't all bad. Underneath all the layers of pretense, there is raw, true beauty. This is the beauty that lasts beyond infatuation. Most of the time the layers that hide this beauty doesn't even start to flake away until infatuation is long gone.  This is the good beauty, the beauty that lasts.
I remember the day in the little church not far from my current home. It was years ago now. I was in third grade.  Mom and dad and my brothers were all in the pew. The missionary from somewhere in South America was wrapping up his sermon.  The pianist starting playing "Just As I Am" and my heart twisted violently another direction.  All around me the sparks were flying. Rapture unknown prior to this moment washed over me and I knew beyond any shadow of any bit of doubt that Jesus wanted me and I wanted him.  It was all I could do to walk up the aisle. I wanted to run. I wanted shout. I wanted the world to know my Jesus.
Infatuation.  I told my best friend all about Jesus. Day in and day out I told her about Jesus. I wouldn't stop. I couldn't stop. I went to GAs and Sunday school and I learned everything I could. I begged the Lord to let me be a missionary.
Funny how God works. I'm still begging the Lord to let me be a missionary.
We've talked many times that I will be a much better missionary if I can sleep in the same bed with my husband and have access to really hot showers.
Whenever I eat baklava, I think about the layers. Individually the layers are yummy. Taken as a whole bite the intricate mix of honey and nuts and dough dance over my tongue and through my mouth. This is joy. The experience of all the layers mixed together, individual and intertwined, is almost an apt description of the mystery of God.

A Word for my Friend

Quick, the baby just went to sleep and the family hasn't walked in from church yet.
I've been thinking about you for hours now. Thinking about what I would tell you if I could talk as easily as I write.
I know right now you are struggling. I would love to take that struggle from you and let you have all the blessing with none of the pain.  I would love to do that but I don't think it works that way.
You know me. You know how chaotic my mind gets. You've seen me high and low.  So I'm going to just lay aside all of my disguises and just for one minute offer you encouragement.
It will be ok. I don't know how it will be ok but I know it will.  You see, you're not just my friend. You're my sister. Our Father is the King of the Universe.  He isn't a distant King that you have to make an appointment months in advance to see.  He is your Father and He loves you. He loves you like you are His favorite daughter. Not only is He the all powerful King of the Universe, He is the Creator of the Universe. He didn't just create us and then leave. He has waited and loved each of His creations all the way up to now, to YOU.
He loves you and He wants the best for you.  We cannot understand how each day that we have to, I mean get to, trudge through leads to the best but we don't have to understand. We just have to know that He is the giver of all good things.
I am praying for you. I'm praying every hour that everything turns out the way we would have it turn out.  But I'm also praying that His will be done because we are short sighted. He alone knows what is best. 
Oops, I hear the car door and the squeals of the girls. I love you. We'll walk through this together.
Good night.

Eli's Response

Servant-hood. What a strange concept we Christians have in servant-hood.  Priests are servants. They were to help people find forgiveness for their sins. To do that, they had to slaughter animals and get dirty with the blood.  I imagine how excited the priests would have to be right before it was their turn to work in the temple.  Just like a new police officer, thinking that the world would be changed because they are in the position. Time erodes that thinking.  Day after day of dealing with the evil of the world wears away at the heart.  The priests and the cops both work with the sad, the hurt, the dying, and the sick. 
  They are servants but at one time they thought they had power. Power is a beautiful thing. It shines and glimmers.  Power is also an empty thing. Once you look past all the bling, you can see the emptiness. 
Today's morning reading was a random pick since we were off on the bike.  I opened up to Samuel and read about how God called Samuel. Then I read Eli's response.  Eli was the priest who was taking care of Samuel. He was old and fat.  He knew his sons had done terrible things and he knew that at some point, God would destroy them.  So, Eli tells Samuel to tell him everything the Lord said. Samuel does. He tells Eli that the destruction was at hand.  I can see Eli clearly now. Old, fat, tired. His eyes heavy with the years. Heavy with the disappointments of life.  His beloved sons had betrayed him. They were supposed to be so much better. This child in front of him has actually heard God's voice and there was no redemption for Eli.
He hears this. Then he shrugs. "He is God. Let Him do as He thinks is best."
From all the power of the priest to the emptiness of a shrug.

Pondering the Priests

So, the last few weeks I've been finishing up Exodus and heading into Leviticus. The material isn't terribly exciting.  It is the Bible though so I try really hard to pay attention. Prior to today the subject was the Tabernacle and how to make it and decorate it.  While I was trying to pay attention, I kept thinking "hmm, almond blossoms might make a pretty tattoo...or maybe I could get alternating bells and pomegranates..." I really was trying to pay attention.
Today, I paid enough attention to catch something disturbing.  I had always imagined priests as very clean.  I imagined that since they were holy, they would be like the philosophy professors I studied under in college. They would walk around in their fancy robes, offering wise yet distant advice.
The instructions for sacrifices involve sprinkling blood all over the altar.  There are specific instructions to remove organs and wash the legs. The part that got my attention was the bird.  When they had removed the gizzard and other stuff, they were to pull it apart by the wings.  Bang!
At that point, I could smell the warmth of the bird. I could feel bones and sinews snap. The blood sticky causing the little feathers to stay on fingers.  Reaching into the poor thing to remove organs. Its life. A tiny little life, like many others in the flock, taken to repent for a sin that would no doubt be committed again.
No one but the Father would know the little creature's name.  The priest would kill it. He would carve it and yank it apart. He would follow the prescribed plan without variance.
How sad that an innocent creature would have to die.  The little girl in me screams  "no!". How much worse would it be to see a man without guilt die an even more gruesome death?  To know that his blood had to spilled to take away my sins and yet, still I sin.
The priests led the animals to the slaughter, placed the sins on their heads, and sprinkled their blood.  Our Jesus allowed himself to be led to the slaughter. He took our sins on his head. His blood continues to wash us. Because of his great love, we can call ourselves friends of the most high God.
On Valentine's day, with everyone dressed in red, I keep smelling the scent of blood. The image of priests in my mind has changed from philosophy professor to butcher. But most amazingly, my understanding of our Jesus grew a little more today.
Happy Valentine's Day

Trust

I will trust in the Lord with all my heart because He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Even though tomorrow threatens pain, I will trust in the Lord.  Whatever the new day brings, I can rest tonight because He is with me. He is with me through everything and what He allows is what should be.
Our little dude made it to his first birthday.  We first saw him when he was a week or two old.  He was tiny and yellow. Then we saw him again the day we brought him home. I keep wondering how that happened. It started with my brother coming over and saying that they took him. I think that's how it started anyway. I don't really remember. I do remember the frantic call on the back porch when the guy was trying to tell me little dude was going to be sent to some distant relative and I said no.  Michael and I grabbed my brother and after a tense meeting they handed us a baby.

Now, all I want is what is best for him. I realize I have no idea what is best for him.  I have little faith in "the agency". I have little faith in the courts. I have very little faith in his mother. I have no faith in his father. I have an amazing and growing faith in my capital F Father. 

I didn't sleep well last night. Of course I know the only reason I slept at all was because I know Jesus loves me. And, if our God is for us, whom then shall we fear?  There is no room for fear.  There is only room for trust. So, I will trust in the Lord. I will trust in the creator of the universe who did not even spare his own son. I do not know what His plan is (I would really, really like to by the way). I do know that He love me. He also loves that baby.

Tonight I will sleep and the morning will come.  The judge will do what he or she is compelled to do. I will pray for the judge and for all those in the court. Then I will rest in the peace that passes understanding and I will praise Him for himself.

Indulgence

I've heard the story of the "loaves and fishes" many, many times.  I never considered it a very good meal. I mean, once you take the miracle part out, it's fish and bread. I don't like fish very much and I can easily live without bread. I remember listening to the Sunday school teacher getting so excited about fish and bread and trying really hard to agree with her while wondering why Jesus didn't give everyone a hamburger and fries.
I had an insight about that the other night.  I was remembering right before Michael and I got married.  Althea was 4.  She didn't understand how we could get more love by adding more people to our family.  I remember sitting on her bed trying to explain that when we share love our hearts grow bigger.  She wasn't buying it.  Love seemed like a finite resource, like a pizza. If you had more people to share with, your piece got smaller.
So on the 8th anniversary of that night, I'm thinking about how our family has grown to include not only Michael and Lauren but Zoe and Vika and little Dude and whole bunch of other people.  Our home and hearts are overflowing with the noise of people we love. 
So if love isn't a pizza with a finite number of slices, what is it? That's easy. Love is loaves and fishes.  Now, I don't really like bread and fish but in Jesus' hands it was an amazing meal. (I'm imaging Long John Silver's fried fish and hush puppies with tons of malt vinegar and tartar sauce) Let's say you're the lady at the very back with three kids. Life is hard and food isn't easy to come by. You and your husband had decided to come see this Jesus.  What he's said is amazing but you didn't get breakfast and the kids are tugging on your robe asking about dinner. You see Jesus bless the food and hand baskets out to the disciples. Your husband is in the group of men up front so you know he will have plenty to eat.  You are back there wondering if there will be enough. Can you feel her stress? Was she telling herself that whatever she gets, she'll give to the kids. She can wait until she gets home.  Was she straining to see if there was enough in the basket? What a wonderful feeling of peace she felt when she looked in the basket that Peter handed her to see that it was full! There was plenty for her kids and for her! Maybe this was the first night they had eaten that well in a long time.  Her babies bellies were full. Her belly was full and Jesus was there to talk to her.  Those hunks of fish and bread were love in "the flesh". 
Through Jesus and his loaves and fishes, I know that love is an infinite resource. He will always supply enough and He will give us people with whom we can enjoy it. The indulgence I mentioned in the title is the indulgence to say what a wonderful husband He has provided for me.  I love the verse where Jesus says if even an earthly father gives you good gifts, how much better are the gifts from your heavenly Father. Michael is indeed a great gift!

Snow and Pride

I love God. I love to look back occasionally and see where His hand has guided me.
Drove down 3211 again today. It was the strangest trip down the familiar road that I've taken in 10 years.  The snow covered everything.  Inches of fluffy white hide the road from view. Michael drove very slow, which is very strange. The extra time in the blinding cold provided time for memories.
I try to remember who I was 10 years ago.  I was independent. I had learned to rely on myself because others had disappointed me so many times.  I handled all the bills, took care of car repairs, and fixed whatever needed fixing. Learning to rely on someone else seemed a risky venture.
First I started relying on God. Not completely of course because I wasn't really sure who He was.  Little by little the wall between us began to crumble.  Then Michael came on the scene. I had never met any one like him.  He came as package deal. There was a beautiful daughter with the biggest brown eyes ever, a teenage sister who talked a million miles an hour about how wonderful he was, this mother who seemed to be hiding something, and GG (she requires her own entry).
Slowly, I started to rely on them.  I learned about faith in action.  I learned that Godly people have this thing called faith that allows them to believe the most absurd things.  Then I learned that with God all things really are possible.
God has allowed trials to come that have forced me to rely on others.  He continues to chip away at the pride that covers my heart like that snow hiding 3211.  It isn't easy to hand over control. I have to remember hourly that He is way more capable than I.  But each hour I humble myself, the snow melts off my heart.  3211 was almost completely covered today.  There were faint traces of road and occasional clear patches. I really didn't have any trouble relying on Michael to drive us safely across the mess.  Years ago that would have scared me. Now, time and again he has brought us safely home. I am able to trust him and relax. How much more trustworthy is our Father? I love God

The Secret

Quiet now. See I started talking about 3211. I had put off talking about 3211 for many months now. I really don't want to go so public with so many details.  Those quiet little details that determine the direction of the rest of your life are frequently not easy to share.  But as I sit in the quiet house that familiar little tug says "its time". Time to tell more of the story of 3211.
   Illness eats away at more than one's physical self.  Constant battles to breath, or take care of your children, or to help eat away at your emotional self.  Then the medicines change the way your think and feel.  Soon, the days and nights become so challenging that without reliance on God there is no hope. Faith seems impossible sometimes, But God always finds a way.
  I had gone home to sleep for an hour or two before I ran back into town to pick up the two older girls from school and Zoe from daycare.  Without those naps, I couldn't function. Everything seemed so hopeless. I couldn't do half of what needed to be done. Just holding my arms up to drive was taking all the energy I had. I could see the sadness, fear, and anger in the eyes of my girls.  I couldn't change it. I kept trying and trying and nothing changed.  Driving down the road, the tears started falling and I started talking to God.
  The clouds seemed to open just beyond the upcoming curve. Like a beautiful painting, I could see Him sitting there in His majestic throne.  Immense, surrounded by light, regal, holy and with his arms open to me.  I saw myself running to him. He gathered me in His arms and brought me onto His lap.  Like a grandfather consoling a hurt child, He held me against His chest.  All the pain and tears poured out from me and a peace began to replace it.  In that moment, I realized how much He loves us.  The King and Creator of the Universe opening His arms to console this dirty, whiny child.
   I'm well now, Praise Him. But when the days prove harder than I can stand, I look at that curve in the road. I can see that beautiful picture and feel His arms around me.  I know then that until He calls me home I can fight through whatever pain may come. I also know that when He calls me home He will have a place for me.

3211

     The new picture was taken on a small road that cuts through miles of pasture land and creeks.  The road, 3211, has been integral in my  life for almost 10 years now.
     The first time I drove down the road, I had just run away from my old life with my 3 year old daughter, a Jeep, and very little else.  I found myself starting all over-from nothing.  Fortunately my dad had allowed me to move in with him.  That day we were going to Greenville to find a job.
     Since that first trip, I've driven on that road twice a day almost every day. I have seen coyotes running free through new plowed land, giant owls buzzing the car late at night, and all manner of wildlife living and dead.  Mornings explode in millions of colors spread across the empty sky. I've lived through hitting a hay bale with van, getting my first speeding ticket, and learning the curves on my first motorcycle.  Most importantly, I've learned so much about my Lord on 3211.
    I've never lived in one place this long.  Four years had been the max before this.  Everyday I start my prayers as I turn onto 3211.  Some days I can clearly articulate everything I want to say and at the end of the road everyone has been lifted up. Other days I can't make it through one thought.  The whole prayer flows back on itself like the curves on the road.  Going to work and going home the road provides moments to ponder the mysteries and love of our Lord.