Safety and Sleeping Beauty

    I want to protect them all. I want to build a giant fence around them and them safe beside me. Not just my girls but every child every where. Teachers have this thing in them. The thing that makes us see every child we ever interact with as "ours". We want to protect them from every harmful thing they might possibly find.  After Friday, the urge to protect is almost overwhelming. I'm sure that if we enacted just the right laws everyone would be safe. I'm sure if we came up with just the right program no one would feel the need to do such awful thing. Maybe, if we got rid of all the guns, knives, fertilizer, peanuts, etc we would be safe. Maybe if my girls and I hid in our house we could avoid all the dangers outside.
  Maybe if we destroyed all the spinning wheels in the kingdom our kids would be safe.
  Sleeping Beauty was the beloved princess who was cursed from birth. Her curse was that she would die from a prick of a spinning wheel.  So her loving parents did the only thing loving parents could do. They destroyed all the spinning wheels in the kingdom.  I can see the spinners wondering why on earth all their tools were being destroyed. After all, spinning wheels don't kill people, curses do. These people though were good followers of their king and they gave up their spinning wheels.  Everyone gave up the spinning wheels except the palace spinner. She kept hers hidden in a back room in the palace. It was hidden so deeply that she thought it would be ok. Secrets though never turn out ok and some things happen no matter how diligent you are.  Sleeping Beauty went wandering around the castle one day and saw this strange machine. She reached out and touched it.
  We are all under a curse. We will all die even if we do everything in our power to avoid it.  I think of Sleeping Beauty's parents trying so hard to make everything perfect.  Then I think of my own attempts to control the uncontrollable.  Then I think of the parents whose children are gone. I think of the parents of the children who are hurt. I think of the children who are bullied.  All this innocence lying broken all around us hurts. Tears threaten to overwhelm me. Despair looms like a deep cloud. But God.
  God moves in the midst of this cloud. God is love and love is light and despair is forced to leave.  There is a joy that transcends all this mess. There is a love that allows me to put aside my need to control things I cannot control.
  We cannot legislate safety. There will always be at least one spinning wheel hidden in the castle. We can teach love. We can show light. We can hold on to the firm assurance that God is with us.  God is with us and that is enough.

Watch This!

“Watch this” he cries in delight. The newest trick he has learned is about to be shown in its entire splendor. He has worked for hours on this trick. He has perfected the takeoff and fallen a hundred times on landing but he is sure now that it will work. The trick will work and you will be amazed.

You watch because in this moment you are not paying attention to the millions of things that are grabbing at you. You watch because this is your beloved son and you want to see what he is going to make happen. The bike has become like an extension of his body. He knows it intimately. Even though it is only a machine, it has become part of him. 

You watch the near perfect execution of the trick and cheer for him. You watch. That is all you do. You watch.

“Watch this” God cries in delight. God has worked outside of time and brought together a new possibility. A new story is unfolding and you are being allowed to watch. You watch as unlikely pieces come together across space and time. You watch as forces you would never have imagined work together and create something vastly different from all that has gone before. You see the creation of beauty and you stand awed.

I was feeling low and wondering about this new story God is writing in my life. The story is strange. This story is making my heart stretch, bend in ways I would never have imagined. This story has peeled layer after layer of protective coverings off my soul. I had placed those coverings there on purpose. They were good for the time they served but now they have to come off and with the loss of each layer more and more receptors become available. These receptors capture joy and pain.   So while the good is so much better, the awful things that happen hurt more than one could imagine.

I was feeling low and wondering about this new story. I was tired of the new story and trying to figure out how to get back to the old story.  I was tired when I heard the cry “Watch this!”  I looked up from my thoughts to see God doing something beautiful.

God who rewrote the story of Ruth was not done with the story of me. God who rewrote the story of Elizabeth was not done with the story of me. God who rewrote the story of Samson was not done with the story of me. God who rewrote the story of Jesus, even though there seemed nothing left to do, was not done with the story of me.

“For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating.” (Isaiah 65:17-18)

So in quiet adoration, I watch. I watch and I wait and I prepare for the coming of the Lord. I wait and watch to see what this new story will be. I forget for a moment who I was and think on the possibility of who I will be. 

Family Pictures

They first caught my eye this year. I’m not sure why this is the first year I noticed them. They have been there year after year. Every Christmas you see them in the most famous family portrait. Mary is kneeling by the manger and Joseph is standing over her, together they are witnessing a miracle.

Mary was young. Joseph was older. I imagine neither of them ever thought they would be chosen to be the parents of Jesus.   Their dreams were probably simple dreams. They wanted a warm house. They wanted a prosperous life. They wanted to live a comfortable life.  They thought they had everything in place to have that comfortable, normal life. Then the angel came.

The angel just dropped in on Mary one day and told her the world was about to be changed.  Mary must have been such a faithful woman. She said “ok, let it be as you have said”. She didn’t put out a fleece. She didn’t argue. She just said ok. Then, she went and lived out the “ok”.

I can imagine Joseph’s face as Mary tells him what happened. I don’t know what kind of relationship they had prior to that conversation. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe they were in love and had those long rambling conversations of new love. Maybe they just had a passing relationship, the type where conversations were kept to the point.  I don’t know. I can see this conversation going down though.

Joseph is trying to process what Mary has said. I imagine sleep came hard for him that night. Then the angel came. The angel came and explained that Mary wasn’t crazy. So they entered together into a new type of relationship. A relationship built on faith that what God said would be.

It is easy sometimes to be faithful for a minute. To grab hold of faith and stand firm knowing that in a day or two the crisis will pass. This faith journey they were on was a lifetime journey.   As Mary’s belly grew, so did the whispers. Did they run to each other or did they drift apart, Joseph blaming Mary for this problem and Mary feeling so alone? I like to think that there were days of each, days of running to each other and days of running away from each other.  There were days when the faith jar was empty. Days when Mary’s body hurt and the girls she had grown up with were rude. There were days when Joseph’s buddy said one too many “funny” comments.

Then there was the journey to Bethlehem. Mary was ready to deliver. Joseph was worried about money and the baby and Mary.  What kind of father couldn't find a decent place for this baby to be born? What kind of a husband made his wife walk 70 miles at the end of her term? What kind of a God would send an angel to mess up a life plan like this?

The night passed and the baby came.  Mary, still weak but in awe, looks at the baby and then at Joseph.  Joseph looks down at Mary. Their faith has been made flesh. It still doesn't make any sense but they feel something different in the air. God is there. God is with them. Despite their doubts, even though they had such weak faith, God chose them and God was there wrapped in swaddling clothes.

After the family picture was made, the one where they are posed in silhouette-Mary kneeling, Jesus in the manger, Joseph looking down on them- did Joseph gather the weary Mary in his arms and hold her? Did Mary cry all the tears she had held back so long? As all the fears of new parents washed over them, did they become one flesh joined forever in the miracle of this birth?

The light of the baby Jesus, the light of love wrapped them in joy. There must have been some special delight in caring for Jesus something sweeter even than the routine sweetness of a beloved child.   One day, maybe I will ask them. I will ask Mary what her day to day life was like. I will ask Joseph if he ever fully trusted Mary and the angels.

For now, I will look at the family picture and imagine the conversations between the virgin and the carpenter as they prepared for our Emmanuel. 

Defiant and Joyous

My chest is tight and breath is hard to move but move it must.  Breath cannot stay in one place. Breath is by definition an action. Breath is an in and an out. When breath stops death comes.

So in and out the breath is forced. The breath is forced as life sometimes is forced. Sometimes life is easy. Sometimes days flow with the beauty of a spring in Idaho cascading joyfully down the mountain side framed in bright green from the trees and the grass. Some days flow with the joy of a runner meeting and exceeding her goal, feet slapping the ground in a rhythm only she can hear and see.

And then there are some days-some days when the breath must be forced. Breath must be forced first through the nose and then deep into the lungs because if it was not forced deep, the breath would stay just above the lungs and do no good.  If the breath does no good, the body dies.

My chest is tight and the breath seems to hover just above my lungs. I breathe in as deep as I can, expanding my lungs all the way into my back until I can almost hear the ribs pop. I breathe as an act of defiance. I breathe as an act of worship. I will live and I will breathe and I will take joy in the day the Lord has given me, even if the day is full of pain and my chest is tight and breath is hard to move.

On the day when Jesus died, Mary’s breath did not come easy. All hope it seemed was lost to her. Her beloved child, the child of promise, the child whose birth occasioned angel decrees and visits from afar was being killed. They didn’t even have the courtesy to kill him in private. No, this death was out loud, broadcast through the neighborhood. Just like her pregnancy with the same child, this was public and her chest hurt and breath came hard and she had no choice but to stand and to breath.  Humiliated again, she stood in the crowd. Humiliated despite knowing her son was special, was beloved, was the Lord. How then would she continue to breath? Would she rush back to her home and sink in despair? A curled mass of heartbroken woman praying between sobs with none to offer her comfort.  Where were the angels now? She saw them before he came. She spoke with them and was encouraged. Where were they now and was it all just a hideous sad mistake?

Even though her chest burned, I believed she breathed. This was the woman who when told she would bear the child of God said “So be it”. She was strong enough to walk the roads with her pregnant, unwed belly. She was strong enough to obey God’s plan. She was strong enough that even in her weakest moments when she was laid out in a crumpled mass with the vision of her beloved wrapped in death, she breathed. Some days our chest is tight and breath is hard. Some days when the spirit is floating just above seemingly unwilling to enter we have to breathe deep, breathe deep and force the breath in until our ribs pop, until the hard shell that has grown around our heart breaks open.

My chest is tight and the breath is hard to move. The breath is harder to move than even my knees. My knees that refuse to bend and seek forgiveness. My head that refuses to bow because to admit my mistakes is to be weak. Then I think of Mary’s chest and the breath she took over and over again. I breathe deeper and deeper until finally the ribs pop and my knees bend and my head bows and I beg forgiveness.  And in forgiveness my breath becomes worship, my breath becomes joy just like Mary’s breath when in that moment she became light seeing her son risen again, unscarred by death. She became light when she saw that faith had been made reality.  And I, like Mary, will breathe-defiant and joyous until that day when I see faith made reality.

Not Everyone Will Like Me

Not everyone is going to like you. Some folks are not going to like you. They just aren’t and really that is more about them than it is about you. We know this. We know that it doesn’t matter sometimes how hard you fight to love. Sometimes the other person’s heart is just…well, sometimes their heart is just hardened.

I think of Saul. Saul was king of Israel. He was the boss. When he spoke, the world trembled.  But he was unhappy and his heart was hurt. He ranted and raved and sulked. Somehow a young man became the focus of his madness. David, who sat for hours in Saul’s chambers playing music to calm the madness, was a frequent target of Saul’s spear. David showed time and time again that he held no ill will toward Saul but none of those examples of love were enough for Saul. Saul never did believe that David really really loved him.

Saul’s heart was hardened against David. That is just how it was.

Some time ago I adopted a way of being. This way of being said that if someone appeared not to like me or approve of me, I would try to love them even more. This is radically different from my normal way of responding. The normal me would run scared if someone didn’t like me. I’m not easy to like for some people. I’m a little colorful and passionate and distractible. I walk in the center of a tornado full of people and books and thoughts and rants and shoes that never find their way home.

But, I thought maybe, maybe if I can somehow show these people that I love them, maybe they will be compelled to at least respond to me. If I smile, most people will smile back at me. If I join them in laughter, most people will laugh with me. If I tell them all the wonderful things I’ve noticed about them, most people will see that I am truly in love with them.

Most people will open themselves and respond.

Not everyone though is going to like me. They won’t like me even if I pray for them day after day. They won’t like me even if I’ve seen so many beautiful pieces of their heart. They won’t like me even if I smile and laugh and play with them. Some people will not like me…and that is ok.

I am called to love like Jesus loved. Jesus loved those who despised him. Jesus loved those who ridiculed him. Jesus loved those who would not smile with him. Jesus loved those who thought him a fool.

I cannot love like that in myself. The only hope I have of coming close to that kind of love is to practice deliberate kindness through the power of the Spirit.  I will continue to smile at the ones who refuse to smile at me. I will continue to lift up in prayer those who hurt me. I will forget and mess up and say awful mean things and I will beg forgiveness and I will smile at the ones who refuse to smile at me.

And not everyone will like me and that is ok.

The beginning is at hand

The beginning is at hand. Cool air sneaks in around the door with a twinge of sadness. The fall is always a time of sadness mingled with expectation. The fall is a time of promises made and promises harvested.  Tomorrow is Halloween. With Halloween begins the season of festivities.  This season is full.

Some seasons are seasons of singleness, times of going out. This season though is one of togetherness, times of gathering in warm safe places. Times of togetherness are times to remember those who are no longer with us.

My grandfather strides along the walls of my memory. Lately, I see him frequently. He is playing his guitar with one strand of hair falling down in his eye. He is sitting in his truck, cigarette dangling, hat cocked just so. He is walking across the pasture, jeans ruffled at the tops of his boots.

My nephew’s bright eyes dance along the walls of my memory. I work to remember the feel of his warm skin in my arms. His little fingers wrapped around mine as the much too old baby rocked and drank his bottle. His sly grin as he reached for the ornaments on the “no-no” tree. His joy as he reached deep into the bags to get his presents.

My grandmother sits in her chair. She is kind and makes a million pies that stretch through her backroom like a memory of a time gone long before we came.

My red headed Ukrainian daughter, who marveled at candy canes and requested crabs for Christmas, smiles at me from pictures on the computer.

They are all no longer here where I can see them and touch them. The season of remembrance and gathering together comes and I’m forced to confront the ghosts.  I miss them. I miss them and so many others.  This next few weeks will be fast. We will run from event to event and group to group.  We will sometimes embrace the cold and other times duck quickly out of the chilly wind.  We will thank God for our blessings. Somewhere during the nights we will hear that we have not done enough. We will hear that the to-do list should have been different than we made it. We will see expectations not met.

Over all of that though, we will feel the joy of being in the embrace of the ones we love. We will see the excitement of the children leaking and filling the hearts of those who almost forgot. We will hear the songs that remind us that death is not the end. Death has lost its victory because our Christ is born.  In the deep night when memories haunt us, we will know that soon we will see those we have lost. Soon, we will hold them once again.  

What is It?

Fear sneaks in and threatens to swallow the moment. The question though is not what do I fear but “what is it?” What is it that litters the ground making my bare feet step so gingerly across the room? What is it that causes my heart to beat in an unsteady rhythm like a fragile falsetto against a deep night sky? Deep breath in and then a word in explanation.

This is the fear that drives: what if, what if my Jesus was here now in human form asking me for a drink? Would I recognize him? Would I recognize the one I claim to speak to daily, hourly even? Would I recognize my Jesus in the alarming cry of a baby? Would I recognize my Jesus in the infuriating slowness of my child? Would I see my Savior or would I see only the troubles of my own annoyance?

And, if I could answer “yes” I can see him, what then?

What does it mean to know Jesus? Does it mean that I can move about in this world of deadlines and bills and real, hard awful facts wrapped in a blanket of faith?  Some take drugs to alter the mind and reach a place where the real, hard, awful facts don’t reach them. Do I take my Savior and swallow all this sadness and not feel it?

No, the feeling of it is still there and still real. The taste of it is bitter and chalky and coats the tongue. The pain is real and the Savior is real.

Think for a moment about that pain. That one pain that wrapped you, squeezed you so tight that breathing felt like knives. Then think about the moment after it was gone. Think about how the air took on a quietness that made you realize your mind was screaming just seconds before. In the pain, you couldn’t hear the screams but in their absence you realize just how loud they were. In their absence you feel the peace but the peace is deepened by the knowledge of the pain.

My friend is hurting now. I could feel her pain from across the room. I could see in her shaking leg well hidden from the rest of the room the fight that she was not winning. In reaching out to her, I had to find my strength. I had to say “yes I know your pain and now you know my secret”. My secret is that we are all the same. We all hurt. We all know what three o’clock in the morning tears feel like, even if we pretend we don’t. We all need the love that is above all loves to come in and wrap us up.

 We need our Jesus to remind us that we are beloved, to remind us that now is not forever, to remind us we are never alone. Sometimes we entertain angels unknowingly. Sometimes we don’t recognize our dearest friends. Sometimes in the midst of our hurry we miss the chance to gaze in wonder on our Lord’s face. Sometimes we hide our eyes from the pain for fear that the pain is more than we can bear but pain is real.

Pray for me today as I pray for my friend. Pray for me that I will not miss my Savior’s face. I will pray for you blessings and strength and peace.

Bridge Between Time

Time comes and time goes. Time winds itself around our days and unravels the breaths of our lives. Sitting here on the back porch of my home in August 2012, I read the words written in 1560. They are the words closest to a man’s heart. The words that describe the most intimate relationship of a man and his God. This is more tenderly written than any love letter pinned to describe the blushing love of a young heart. These words were tenderly and carefully crafted to hold infinite mystery. Like the baby Jesus held in his virgin mother’s arms, a mystery incapable of being held swaddled in dirty rags.

I see a great chasm of years. I see the picture of John Knox. I see him bent over his task of putting into words that which is indescribable but must be described. I see him there and I see me here. I, a woman, in the Texas heat reading these words. He looks up and a moment opens between the years.  What would he make of me? What would I make of him?

My God is present here and there. My God is present before the beginning and in each moment between then and the end to come. How then do I grasp this thought? One fleeting moment and time unwinds just enough to catch a glimpse of one of the saints. One fleeting moment and through the break in the sky the cloud of witnesses is seen. One fleeting moment and the dog barks and the mosquito buzzes and there is no more bridge.

The words on the page fall back into their archaic cadence. Only the glory of the one who transcends and inhabits every moment, only that bit of glory is left at the back of my eyes, an aftershock of light.  But the memory rests on the tip of my tongue, a word searched for but not found- a memory of a speck of time that did not happen but will.

Time comes and time goes. Time twists and rolls throughout hours and days. It can be held but only for a breath and then it is gone.  Time is short and our gifts are meant to be shared across the bridges

From the past

How strange to see the past decorating the present. Like rediscovered diamonds, the learning from years before shines now. Some say that our God has plan A and plan B for our lives. That our decisions change our path like the “Choose Your Own Adventure” stories I loved so much in middle school. The books would have a beginning but at decisive points the reader was give options. If you chose A, then you would go to one ending. If B, your path would wind down to another ending. So many options lay out before you. Your decisions impacted everything.  Others say that God has ordered every steps and knows the choices we will make before we make them. Our lives read like a traditional novel. The author has conceived of every twist and turn and knows the ending.

I have no idea which way our God works. Some days I want to think that God, in control of every breath has ordered everything from time before beginning to time after end. That in each choice and decision I make, my God has preordained what I will choose and the outcome will be as God desires. Then, I run into my selfish, angry self and make choices that hurt me and others.  Choices that lure me far away from the loving hand of my God and in despair I cry out “Oh Lord, come to my rescue”

I do know that our God loves us. When I look at the impact of my past on my future, I see the hand of God. How else to explain a book that impacted me in a philosophy class in 1994 coming again into my life in a church service in 2012? It could be mere coincident if all the supporting details were left unexplored. But taken in the totality of experience it is easy to see that what was begun so many years ago is being redeveloped now.

All the pain and challenges that I have walked through since that first reading have added beauty and depth to the picture it paints now. All the joy that I have felt and tasted brings fullness to each thought. Who else but a God of love could take each wandering step and bring it into a delightful tapestry capable of impacting not just one but the community of believers?  The mysteries of my God are beyond my ability to comprehend. The grace/truth continuum is enough to hold my brain hostage for months. Add in the problem of love and holiness and I’m pondering for years. But in the end it comes down to the faith of a child. It is this way because it is this way. In the end we will have answers but the answers may not matter in the face of our awesome God who will wipe away our tears and restore us to our home.

Yoda

Throughout my life I’ve pictured my inner self in different ways. One of my favorite alter egos was a black jazz singer from the late 30s. I imagined myself in a red fringe lined dress in some smoky night club singing to drown out the sorrow of a love gone wrong.  Another favorite is the warrior angel riding a white horse loping off the heads of those who dared defy my God and King. These imagined avatars are not created consciously.  They just kind of appear on the outskirts of my imagination and take on a life of their own superimposed on the much more mundane reality.

Now, the fertile field of my imagination has me in the form of Yoda.  Something has changed the warrior into the wizard. Could it just be the result of age? I’m not sure that age alone would cause such a shift. Yoda had all the power. He was so attuned to the Force that he could do anything. Yet, he chose to do very little. His focus was on the development of his relationship with the Force and the mentoring of the others.

For the last month I’ve been standing over a deep chasm, under one foot I had the certainty of the way I’ve always known. Under the other foot was a different way of conceptualizing the world. In between lies the truth.  I look at the concept of a grace/truth continuum.  Grace is fundamental to our understanding of God. Truth is fundamental to our understanding of God. Even though both are fundamental, the impact of working from one world view or the other has created chasms that separate people. These divisions keep those who love the same things far apart. Sometimes it feels like love is the X-wing fighter sinking in the swamp.

I guess the avatars tell something of who we want to be. I want to exhibit that otherworldly peace of a person who is intimately connected with something so much bigger than themselves. I want to be able to throw off all the cares of the world and do just as I am commanded-no more, no less. I want to watch as those I love become stronger, guiding them but fading deeper into the background as each day passes. I want to be the kind of person who can share whatever I have that is of value and keep only that which holds no good.  So, I imagine myself as a little old alien with no apparent value outside of a deep, abiding relationship with the greatest force imaginable.

Questions and Comfort

 Comfort is a wonderful word reminiscent of an overstuffed recliner upholstered in soft blue fabric in the middle of a warm living room filled with people who love you.  Drowsiness makes my eyes heavy as I breathe in the fragrance of the known and snuggle deeper into the word…comfort. Such peace is found in the comfortable, an understandable peace. But there is a peace that passes understanding and it is found in the questions not the comfort.

I like to think I’m nothing like the Pharisees. After all, I hang out with people the world has despised. Of course the important part of that last sentence is the use of the past tense. These folks have reconciled and been redeemed and live lives now that are beyond reproach. And, even those that haven’t yet reconciled are not that despised.

So we come to the question that comes in the middle of my comfortable chair like a cat pouncing unexpectedly into my lap. Who are the people Jesus would have gone to if He were here today? Who is the church not loving?

My long held beliefs are being challenged. There is no comfort to be found in this light glaring around me. I have despised them too. I have agreed to things that should not have been agreed to because I thought I was holier than they. I too have stood and said “Thank you, Lord that I am not like her”.  In reality, I am like her. I am beloved of the Most High God. I am a sinner saved by grace. I am the delight of my heavenly Father.

My heart aches as I remember the words I have said and the times when my silence was deafening. I see how I have failed to reach out in love to all His sheep. But then, the peace  passes understanding comes.  I see that I really am like her. I am the beloved of the Most High God. I am a sinner saved by grace. Even when  I mess up, He loves me.  He allows me to grow in understanding. He searches my heart and finds the hard places so He can soften them. He creates a comfortable place where I can question. He is the question and the comfort.

The race

  Everything hurts. There doesn't seem to be one place on my physical body that isn't filled with a dull, aching pain. How different this is from the last few days.
A few days ago, nothing hurt. A few days ago, I ran a literal race. My body, though it struggled with breath, moved through the motions and allowed my mind to wander. In my thoughts, I heard time and again that my God is amazing. That each runner in the race was unique and wonderfully made. That each runner was running the race he or she had been assigned. That each of us was on a spiritual path, each at a different point with a different lesson to learn.  During the race, my heart sang praisees.
Now, every joint aches. The memory of that race teases me and I wonder how this body with all its issues had run.
"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God" Ephesians 2:8 (NIV)
The mystery is that God provided the grace for me to run that race. He created a desire in me to try such a thing. Then, He provided a coach and an opportunity. Then, He held me as I ran. Through His great love, I did something I should not have been able to do.
And, not just me. I saw my friend who prefers to hide step boldly into the spotlight. I saw her proclaim God's love in boldness.
And, not just her. I saw a student leave behind her sorrow and dance for the Lord.
And, not just her. I saw many others walking in obedience, overcoming issues and fears, all through the grace of our Father.
But now, everything hurts. It hurts and I'm tired and there is noone here to play praise music for me. Now, I have to call on my Father's grace, not out of strength and excitement, but out of weakness and pain. Remembering that His grace is available is hard. Remembering that is is abundant seems impossible. Until...
Until in the still, small, fleeting moment, I reach outside of myself and feel His love surrounding me. Like running from lightpost to lightpost, I know my goal is to reach one of those moments and that the moment will sustain me until the next moment. And, as I reach each goal, I am able to trust that I will reach the next one. Yes, everything hurts but I know that soon it will not hurt. Soon, there will be a reprieve. Soon

The Preparing Time

“And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the LORD carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through he preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.” Acts 8:39-40.

Many people tell the story of Philip meeting the Ethiopian eunuch, explaining the scripture to him, and baptizing him. It is a good story. It starts with Philip obeying the Spirit of the Lord. Anything that starts that way has to be good right? Well, maybe right. The surprise comes when Philip is transported to Azotus. I’m pretty sure going to Azotus wasn’t on Philip’s original to-do list.

Philip seemed to be working on a thriving ministry in Samaria. Then he is called to go to the desert. Our Lord rarely gives us a reason to do what we are called to do. We are simply called to do it.

Now, I am being called to wait. I do not like being called to wait. I am a do-er by nature. My dreams are filled with action and adventure. My heart sings in a place of busyness with things to do and people to meet. The days of preparing are long and quiet.

In the stillness, doubt threatens to sneak in. Like a serpent, sliding coldly up to my ear, whispering “You are not good enough.”  I know now to call him on those lies but the tactics are many. He throws wounding dart after wounding dart and though I rebuke and speak truth, the darts threaten to worm their way into my heart.

Then, I read of Philip. His whole plan disrupted for the salvation of one eunuch. When God calls, he goes and then finds himself somewhere else entirely. This is the message of my God. We are to go, relying only on Him to make it to our destination.  We are to spread the gospel. We are to reach each person placed in our path. We are to go out as sheep among wolves, knowing that since our God is for us, none can harm us.

I am reminded of the question I ask the girls when they doubt, what is possible negative outcome. If we live, it is good. We get to continue in service and fellowship here. If we die, it is good. We get to go home.  If we are hurt, we know the pain is only temporary. We will either be healed or go home.   The preparing time is not easy or fun but it is necessary.

Evolution of the Hug

In the beginning, I didn’t hug. I was well known in fact for my reluctance to hug. Not only didn’t I hug but the idea of talking to anyone about anything that meant anything was more than I could swallow. Keeping people at arm’s length by rejecting the hugs was just a way to outwardly show the inward refusal to allow anyone to come into my inner circle.

This was my deep well, my pit where I was safe. I could see glimpses from the top-rays of sunlight dancing just outside my line of sight, just outside my grasp. Oh, how I wanted to play in that light but it was safer here in my well.

These people though did not believe in not allowing hugs. They were strange this group of people. The first time I encountered them, they were delighted to see me. A big ole scruffy guy wrapped his arms around me in an embrace with no traces of anything other than love. It was a strange sensation to be hugged without any sexual connotation involved, strange to think that I could be touched for some other reason than to provide a service or sensation to someone else.

One hug didn’t break down my wall. I was a very good skeptic, well versed in the art of looking happy while screaming inside. Time and time again though, these people embraced me. Every time, I was sure it would be the time when something wrong would happen but every time it was an embrace of love. Slowly, I found myself looking forward to those hugs. Then, I became one of the huggers.

See, in my troubled past, the enemy had perverted my love language. I feel compelled to touch people to show care and concern and I desperately need to feel the touch of others. The enemy knew this and sent people who would do terrible things. These terrible things led to me shutting down that love language. But our God is the God of restoration. He takes the broken things and makes them beautiful.

“He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.” (Job 8:21)  Thirty years of pit dwelling was reversed through the love of my Father and His followers.  Each one who embraced me without thinking of what they would gain lifted me a little higher out of that pit. Each kind smile gave me courage. Each sweet touch restored my body. As my body was restored, I started reaching out and holding others.

The enemy has come to steal and destroy. He will destroy anything he thinks will knock the believer down and render her unable to fight. Our Father though is greater than the enemy. Our Jesus came that we might have life and have it more abundantly. Through Him we are restored and in restoration we become even more beautiful than we could have been before we were hurt. This is our story, our song. This is why we can sing “It is well with my soul.”

In All Things

Every evening lately, my dad, my Zoe, and I have been walking the prayer walk. It’s a quiet time of evening followed by far ranging discussions. My mom joins our post walk talks most nights and last night was no different.

As tends to happen in conversations, we drifted on to sleep. My dad loves to sleep. My mom would love to sleep but it has been a little difficult for her to catch lately. I chimed in that I had been waking up during the night. Then Zoe says, “Don’t you pray at night?”

“Of course” I haughtily reply. I’ve been praying so long before falling asleep that it seems a little silly for an 8 year old to be accusing me of not. Each night my final thoughts are focused on the magnificence of our Lord, imaginings of Him welcoming me home, and great wrestling with puzzling concepts.  Far ranging theological ponderings dance in my mind sometimes keeping me from sleep just so I can taste the sweetness of another brilliant bit of God’s glory.

She tilts her head and looks at me like I have interrupted something important she was going to say. I’m tempted to fire off another witty comment but instead I listen.

“I pray every night that I sleep until it’s time to wake up and that I have good dreams.”

The Word says that in all things, with prayers and supplications, we are to make our needs known to the Lord, all things, even those things like a full night’s sleep.  The Lord is good and merciful and He knows we need to sleep. He also knows that we need reminders to rely on Him.

I find myself tempted to think that because I’m doing this or not doing something else that I have attained something, like leveling up in a game. The truth is that my 8 year old who fully relies on the Lord to help her sleep all night is showing an amazing degree of faith. The little boy who gave up his fish demonstrated such a faith. Faith isn’t just about the “big” things. It doesn’t just come into play when faced with major life choices or chances to overcome giants. Faith, granted to us by our Father, has to be our foundation-what wakes us up and lays us down.  The knowledge that the Father loves us and is working to benefit us has to be the driving force in our lives.

So, last night as I drifted off to sleep, I thought of my Zoe. I asked my Savior to watch over her. Then, I asked Him to forgive my arrogance. I asked forgiveness for thinking anything was beneath His ability to care about, forgiveness for thinking my prayers written in big words and complex sentences were more valuable than the words of a child. Wrapped in the joy of my Lord, I slept the whole night and had good dreams.

No One

Anxiety rises up like bile in the back of my throat. It is going to be one of those nights again; one of those nights when the fears threaten to overtake sleep.  Haven’t had many of those nights lately. They seemed to come frequently in my other life-you know, the life where I was a very important person.

It sounds funny-humiliating in its vanity-to think how important I thought I was. People depended on me every day. They were subject to my whims. My idiosyncrasies could change a pleasant day into one where things were not so pleasant. People’s jobs depended on how I felt about them. Yeah, me?!?

Time is different now. I have absolutely no influence on peoples’ jobs. There are only a handful of people who are impacted by my idiosyncrasies which are infinitely more manageable these days. I have gone from being a very important person to being …no one.

Except I’m not. Now, more than ever, I feel the burden of living differently. While my job does not impact giant numbers of people, it has great impact. As I fade further into the background, I am more and more able to reflect something so much greater than myself. The funniest part is that as much as I feel like I’m disappearing into something bigger than myself, I find that I am more me than I have ever been.  This dichotomy of Christianity keeps me busy for hours. I am the most important person in the whole universe to God and He doesn’t need me at all. I am all important and utterly unimportant. It is only through my relationship with Jesus that I become someone worth knowing. My relationship with Jesus has shown me that God, the Creator of the Universe, adores me. Because I am so loved, I am able to reach out to others and help them understand that they are the most important person in the universe.

The anxiety that threatens to rise in the back of my throat dissolves into shouts of exaltation.  Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. He will finish what He has started in me and He will give me a new heart.  And I will fade into the background. I will become one of the great cloud of witnesses-nameless but beloved beyond measure-celebrating each lost sheep’s return and each saint’s victory. Living to serve because of His great love. Freely bound to my savior.

Office Hours

Moved into my home office this morning and posted office hours outside my door.  Hard to believe this is where we are now.

A few months ago, I stayed awake long into the night trying to fix problems and solve puzzles.  I spent hours trying to make impossible things happen. Now, I spend hours talking to God. There is nothing impossible in that.

It is quiet in this new place. I can hear the fan spinning. The birds have finally quieted down from their morning worship extravaganza. It is quiet here. It is quiet and I can feel the focus shifting.

The focus is slipping off of me and it is a little strange to stand here in the dark as just someone.  The cat is unimpressed. I can’t help her get a job or gain recognition. I do have the power to feed her but she knows that if I chose not to feed her, there are several others who can handle it. 

My jobs today are not earth moving. My list is full of things like find my oldest daughter’s graduation plan and clean the bathroom. There are a few things I can do for my husband. And, of course, I’m writing.  These are all good things, not exciting things but good things.

As I watch these other doors closing, I try to be thankful for this respite. I spent so many years hurrying to get everything done and carrying such heavy burdens. Now, there are no burdens. I can focus on my God and my family.

In time, something else will come to take my focus and shift it. In time, I will apply these lessons I’m learning. In this time, though, I will enjoy the stillness. I will spend the time helping where I can. I will study and learn and support. I will trust.

Happy Birthday Zoe

Her name is Zoe Elizabeth. Her name means “Life Dedicated to God”. I’m not sure it was fair to name her like that but it seemed appropriate at the time. The name still seems right-especially the “life” part.

She burns brightly, this one. She sings with abandon and loses herself in her imagination. The worlds she roams in her mind are filled with ideas as brightly colored as her wardrobe. She lives fast and makes decisions slowly as though each decision, even those as simple as red or green, is monumental.

On the back of her daddy’s bike, she throws her arms out and screams “woooohoooo”. In the back seat of the van, she tells stories of her dreams and gets lost in the clouds.

When she prays, she isn’t afraid to tell God just how she feels even if the rest of the family is ready to eat.

She leaves a trail behind her wherever she goes. Shoes, backpacks, toys, half eaten poptarts, all things forgotten as the next idea explodes and leads her down its path.

For years her dream was to marry her grandpa and live in a polka dot house next to I 30 where her mommom would mow the grass.

She loves bacon and gummy bears. When she eats chocolate, she wears most of it on her chin.

Today is her birthday. She is 8.

Obedience

What an awful word-obedience. It means to do what you are told to do and very often you don’t want to do what you are told to do. Well, you may want to do what you are supposed to do but I rarely do. Most of the time if given a choice I would much rather do the disobedient thing at least in the moment when the decision needs to be made.

I remember one of my first run ins with this word. I was about 2. My mom was ironing something. She told me not to touch. I touched. I learned then that not obeying was a bad option. There were bunches of times after that when obeying one or the other or both of my parents was just more than I could bring myself to do. Almost every time, disobedience ended badly.

Then I grew up. I grew up and got married and realized that marriage involves this little concept called “submission”. As a wife, it is my duty to let my husband be the boss, except that, I’m not some weak willed, easy going woman. I’m accustomed to being in charge. I’m opinionated and quite certain that my opinions are the correct opinions. So, in obedience I learned to submit (okay past tense isn’t the most honest tense).

Then I lived a little longer. I started walking closer to my Jesus. My Jesus said “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62) That is where all the lessons learned before had to be applied. My hands were on the plow and for a minute there I almost looked back. I wanted to run my own way. I wanted to do just one more thing the way I wanted to but that still, small voice spoke into my hard headed ear. The voice said “what do you want more?” My soul screamed louder than my will. In that moment, I wanted Him more than anything else.

Obedience often brings tears to my eyes. They are tears of extreme pain and tears of joy. I think that soon I will be asked to be obedient again. My only hope and fervent prayer is that when asked, I will say “yes, my Lord.” I will say yes without hesitation and without looking back.

I watched one of the CMA videos yesterday and saw the pictures of men, women, and children face down in supplication, worship, and surrender before our awesome God. I remembered in that moment who we are. We are sons and daughters of the Most High God locked in a battle for the Kingdom. Our joy is complete and the battle is already won. We have only to obey the voice of our Father. 

Time

Time.  There are not many words that can be a sentence, fewer that can be a paragraph, and so very few that just in saying them you can convey an entire novel. Love is one. How many dreams have been made and unmade around that one word? Truth is another. Truth though is often convoluted, more like a music video than a novel.  But time is the one that twists and turns and stretches out and flies forward.

Time was when I held him in my arms. His tiny body twisted in rage and fear. He was terrified in the night. The dreams woke him up and he didn’t know where he was or who he was. I’m not even sure he was awake sometimes. I held him and rocked and prayed because I’m not that nice a person in the middle of the night.

Time was when the nightmares stopped and he became normal. He learned to depend on us to help him when he needed it. He learned that everything wasn’t an emergency. He learned that the world was safe and that cameras were for smiling at.

Time was when the realization came that for him to have a normal life; we had to let him go. We had to let him go. If we didn’t he would always be caught somewhere in between our world and that other nightmare world. I knew a bit of what Moses’ mother must have felt putting that basket with her precious baby in the river. Only, I was handing him off to the government and trusting that God would take care of him.

Time was when only the wind and the roar of the bike could cover the screams from my heart. Time was when God reminded me that He was in control and that I had obeyed and that the baby was safe. Time was when the hurt started to heal and scabs began to fall off revealing new skin-only slightly scarred. Time was when the phone rang and lawyer said “He needs you again”. Time was when I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving that my faith was strong enough to help.

Time was when in my morning Bible I read “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord” (Luke 1:45) Time was when I watched The Passion and wondered how Mary could have believed that what was spoken would happen. How could she when the angel had said he would reign forever and he was lying dead in her lap? Somehow, I know without understanding that whatever the outcome of this trial is, it will be ok.

I so want him to go to his new family. I want him to be happy and well and loved. I want his mom to love him even more than I do. I want him to forget this part of his life. I would love to watch him grow up. I would love to go to his birthday parties and get Christmas cards. I would give up any chance of ever seeing him again to know that he is safe and loved.

Time is when I will pray. I will pray and trust that my God’s plan will be fulfilled on earth as it is in heaven and that this little one will have the best possible life. Time is now.

Pain and Potatoes

The pain tastes as fresh today as it did a year ago. You would think after all this time healing would have left a somewhat different flavor on the wound. The only difference is how long the taste of it lingers on my tongue after I dare to try it again.
Not too long ago, you wouldn't have been able to make me taste something this hard to understand.If this pain were an unpleasant vegetable, I would have shoved it deep into a pile of other thoughts, like a child hiding her peas in the mashed potato mound, hoping that the flavor would be hidden. The flavor though always pops up and if you are trying to hide it in your mashed potatoes, you end up with nasty potatoes and an even worse aftertaste.
Another technique I've seen used is to leave the unpleasant thing on your plate and eat around it. Every bite you could enjoy is tainted by the smell of the pain waiting its turn. The juices from it run into delightful things and soon everything is unpleasant.
So now, when that plate is handed to me, steaming with freshly cooked pain I go ahead and taste it. I eat it first so that it is off my plate and all the bites that follow taste that much more joyful.
Pain is inevitable. The victory though  is already won.
I rest knowing that the outcome is decided. I know that even if I don't agree with the methodology God has already worked out the ending. This pain from the past will continue to appear on my plate. I can eat it and know that it will not cause me harm. It is only pain and, in time, it will be gone.

Green Shoe Girl

We were at the American Airlines center, Michael, the two oldest girls, one of their friends and me. We were waiting for the start of the concert. The center was filling up fast with the kids who represented our hope for the future.
She had on these green ballet shoes when she stood up to sing. At 19 you could see Jesus shining through her. My first reaction was to recoil. How could this girl sing to me about Jesus? What could she know about forgiveness? The hardness of my heart gave me pause. There was still jealousy there. After all these years that icky feeling of being judged and found wanting was still there. My teens and early 20s were anything but Jesus filled. The anger left over from earlier stuff blossomed into self-hate and depression during this time. I looked at that green shoe girl and could almost taste that bitterness.
Then, my daughter said something. I looked at her and her sister beside her. They are beautiful those two, each so different from the other and different from me at their age. I laughed at myself as I realized that the prayer I pray for them daily is to let them be like that green shoe girl. Let them grow in purity and love. Let them grow strong but not be bitter. Let them show Jesus in their thoughts and actions.
Then, I didn’t want to recoil from the girl. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to thank her for being a model for them.
Here's to the green shoe girls. May you stay strong and persevere. Know that your choices are influencing others. Your testimony is beautiful, full of light. Continue to live as you are.meant to live. I’m praying for you.
And for those of us who haven’t forgotten the sting of a misspent life, embrace the forgiveness that is given to you in Christ. We are free to walk in a new life. We are free to be the green shoe girls now.

Blessings for the moment

My hands reach out in expectation as ancient as that of a baby’s reach for its sustenance. My bones ache for the Father God who will supply all I need. He will give life and breath and satisfaction. I know this and in my inner being I reach out as if a tiny baby sobbing for care.
My hands reach out holding the sword, its blade up then lain down at His feet. The weariness that has surrounded me for days begins to fall away at this sign of surrender. My sword is given up entirely for His use. He will supply all I need for this battle, direction, command, and strength, all are His and are given according to His ration. I know this and in my inner being I reach out as if a mighty warrior pledging allegiance to his king.
This great God of ours, He supplies all our needs. I look amazed at the blessings He shares with us. Blessings not even asked for that He showers on us with delight. This time of bright sunny days and gentle warmth accented beautifully with flowers and ringing with laughter. The feeling that His love, and not just the wind, wraps itself around us as we fly through the country. Comfort in a clean bed, warm shower, and good food provided in a climate controlled building. Discernment when options that are not the best present themselves to us.
Sometimes grief comes and threatens to settle itself on our shoulders, forcing us to wear it like an itchy sweater. Grief comes and our Father seems far away. How funny we are. How inconstant. We toss about worrying when our relief is beside us. We have the source of all power, all life, hidden in our heart. No weapon formed against us-no curse, no plot, no hate-will win. Our lives are not our own. Our lives belong to the one who created everything. In His time, He will rescue us. He will save us from the fire or He will take us home. We are not meant to understand. We are meant only to trust.
We look at now and think it is eternity. It is not. Now is only now. In a moment, it will pass away. Give thanks for the blessings of this moment.

The Intersection of Blue Skies and Concrete

All day time is folding on itself. Challenges from years before come back to the front of my mind like the snake wrapped loosely around, head over tail. The favorite picture playing behind my eyes is that of me, about seven years old, riding in the back of pa’s truck. Standing, hands on the roof, hair blowing hopelessly tangled behind me, little brother with his glowing white hair and cut off shorts, laughing beside me. The country road, oak leaves covered in road dust, winding on into the soon to hot summer day. Time folding in on itself like the snake wrapped loosely around, head over tail.
Here now in this time, sunshine warm on my shoulders, wind rushing over and around my hair, blocked by the helmet, accented by the bugs smacking into my legs and arms and sometimes even my face. Companion now is Michael. My arms wrapped around him, head on his shoulder, smell of warm leather. Time folds in on itself like a wave disappearing right before hitting the shore.
I’m holding my new born baby girl and she looks at me with those eyes. I can still see them, eyes so ancient and so brand new, like she had just stepped out of eternity and into my now and my now is cold. My now is cold and empty and full of promise that I cannot see but in that moment I know there is a God and that He has allowed me to participate in His miracles.
The snake unfolds itself in a swift movement, a slither, a slide. It unfolds itself and I can see the blue sky. I can see the miracle blue sky. After days of magnificent clouds dancing their threats of storm, I see nothing but blue. A cement truck drives into my field of vision and I’m back in my grandpa’s truck, hair flying hopelessly tangled. My brother is laughing. The smell of hay and cigarette smoke surrounds us. It is a perfect summer day. The days those summers were full of miracle blue skies and concrete-days of potential. These days are full of miracle blue skies and concrete- the smell of asphalt beginning to melt. There is so much potential here.

Warrior

I am a warrior. There are days when the sword I carry is too heavy to lift. There are days when my feet scream with each forced step. Those days cause me to doubt whether or not I am fit for battle. Only the strongest should fight. Only those who are talented in strategy should lead. Only those who can overcome the constant fatigue are worthy. How much easier would it be to lay down my weapon? Could I leave it, walk away, and just live?
I feel the whisper of that voice on the back of neck. That voice that says I am not strong enough to fight. The voice that says my weaknesses will destroy not only my own chances for victory but will bring down the entire army. The warm hiss on that weak spot threatens to melt my resolve.
And then, I remember. I am a daughter of the most high God. My armor is not the stuff of this world. My strength does not come from my efforts. In that moment, the whisperer is revealed and revoked.
I am a warrior. The days when I cannot lift my sword are the days of my Father’s greatest glory. I can do nothing on my own. I am weak. I am flawed. But, I am not my own. I am my Father’s, bought with an unbearable price. The greatest secret though is that my King has already won.
I am a warrior. If I win this battle today, I will get to take up my cause again tomorrow. If I lose today, the one who destroys has not won. The destroyer can only take this body. When it is gone, then I run into the arms of my Jesus. When it is gone I am free!
This journey is full of pain and weary days. This battle rings with laughter from the joy that propels my feet even when I am exhausted. I am a warrior. My King has already won the war.

Chocolate and God

I love the story of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. If you haven’t read it or seen the movie, I strongly suggest that you do so immediately. It is a wonderful story. (The new movie is a little scarier than the original story but it is still good.)
I could write a whole blog series about the characters and how they relate to Biblical principles. I would start with Mike Teevee.
Mike Teevee is obsessed with television. He spends all day every day in front of the tv. In the movie version of the story we see Mike as a 12 year old boy with a terrible attitude. Every time Willy Wonka, the master chocolatier, describes an invention, Mike tells him why it can’t happen.
We all face that kind of negativity. Did you know we were made to be creative? We were made in the image of God and our Father is a creative God. All forms of beauty were designed by His hand. Before Him there was no form, no color, no light. He created everything. Like Him we have a motivation to create. An inner drive that compels us to try new combinations of words, colors, sounds, shapes. Those who, like Mike Teevee, squash our creativity are mean and wrong. When we, by accident or by malice, squash someone else’s creativity, we are mean.
Invention requires change. Change is scary. There was a time when I felt that I had to control everything. During that time, I could not tolerate even the thought of change. I remember being furious because the dishes were washed in the wrong order. I remember my mom being furious because the towels were folded wrong. I see examples of this all over. When we are trying to control the world, we get angry when something is different. The key is though that there is nothing within our control.
We are not in charge. God is in charge. This simple concept allows us to let go of our need for control. “Who among you by worrying can add a day to his life?” I can’t. I can’t even add a hair to my head. I can only trust that my God, who loves me enough to send His son to die and be reborn so that I can have a relationship with Him, loves me enough to take care of me. If I believe that and trust in Him, then I can be creative. I can take chances. I can reach out. I can have life and have it more abundantly. I no longer have to say “that won’t work” or “it doesn’t go that way”. I can relax and see what happens.
Innovation is a beautiful thing. Every time Mike Teevee told Mr. Wonka why something wouldn’t work, Mr. Wonka would get this strange look on his face. Then, he would look at Mike and say “You really must stop mumbling. I can’t understand you”. When you are faced with people telling you why you can’t do this or can’t do that, feel free to disregard their negativity. Listen only to see if there is some truth in what they say. If so, adapt. If not, disregard. After all, without innovation, we wouldn’t have chocolate.

Letter to a Friend

You asked a question the other day. I’m sorry it has taken so long to respond. The question wasn’t an easy one. The question cut through to the very core of belief. There is no good answer to it that will make the experience easier.
The answer of course is Jesus. I would love to tell you that all you have to do is believe in Him and all your troubles will go away. They won’t. As your faith grows though, you begin to see that some of the troubles aren’t that big after all. Those troubles fall by the side. In times of stress, you pick them back up and carry them awhile. Eventually, you begin to learn that you don’t have to do that and you are able to leave those on the road.
There are other troubles though. These troubles torment you. Last night, I would have given anything to be able to step out of this body. It doesn’t work. It hurts. One day it lets me do everything. The next day even unloading the dryer is a herculean task. Jesus and I, we had a talk about that. I cried and tried to stomp my feet and told Him it’s not fair. As He wrapped His arms around me, I caught a glimpse of His hands. I cried out “I’m sorry Lord. I forgot.” He said “I know.”
See, He has counted all the hairs on our head. Even before we were born, He knew what our days would be. He knew our successes and our failures. He knew when we would give up. He knew when we would hold tight to His hand. I don’t know how time and God work. I do know that even though He knows everything about us, He loves us so much that He died for us. He loved us so much that He conquered death and was resurrected just so we could have a relationship with Him. He sent us the Holy Spirit to guide and comfort us.
The spot you are in right now is rough. I’ve been there. The only advice I have is hold on. The beautiful thing about life is that it moves on. For everyday I’m throwing a hissy fit because I can’t do what I want to do, there is a day (or two) when everything comes easy. Hold onto the easy days. Enjoy them. Treasure them in your heart so that when the trials come you can remember the good.
Trust in the Lord your God. He created you and the rest of this mess. He loves you. He created all of this just so that He could have a relationship with you. Whatever happens remember that His plans for you are good.
Oh, and reach out to your family. Each of us loves you too. Many of us have walked your path. Others of us are walking your path with you. Together we are stronger.
When this life is over, we get to go home. Our bodies will be perfect then. Our minds will be perfect then. Our rest and joy will be complete for all of eternity. Our Jesus will take us in His arms and all this will fade away.
I love you.

Notes in case I get to go Home on the way home

I’m headed home today and I am so thankful. The last two weeks have been interesting but I miss my home and my family. I miss my routines even though they change each day. I miss my coffee talk. I miss the giggling of my girls. I miss the embrace of my husband.
Some of you out there have done this a million times. I’m going to write this and you’re going to sort of chuckle under your breath. You’re going to think I’m so far behind the learning curve. I’m almost afraid to write it.
I feel like I’ve been on a long mission trip. Until now I had never gone on a mission trip. God seems to be providing me opportunities to try out my faith in all sorts of new and inspiring ways.
This trip was to the nation’s capital. There is a strange sort of liberalism that flows through the streets here. All those concepts of nonsexist language, inclusion, and non-offensive world views are accepted as the norm. My evangelical world views are seen as extreme.
It has been interesting. I’m ready to go home though. I’m ready to quit being the most extreme person in the group.
It gets old to be in the mission field. It gets old to go out day after day aware that people are looking at you and deciding if they want what you have or if they would rather have what the younger, prettier girl beside you has to offer. Every day though, you keep going out. You go out that door and you smile. You engage them in conversation. They tell you the strangest things and you find yourself loving them. Suddenly, these strangers open up to you. The best thing happens after that. They decide they want some of what you have. You get to share!
Even though you go back to your room alone, you have this little glimmer of joy. The sweetest feeling wraps around you and you realize that the only choice you have is to continue. Every day has its own struggles. Every day has its own joy. It doesn’t matter how far you go from your “home”, your real home is wherever the Lord sends you.
I’ve got a few take aways from this experience. I just want to share them in case I go home:
1. As Christians we are blessed that we do not have to eat dessert first. One of my table mates here always ate his dessert first. He wanted to make sure he got the best thing in case he died and couldn’t enjoy it. Wow, think how lucky we are. It doesn’t matter if we get that treat here on earth or not. When we go home, we will have the most amazing experience-way better than hotel cheesecake!
2. Of all the miracles that have ever been performed, I think the most amazing one is the change in my “inner dialogue”. I was walking down the busy street in this strange city missing my family when I started listening to what I was thinking. I was thanking God for holding back the rain and telling him how confused I was about all these folks staring at me. Then I realized I had been smiling. The people were staring because I was one of the only people walking down the street smiling. (Anyway, I think that’s why they were staring. I checked my zipper. It was closed) The point is, I can remember when that inner dialogue would have been full of fear and anger and doubt instead of praise and smiles.
It has been a good trip.

Family

I’m having a strange experience here lately. I’m alone. To make it more interesting for me, not only am I alone but my technology access is limited. I’m usually ok with alone time but I’ve grown accustomed to the constant companionship of my family.
At one time, my family was small. When I married Michael, I gained his family too. Time has added members to our close knit band of redneck gypsies. That has been hard enough to come to understand and appreciate. God has added another layer to the family quilt. He has added our CMA family. This one took even longer to understand and appreciate. How could a group of people just swallow you up in love and acceptance? The answer there is Jesus (of course).
So, if for some reason I’m not with a member of the at home family, I’m almost always with a member of my CMA family. Except now.
Now I’m in Washington DC in a nice hotel room all alone. It’s quiet here. Since my technology access is limited, it’s really quiet. The majority of my time is spent in classes but the evenings are free.
Tonight I jumped in with a group of folks I have never met before yesterday. We went on an adventure in this great city. We rode the Metro and a trolley and a shuttle. We walked from the Smithsonian to the Lincoln Memorial. We saw the new Martin Luther King Jr memorial. We talked. I prayed. I wondered where the nagging fear that should be following us was.
A year or two ago I wouldn’t have been able to make that walk. The fear of…well, just about most things would have kept me firmly in my place. A year ago, I went to a taping of the Jesus film in the Marshallese Islander language and my life began a crazy twist. I saw this ordinary woman say “I said ‘God this is just another chance to trust you’.” I wanted nothing more than to be able to say that and mean it.
Michael and I were both making good money at that time. We had everything we wanted. The more I prayed to trust God as fully as that young woman, the more things got stripped away. I could recount the losses but the gains are so amazing that they don’t matter as much.
I am becoming more and more the person I am meant to be. I start conversations with strangers and care about their answers to my questions. I want nothing more than to be used of God. I rest in the full knowledge and belief that every day He is guiding me and using me. I know that this world is only a temporary work zone. I am daily greeted with reminders of His love. I am compelled to share this marvelous treasure with those I meet. I fall down and He helps me up. I succeed through His great mercy. Still I beg, Lord, use me. Lord, increase my faith until any doubt flees before it has time to take root. Lord, make me completely yours.

Do Good While There Is Still Time

“Fret not yourself because of evildoers; be not envious of wrongdoers!” (Psalms 37:1)
You see them. They walk around dressed in nice clothes with a smirk. They sit and talk and decide futures. They make choices and feel like the choices are for the good of others but in reality they don’t know what the others need. We find ourselves powerless to influence these people as they tear down those they are trying to help.
Like the woman in Walmart the other day-funny how my new employment status is increasing the amount of time I spend in Walmart . She was talking on her cell phone while her 3 year old daughter was desperately trying to get her attention. I’m not sure she even knew the little girl was there. Of course the dad who took his 15 year old son, 14 year old daughter, and his son’s pregnant girlfriend to dinner and calling the boy an idiot the whole time was the bad parent winner. Then there is our President and the bill to force insurance companies to pay for abortions-oh, I mean morning after pills. There are people making decisions that destroy others and there is no one who can stop them.
We are told not to worry about those people, those who plot evil and do evil. We are told to leave them to the LORD. He will, in His time, deal with them. Instead of spending our time and emotional energy on those who do wrong, we are instructed to “Trust in the LORD , and do good”.
Depression feeds off negative self-talk. When you fret about something, you talk about it all the time. “These people are evil. I need to do something. I can’t do anything. I don’t have any power. They will always win.” You repeat that enough and soon you don’t even want to get out of bed because you know you can’t win. That is not what we are called to do.
We are called to pray, and to trust, and to do good. When the self-talk starts, we have to change it. “These people are evil. I need to do something. No, God will take care of that. I need to pray for their salvation. Thank you LORD for helping me to change my focus.” Gradually, it becomes easier to replace the negative talk.
The Word says over and over that good will triumph over evil. “In just a little while, the wicked will be no more; though you look carefully at his place, he will not be there.” (Psalm 37:10)
In just a little while the evil doers will be gone and those who do good and trust in the LORD will be saved. We are called to run the race with perseverance. The race is not easy but those who have a relationship with Jesus will win. In just a little while, He will call us home where we will spend eternity with Him. There will be no evildoers in heaven. There will be no pain, no sadness, no unfairness. Have hope! We will make it to the end and in the end we will have the greatest comfort we could imagine. Until then, trust in the LORD and do good.

Wrap Up

We read through one of the strangest books of the Bible. It isn’t easy to read. It doesn’t make sense. The book is depressing and sad and vanity.
When I taught about Solomon in Sunday School, he was presented as wise, rich, and powerful. Since he was wise, rich, and powerful, I assumed he was happy. Wise, rich, and powerful people are always happy. Then, I found this book. These are not the writings of a happy person. These are the writings of a person who is tired. Wisdom brings pain. Riches highlight our need for something more than physical security. Power presents a host of problems that those of us without it cannot understand.
Solomon talked to God. Solomon knew there was something so much more than what he could experience. Maybe the longing we hear in this book is the expression of a man longing to be home. A taste of God would leave you dissatisfied with anything available here on earth.
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity but this vanity has been given to us by the Lord to prepare us for Himself. We are to work and love and share. We are to continue until we are called home. Depression is one of the enemies we are called to fight. The bleak outlook and feelings of despondency are not easy to overcome. Our Father though was aware that we would face this battle. He wrote us this love note, Ecclesiastes, to let us know that He knows about depression. He understands. He understands and He loves us so much that He will help us make it through these valleys and into joy.

Chapter 12-The End Is Near

Old age comes. I’ve seen it. I have watched age ravage people-from those I sat with as they died to my grandmother in law. Age comes with its pain and anger and fear. The preacher describes it beautifully. The world fades. Eyes can no longer delight in all the fine details. Ears begin to shut out the sounds around them. Legs wobble. Small things become giant annoyances. The body wears out.
Some people work hard to keep all of that from happening. They buy magic creams to keep skin supple. They buy magic dye to keep hair from turning gray. There are plastic surgeons who make fortunes reversing the signs of time. Medicines try to keep the inevitable from slowing down the fun.
But, life is full of pain and joy. All is vanity.
Depression threatens to settle in on our shoulders like the dusty blanket grandma is huddled under. It threatens but hope is found. “the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God, who gave it” Amen and Hallelujah!
Our spirit will return to the Father. He will hold us in His arms. He will tell us “Well done good and faithful servant.” We will spend eternity in His presence. The bliss the drug addict is trying to touch- that bliss is found in our Lord and we will have it for all eternity. The euphoria and connection the sex addict is trying to find is found in our Lord and we will experience it for all eternity. The light the frightened child runs to in the dark of night is found in our Lord and we will bask in it for all eternity.
The vanity of this life dissolves into nothingness when we come into communion with our Jesus. Because of Jesus we are saved. Because He loves us and died to wash away our sins, we are able to be in the presence of our Holy God and Father. Because He rose again, we can face tomorrow knowing that the end of here is the beginning of heaven.
“The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil” (v 14)
When the time of judgment is at hand, what will you say? The only answer is Jesus. Without Jesus, you cannot come into the presence of the Father. All of your sins will be shown and you will be found unclean. Jesus has paid the price for your sins and through Him, you can come to the Father.
Everything comes down to this: Life is vanity. It holds no meaning outside of your relationship with God. Will you waste what you have been given or will you “fear God and keep his commandments”?

Chapter 11- Beauty

One can find beauty in anything. Beauty seems to be hiding just behind the corner waiting for you to notice it. God placed little bits of beauty all around for us to see and remember that He is with us. He is with us in the pain. He is with us in the quiet moments of healing and the jubilant moments of worship. He is with us.
Chapter 11 starts with “Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days”. As a child hearing this verse, all I could see were the ducks coming quickly to gobble up the bread. I didn’t want to find it again after that. Time brought the meaning into focus. Bread is something good that people need. If you have good things, share them. Share them with many people. In time, the blessings will come back to you.
This chapter gathers many wise and good sayings together and weaves them into a beautiful, pain tinged fabric. Do good. Notice the weather and work with it. Think before you act because it is hard to redo. All that comes in the first four verses.
Then comes one of my favorite verses: “As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything” v 5.
I think the preacher wrote this to remind himself. He was a very wise man. He was a man who had thought through so many things. He had tried a million ways to bring meaning to this life. He didn’t get it though. After all the thought, the pleasures, the delicacies, he had to come to the same conclusion that Job came to- we are not God and we cannot understand His workings. Even in an age where scientists can manipulate embryos, we do not know how the spirit enters the body. We do not know why some people get cancer and others live in chronic pain. We do not know why.
The preacher exhorts us to work, for we do not know which seeds will take. We do not know the plan. We can take joy in the good days but we have to know that there will be days of pain. We have to know that we can enjoy life. We also have to know that there will be judgment for our sins.
Life is not an easy thing. (This is where the mournful sound of Kenny Rogers’ voice fills my head ..”You got to know hold ‘em. Know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run…And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep”) The gambler and our preacher knew the pain of life.
You know, there are a million people walking around out there today thinking the best they can hope for is a good hand of cards and a peaceful death. How sad. We have the key to a most amazing life. We know the secret to a life of joy. It is time for us to cast that bread upon the waters. We have to tell them about our Jesus. We have to tell them there is more to life than what they can see. We have to tell them that even though this life hurts, we have a healer who can heal any hurt.

Chapter 10- Medicine is not the answer

All it takes is one mistake to destroy an otherwise good life. “Dead flies make the perfumer’s ointment give off a stench” (v1) Usually though the life changing mistake is being prepared for long in advance. This chapter shows example after example of how the foolish show themselves to be foolish and how even if one is living righteously things will not necessarily move in a “good” way.
“Folly is set in many high places, and the rich sit in a low place” (v6) Watching tv is a good way to see how folly is set in many high places. Hour after hour the tv plays stories of people who are unwise. Popular shows examine sex crimes, drug use, infidelity, children who are disobedient and rude to their parents and parents who support abhorrent life styles. Then there are the ads for medicine. Hour after hour you are told that whatever illness you are facing can be cured with a magic pill. There are side effects including “fatal events” but those can be remedied with the medicine on the next commercial.
I was in the pharmacy one day. There was a woman talking with the pharmacy tech. She asked for one med. It was a high powered anti-psychotic. I wasn’t surprised because the woman had the slightly disheveled look and thrusting tongue of a person on such meds. That medicine was almost ready and the tech asked if she needed another med. This one was a powerful anti-anxiety drug. The woman said “Oh yes, but I don’t need the…” The one she didn’t need yet was a sleeping pill advertised routinely. Then she asked if her doctor had called in a refill for a pain med. I almost started crying.
I am sure the progression of her drug use was slow. She had probably had a rough start in life. When she was a young mom, she probably had a bout of depression, or illness that manifested as depression. She was prescribed a pill for it. There were side effects so she got another pill and so on. Now, she cannot function without handfuls of pills with every meal. She is trapped and thinks she is doing something good for herself.
And, even with all these pills, our society is so depressed it cannot see hope. We do not understand as much as we think we do about depression. We have found substances that seem to help for a time. The only cure for depression is the freedom found in Jesus. There is not a magic pill that will take it away. It requires a daily relationship with our Savior and work. The work is hard. The work hurts but so does depression. Sometimes, medicine can help with the work but we must remember that the medicine is not the answer.
This book, Ecclesiastes, is depressing. Over and over again we are told that life is hard. Life hurts. Life doesn’t make sense. We are told to enjoy what we have-our jobs, our spouse, our food-because those are the things we have. But we have to remember that Solomon, our preacher, did not know Jesus. If we know Jesus, we know that there is something more than this world. There is a hope that transcends all pain. There is a joy that floats in above all the pain- a joy that can take the most awful pain and soothe it. There is a light that will destroy the darkness of depression.
If you are depressed, reach out. Someone is waiting to help you. You need the support of those who love you to walk through the night. You need those who have been in that valley to help you make it to the other side. Do not walk that valley alone. It is a real and dangerous place. People do not always make it out. We are meant to be in relationship not only with our Jesus but with others who know pain. Please, please reach out. We want you to be well and will do whatever we can to help you get there.

Chapter 9 The Color Purpl

I watched the movie “The Color Purple” yesterday. It had been many years since I had watched it last. Watching now with a different world view, I was able to see some of the wonderful things that had previously been hidden. I was also able to see how easy it is to be led astray-especially if your foundation is not strong. The Color Purple shows a woman abused over and over again. Finally, she reaches the breaking point and makes a stand. After that moment, her world turns around. She decides that the only person who ever loved her had been taken away and kept from her. I wonder, if she had known Jesus, would she have felt that way. If she had really had a relationship with Christ would the bad things have been able to hold her down for so many years.
The preacher says that it doesn’t matter what we do. “Whether it is love or hate, man does not know” (v.1). We are trapped in a world where our actions mean nothing. The same things-good and bad-happen to those who sacrifice and those who do not sacrifice. I can see Alice Walker, the author of The Color Purple, saying this. It doesn’t matter. It is our job to survive and enjoy what we can enjoy where we can enjoy it. How sad is that?
The preacher is presenting a world view without Christ. He exemplifies the “No Jesus, No Peace” bumper sticker. The best he has to offer anyone is to “Enjoy life with the wife whom you love” (v 9) excellent advice but empty in the long run.
Henry David Thoreau wrote that “most men are living lives of quiet desperation”. This quote has echoed through my head countless times as I looked at the piles of meaningless days. We get up and do our appointed work. In that appointed work, we find a measure of happiness. We go home to our family. If it is a happy family, there is a pleasantness most nights but the inevitable fights and hormones happen. Then we go to bed, perhaps to dream something delightful, but really what is there in dreams except even more thin vapors than we find in the waking world. It is awful this quiet desperation. The days stretching out into months and still nothing to fill the void.
The preacher tried filling the void with so many things. He had good food, many women, entertainment, education, work, yet nothing could fill the void. Thank God, we have the missing piece-the missing peace. We can reach out to Jesus to give us the water of life which will never leave us wanting something else to drink. He is the bread of life which fills not only our hunger but all of our senses. His love infuses us and causes us to reach out, beyond ourselves. We reach out and grab on to others. We build relationships that transcend all barriers. We build friendships which give us the strength and boldness to tear down walls. The darkness of this world where the best we can hope for is to be alive fades in the pure light of heaven and we see that the best we can hope for is to know Jesus.

Chapter 8 The King's Command

The heading of this chapter is “Keep the King’s Command.” I have to step back for a minute and remember that our preacher was the king. He was the highest ranking man. Anything he wanted was given to him. Anything except contentment. Over and over again, he is crying out that life is empty. He is longing for something higher and better than himself. This is the time before the reconciliation though. This is the time before our Savior. All the preacher knows is that without God, life is not a good thing.
“For the word of the King is supreme.” (v. 4) When there is no other appeal, the King is supreme. Of course, he goes on to say that no man has power over the day of death. We see situations where it appears that one person is in total control. There are situations where it seems there is no hope because circumstances are such that there is no escape. The Father allows the wicked to go unpunished for a very long time. The preacher saw this and despaired. Evil men did evil deeds and lived long lives. There is always justice though. This justice may come on earth or it may come after death. The justice is terrifying for those who do not fear the Lord.
Then we come to one of the great questions of Christianity. Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. (v 14) How are we to reconcile this? How can a loving god allow such pain and sorrow into the world? There is no easy answer to this. There is really only faith. We have to believe that our Father loves us so much that He sent His son to die and be born again so that you and I can have a relationship with the most Holy God. The evils of this world are allowed for a little while. God will use these things to bring His beloved children into closer relationship with Him.
I recently fought a battle and lost. I had thought that because I was right and God was telling me to engage in the battle that I would win. If I have won, it is not in terms that the world can see. I have grown closer to my Father. I have learned more and more to rely on Him and to trust in His ways. I would like to say this trust extends to the point where I know that He will grant me wealth and privilege. I have a nagging feeling though. A nagging feeling that says, remember the martyrs. I did not rescue them in the way the world would understand. Many, many of them I allowed to come home to me. Coming home was their victory. I remember this and pray two things. The first thing I pray is “Dear Lord, no, I am not strong enough for that.” The second thing I pray is “As you will my loving Father. I know that you will provide the strength when I can go no longer.” I prayed a year ago that my faith would be increased. I find myself now relying on God more than I had ever dreamed possible. How much more will He grow me? How much more will He grow you?