Where do I go from here?

My Valentine Blessing

2012-02-13T10:37:00.001-06:00

My baby girl Melissa will be 30 years old tomorrow on Valentine's Day. Where has the time gone? My girls, Angela and Melissa, were my whole life for so long, and I can't imagine life without them or my sweet grandbabies (Hunter, Ty, Melanee, Rebekah and Sam).

My daughters opened my eyes to what living is all about. They made me selfless, brave, compassionate, strong, joyous beyond measure, terrified, helpless, humble, proud (of them), embarrassed, ashamed (of myself), generous, capable, curious, trusting, suspicious, amazed, and on and on. they make my life complete, they made me "Ma-ma," "Mommy," "Mom," and "Mo-THER (with eye-roll)," and I survived it all to be a better person than I ever could have been without them. Most of all they taught me about unconditional love, and when you have that love for someone you can understand the love of God. And when you realize you can never, ever protect your child from every evil and danger this world holds no matter what sacrifice you make, it brings you to your knees before the only one whose sacrifice is enough. And when that happens, life comes full circle.

I praise and thank my good and gracious God for the gift of my girls, and I thank my girls for helping me come to an understanding of the true sacrificial love and forgiveness that is my Jesus. I am blessed far beyond anything I could imagine or hope for.

Can you hear me now?

2011-08-09T17:10:00.000-05:00

Wow. I haven't blogged in a long time. I don't know why I put it off, except that I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. A lot has been happening. Life has been happening. I've been really busy. You know the drill. But a lot of things have been calling me back to this practice lately. I say "a lot of things," but it is really one thing. One voice. The voice of the Holy Spirit. From deep inside where the Spirit listens but I don't talk and it speaks but I don't listen. Today I am listening and I am trying to use my words.

This morning Jerry and I were having a conversation about listening and using words on the short drive home from the gym. As I stated above, I'm not good at either, but I was really trying. I've been praying for God to help me be a more intentional listener, communicator and "be-er" as opposed to a "do-er." As we pulled into the garage and I turned off the ignition, I turned to him and said, "I'm here, I'm talking and I'm listening." Such a simple statement, but for me, a huge statement. I think it was what I needed to say and what he needed to hear. An answered prayer? Yes, but with God is it ever that simple?

I'm reading Brian McLaren's Finding Our Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices. It's very thought provoking and I'm just three chapters in. At the end of Chapter Two it poses this question: "If your relationship with God was a marriage, how would you describe things to a marriage counselor? What would a better, happier marriage look like?" I suppose I could take issue with the fact that they seem to assume my relationship needs to be better or happier, if it were not true. Unfortunately, I have to face my responsibility on both counts. I love my husband very much, but I am not a good, intentional communicator. I get antsy when the discussion is about something I can't fix or solve, or if I realize the dryer has stopped and I need to get the clothes out before they get wrinkled and...what were you saying? So what would I say would make a better, happier marriage, in reality as well as representative of my relationship with God? It is that I be a better listener, a committed listener, a focused, deliberate communicator. I have to show up, be present and listen attentively, ignoring all the stuff the world would put in the way. I'm here, I'm listening and I'm sharing my thoughts. In that order.

Thank you Holy Spirit for your never-ending inspiration and patience when I have the attention span of a gnat. Help me to stay tuned into your still small voice and control my impulse to drift in and out of awareness. Oh, and thank you for my sweet husband and I ask continued blessing on our relationship too. In Christ's Holy Name, amen.

Still searching for significance?

2011-03-03T12:29:00.000-06:00

I've decided I want to try and pick my journaling back up during Lent this year, but why wait for March 9th to roll around?

Last night in our First Place 4 Health group, we were talking about the Psalms and some of the verses we enjoyed were the ones that remind us to "be still" or "wait," to just be in God's presence, to know his goodness and trust in his grace. We talked about how hard that must have been for the Psalmists, but perhaps even harder for us today. We live in a world accustomed to instant gratification and instant communication, and waiting is not high on our list of things to do. For instance, when we think of searching today, what pops into mind for many of us is an Internet search. Need to find or research something? Just "Google" it. Some people seem to think the Internet can answer any question or fulfill any search. But what if you have a need that you can't easily define or put a name to? What if you just know there is something missing? How do you search for something when you don't know what that something is?

We are created with a need for relationship with our creator. We have an innate desire to know where we came from and why we exist. What makes me, my life, significant? I can't imagine how someone would go about satisfying those needs if they have no knowledge of or belief in God. I think it would be incredibly sad to have no sense of significance greater than your own ego and the world around you could provide. What would life be like if we never asked a question deeper than the Internet could answer?

In my 20's and 30's I was in a Sunday School Class called "The Searchers." What were we searching for? For me it was significance as a Christians in my world. Significance as a spouse, parent, daughter, sister, friend, church member, but mostly, significance to the one who created me. All the roles we are given are important, but the most important relationship, the one that gives our entire life real, lasting meaning and significance is the relationship we have with our Creator. We don't get that by just knowing about him or even believing in him. We get that by loving him and being loved by him. We get that by trusting completely in his will for our life. We get that by surrendering all that we are and ever hope to be to his glory. We get that by allowing his grace to pour into us, washing our sins away and using us to channel his light, his love and his significance to a world searching for wholeness.

Help us, good and gracious God, when our hearts are restless and we search for significance through our own efforts, to remember to be still and wait for you to meet our every need through your abundant grace.

Favorite Psalms on waiting for God

Waiting on God, Part 4 - surgical waiting area

2010-09-17T16:22:00.000-05:00

I made it. I arrived while Hunter was still in surgery (7 hours!) but they were closing him up and it wasn't long before one of the surgical team came out, telling Angie and Tommy he was in recovery and responsive but would be in there for awhile. When the doctor talked to them, he felt pretty certain he had gotten all the tumor but they would do an MRI the next day to be sure. Everything had gone very well and he didn't think there had been any damage to brain tissue. What wonderful news! Of course the pathology report wouldn't be back for almost a week, but we had reason to be more than "cautiously" optimistic. Everyone was hugging each other, relief and joy written all over the faces that an hour earlier had been tight with worry. The once tired smiles of encouragement for the anxious parents were now truly shining with light and laughter.

The most critical part was over, and several of those who had been waiting with Angie and Tommy for hours left the surgical waiting area and headed home, many with a two to three hour drive ahead of them. Where there had been standing room only when I arrived, we were now able to all find seats. The tension had lessened and everyone was more relaxed. Angie and Tommy hadn't had much sleep for a couple of nights and were exhausted but happy. Angie said, "I feel like I could just close my eyes and fall asleep right here, but I can't just yet. I can't wait to see him! They said they didn't shave his head, just the area where they made the incision." "Oh that will make Hunter happy!" I laughed, "He'll still have his 'Bieber' hair." Thinking about Hunter and his preoccupation with emulating the latest teen sensation, Justin Bieber, made me smile. It was nice to suddenly be thinking about the normal concerns of a ten-year-old. Thank you Lord, for bringing us through the anxious hours of waiting in limbo, back to this new appreciation of everyday life.

After another couple of hours in the surgical waiting area, they wheeled Hunter out on their way to the Pediatric ICU (PICU). They stopped and let Angie and Tommy come see him. To my relief, they let a few of the rest of us come and see him too. He wasn't really awake but he did respond a little bit, enough to show us he knew we were there. "Hey Buddy, it's Gram. I got here before you got out of surgery and I've been waiting here with Mama and Daddy. I love you and Pop and Lissa send their love too. They'll be here tomorrow." I don't know if he heard me or if he remembers that I was there, but I am forever grateful that I was. Angie and Tommy went up in the elevator with Hunter and those of us who were staying followed after gathering up all our things. The doctor had said Hunter would be in the PICU for at least 24 hours, then they would move him back to the Neurology Department as soon as a bed was available. For now we would be camping out in the PICU waiting area. They had strict visiting hours and rules, and of course there was no privacy anywhere, but it was all for the benefit of the patients. I was very tired, but for the first time that day, I felt like I was where I belonged.

Good and gracious God, I praise your holy Name and and thank you for answering our prayers for a quick diagnosis and resolution for Hunter. Thank you for the skilled and compassionate medical staff who continue to care for our boy. Thank you for all the people who have been lifting this family up in prayer and being here to support them. Lord, you know too well the pain of watching your child suffer and I imagine it brings you great joy and satisfaction to grant healing. I also know that sometimes your answer to our prayers is not the physical healing we seek, but the strength and faith to see us through an illness, whatever the outcome. Father, I don't know what your plan is for Hunter's life, but I know you have one. I pray that we will further him along on your path to that plan, guiding him as you would have us do, and teaching him the truth of your Word. In Christ's Name, Amen.

Waiting on God, Part 3 - reaching the hospital

2010-09-06T17:25:00.000-05:00

Compared to DFW or even Love Field, the Birmingham, Alabama Airport isn't very big, but to me the corridor seemed awfully long as I headed toward the exit to the baggage claim area. Nearing the escalator I heard someone call my name. Looking around, I expected to see my brother Nat or sister-in-law Angel; so it took me a moment to register a familiar but unexpected face. Marty Hoven, family friend, gave me a big hug and said he was there to get me to the hospital. He asked if I had any bags and when I said yes he looked concerned and said "I hope it's not very big cause I'm in a two-seater." I was more worried about whether or not my bag would be on the plane since I had changed flights.

We got to the claim area and checked to see if any unclaimed bags were left from the previous flight. No, but that was good because it meant they had likely been put on the next flight to Birmingham, which should be this one. So we waited. Again, I did not, could not, wait patiently. To make matters worse, my phone was dead and I couldn't call Angie. I was glad Marty was so calm because I was on the verge of panic. After what seemed like forever, but was surely no more than fifteen minutes or so the luggage from flight 984 began sliding through the curtain. I watched anxiously as the bags slid by me. Marty waited anxiously to see how big a bag I had. It seemed everyone else in the claim area had gotten their bag when mine finally came through the line. I hauled it off the belt and we headed out, Marty sizing it up as we walked. We stepped out of the airport into a sky heavy with dark clouds and air thick with humidity. After getting off on the wrong level the first time, we finally made it to Marty's little red Mazda Miata. His concern was well-placed, but just as everything else in my life falls into place when I place my trust in Jesus, my bag fit into the trunk like a glove.

As I settled into the car, I looked at my watch for what must have been the millionth time that day. It was about 4:30. It had been six hours since Hunter had gone into surgery to remove the tumor from his brain. Would I make it there before he woke up? It was raining steadily as we exited the parking deck and headed out to the freeway. Being in a small car, in five o'clock traffic in the rain, I was glad Marty was a cautious driver. As badly as I wanted to reach the hospital quickly, I still had enough presence of mind to know it was more important to get there safely. We chatted some, but I mostly looked out at the gray, gloomy weather. "Thank you Lord for getting me here. Thank you for Marty and his little red car. Get us to the hospital safely Father and help me to stay calm. I trust you Jesus, but please, no more delays!"

Finally we reached Children's hospital. As we took the crosswalk from the parking deck I tried to remember the last time I had been there. It must have been when Lissa had her tonsils out. After thirteen years I knew a lot of things had changed, but it all seemed strangely familiar. We got to the the waiting area where Marty had left Angie and Tommy, but it was locked. Just as he was trying to call them, Tommy's niece Brittany showed up to lead us through the maze of hallways to the surgical waiting area. I cannot describe how relieved I was to finally see my daughter. I didn't even put down my bags, I just hugged her. Not too long, because neither of us wanted to start crying, but long enough. I looked around at all the many faces of family and friends. So many people there to support Hunter and Angie and Tommy. So much love. So much faith. Faith in each other, faith in the doctors and medical staff, faith in the hospital. Mostly though, in the face of so much uncertainty, faith in a God of awesome power and incomprehensible mercy. Alone, we can never love enough, believe enough, be strong enough, be skilled enough, or care enough. But when we put our faith in a God like this, whose love and faithfulness and power and wisdom and compassion and grace are so much more than we can comprehend, it will always be enough to see us through. We trust you Jesus to always be with us wherever we are, so we are always in your presence, right where we are supposed to be.

Waiting on God, Part 2 - on the plane

2010-08-31T18:27:00.000-05:00

After two hours of sitting we finally started boarding flight 984 to Birmingham. I was in the last group to get on the plane and I heard the flight attendant tell a passenger ahead of me, "We're almost at capacity so I suggest you take the first empty seat you see." I followed her suggestion and chose a middle seat on the second row to my right thinking, as I stuffed my tote in the overhead compartment, I should be able to get off the plane faster. My "neighbors" didn't seem too interested in chatting but that was okay. I knew if I had to talk about my reason for traveling I would get emotional. I looked at my watch, 1:30, Hunter had been in surgery for three hours. Angie said they would text her updates every so often, so I called her before turning my phone off.

"Any word yet?" "They've started the procedure and they're through the scalp but haven't cut through the skull yet." How could we be talking about my grandson? My daughter echoed my thoughts almost exactly, " I can't believe my child is having brain surgery. He's the one who is supposed to be performing brain surgery one day." Silence. Then, "But they said he's doing fine." I was trying hard to control my voice, "We're on the plane and we should be taking off any minute. I'll be arriving at the airport at 3:10." "Okay, I'll get someone to pick you up." I swallowed, "I'll be praying and I should be there before he's out of surgery. I love you." "I know and I love you too."

As I turned off my phone I took a deep breath and prayed for Hunter, for the doctors and surgical staff, for Angie, Tommy and everyone else waiting with them. Then I settled in as the plane started to taxi away from the gate. I got my book out - Three Cups of Tea - and tried to focus on reading. The plane came to a stop, engines whirring, waiting for takeoff. But we didn't take off. Instead, the Captain's voice over the speaker announced that takeoff would be delayed 20-30 minutes because of weather. Up and down the plane, people were looking out at an almost cloudless blue sky and the waves of triple digit Texas heat rising from the tarmac. "There are pockets of severe thunderstorms over Mississippi and they're causing other flights to be redirected so the airways are not clear. We have to wait for a route to open up and that could take a half an hour. We will take off as soon as we get the okay. Until then we'll shut one of the engines down to reserve fuel. We apologize for the inconvenience."

"Inconvenience?" Not even close. Try "insane, gut-wrenching frustration." "Lord Jesus, what is going on here?" I looked at my watch. At this rate we wouldn't be there before 3:30 at the earliest, then it would be at least another half hour to the hospital from the airport, depending on who picked me up. "Oh God, I promised Hunter I would be there when he wakes up. I know that sounds like such a little thing, but it gives me something to cling to. Please don't take that away from me." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. I leaned down and dug a tissue out of my purse. I dabbed my face and wiped my nose as the man to my right calmly looked over, smiled and shrugged, "It's always something isn't it?" I did my best to return his smile and shrug, nodding in agreement. The woman to my left seemed a little annoyed but didn't say anything.

I'm not claustrophobic but I suddenly felt like the plane was closing in around me. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, and found myself reciting the Pilgrim's prayer we learn through Via de Cristo: "Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in us the fire of your love." It's meant to be said in unison, but it was working for me. "Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth." I could feel all the other people who were praying for Hunter and for me. "Oh God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit, instructs the hearts of the faithful," I trust you Jesus, that I am where you want me to be. "grant that by that same Holy Spirit I may be truly wise and ever rejoice in his consolations. Through Christ our Lord, Amen." Amen. Thank you Jesus for the gift of prayer, for the gift of your Holy Spirit, for the gift of your ever-sufficient grace.

I wish I could say I waited peacefully and patiently for the next twenty minutes or so until the plane took off, but I didn't. I texted Angie to let her know we were running late, not wanting to risk hearing her voice again. I still looked at my watch every few minutes and had to keep wiping tears away occasionally. I kept up my "I trust you Jesus" prayer litany until finally we were in the air. I still looked at my watch frequently, but I was able to read for a little while. Then, as we got closer I was thinking more and more of Hunter and of Angie. Knowing she couldn't reach me for an hour and a half made me anxious. For the first time I understood why some people become so addicted to electronic communication devices. In crisis they become our lifeline.

We landed in Birmingham at about 3:30. As I waited impatiently to get off the plane, they announced that anyone continuing to Nashville should stay seated until the rest of the passengers deplaned. The man to my right stretched and smiled again, not moving. He asked me, "So, where are you headed?" I started gathering my things, "Here, Birmingham, and you?" Still not moving, "Nashville. Do you have family here in Birmingham?" People were filing up from the back of the plane, already lined up to the door which was still closed. Why was he just sitting there, chatting amiably? I tried to keep my voice calm, but I could feel my composure melting, "My grandson is in surgery to remove a brain tumor right now at Children's Hospital." His expression changed as he suddenly recognized my distress, "I'm sorry to hear that, and I hope everything will be okay." I was losing it again as I said to myself as much as to him, "I just have to get there before he wakes up." As I looked at the line of people anxiously, he stood up and stepped out into the aisle, creating a space. I mumbled my thanks as I squeezed into the aisle. I reached into the overhead bin for my tote, but there were other items in the way. I started pulling them out and handing them down to the people in the seats around me. I had just reached my tote and was about to pull it down and head toward the now open exit when I heard the lady against the window in the front row say something about a walking stick.

Until then I had been removing items because they were standing between me and a hasty exit. But I remembered seeing this physically challenged lady in the airport. I could see the stick, but there were bags in the way. So as people were filing past me to get out the door, I kept pulling the bags out and passing them down. I reached her stick, stepped down and handed it to her. She thanked me and smiled. I smiled back, "You're welcome." I turned back toward the door where the flight attendant was smiling too, "That was nice of you." I smiled back, "Thanks." As I walked down the ramp, I knew that small act of kindness was more for me than for anyone else. I needed that moment of "doing." A window God opened for me, however brief, in the middle of my struggle to focus on someone else's need. He knows my heart better than I know it myself. In the midst of all the prayers I had been bombarding him with all day, he had answered one I didn't even know I was crying out for. That is a God I can trust. Now if he can only arrange for my suitcase to be at baggage claim...

Waiting on God, Part 1- at the Airport

2010-08-24T16:55:00.000-05:00

My last post was about an amazing, emotion-filled weekend at Via de Cristo, where I was a Food Cha and was running around "doing" the whole time. Well, this weekend was another amazing and emotion-filled weekend, but this time it was spent mostly at Children's Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama, where I could only sit with family and friends, waiting and praying and "being." Doctors had discovered Tuesday afternoon (8/17/10) that our 10 year old grandson Hunter had a large mass at the base of his brain and Angie (our daughter) called Wednesday morning to say they were prepping him for surgery. We thought they were going to do the surgery later in the week, so I began scrambling to get a plane ticket on the earliest flight I thought I could make. Jerry would drive out with our other daughter, Melissa, on Thursday.

I couldn't believe my grandson was going into surgery on his brain and I wasn't there to see him and tell him how much I love him. I told Angie, "Tell him I'll be there when he wakes up." We were told the surgery would take between 5 and 7 hours. I hastily packed a bag and called a friend who graciously agreed to get me to the airport. I was so nervous and anxious, it was an enormous relief not to have to drive too! We got to Love Field in Dallas, but my heart sank when I saw the baggage check lines. Why hadn't I just packed a carry-on and let Jerry bring the rest of my things? Too late to worry about that now. I was here, and if I was meant to be on that plane God would make it happen. So I waited and I prayed. I wanted to be on that plane with every fiber of my being, but as the minutes passed I knew it wasn't going to happen. But I kept praying. "Lord, I know you can make it happen. I know the flight can be delayed. I trust you. If I'm meant to be on that plane, it will be there when I get through the security check." Oh yeah, and I cried. Especially when I got a text from Angie, "Hunter told the nurse he wishes you were here." Biting my lip until it was sore, big, helpless, silent tears slid down my face. "I trust you Jesus, I put all my faith in you. Please get me on that plane. Please be with Hunter and his Mom and Dad. It's in your hands Lord, it's in your hands. Lord I want to be on that plane." Finally I was through the line, "Where is Gate 8?" To the right, but it's too far. I'm nervously and as quickly as possible, making my way through the airport crowd. "I trust you Jesus." I see it. I also see that nobody is at the desk and only a couple of people are sitting in the section. The plane, I look for the plane. It's not there. I'm trying to hold it together and I look around for someone to confirm what I already know. I missed the plane. I asked the desk attendant at Gate 9. Yes, it left about 15 minutes ago. I'm still trying to hold it together as I turn to walk away, "Okay Lord, I'm here and now I really need your help. I have to get on a plane." The attendant says "There will be someone back at Gate 8 soon because they have another flight leaving. Where did you say you were going?" I turned back, swallowed hard and took a deep breath, "I have to get to Birmingham, when is the next flight?" I'm sure I looked as desperate and upset as I felt. She looked up the flight, "There's another flight leaving from Gate 8 at 1:30." Two and half hours! How was I going to sit there for that long, knowing Hunter would be in surgery and I wasn't there with Angie and Tommy. "But it's a non-stop so it will land at 3:10." My other flight had had a connection and wasn't due to land until 2:45. "Can you get me on that flight?" She checked, yes there were seats available. "I can't but as soon as the attendant comes back to Gate 8 they should be able to transfer your ticket for you."

Two and a half hours to wait. What would I do for two hours? Plenty. I prayed, asking Christ for peace to wait and breath and be. I texted Angie, I wrote in my journal, I checked and updated my FB, I sent out an email update on Hunter to my prayer warrior friends, I read some of my book, and I took care of some personal business on my smart phone, thinking to myself, "Maybe over the next few days I'll learn how to use this thing a little better." As I sat there, just as I have so many times in my life, I thought about God's grace and his plans for me. "Okay God, I know I have been running like crazy for the last few hours. I get it now. You want me to stop running and turn to you, to give you my undivided attention, to stop doing and just be in your presence. Here I am, Lord. Send me, don't send me. Whatever you do with me, hold me close, and keep Hunter and all of us who love him in your arms. I trust you Jesus."

A Stitch in Time

2010-08-09T15:48:00.000-05:00

I returned home last night from being a staff person on a Via de Cristo weekend. It's a 3-day spiritual renewal or awakening of a life in Christ. Jerry and I were participants on Weekend 70 in 2006. You can only be a participant once, and it is an amazing journey! The cool thing is that coming back and staffing on weekends is just as amazing. The dynamics and the chemistry between the staff and participants is always different. It's always so exciting to see how God will take all of these lives and weave them together into something beautiful in just three days.

In just three days, someone who felt lost and alone in their pain has found healing and a family in Christ. In just three days, someone who was blind to the love around them and inside of them is now able to see it, embrace it and share it. In just three days, someone who thought they had all the answers, understands that having all the answers means you're just not asking the right questions. In just three days. It really shouldn't be surprising that so much can be accomplished in 72 hours. After all, Jesus overcame death in three days. He spent his time on earth creating a precious tapestry with his ministry of love. When he allowed himself to be crucified, that tapestry was strained and stretched under the burden of grief, fear and despair, but it was not destroyed. Indeed, in three days, it was completed, every thread perfectly placed to reveal the glory of God's design. A design that includes every one of his children. A harmony of color and gift and strength.

One of the last things the participants are asked to do on a weekend is to choose one song from all the many praises we sing, to be "their song." When this group was asked, they immediately came up with three completely different songs: Open My Eyes Lord, This is the Air I Breath, and Here I Am Lord. Given the time constraints, this posed a problem, or so it seemed. Working with the musicians, they were able to agree on a melody incorporating some of each song and it was beautiful. The seemingly odd pieces fell together perfectly, just like the participants and staff. Christ wove them together like a tapestry, his Word and his grace uniting them into a strong and beautiful harmony of hearts, minds and spirits. We were all very blessed by their choice of songs, by getting to know them and by sharing this wonderful weekend with them all.

Open my eyes, Lord
I want to see Jesus.
To reach out and touch him
To show him I love him
Open my ears, Lord
And help me to listen
Open my eyes, Lord
I want to see Jesus
******************
this is the air I breathe
this is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me

this is my daily bread
this is my daily bread
Your very word spoken to me

And I, I'm desperate for you
And I, I'm I'm lost without you
************************
Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

Lord I lift up my new brothers and sisters in Christ. I pray that your love will continue to strengthen them and that they will always remember that your grace is enough, even when we are not. I pray that they will continue to find refuge in the real world that only you can bring to us, and in the knowledge that, just as we are incomplete without God, you also are incomplete without us. I pray also for this Via de Cristo movement and all those who are part of it, that we too will remember the call of our Baptism. In Christ's Holy Name, Amen.

For Hunter: Jesus loves us the most when we feel the least perfect.

2010-07-26T14:13:00.000-05:00

"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. ~ 2 Corinthians 12: 8-10 (NIV)

I've been intending to continue my blog after Easter, but have never gotten "a round tuit." Today at lunch, I checked my Facebook and my daughter had shared a conversation with her 10 year old son last night. It was so sweet. It inspired me to share it and to share my response to them both.

Tonight the boys were doing their usual to get ready for bed while I was bathing Melanee. However, when I got ready to tuck the boys in for bed, Hunter was already in the bed listening to his iPod. I, of course, did my normal thing where I waltz in and fuss at him for not having already brushed his teeth and put his retainer in when I noticed his eyes looked a little glassy. I asked him what was wrong, sure I already knew the answer and ready to ready to fuss at him for having not done something he was supposed to have, I waited for him to muster his voice enough to speak (with my arms folded and a sour look on my face I am sure). When he finally made an attempt to speak, all he could do was wipe the tears off his chin. Starting to feel as though I may have jumped the gun, and something may really be wrong--after all, he was still recovering from pneumonia--I uncrossed my arms and tried to relax my face a bit. Finally, he was able to get a sentence out: "When you were still in the bathroom, Melanee came in my room and stuck her tongue out at me twice and was being really mean for no reason." My first instinct was to let him know I thought he was overreacting to his 4 year old sister, but I resisted and waited for more to follow. He looked down and more tears fell. Then he looked up at me as if he was questioning me and said it reminded him of earlier that morning on the church bus. I wondered what he could be talking about. Had Melanee done that to another child on the church bus? I was beginning to feel a little humiliated when he said he was the target of ridicule from other kids on the bus. He thought Melanee must have gotten it from them. I sat down on his bed as he shared with me the mean things they had said. He was truly hurt, and I was feeling awful for my reaction to him. I hugged him and told him not to listen to anything theyt had said because none of it was true. I tried to take all the pain away the best I could, then I made Melanee come and apologize to her brother. She made him laugh because she apologized first and when I asked her what she had done, she looked at me and asked, "Did I hit him?" We both got a kick out of that.

Kids can be cruel, even the ones that love us most. I have to be prepared to pick up the pieces a little more often and not so quick to make an even bigger mess. That feeling was even more gratified when he told me he was looking at his picture board of all the pictures and I was always smiling in them. He said I never smile anymore except every once in a while when I'm with one of my friends or if I'm smiling for a picture. I had to really think about that for a second. Of course my reply was, "That's not true, I smile all the time." He said, "Well, I never see you smile." That really broke my spirit. It humbled me to see how busy I've become and how preoccupied with everything else, that I've forgotten to have fun WITH my kids, not just making sure they are having fun. So we made a deal and I made him pinky promise that we will do whatever it takes so that we are both smiling more often!

Just thought I needed to share that with you guys, so I can have some accountability checkers on our side. Let's get smiling! I love you all!

What a precious moment to share. It made me recall similar conversations with both my daughters. Angie was much less likely to show, much less share her feelings. When she did I knew it was important. I know there were probably more times than I'll ever know when I might have missed the signs and the opportunities for those important exchanges. We all get so caught up in the daily busyness of life that we don't share or smile as often as we should. We focus on the stones in our path that make us stumble, and don't lift our eyes to appreciate all the blessings and joys God gives us every day. It's easy to get caught in that cycle of being stressed. We bring everyone around us down and we let others bring us down even further. We allow the joy to be sucked out of us and pretty soon we lose our ability to pull ourselves out of the muck and mire of negativity we're wallowing in.

I'm glad Angie had this reminder to connect and smile with her children. But I would add a reminder to this experience. Yes, by all means teach them how to connect with you, but more importantly, teach them how to connect with God. Teach them to take their worries and cares to Jesus and lay them down at the foot of the cross. Teach them to trust in his unconditional love, his grace and his mercy. Teach them love him and to see themselves as Jesus sees them, not as the world sees them. Imperfect but loved all the more because of their imperfections. We strive to be perfect and can never hope to achieve it. Jesus, who was perfect in every way, chose to live as one of us, to experience imperfection, pain, suffering and even death. Why? So he could be there for us in our darkest day, knowing what we feel and enabling us to rise above it. Our weakness creates in us the need for his power, the need to connect with him, the need for a relationship with him.

And Hunter, one final note: I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and for many, many years I wouldn't sing loud enough for anyone else to hear me. My brothers always made fun of me and it really impacted me. I never sang in the choir at church, and I love to sing to the Lord! I love all the old hymns like "I Love to Tell the Story," I love new, contemporary Christian songs like Amy Grant's "Better Than a Hallelujah," I love silly songs like "Jesus is the Rock and He Rolls my Blues Away, I love songs of praise and worship and songs of suffering and sacrifice like "There is a Balm in Gilead." And you know what I finally realized? Jesus doesn't care what my voice sounds like. He listens to what is in my heart, and when I open it up in song, prayer, tears or smiles, he hears a song that is perfectly beautiful music to his ears.

Hope personified

2010-04-08T16:00:00.003-05:00

We gather in the darkness, trickling in by twos and threes with our individual offerings. The air of anticipation is palpable, like our vaporous exhalations in the cool air. We cluster around the rough, damp wood of the altar, shuffling the leaves, our hushed voices tinged with excitement. We unpack our offerings: linens to dress the altar, heirlooms of lace and embroidery. Candles of varied shapes and sizes placed and lit, scenting the air and bathing us in their soft glow. Mementos and treasures all positioned as we circle the altar and wait for the stories to unfold. This is our Small Group Easter Visitation. We come together in the darkness and cold of a secluded outdoor chapel at sunrise on the Saturday before Easter to reenact the women gathering at the tomb to prepare Jesus’ body, hurriedly placed there after his crucifixion.One by one we share our testimonies, our traditions, our faith in and a hope born of the light no darkness can overcome.

What did those women go there to find all those years ago? They had stood by helpless as their Lord was tortured to death. No doubt they heard his cry as he gave up his Spirit. They had seen the sky turn black and felt the earth shake as the curtain separating them from the holiest of holies was broken in two. What must they have felt? Their whole world was broken in two and all they could turn to were their traditions to comfort them. They would come and prepare his body. Jesus who embodied all the love they could imagine. Jesus who treated them with compassion and respect and had even gathered the children to him, calling them the kingdom of God. Jesus who healed the sick with a touch and cast out demons with a word. Jesus who spoke in parables a child could understand but confounded scribes. Jesus who forgave sins. Why, had he not even forgiven the very people who had tortured and hung him on the cross to die? How could this have happened? Why had this happened? But he had said he was going to die hadn’t he? What was it he said, that he would die and be raised again on the third day?

In Jesus day, there was not a lot a woman could do to change her circumstances in life. If she was fortunate enough to marry well to a kind and generous husband, she might live a comfortable life, but that was generally out of her hands. I like to imagine that these women, used to settling for whatever lot they received in life, had learned something about hope from Jesus. Maybe they approach the tomb where they have every reason to expect his lifeless body to be, with an air of anticipation. His suffering and death had played out exactly as he had said it would even though they had not believed his foretelling. So why shouldn’t they expect the unexpected now, here, in the predawn darkness? Of course they are frightened at first, but they are more than ready to hear that Jesus lives! Imagine the exhilaration of that first Easter morning. Excitement making the women bolt from the tomb, stumbling over themselves in their rush to tell the Disciples the amazing news. This is hope personified! Jesus Christ defeats death, even death on a cross! Christ is risen, he is risen indeed! Allelujah!

Risen Lord, you are the light of the world that no darkness can overcome. You are hope personified. You are our saving grace, love come down to dwell among us. Where do I go from here? It doesn't matter as long as I am in your presence. That way I will always be at the right place at the right time.Keep me ever close Lord, and make me useful. In Christ's Holy Name, Amen.

A right-side-up life in an upside-down world

2010-04-05T16:56:00.003-05:00

The other morning I read about a minister uncomfortable with going to a foot washing service. He was okay with washing someone's feet, but having his own feet washed was way outside his comfort zone. Frankly, I imagine it's way outside most guys' comfort zones. (For an example, see Pr. Phil's blog: http://livingthelectionary.blogspot.com/2010/02/lent-1c-romans-105-15.html) Women too, while they may be okay with getting a pedicure, might be more hesitant about having their feet washed in the context of Christ washing his disciples' feet.

What is it that makes us so uncomfortable with being served by one we esteem greater than ourselves? Maybe it's because we like order in our lives, and order generally means the greatest are first and the least are, well, last. But Jesus spent his life upsetting just that kind of thinking. He was always disturbing the status quo. Love your enemies, be kind to those who do you harm, care for those who care nothing for you. Jesus was a man of contradictions. Or so it would seem. Do we presume to understand how God's plan for this universe began? What order did he establish with the creation of man and woman in the Garden of Eden except to form them from the same flesh to care for one another and all his other creations? By allowing themselves to be seduced by evil, they turned God's intended order upside down. So the order we know and that seems to make sense to us is not right. Those who know and love Jesus Christ already realize and accept that truth. But knowing and accepting a truth and living it are not the same thing.

How do we live God's truth? How do we live a right-side-up life in an upside-down world? It was impossible until God recreated his order through the flesh and blood of his Son. He sent this most perfect, upright being into the most imperfect upside-down world to teach us. Jesus, God on the inside and man on the outside walked the earth, worked, ate, drank, slept, laughed, wept, talked, mourned, celebrated, prayed, shared, taught, and did all the ordinary things we do every day. But there was one thing that Jesus did without ceasing. He loved. He loved without fear or judgment, and he loved with complete abandon and total commitment. That is the order he created, the commandment that he gave us, the example that he lived. Love the Lord our God with all our strength, with all our heart and with all our mind. Love as he has first loved us. Love one another as we have been loved. Love our neighbors, love our enemies, love the unlovable, it's all the same. There is no order beyond that, beyond love, and that is the truth that Jesus brought back into the world.

A long time ago man let go of that truth and gave himself up to doubt and sin. It took God coming into the world and taking on the body of a man to bring the truth back to us. He suffered, died and descended into the hell of doubt and darkness, taking us with him. But that doubt and darkness could never hold him, never hold the truth of God's love. Jesus, perfect lamb of God, shrugged off death like a cloak, and rose from the grave, bringing us back with him. Back to God's order, back to life and love and a world where we are meant to care for each other and all of God's creation. Jesus, God on the inside but man on the outside, turned himself inside out and became God on the outside with a heart for all mankind on the inside. That is where we find grace to live in his truth and to love as he taught us. Nobody knows and loves us like Jesus and he is the order that makes it possible to live a right-side up life in this upside-down world.

Beautiful Savior, you show us glimpses of what this world can be, of what it will be when you return and your truth will be the order that allows love to reign. There will be no more sorrow or death, only praises and rejoicing. Help us to seek your order when our world is upside-down. Fill us with your Spirit so, though we be man and woman on the outside, God lives inside us enabling us to love like you. Amen.

Moving Pictures

2010-03-25T16:21:00.001-05:00

Moving Pictures is a poem I wrote a year or so after my parents passed away. I am blessed to have grown up in such a loving home with parents who taught me that life doesn't have to be perfect to be good, and neither does faith, so long as that faith is in a gracious God who loves his imperfect children with an oh so perfect love.

Moving Pictures

Familiar things
No longer common
Little nuances, small gestures
Gone from the every day world
Such inconsequential things
Once so numerous they cluttered my senses
And went unnoticed
Now counted and numbered
Like treasure grown more valuable with time
Not gone from my life
Just hidden away where,
Unlike treasures held in the hand
I can recall them easily
From flashes and small reminders
Of what I once took for granted
Imprinted like some rare film
Moving pictures with scent and sound
I close my eyes and wait, anticipating
While images emerge and voices echo
And…it is all there…
Loving eyes and gentle hands
Ageless faces, the first I knew,
Smiles and laughter, smells and tastes
Conversations-with words and without
Goodnight kisses and jigsaw puzzles
Lazy summer days in the shade
Tractor chugging in the distance
Cold winter evenings by the fire
Soft, deep voices, murmuring and chuckling
Love and humor and warmth and strength and
Joy, knowing they are with me still.

Thank you perfect Lord, for my imperfect parents who loved me and taught me to appreciate the unique imperfections in myself and those I love. Thank you for the one perfect truth that is Jesus, perfect Word made imperfect so he could be the perfect sacrifice for the sins of an imperfect world. Amen.

Giving Christ Control

2010-03-24T15:13:00.003-05:00

This is a bit different from most of my blog entries. Today is our wrap-up celebration of our 12-week First Place 4 Health Group. As our final assignment, we are summarizing the benefits of committing 12 weeks to God, allowing him to transform us through this program and Bible study, "Giving Christ Control." We are looking at four specific areas for significant impacts: mental health, emotional health, spiritual health and physical health. We are also reflecting on the relationships we have formed during this time.

I have to say up front that I started writing my Lenten Blog about halfway through this 12-week journey, so the two experiences are woven together for me, and I cannot reflect on one without reflecting on the other. God has used both of these tools to transform me, and I am doubly blessed by his grace and timing.

I have realized I need to be more mindful of my thoughts and my words. At the same time I am trying to become a better listener, focusing less on my own thoughts and words and more on the other person talking. For the last few years I have been searching for ways to "be in God's presence." I think this Bible Study has helped me realize the irony of those efforts because all I really have to do is to just "be present." To be still and quiet, let the future stay in the future, let the past slip into the past, and just be present, be here and now, BE and not always DO. Believe it or not, this is the mental change I am experiencing. It's about controlling my thoughts, focusing on what is positive so I can be encouraged and encourage others.

Perhaps I have been most profoundly impacted by this study emotionally. You see, for some years now, I have been going through a "blue period" some time between Christmas and Easter. Some years I get depressed, sometimes I'm just quiet and reserved. It drives Jerry up the wall because he thinks I'm mad. It's hard to explain, but I think it's partly chemical effects of the long, dark winter days. However, my Mom passed away in January of 2000 and my Dad in December of the same year, and I think that's when it started. This year I have been able to work through it and have hardly been affected at all. I attribute this largely to the Bible Study, the group support and journaling. Of course improving my diet and increasing my exercise probably hasn't hurt either!

With regards to impacts to my spiritual health, I really cannot separate Bible Study from blog. However, I can say that FP4H and the Bible Study have helped me develop this vehicle for sharing my spiritual journey. Obviously the fact that we have been doing this program during Lent has added an even greater spiritual dimension to the process too. The scripture readings, memory verses, and especially the group discussions have sparked many of the ideas I've explored on my blog. All of these are helping me understand the areas where I need to give Christ control. For instance, I'm developing a better appreciation of my prayer life. I am more equipped to take advantage of quiet time when it presents itself, to reflect on, listen to and breath in the Holy Spirit of Christ.

One of the main reasons I wanted to join this group was to see if it could really help me to lose a few pounds. My diet was already pretty healthy, but it was definitely too much of a good thing. I needed to get a handle on portion control, be more mindful about what and how much I was eating, and increase my exercise. Using the food tracker helped me get my diet under control, and Jerry's advice to step out of my comfort zone at the gym helped increase the intensity and duration of my workouts. My goal was to lose about 14 lbs (according to my bathroom scale), and as of last week, I had lost 15. I had actually convinced myself that I would probably never get that weight off. The bad news is, because I thought that, I got rid of all those clothes that were too little. Oh well. I'm not complaining. I'm thrilled that this was so easy, but that's what happens when we let Christ have control. I pray for his continued guidance to help me keep the weight off and stay healthy.

I first learned about the First Place 4 Health program from Cathy two years ago. I am in a small group with she and Leslie, and after seeing the transformation they underwent, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically, I wanted to try it. Now I can honestly say that FP4H is an awesome program, and with this Bible Study, it has enabled me to change and improve my mental, emotional, spiritual and physical health by giving God control and taking responsibility for my choices. But it just wouldn't work without the support of the group. Each person in this group has encouraged me and blessed me with their fellowship, their shared experiences, and especially their prayers. I have also had the privilege to share with, encourage and pray for them as well, and I am grateful for these friends old and new. I have to say that I have been most encouraged by my husband and partner, Jerry. I wasn't sure he would do this with me, but once he committed to it, he was completely on-board. We have done the Bible study lessons together each morning and have had a lot of really good discussions. We have been a real team, holding each other accountable and inspiring each other to step outside our comfort zones. I am blessed to be married to my best friend and to have been able to share this experience with him.

Thank you good and gracious Father, you always know what I need. Help me to commit my will to yours every day, giving you control and letting you lead me through the dance of life. You have blessed me with a partner to share my life with. Continue to bless us and our relationship, reminding us we can always give if we first take time to receive, to be filled so we can be emptied, to be made useful like broken shards of clay in the hands of the Potter. Amen.

Jesus is the answer

2010-03-23T16:48:00.000-05:00

I couldn't figure out what that funny sound was until I suddenly recognized the familiar ring of my cellphone. Who would be calling in the middle of Sunday School? I saw my daughter's name but thought it might have been my granddaughter Rebekah playing with the phone. "I'll call her back as soon as the class is over," I thought as I sat back down to finish the game the third-graders were playing. I felt a little uneasy because I knew she wouldn't have called unless it were an emergency, but the bell had rung and we were finishing up. When I saw Jerry through the window outside the door I knew something was wrong. I stepped out into the hallway and he gave me the news. Carlos, Rebekah's Daddy and Melissa's boyfriend, had been in a serious car wreck and had been taken to the ER. Melissa needed to drop almost-two-year-old Rebekah off on her way to the hospital.The next thirty minutes seemed like an eternity as I waited for them to get to the church. All kinds of thoughts were running through my head. How bad was Carlos hurt? Is he conscious or in pain? Is he going to survive? What if he has profound injuries? What will they do? He's a policeman, does he have insurance to cover his needs? He had just bought a house, will he lose it if he can't work? He and Melissa aren't married, what will happen to she and Rebekah? How will Melissa be able to cope with this, finish her last semester of college, and take care of Rebekah? Will she be able to cope emotionally? Will Carlos? Will this draw them together or drive them apart? Lots of questions, and I had no answers.

But Pr. Phil told us once that it doesn't matter what the question is, Jesus is always the answer. And the more that hinges on the question, the more we need to seek Jesus as the answer. So I prayed. I told Pr. Phil and asked him to pray for Carlos. I asked friends to pray. Van had Jerry and the Men's Group circle up outside where they were smoking chickens to pray. Within that 30 minutes, there were a lot of prayers being lifted. And I knew Carlos' family and friends were praying too. There's power in prayer, I know that. I also know the answer to prayer isn't always what we want it to be. This time it was. That tells me that God isn't through with Carlos yet, so I will continue to pray. I will pray that God's will be done because I know that he is a good and gracious God whose love for us and whose power and mercy are without bounds. He wants the best for us that life can offer: the best love, the best healing, the best relationships, the best forgiveness, the best gifts, the best peace, the best joy, the best trust, the best compassion, the best fellowship, the best faith, the best strength, the best humility, the best wisdom, the best of anything and everything. But we can only experience that best when we trust God and submit our will to his. I will pray for Carlos, for Melissa, for our family and for Carlos' family, that we never forget the gift we have been given. Maybe for Carlos, life will never be as easy as it once seemed, but maybe it will hold a different kind of value. It is still life, it is still a gift, and it is still full of possibilities because "Whatever is impossible with men is possible with God." ~Luke 18:28.

Today, in his Living the Lectionary blog, Pr. Phil wrote about Psalm 31. Used during Lent, it expresses the psalmist's suffering and hardships endured. But for every lament of sorrow the answer of Jesus steps in, turning them to statements of victory through faith. My question is, will I moan about my worries to a world that will at some point or other turn its back and disappoint, or will I carry my sorrows to the cross where Jesus beckons the weary to lay down their burdens and find rest? His promise is eternal and never-changing. Jesus is the only answer for those who truly want the very best life.

All praise to you Lord God Almighty. You who live and reign forever and ever. You are the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End and Everything in between. Fill me daily with the answer of your love and grace, even before I am faced with the questions of life. You are all I need to know to pass every test. Amen.

A matter of perspective

2010-03-20T16:01:00.002-05:00

According to Swiss physician Paul Tournier, "There are two things we cannot do alone. One is to be married, and the other is to be a Christian." This quote was part of our FP4H lesson week before last. It put me in mind of a poem by John Donne, a 16th century English preacher who happened to be a poet. (My early English Lit Professor, Jim Colquitt would probably have argued that Donne was a poet who happened to be a preacher.) Donne wrote:

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

Donne believed that we are connected, so anything that affects one affects us all. The custom in his day was to ring a bell when someone died. So if the bell tolled, then it tolled for all, because everyone was affected by the death of one person. But that was long, long before radio, television or the Internet. We can sit in the comfort of our living room and watch news programs tolling the death bells for people and hardly be affected at all. It's all a matter of perspective, and our modern day perspective is nowhere near what John Donne's was.

So, if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Well, obviously it does. It is not in a vacuum, so it will create sound waves. But if those sound waves are not perceived by anyone, then it is not heard. Though it creates a crashing cacophony of noise, no person is affected by that tumult because they do not hear it. That's a matter of perspective. But how many times are we surrounded by clamoring noise that we can't help but hear and we are still unaffected. Could that be a matter of perspective too?

What does Jesus teach us about perspective? Throughout the Gospel, we are reminded to not only hear Jesus' words, but to listen and perceive or understand them and allow them to affect us. Jesus had much to say and teach, and those who perceived--who listened--not just with open ears, but with an open heart and mind, were changed. Those like the Pharisees, who heard but did not listen/perceive were like rocks, remaining closed-hearted, closed-minded, and unaffected.

We are meant to be changed by the message Jesus brought of God's freely given gift of grace. We deceive ourselves by thinking for one minute that we can just say, "Oh cool, I'd like some of that free grace, add it to my shopping cart. Even if I don't have an immediate use for it, it's not costing me anything." Grace is not a one-way street. If we think we've accepted it, but are not affected, not changed; we have not listened and we have not understood. Grace is not static. Our Baptism does not come from, nor is it meant to produce still waters. We are meant to be caught up in the rippling waves of grace, washed along in their wake, constantly in motion, grace in and grace out, in a never-ending stream of life-giving cause and effect. Only through grace can we live into Christ's command to love others as he loved us. Only through grace can we be transparent, allowing others to perceive Jesus, not ourselves. To perceive the love of God in me, by grace, through Christ Jesus.

It is this grace that keeps us from thinking we can be an island unto ourself--a rock, hard, unyielding and unchanging: I am a Rock - Simon & Garfunkel.

Thank you Christ Jesus, for the gift of grace that you bought for us through your own suffering and death. Help us to percieve it with open hearts and minds, to be affected and changed. To be stirred into action, sharing your love with others so they will also perceive your grace and keep the waters ever flowing, we the river, you the sea. Amen.

And the walls come tumblin' down

2010-03-17T14:27:00.005-05:00

Our "comfort zones" have been a frequent topic of discussion around our house for awhile now. When we joined the First Place 4 Health group in January, Jerry and I realized to lose weight we needed to push ourselves out of our comfort zones at the gym . Just last week one of the class instructors was explaining that in order to increase in strength, flexibility and endurance, we have to constantly push past our current level of comfort in our workouts. We have to challenge our bodies to keep improving, just as we have to challenge our minds to keep learning. The approach seems to be working for us, and we've both lost 15-16 lbs. Now Jerry is offering encouragement to our friends who want to drop a few pounds to step out of their comfort zone too.

There are all kinds of comfort zones. Humans are, by nature, creatures of habit and we tend to establish routines in our lives. It's just another form of control, though, and too much routine isn't good for us. Jesus was always shaking things up, challenging his followers to step out of their comfort zones. Of course the Pharisees were the easiest targets. Their comfort zones were well protected by thick walls of man-made traditions and religious laws. But Jesus' teachings poked holes in those walls time after time. He dined with sinners and criminals; he taught men, women and children, Jews and gentiles; he healed the sick, cast out demons, fed the hungry and forgave sins even on the Sabbath; he brought the dead to life by the power of his spoken word. Even as the wall of stone they hid behind split in two, or when the stone was rolled away to reveal Christ's victory, the terrified Pharisees still refused to be pried loose from their comfortable beliefs.

So what about me? I do okay pushing past that proverbial "wall" in my workouts, but what about in my spiritual life? I guess I'm doing that to some extent with this blog. Its challenges me to think about and elaborate on questions and ideas about my spiritual journey. It gives me a medium to explore and reflect on how Christ is touching me during this season of Lent. But I think that's why I was so uncomfortable sharing it at first. When I actually realized other people were reading it, I became fearful. It was different to write when I knew I wasn't the only person reading it. But I prayed about it and the Holy Spirit revealed it to me as an opportunity for me to share my love for Christ. Now I write freely and my prayer is for the Spirit to use my words and thoughts to glorify my Savior, not myself. I am just a vessel and I am blessed to be of use. So where is this Lenten Journey taking me? I still don't know, but I hope it will continue to be beyond my comfort zone.

Walls Come Tumbling Down - Style Council

Jesus my Savior, may I never, ever deny your call for me to step out of my comfort zone in service to you and to my neighbor. Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created and you shall renew the face of the earth. I will go Lord, as you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart. Amen.

Living into the hope Christ offers

2010-03-12T15:03:00.001-06:00

First, let me say to those who have been to my blog before, you are in the right place. I'm not big on changing things up, but I'm learning more about this blog process, and wanted to try some different things. Hope the changes aren't too distracting.

The movie Hope Floats is one of my all time favorites. I like Sandra Bullock, Harry Connick, Jr. and Gena Rowlands, but it's the relationships that struck a chord with me, and maybe that it took place in the South. There was so much of it that I could identify with. It came out in 1998, a year after my divorce, and while in some ways my situation was exactly the reverse, it was very close in the relationship area. Like Birdee in the movie, almost a year after my divorce I moved to Texas too. But instead of moving back to my roots, I was moving away from them. I left the small town in Alabama where I had lived my entire life to move to the Metroplex. And though my girls were older (16 & 20), they still struggled with the way their lives were uprooted and were not happy with my decision. The hardest part, and the part that still stings the most, is that like Birdee, I lost my parents. They both passed away within 2 1/2 yrs after I moved away from them.

There are several good quotes in the movie, and the best, the one that gives it its name, is at the end:

"Childhood is what you spend the rest of your life trying to overcome. That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will, too..."

I like that quote, but you know, hope doesn't just get you through the new beginnings. Hope gets you through the endings (maybe especially the endings) and through the middle too.

Pr. Phil has a reference he likes to use, and anyone who is familiar with his blog and/or his sermons will recognize it. He talks about "living into" something: living into the Gospel or living into the question. And lately he has been referring to the Father happening: the Father happens to the son, the Father happens to you and me. I like the way Pr. Phil uses words, taking them out of their normal context and grammatical pattern, he makes something we've heard a million times come alive because we have to look at it from an unfamiliar angle. Maybe that's why I changed up my blog. I needed to look at it differently to bring me back to where I began. To remind me of what I set out to do when I started this project.

I know that's why I moved to Texas. I needed a new beginning, a new perspective. My life was so changed from what it had been for almost twenty years of marriage. I was changed in a way that was new and strange to me. I had been through big changes before. At 17 I became a wife, at 18 I became a mother, at 28 I miscarried and almost died, at 29 I registered for college classes on a whim with no idea of how I would find the time or the funds to make it, and at 34 I went to work full time for the first time in my life. I was ill-prepared for every one of these changes in my life, but I learned, I changed, I adapted and I survived. But at 36 I finally accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior (no fanfare but a very personal encounter), and that was a huge change. I can look back now and see how God was preparing me for the harder changes still ahead of me. He had patiently stood by all my life as I kept him at arms distance. I was in control and I could do it all. Even then he was surrounding me with his saints to love me and pray for me until the day I couldn't hold him away anymore. So when I finally crumbled at the foot of his cross he whispered, "Let go and let Me. Let Me be your strength, your faith, your courage, your life. You don't have to be in control if you just let Me." So I did. Christ prepared me by teaching me to let go.

Do you know what it takes for a control freak to let go? The absence of hope. You know that saying, "When you reach the end of your rope, just tie a knot in it and hang on?" Well what about when you run out of rope? What about if you have no more strength to hang on? What if, with every fiber of your being, you just want to let go of that rope? That is the point where Christ steps in. He gently replaces the fraying rope in our cramped, calloused hands with the tenderest hope, offered to us in his precious, open, nail-scarred hands.

I think that is what Pr. Phil means when he says to live into the question or the parable. When we can't grasp something, when we can't quite make sense of it but we know it's important--even vital--to our survival, we have to find a way to just accept it. We can't answer the question, but we can accept not knowing because we trust in the hope Christ brings us. We can't fathom the grace that comes to us in the Gospel, but we trust in that grace and accept it with humble and grateful hearts. Christ died to bring us life. But when your feet have been swept out from under you and you don't know where to turn next, a big new life may be too much to grasp. But hope, that tender, grace-filled hope is something we can accept. The hope of finding solid ground beneath us again. The hope of a new direction, a new beginning, a new life to come. And a Savior who whispers, "Just let go and let Me."

Thank you most precious Lamb of God for your tender and grace-filled hope. For your loving hands that lift us up and your soft, gentle voice calling to us to come home. Help us to live into your grace, letting the Father happen to us again and again, until we can fully live into that bright new life eternal through Christ. Amen.

God's will: not always a mystery

2010-03-10T12:41:00.000-06:00

If I've heard it once I've heard it a million times--"God works in mysterious ways." We use the phrase to refer to a coincidence, an irony, a chance occurence that never should have happened. But the mysteries of God are much deeper than such improbable things. The mystery of God has to do with making the broken whole, the empty full, the impossible possible.

I check my blog daily even when I don't write anything, and it wasn't until today that I saw Shirley's comment from Friday. I was moved to tears as I read it. And at first I was so torn because I had not seen it and replied before Bill's surgery on Monday. I still haven't heard anything and I have been praying for both Bill and for Shirley. But I checked my blog and I have to believe that there is a reason God didn't want me to respond until today. Shirley, I don't know what that reason is, but whatever words I have today I pray they will be words from God's heart to yours my dear, precious friend.

Before I ever began this blog, I was praying for and following the story of a young woman on CarePages. A coworker knew her from church and told me about her. Her name was Jenny Bizaillion. Jenny was only 31 and was treasured by her family: husband, daughter (9), parents, siblings, extended family and friends. Her faith was a beacon for many people, and because of her CarePages blog, it reached many, many more and continues to do so. her condition was mystery and though she had medical teams working exhaustively around the clock and prayer warriors all over the world praying for her, God took her home. How does a family deal with a loss like that?

Then, last week, a precious lady who was a charter member of our church congregation--Evelyn Wilkerson--had a stroke and passed away. Evelyn had been suffering for years from health issues and was preceded in death by her devoted husband Stub. Her faith had been a beacon to many people also. It is easy to say that because Evelyn had lived a long life, had been suffering for some time and was no doubt looking for the day when she would be reunited with Stub, her death was easier to accept. But she will be missed and her death mourned by many.

I have been thinking about these two deaths. What do they have in common? Not much, although both deaths were followed by memorial services that celebrated their lives rather than mourning their deaths. That's because these two lives had one very important thing in common: their faith which was a beacon to many.

Intern Ellen preached a sermon on Sunday that touched me deeply. Maybe God wanted me to hear it before I responded to you Shirley. Ellen spoke of a pastor whose son was killed in a tragic car accident. He preached a sermon less than two weeks after his son died and thanked everyone for their prayers and encouragement. But he spoke with anger toward those well-meaning but misguided individuals who said that his son's death was God's will. He declared that death was never God's intention! God's intention is for us to live! The last death that God intended was that of his own son. God himself suffered the anguish of losing someone who was part of him. He suffered the separation and emptiness, the broken spirit, the lonliness. Why? Why on earth would he do that? Why on earth?

Ah. There is the mystery. A God who would come down from heaven to walk the earth. To be close to his creation. To understand his creation. More importantly to reach his creation. So his creation, his children, could reach him, understand him and know him. And just how do we do that? We come to him in our brokenness, in our anguish, in our aloneness. It is only when we are emptied of self that he can fill us with his Spirit. It doesn't require that we lose something or that we suffer, but unfortunately that is so often what it takes for us to understand him and to accept his love. It is hard to humble ourselves and submit our will to God's, so we are most vulnerable when we have nothing else left to cling to.

No, death is never God's will, but life is. It isn't his will that Jenny or Evelyn died. Oh, but while they were alive, it was his will that they lived such a life that others were drawn to him through them. It is not God's will that we lay down and die a spiritual death in our grief either. He would have us live lives filled with his grace. Grace to heal our brokenness, grace to fill our emptiness, grace to share our faith and be a beacon like Jenny and Evelyn. They are gone from this earth, but they have not succumbed to death, they have defeated it! They live on in all those who love them, and in that eternal kingdom where there is no more pain or sorrow, waiting for the day when we will all be reunited in a love that will clear away all the mystery and make all things possible.

Loving God, you know all too well the anguish of losing someone we love so deeply that we don't know where we end and they start. In our emptiness, fill us with your Spirit so that, when we have no words to cry out, your Spirit will groan and you will respond. Reach in and lift the pieces of our broken hearts, little by little, until scarred but whole, we can take on the image of your Son Jesus and be a beacon drawing others to his light. Amen.

For Angie on her birthday

2010-03-09T14:16:00.000-06:00

I wish I could be there today to tell you HAPPY BIRTHDAY in person. I'd give you the biggest hug ever and tell you everything will be okay. I'd tell you I know how hard you try to do the best you can at all the million things you juggle every day. You try to be the best Mom, manager, sister, chauffer, friend, nurse, wife, coordinator, daughter, cook, aunt, neighbor, volunteer, and whatever else you find yourself tackling. You take care of so many people (including the 4-legged ones), and usually put yourself last on the list.

I know this has been such a hard week already, and it's difficult to find anything to be happy about, but I am praying that God will bless you in some way. Into every life a little rain must fall, and sometimes it floods. Remember to hold onto your faith in God and be grateful for all the things that really matter. Nobody can ignore the hard times, but with Christ we will survive them and learn from them. Remember what Papaw used to say, "This too shall pass." Things will always get better. The important thing is to rejoice in all of it--the good and the bad. Does that sound crazy? It is true. God is good, but you'll never know how good until you give him control, and sometimes we don't do that until we find there's nothing left to control. His power is perfected in our weakness. (See 2 Corinthians 12:8-10 and Psalm 37:3-8)

I love you so very much and on this day 32 years ago, you changed my life. That's when I began to be the person God wanted me to be. I didn't see that for a long time and it wasn't always easy. I made a lot of detours, but the thing that always brought me back was you and Lissa. No matter what else I accomplish in my life, being your Mom is by far the most cherished and important job God ever blessed me with. Happy Birthday precious girl, I love you always.

A God of Second Chances, Third Chances, Fourth...

2010-03-07T17:14:00.000-06:00

Pr. Phil encourages making a change during Lent to help us observe this season of self- examination and repentance. It doesn't mean we have to give something up; instead, it often means adding something or taking on a project or task. I thought it would be a good idea to keep a Lenten Journal, and I originally had in mind a hand-written notebook journal. But on Ash Wednesday I read Pr. Phil's Living the Lectionary Blog (http://www.livingthelectionary.blogspot.com/) and wrote a comment. If you have ever signed up to follow a blog or to comment to a blog, you know that during the process you are given the option of creating your own blog. I realized that writing the response was a pretty free-flowing process. That, coupled with the idea of not having to keep up with another notebook, got me to thinking. Maybe a virtual journal would allow me to be more spontaneous and productive. So that is how this started. It was great! The ideas were flowing fast and furious (so to speak) for the first few days and I was really excited. I wanted to share it with others and I did, at first. But as soon as I started sharing my "success" I started getting this yucky feeling about it, and the words weren't as free-flowing as before.

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." ~ Luke 9:23 This was our memory verse in FP4H last week, which also happened to be the week I was going to lead the class discussion. Naturally I was being a little more studious than on previous weeks' lessons, and I was praying for the Holy Spirit to guide my study and my understanding. As is often the case, I got more than I bargained for in answer to my prayers. It was as if this lesson was aimed right at me. It was called "How to Let Go of Control." I won't go into a lot of detail, but suffice it to say that I understood that yucky feeling was my ego struggling for position with the Spirit of Christ living in me. I had been so blessed by that Spirit in my writing, but I proceeded to share it as if it were all me. My words, my inspiration, my gift. Which, if you have read my blogs - especially the early ones - you might wonder how I missed this point. By the time the day of our meeting rolled around on 3/3, I was working through the dilemma, trying to learn what it meant for me to deny myself and take up my cross and follow Christ. I have asked my small groups for support through prayer and I too pray that I stay on track.

It helps that God has such a rich sense of humor and generous spirit. This week's lesson is on A Community of Encouragement. It's almost as if God is saying "Can you hear me now?" Yesterday's lesson was particularly applicable as it related to dealing with spiritual "blind spots." I didn't have to think very hard to admit the plank in my eye that had caused my blind spot. The real test though, may be in keeping my safety goggles of humility and submission on through the remainder of Lent, avoiding flying bits of ego and self-centeredness as I continue trying to carve my spirit into a closer likeness of Jesus.

Good and glorious God, as Intern Ellen spoke this morning, you are a Lord of infinite grace. I thank you for your mercy when, like the Israelites I am stubborn and reckless with that grace. Forgive me for my selfishness, and help me control the impulse to share accomplishments you enable me to achieve as if they were my own. Enable me as well-or instead-with the gifts of humility and compassion. Break my heart anew each day if that is what it takes for me to deny myself, take up my cross and follow Jesus. In your Son's holy Name, Amen.

Time out

2010-03-06T08:06:00.000-06:00

When my girls were small, I would make them sit on the couch sometimes to discipline them. "Sit there until I say you can get up," I'd tell them. Then, when I felt it had been long enough, they'd usually get a lecture about what they had done that landed them there before their release. These days, this discipine is known as "time out." I've picked up the phrase from my daughter when she and her three kids are visiting. "Do you want to sit in the time out chair?" Of course the obvious answer is "no ma'am." As a general rule, children don't want to sit still, much less in seclusion (i.e., where they can't see the tv). But what about adults? You might think that most adults (especially busy Moms) would LOVE to take a time out. But what if it included the "sit there and think about what you did" clause? Or worse sometimes, what you didn't do?

To look at this from a different angle, have you ever been just piddling (tinkering, etc.--doing stuff with no particular thought to it) around the house and before you know it an hour or more has passed and you didn't even realize it. For instance, I load the dishwasher to get the dishes out of the way. Then I rinse out the sink. I notice the ring of grime around the edge, so I scrub that off, then I move to the counter top. I clean around the surface and I notice how dirty the stovetop is. So I clean around the stove top. The thought crosses my mind that I really have things I need to do, but I continue anyway. Before I know it an hour has passed and I haven't gotten to anything on my to-do list. But I'm not disappointed because I have a nice clean stovetop, counter and sink. I imagine we've all done the same sort of thing.

If you're a gardener maybe you walked out to the mailbox intending to go right inside and do some task or other. But then you spied some weeds in the flower bed. You set the mail down and pull those pesky weeds. Before you know it, two hours have passed, your back is stiff and your intended task is still undone. But your flowerbed is gloriously free of weeds! Or maybe you went to the garage to put the trash out and you saw a tool somebody forgot to put up. Two hours later the bag of garbage is still by the door, but your tool bench is neatly organized and everything put away. I could go on and on, but you get my drift. We all "waste" time like this occasionally, but it's not really wasted, it's more like unplanned productivity.

One of the things I'm trying to do during Lent is to spend more time in God's presence. But I need to work on not doing all the talking. I have been thinking of it as sort of a time out. Making time to sit quietly and be totally focused on the Holy Spirit's voice around me and inside me. To let that voice guide my thoughts to all the things I have done or the things I have not done. It has to be intentional, but I also thought it had to be planned. Yesterday I got up at the usual time of 4:30am even though we had stayed up an hour later the night before. When Jerry got up and we were both very tired, we decided not to go to the gym. We did some of our FP4H Bible Study and then he went back to bed. I was planning to follow him, but I realized I had been asking God to help me make time for prayer and quiet time with him, and here I was. It was 5 am, very quiet, and I was alone. It was perfect. Before I knew it an hour had passed. I didn't go back to bed to get that needed physical and mental rest, but God had refreshed my spirit through his presence. So this "time out" with God turned out to be "unplanned productivity."

Thank you Holy Spirit for the "time out" to contemplate my relationship with you and to examine my conscience. I know I need to set time aside for this as a discipline, but I am so grateful that you meet me halfway. You speak to me and bring me to a stop when I am focused on my physical or worldly tasks. What a fellowship, what a joy divine, Leaning on the everlasting arms! Amen.

http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/l/o/lotearms.htm

A Day at the Park

2010-03-04T14:30:00.000-06:00

I came across this story I wrote about my grandson six years ago. I wanted to post it so he can read it. I'm including a picture I sketched of the flower, and a photo I took of him that day. I love all my granchildren, but Hunter taught me what it is to be a Grandmother. I love you Hunter.

My grandson Hunter, four years old, lives in Alabama and comes to visit a few times a year. He loves to play at the park down the street, and especially enjoys the water playground, swings and jungle gym. Hunter also loves bugs. His likes roly-polies the best, but since we don’t have many around our house, he settles for snails. When he was visiting in May, I took him down to a little pond behind the park to see if we could find some roly-polies. It was a beautiful, sunny day and I got some excellent pictures of Hunter amongst all the spring wildflowers blooming. He kept asking me if he could pick the flowers, and I kept explaining that we should try not to pick them because they would die and wouldn’t be pretty any more. “But I want to take some to my Mommy,” he insisted.

I tried to explain to him how flowers, once you picked them, could not “eat” and “drink” through their roots, so they would just fade away. I told him we would take pictures for his Mommy so she could see how pretty they were. Hunter wasn’t convinced, but the prospect of having his picture taken appealed to him. So he sat down by a clump of Indian Paintbrushes and said, “Gram, take a picture of me and these pretty orange flowers.”

I took several of my favorite little muse, as he posed by first smelling the flowers, then petting them, and even hugging and kissing them. Finally we had enough and it was time to go look for bugs. But as Hunter stood up, the strap of the binoculars he was wearing got wrapped around one of the flowers, snapping it off just above the ground. He carefully disentangled the flower and held it out toward me. “Uh oh Gram, look. I didn’t mean to, it was a accident.”

"It's okay" I said, “you wanted to take one home, so we'll just keep that one. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” I helped him make his way back over to the trail, brushed him off, gave him a kiss and said, “C'mon, let’s go find some roly polies.” Cradling the flower gently in both hands, he followed me on the narrow trail around the pond. “But Gram,” he said, “I don’t want it to die and not be pretty any more.” I stopped and turned around. “Sweetie,if we don’t take it home, it'll die anyway. This way we can take it and put it in some water and show it to Pop and Aunt Lissa.” Hunter nodded, but he was walking slower and slower, concern written all over his little face. “Come on slow poke,” I teased him, “We’re never going to find any bugs if we don't get a move on.” Suddenly, he stopped and placed the flower gently on the ground next to the trail. “What are you doing?” I asked him. He looked up at me, “I’m gonna leave it here Gram. So it won’t die and not be pretty and everybody can still see it.”

I looked at my grandson. Fifteen minutes earlier he had been arguing with me about picking the flowers. I didn’t think he had heard a thing I was trying to tell him. Now I could see how closely he had been listening, and how much he had taken to heart. Oh, I knew that sad little flower would just shrivel up and die, but I was so proud of him for trying to do the right thing, and I could see that he felt good about his decision. I squatted down next to Hunter, and we looked at his little flower. “You know" I said, I think you're absolutely right. I think if we just leave it right here where it belongs, it will just have to grow some more roots and be just fine.” “Yeah,” he sighed. Then he looked up and smiled. “Now we can go, Gram.” He didn’t ask to pick a flower for the rest of the day, but enjoyed them right where they were.

Such a little thing. But isn’t that where it starts? If we aren’t willing to sacrifice our will over the trivial things in our lives, how can we learn to do the right thing when it’s really important? Like a stubborn child, we grapple with God, trying to bend him to our will, justifying our own selfish desires even when we know it’s wrong. But if we will simply accept God’s will in all things, if we listen to the Holy Spirit speaking to our hearts, if our actions reflect Christ’s love, then we will live a life that we can be proud of. Not proud in a noisy, boastful, “look at me” sort of way; but in a quiet, content, “right with the world,” way.

Good and gracious God, thank you for the relationships you bless me with. Thank you for the joy I feel when I am with friends and family. Help me to look forward to time with you the same way. Because it is in your presence that I find the greatest joy and peace. Give me the self-discipline to make time to be still and know that you are God. To sit quietly and be renewed by your Spirit. To walk and talk with Jesus. To remember that I am your creation, a human "being," and should not forever be a human "doing." Amen.

Just let go . . .

2010-03-03T16:11:00.000-06:00

I'm a doodler. If there's a piece of paper and a writing implement in front of me when I'm on the phone, I doodle. Back before they became obsolete, I embellished quite a few Yellow pages. Today's entry started out as a doodle a number of weeks ago. I liked it so instead of tossing it I shoved it in my desk drawer. I discovered it this morning when I was looking for something else, so I thought it would make a good entry into my Lenten Journal.

In her comment to yesterday's blog entry, My dear friend Shirley reminded me of some sketches I did when we were in college together. I had forgotten about them. I've forgotten a lot of things, as we all do. But Shirley had a stroke when she was in her early 30's (Shirley, I hope I remembered that correctly : ) and she lost some memories. I think it impressed on her the importance of memories and history because she is a nut for both. That's just one of the things I love about her.

There's a lot about my past I remember fondly, and some I'd rather not recall at all. That's what I love about Jesus. He knows my history, every detail, good and bad. He knows the memories I cherish and he knows the ones that make me cringe. But he gently pries those bad memories from me, telling me to softly, "just let go." He takes them and nails them to the cross where the blood he shed for me still clings. Then I take his scarred hand and we walk away, smiling because the pain is behind us now. The victory is won, and there's still enough room on that cross for all the world's bad memories and sins. It's time to share his story and his invitation to just let go.

Jesus, save your pie for me.

2010-03-02T12:25:00.000-06:00

I went to college when I was already a mom and a wife. It was a life-changing experience, and one for which I will always be grateful. Being one of the more mature "returning students," I became very close to some of my professors and their staff. One of the former was a literature professor named Claudia. She was quite a character. A raging feminist who had only recently completed her doctorate, Claudia had a wildly sharp wit, and sarcasm and puns were among her favorite tools. But the thing that would have me rolling in the floor was listening to her stories from her childhood as the daughter of a Baptist preacher. I remember well the first time I heard that. Claudia was a PK? I'm from the Bible Belt, so that means the South, which also means Southern Baptist. I could just imagine Claudia, irreverent, rebellious and mischievous, doing anything but sitting quietly in the front pew. Occasionally she would recall instances when, as a young child, she would misinterpret scripture or hymns. One of the hymns was her Dad's favorite, "Jesus Savior Pilot Me." Claudia would laugh and say it was her favorite too, at first. "I would stand right there, next to my Momma and sing at the top o'my lungs, 'Jesus, save your pie for me!'" I would picture a very determined little Claudia, trying to out-sing all those other people wanting Jesus to save his pie for them. It still makes me chuckle.

There's another side to my relationship with Claudia. I took one of her lit classes, even though other friends said I might regret it. She was thrilled at first, but I didn't live up to her expectations for long. When I put my family responsibilities ahead of my academic accomplishments, Claudia was disappointed. She seemed to feel that I had betrayed her and betrayed every woman who struggled to achieve the dream of academic advancement. I had given in to tradition, tethering myself to a husband and kids who she assumed would never appreciate me or my accomplishments. Claudia quickly gave up on me and gave up on our friendship. I was hurt at first. But it wasn't that I was seeing a different side of Claudia's personality, I had just never been on the receiving end of her disdainful sarcasm and criticism. I realized that I had willingly become an accomplice to her cruel jokes and rapier wit aimed at others. Even if I hadn't approved of it, I never opened my mouth. I stood back, safe and smug in my favored position. I was ashamed. Ashamed that it took me tumbling from that favored position to admit my selfish and prideful attitude.

I admitted some other things after that. I knew my friend had some "issues," But because she made me laugh and she stroked my ego, I had allowed myself to look past the flaws that should have been evident. She was angry, bitter and defensive. She had spent her whole life rebelling against being put in a box. I don't know what she experienced that resulted in such an attitude, but I know it wasn't healthy. She seemed to view motherhood and being a wife as imprisonment, so maybe she had been hurt by someone she loved. The saddest thing of all was her disregard for the Church and for Jesus Christ. She resented them as tools society used to keep people-especially women--in "their places." I wonder if Claudia ever knew the freedom of a life in Christ? I pray that she did; that she does. I pray that she came to know my Jesus: the One who does so much more than save his pie for me. He gave his all for me and he saved my soul. He abides in me, and I abide in him. He is the Word and the Truth. He is my Jesus, my Savior, who does indeed pilot me.

Thank you Holy Jesus, for your abiding love, your grace that pours out over me in the blood you shed for my sins. I pray that blood of Jesus over Claudia, and those like her. That your light would blind them like Paul, to anything but your truth. That your thunderous presence would deafen them to any voice but that of the Holy Spirit. That they would know the freedom you offer when we lay our burdens down and take up your gentle yoke instead. Amen.

What's the Scoop?

2010-03-01T13:39:00.000-06:00

Yesterday we heard Pr. Kyle Rouze preach about how Jesus loves to gather us close to his heart, even when we have not followed his commands. I enjoyed the example he gave of such "gathering in" with his and his wife's two little pugs. It was easy to imagine him scooping them up and holding them close, even when they had not been on their best behavior. Although I wonder, in their case, who's pleading looks garnered more sympathy, his or the pugs'?

It is comforting to know that Jesus will do, has done, the pleading for us and our case. He scoops us up and stands in the gap with the Father. Having already paid our ransom, he pleads not guilty by way of absolution on our behalf. There is no advocate like him, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Listening to Pr. Kyle's sermon and the story about his dogs, I began to think about our dogs. Most definitely not the "scooping up in your lap" kind, Fred weighs in at around 75 lbs and Barney is 60 or so. But I remembered a particular afternoon when we had them out for a walk. (And in our case, it's a toss-up as to who is walking whom.) Heading home, we were a couple of blocks from our house when we heard frantic barking (the big dog kind) from the backyard of the house we were passing. All of a sudden two pit bulls came boiling out from under a rickety fence, one of them trailing a piece of rope. At first they encountered a partial chain link fence between us and them, but it only took a moment for them to realize they could go around it. As they circled the fence, I instinctively grabbed Fred to keep him from lunging away from me, reaching down and scooping up as much of him as I could. This amounted to getting his front feet and chest up in my arms so he was standing on his hind legs. Much to my relief, even though he was still tensed for action, he didn't struggle too much. Meanwhile Jerry leashed Barney in close and yelled and swung his arms at the two pits. Lucky for us they were still young enough to be intimidated and they quickly retreated back under the fence. We also beat a hasty retreat, rounding the corner to the next block before stopping to calm ourselves and the boys. It was a really scary confrontation, and as suddenly as it happened, it was over.

The thing I recalled about the experience was knowing I had to hold onto Fred, not necessarily to protect him from being attacked, but to keep him from attacking. And that's what was going through my mind as Pr. Kyle was talking about God scooping us in even if we have not been obedient.

I think God scoops me in sometimes to protect me from myself. I get an idea in my head that I need to do something and I'm sure it's the right thing. I put all my focus and energy toward a goal, and I may even pray about it. But even though I may ask God to guide me, it's often with the assumption that he will guide me toward my goal. I can look back though, and see many times when he guided me away from it. He scooped me up, stopping my reckless forward motion until the threat had passed. Sometimes I resented being held back and struggled to have my own way. Many times too, I did not pray for guidance and ran headlong into disaster. But as I mature, so does my sense of humility, gratitude, appreciation and respect for God's involvement in every facet of my life. So I pray. I pray for his Spirit to guide me. I pray for wisdom and discernment. I pray for self-control. I pray for God's will, not my own. I pray to be scooped up in his arms, where I can abide in him and he in me.

Thank you Lord, for scooping me up, for leading me not into temptation but delivering me from evil, for pulling me in, holding me close, calming my fears, and redirecting my life. May all my actions, intentions and works of this day be directed solely to the greater glory of God's divine majesty, and may the grace of God dwell always in me. Amen.

I don't know why he loves me

2010-03-01T11:58:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I have one of those days. Those days when, for no good reason, I just can't seem to get anything right. The kind when it seems the harder I try to be positive and upbeat, the more things seem to go wrong and bring me down. Before I know it, there I am, frustrated, irritable and generally angry with myself for being so negative and whiney.

Christians aren't supposed to feel that way, right? Wrong! We are still all too human. Even Jesus gave in to despair. But that is, in a nutshell, our saving grace. Jesus understands me even when I don't (maybe especially when I don't) understand myself. And Jesus loves me, especially when I cannot, will not, love myself. When I can't find the words to pray for help, the Spirit within me groans for his grace and mercy. My Savior reaches in, lifts me up and warms me with his presence. He brings me back to life, to him, back to life in him. Back to the foot of the cross, where I lay my burdens down and find peace.

As I considered my blog entry today, a line from a song kept rolling around in my head: "I don't know why he loves me." I couldn't remember the rest of it so I googled it. It's a song by Adrea Crouch, "I Don't Know Why Jesus Loved me."

I don't know why Jesus loved me
I don't know why He cared
I don't know why He sacrificed His life
Oh, but I'm glad, so glad He did

He left His mighty throne in glory
To bring to us redemption's story
Then He died but He rose again
Oh, but I'm glad, so glad He did.

Where would I be if Jesus didn't love me?
Where would I be if Jesus didn't care?
Where would I be if He hadn't sacrificed His life
Oh, but I'm glad, so glad He did
Oh, but I'm glad (so glad), so glad He did

Thank you Jesus, for loving me when I am unlovable, for understanding me when I don't understand myself. Thank you for sending your Spirit to guide me back to the cross, back to your side, where once again I am washed in the blood of the lamb, made new and each time, I pray, made more in your image. Amen.

Where do I look for nourishment?

2010-02-24T12:05:00.000-06:00

We were planning to go to our son Jeremy's to pick him up and help him get a futon for his apartment last night. It was after work and we hadn't had supper yet so as we were leaving Jerry called him. He asked if he'd eaten yet and he hadn't so Jerry asked if any restaurants near his apartment served "healthy food." Silence. Jerry joked, "Are you silent because you don't know if anyone serves healthy food, or because you don't know what healthy food is?" Jeremy replied, "Well, I don't know what you consider healthy food."

That makes sense. One person's healthy food might mean nothing but vegetables. However, to someone else, it might mean anything that's not fried. This could also apply to spiritual food. Just as everyone has to figure out what foods nourish their body, making them strong and healthy, so we also have to learn what we need to nourish our spirit. Can't you just see a store with aisles of spiritual food? There would be lots of brands--every religion and belief: Baptist, Catholic, Buddhist, or Islamic, as well as Wicca, Pantheist or even Atheist (which might be more suitable for a starvation or elimination diet). There would be sections in the store, but instead of produce, dairy or meat, there would be: contemplation and study; prayer and meditation; or praise, chanting and spells. There would be kiosks where you could choose self-service or serving others, grace and mercy or power and dominion. I can't even imagine all the choices. If you didn't have some idea of what you were looking for, you could really make some bad selections. It would be like going to the grocery store hungry. It's easy to bypass the fruits and vegetables and go straight for the chips and donuts. Those things that taste so good when you eat them, but loaded with empty calories and no nutritional value, they leave you hungry and unsatisfied.

I'm fortunate that I was raised on good, nourishing spiritual food. Imagine how difficult it would be for someone who has no "spiritual roots," or worse, has had a bad experience. Where would they start? Jeremy made the comment that some people on diets are obsessed with food and can't just relax and enjoy a meal. Maybe they are like the Christians who get so caught up in doing everything right that they forget Jesus is all about love and grace. It comes down to finding a balance in your physical life and in your spiritual life.

The First Place 4 Health (FP4H) group we are in is all about balance. Being mindful about what we eat, but not to the point of deprivation. We try to balance what we eat with our activity level. FP4H is also about finding balance in our spiritual lives. Putting God first, others second and ourselves third, we learn how to better nourish our bodies and our spirits. We satisfy our appetites and our hearts with healthy food, we stay active with exercise, Bible study and prayer, and we encourage each other along the way. Oh, and we don't go to the store hungry!

Cultivating Patience

2010-02-23T13:53:00.000-06:00

I am not a patient person. Don't believe me? Just ask my husband. Oh, I can be patient, but believe me it's not my nature. Like fine wine, I have mellowed with age in some areas, but those are mostly the areas where I am not tried so much as I once was. I used to pray for patience like it was a gift God would bestow on me if I were sincere and penitent enough. Pr. Phil burst that bubble for me in a church council meeting one day. He explained that patience wasn't just a thing we could be given, it had to be cultivated. So now I pray for the strength to cultivate patience. It's okay to pray for strength, right?

Pr. Phil's blog today is on Psalm 27. (www.livingthelectionary.blogspot.com) That Psalm could have been written for the impatient person like me, especially the last verse: "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" I can't help but think about our two dogs, Fred (black lab) and Barney (brittany spaniel) when I read that verse. We haven't done much training with them, but one thing we taught them as puppies was to sit and stay. When we feed them, we make them sit and stay, sometimes walking out of their sight for a moment or two. When we return, there they are waiting for us. Of course, they know they're about to be fed, so they have good incentive to be patient. But the Psalmist had no such incentive; he was under attack.

Growing up, I thought my Dad must have been the most patient person on earth. And believe me, my brothers and I gave him ample opportunities to be impatient, but I never saw him lose control of his temper. Then, one day when my girls were little, I told him I regretted not inheriting his patience. Boy did he get a good laugh out of that! "Are you kidding me?" he said. He explained that he was one of the least patient people he knew. (I did know from personal experience that he wasn't patient behind the wheel of a car.) I asked him how he managed to keep his cool. He said he had to pray every day for strength (obviously I should have paid more attention here). He studied the Book of Job and he prayed he would have the humility and faith that Job had. I remembered his favorite term in admiration of tolerant people was they had "the patience of Job." Learning this about my Dad, whom I loved and respected so much, gave me hope. Hope that, while I carried his gene for impatience, I also carried his gene for stubbornly refusing to let that be what defined me. More importantly, I inherited my father's faith that made it possible.

I don't imagine my daughters harbor any misconceptions about my true nature, though I like to think they also appreciate all my finer, cultivated qualities. But I hope and pray that they also know the power they have been given by God to be defined by his grace, not by their human nature. To claim and be claimed by Christ, and to cultivate the gifts of the Spirit within them. To wait patiently on the Lord, with courage and strength, especially when they feel like they're under attack.

It's Like Pay it Forward, only Better

2010-02-22T17:00:00.000-06:00

I read a devotional today about giving and receiving gifts. I didn't see a connection to anything else I've read today until I really thought about it. This morning's FP4H study was about using my words to encourage and lift others up. That is giving a gift. Then I read a devotional about not allowing bitterness over the past prevent me from bringing joy to someone else (Job 1:21). Again, giving a gift. Then I read another one about not neglecting to use the gifts that God has given to me (1 Timothy 4:14) because large or small, I have been given gifts to share that can only come from me. And finally, I have been trying to come up with an original and personal gift for a friend. I decided I would write a poem but as soon as I started forming the thoughts in my head, it turned into a blessing. A gift from the Holy Spirit, through me.

What then, do I have to give? I can give my time, I can give my effort, my money, my talent, even my prayers, but if I do not give it without my ego being involved, I am wasting my time (1 Corinthians 13). If I am going to give of myself, even if the gift comes from my heart, but then wait expectantly for recognition or a positive reaction, who am I doing it for?

The most important gift I have to give is my obedience. Those who have been on a Via de Cristo weekend know the "Holy Spirit Prayer:"

Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth. O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit instructs the hearts of the faithful, grant that by that same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise and ever rejoice in his consolations. I pray that all my intentions, actions and works of this day may be directed solely to the greater glory of God's divine majesty. May the grace of God dwell always in me.

If I am the Child of God that I profess to be, then I will give of myself out of devotion to him. I will willingly be his hands, his feet, his presence in the world. I will do the work, whatever and wherever it presents itself. I will serve my Lord by serving others. I will take third place. Will I always do a perfect job? Not likely. Will I always enjoy the work? Probably not. But it's about my obedience to Christ and my willingness to go where the Holy Spirit leads me. That is the sacrifice that I can bring, and the gift I can always give. Because I have already received more than I can ever fathom.

Lord help me, every day, to receive the gift of your sacrifice anew. To unwrap it even as I unwrap myself, letting the worldly wrapping of selfish ego fall to the ground, and stepping forth as a new creation ready to do your will and share your gifts. Amen.

Will the real Jesus stand up?

2010-02-21T22:14:00.000-06:00

I am a Sunday School Shepherd for the 3rd graders at Calvary. That means I herd them around and try to watch and keep them out of trouble. Not always an easy task I must admit. At the beginning of each "unit" I teach the class and today was the day to introduce the story of the prodigal son. I wasn't worried about the story, but when I discovered we would be in the "drama" classroom, I was not very optimistic about the outcome. The drama room isn't your average class room. There are no table and chairs, there's a stage with a curtain and carpet for the kids to sit on. And there are all sorts of interesting props and costumes to fuel active minds and imaginations. So I carefully planned what I hoped would keep their attention long enough for me to get the message across. And, much to my amazement, it worked! Let me just say that no CEO who just had a successful and inspiring executive board meeting could have been anymore stoked than I was at having not only kept the atttention of six 8-yr-olds, but also had them actively engaged for over thirty minutes. Thank you Lord, for your Word, and thank you Holy Spirit for your inspiration.

I wish I could claim to be as attentive as my 8-yr olds at this morning's 11:00 service. Pr. Phil tied all the day's scripture readings together. He connected each of the temptations Christ overcame as told in Luke 4:1-13, one each, to the other three texts: Deuteronomy 26:1-11, Psalm 91, and Romans 10:5-15. I have to admit it was all sort of bouncing off of me a bit until he got to the Psalm. Not that the lesson was not a good one, it was. But I have had a few prayer requests this week that have been weighing heavy on my heart. So, when Pr. Phil began talking about suffering, it got my attention. Psalm 91 is all about the terrible things that we might face in life, but the Psalmist reminds us that God will bear us through whatever afflicts us. He will always be with us, and if we are faithful his love will sustain us. All of this sounded good, even comforting. But as I sat and wondered if I could carry a message from this to those facing tragic circumstances right now, I wasn't sure. Then I heard Phil say, "Remember you're not Jesus."

I've always been able to depend on Christ to lead me through the tough times in my life, and I think I'm pretty strong in my faith. But I have never had to face that searing despair that comes with losing a spouse or a child. Something that, like a arrow coming out of nowhere, slams into your life and rips your world to pieces. That heart-stopping feeling when the doctor say there's just nothing more we can do and you have to accept that life as you know it, the future you had planned, has slipped through your fingers despite all your prayers and pleading with God. That's when I looked into my heart and knew that I was as weak as anyone could ever be. No, I will never forget that I am not Jesus. Thank God I am not Jesus. Thank God that he is. Thank God that he knows our worst pain and despair. Thank God for his amazing grace and his promise to raise us up on eagle's wings, bear us on the breath of dawn, make us to shine like the sun, and hold us in the palm of his hand. Because we're not Jesus, but he has claimed us and we belong to him, and that is enough.

If I only had the right words

2010-02-19T10:22:00.000-06:00

Our FP4H Bible study is on giving control of our lives to God, and this week's focus is surrendering our words. We had a short survey as part of today's exercise in which we had to rate ourselves on our communication skills. While I rated myself a little better (good in general but needs some work) than Jerry rated himself (could use some work in this area), we both agreed that one of my biggest weaknesses is that I don't always speak up when I should. I can think back to a lot of times when I might have saved myself or someone else a lot of trouble-even heartache-if I had just opened my mouth and "used my words." My daughter Melissa uses this phrase to encourage 20-mo-old Rebekah to communicate without whining and frustration. It's amazing how effectively a toddler can communicate when given patient encouragement.

Our Bible study focuses a lot on what the Book of James says about words. James compares the tongue to the small rudder steering a large ship, or bit in a horse's mouth that controls his movements. Words have great power. They have the power to do great good or great harm. One wrong word at the wrong time can ignite flames of hatred and resentment, while the right word at the right time can spark a fire of productivity and positive action. That's a lot of power to wield. I suppose that's why I haven't spoken up at times. I overthink the situation. I want to say something, but what if I'm wrong? What if I use the wrong tone? What if I'm jumping to the wrong conclusion? Better to play it safe and not say anything. Wait and see how things develop. It'll all blow over and I won't have embarrassed myself by being wrong. Call it what you will: excuses, cop-outs, it sounds like whining and frustration to God.

Chapter 3:15-16 of Revelations says, "I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth." When I am moved by the Spirit but choose not to take action, I am a lukewarm Christian. Essentially, I am not trusting God to be my rudder, steering me in the right direction. I doubt myself and I doubt my faith, hindering God's ability to work through me. The first book of James says, "he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does." That is not who I want to be. I want to be strong and stable in my faith, and effective and useful to God.

Lord, I don't want to be a wishy-washy Christian, afraid to speak the truth in love. If my faith, which comes from you, is rooted in you, then your Spirit will guide me. You sent your Son Jesus to be a lamp to my feet and a light for my path and I know he resides here in my heart. Help me to listen and to speak confidently when his voice whispers to me, "use MY words." Amen.

In the beginning there is reflection

2010-02-18T14:42:00.000-06:00

Lent is a dark and somber time for many. I agree, it's a time for quiet reflection and serious consideration of where we stand according to God's perfect will. But it is also like cleaning that area of your house that catches all the overflow. It's cluttered and crammed with lots of stuff, some useful some not, and a lot of stuff you'd be better off without. You put it off month after month (maybe even year after year), but eventually you need to reclaim that space and make it useful again. My spiritual life is full, but it's full of stuff too, some useful some not. I don't know that I'd be better off without any of it, but I want to be closer to Jesus and there're too many distractions in the way. So my goal during Lent is to spend time reading scripture and then reflecting on what I think God is saying to me. I'm using this blog as my medium because I tend to focus better when I'm writing on the computer. There. That's it. So, where do I go from here? God only knows, but I am open to his leading me and I welcome anyone else who wants to join this journey.

To start off, a couple of scripture readings have come to mind when I think about reflection.

James 1:22-25:
Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does.

and last week's memory verse from First Place for Health (FP4H), Romans 12:13:
Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, rather think of yourself with sober judgement according to the the measure of faith God has given to you.

I don't want to look at God's Word and forget what it says as soon as I walk away. More importantly, I don't want to read it and never grasp what God is saying to me in the first place. He has given me this "perfect law that gives freedom," and this "measure of faith" with which to interpret how this perfect law applies to me. If I don't do anything with it, if I don't look deep inside myself and see my Lord looking back at me, I am empty and I am useless. I want to measure up to the faith God has given me by studying his Word and holding it in my heart. I want to sing his song even if it makes me weep. I want to move my feet to the drumbeat of his grace even as he climbs the hill to Golgotha. I want to be there, to look into his eyes and to feel his pain.

This is foolishness to unbelievers. Why would we choose to suffer a broken heart? Why do we open oursleves willingly to pain and anguish? Because we need to look in the mirror and see our true sinful nature. Because we need to accept that Jesus willingly paid that price for us. Because on our own, we can never be worthy of that sacrifice. Because that's how we clean house, reclaim the dusty spaces of our heart and make it useful again. Because Jesus can only dwell in a broken heart.