Shane & Shane – Your Grace Is Sufficient
Sunday, November 23, 2014
When It's My Child...
Simon & Garfunkel – Bridge over Troubled Water
Be careful what you pray for.
I prayed to feel the suffering of my friends who are hurting this Christmas season. I prayed that I would be able to understand the hurt of those who are hurting this year. I meant it, and I don't regret praying it. But it has hit home to me tonight, and I realize that it is different when the pain gets personal.
It is different when it's my child.
Chloe just had another seizure.
And she's eleven hours away from me. This is the first time I haven't been there to hold my baby, to smooth her damp hair back from her forehead, or bend to kiss her cheek. She is 18, but to me she is three, just like Zoe and Caroline are, in my heart and my head. I sit here helpless, my heart pounding and my throat dry. I am weary of these seizures. So broken that my lovely girl has to have them, that her life is upended by the betrayal of her own body.
Oh dear God. I am on the phone with Zoe. She put the phone to Chloe's ear. My baby is crying. She is so confused like she always is. She is crying so hard and now I am crying too but she can't see me cry, thank God. Zoe is being very brave and calm and steady. I hear her saying the same things I say, in my voice, over and over. Soothing, calm, steadying.
"You're okay, Chloe. You're okay. You're doing good. You're doing good. You are okay, honey."
God, why?
God, this is my child.
This is my perfect baby, this child that is lying on this bed in this hospital hours away from me, afraid and confused and feeling bruised and sore.
I don't want this for her.
I remember my grandfather's seizures, how they robbed him, how they broke his spirit time and time again.
I remember my seizures, the ones that let the doctors find my brain tumor.
I DO NOT WANT THIS FOR MY CHILD, LORD.
"Now is the time to worship."
WHAT?
I hear the words again, quiet and sure.
I know they come from Him, but I rebel, suddenly. Suddenly, when it's my child, I find fury rising up within me.
No, Lord. No. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of watching her hurt. Seeing the way the seizures break her.
I do not want to worship at this moment.
No.
At this moment, I want to rage.
I want to scream.
I want to wail.
I want to keen.
I want to hit.
I want to run.
I want to numb.
I want to cry.
And cry and cry and cry and cry and cry forever.
What I do not want to do is worship.
Praise. Sing songs. Pray prayers. Read the Bible.
I sit tense in my chair, waiting for Zoe to call back. She calls. She says they gave Chloe some Ativan and it is helping. She says Chloe is holding her hand. She says Chloe looks beautiful, even after the whole thing she's been through.
I know what she means.
I remember her last seizure, back in May. It caught and tore the breath from me, watching her after the seizing stopped. She was so pale, her body still slightly trembling, and her eyes were closed, her mouth open, tears clung to her eyelashes. Her hair was blue back then, she changes it all the time, and she looked like the mermaid that she calls herself, with her blue hair splayed on the pillow, and her arms flung to the side.
Zoe says, "Mama, she said to tell you she loves you." She says they have to go. She promises to call me back after Chloe gets back.
They are taking her for a CT scan of her brain.
And suddenly, my tears come so hard I can't stop them. I sit forward in my chair, face in my hands, and I weep, I weep, I weep for this child I love more than my own life.
And I realize that when it's my child, it's much harder to take my own advice.
I am quick to tell others to pray through their pain. I am quick to offer Bible verses, sign them up on prayer lists, assure them that God is there and He understands and He won't leave them.
Tonight, alone in this room, with my girl so far away from me, I have to practice what I so easily preach.
Can I? Can I do it?
I don't bow my head. I lift it up. I look up at the ceiling and I close my eyes. I want to see Him.
I want to feel Him here.
In my anger, in my hurt, in my fear, I want to know that what I talk about every day, what I offer to other people, is going to help me now with my baby.
My heart still feels numb.
I do what I tell other people to do.
I say one word.
"Help."
That's all, just that one word. Anything more would be hypocritical, I think, because of the fury and pain inside of me.
"Now is the time to worship."
"Now is the time to worship."
I take a very deep, shuddering breath.
Okay, Lord, I'm thinking. I'll give it a shot. Since You keep telling me to.
But it won't be from my heart. It will be from my head. Just obedience. Not feeling.
Those are my thoughts, my plans. But His thoughts are higher than mine. His plans are different.
Bigger, powerful, earth-moving.
As I sit here, I feel it. A slow, quiet, huge calm begins to envelop me. Peace that I don't expect is warming me from my hurting heart outward.
I open my mouth. I do worship Him.
I do pray. I do worship worship worship this God, Who is my Lord, even of my anger, my fury, my fear and my pain.
No matter what happens with Chloe, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what happens with my own health, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what happens with my finances, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what. No matter how. No matter why. No matter where.
NO MATTER.
I WORSHIP YOU.
It is not easy, this road we're asked to follow. But it wasn't easy for Him either. It wasn't easy for Him to die. And we are called to be like Him.
Even when it hurts. Maybe, especially when it hurts.
I wait for a call back. But the peace is already here, somehow, and I know that whatever they say, my girl is in the safest place she can be. She's in the hands of an almighty God, the God Who breathed life into her body, the God Who loves her more than I.
When it's my child, I want to be His child even more, so I can give her to Him, and trust that He will take care of her His way.
Raw faith cuts like a knife and makes it hard to breathe.
But it is the only kind of faith I believe in.
Be careful what you pray for.
I prayed to feel the suffering of my friends who are hurting this Christmas season. I prayed that I would be able to understand the hurt of those who are hurting this year. I meant it, and I don't regret praying it. But it has hit home to me tonight, and I realize that it is different when the pain gets personal.
It is different when it's my child.
Chloe just had another seizure.
And she's eleven hours away from me. This is the first time I haven't been there to hold my baby, to smooth her damp hair back from her forehead, or bend to kiss her cheek. She is 18, but to me she is three, just like Zoe and Caroline are, in my heart and my head. I sit here helpless, my heart pounding and my throat dry. I am weary of these seizures. So broken that my lovely girl has to have them, that her life is upended by the betrayal of her own body.
Oh dear God. I am on the phone with Zoe. She put the phone to Chloe's ear. My baby is crying. She is so confused like she always is. She is crying so hard and now I am crying too but she can't see me cry, thank God. Zoe is being very brave and calm and steady. I hear her saying the same things I say, in my voice, over and over. Soothing, calm, steadying.
"You're okay, Chloe. You're okay. You're doing good. You're doing good. You are okay, honey."
God, why?
God, this is my child.
This is my perfect baby, this child that is lying on this bed in this hospital hours away from me, afraid and confused and feeling bruised and sore.
I don't want this for her.
I remember my grandfather's seizures, how they robbed him, how they broke his spirit time and time again.
I remember my seizures, the ones that let the doctors find my brain tumor.
I DO NOT WANT THIS FOR MY CHILD, LORD.
"Now is the time to worship."
WHAT?
I hear the words again, quiet and sure.
I know they come from Him, but I rebel, suddenly. Suddenly, when it's my child, I find fury rising up within me.
No, Lord. No. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of watching her hurt. Seeing the way the seizures break her.
I do not want to worship at this moment.
No.
At this moment, I want to rage.
I want to scream.
I want to wail.
I want to keen.
I want to hit.
I want to run.
I want to numb.
I want to cry.
And cry and cry and cry and cry and cry forever.
What I do not want to do is worship.
Praise. Sing songs. Pray prayers. Read the Bible.
I sit tense in my chair, waiting for Zoe to call back. She calls. She says they gave Chloe some Ativan and it is helping. She says Chloe is holding her hand. She says Chloe looks beautiful, even after the whole thing she's been through.
I know what she means.
I remember her last seizure, back in May. It caught and tore the breath from me, watching her after the seizing stopped. She was so pale, her body still slightly trembling, and her eyes were closed, her mouth open, tears clung to her eyelashes. Her hair was blue back then, she changes it all the time, and she looked like the mermaid that she calls herself, with her blue hair splayed on the pillow, and her arms flung to the side.
Zoe says, "Mama, she said to tell you she loves you." She says they have to go. She promises to call me back after Chloe gets back.
They are taking her for a CT scan of her brain.
And suddenly, my tears come so hard I can't stop them. I sit forward in my chair, face in my hands, and I weep, I weep, I weep for this child I love more than my own life.
And I realize that when it's my child, it's much harder to take my own advice.
I am quick to tell others to pray through their pain. I am quick to offer Bible verses, sign them up on prayer lists, assure them that God is there and He understands and He won't leave them.
Tonight, alone in this room, with my girl so far away from me, I have to practice what I so easily preach.
Can I? Can I do it?
I don't bow my head. I lift it up. I look up at the ceiling and I close my eyes. I want to see Him.
I want to feel Him here.
In my anger, in my hurt, in my fear, I want to know that what I talk about every day, what I offer to other people, is going to help me now with my baby.
My heart still feels numb.
I do what I tell other people to do.
I say one word.
"Help."
That's all, just that one word. Anything more would be hypocritical, I think, because of the fury and pain inside of me.
"Now is the time to worship."
"Now is the time to worship."
I take a very deep, shuddering breath.
Okay, Lord, I'm thinking. I'll give it a shot. Since You keep telling me to.
But it won't be from my heart. It will be from my head. Just obedience. Not feeling.
Those are my thoughts, my plans. But His thoughts are higher than mine. His plans are different.
Bigger, powerful, earth-moving.
As I sit here, I feel it. A slow, quiet, huge calm begins to envelop me. Peace that I don't expect is warming me from my hurting heart outward.
I open my mouth. I do worship Him.
I do pray. I do worship worship worship this God, Who is my Lord, even of my anger, my fury, my fear and my pain.
No matter what happens with Chloe, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what happens with my own health, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what happens with my finances, Lord, I worship You.
No matter what. No matter how. No matter why. No matter where.
NO MATTER.
I WORSHIP YOU.
It is not easy, this road we're asked to follow. But it wasn't easy for Him either. It wasn't easy for Him to die. And we are called to be like Him.
Even when it hurts. Maybe, especially when it hurts.
I wait for a call back. But the peace is already here, somehow, and I know that whatever they say, my girl is in the safest place she can be. She's in the hands of an almighty God, the God Who breathed life into her body, the God Who loves her more than I.
When it's my child, I want to be His child even more, so I can give her to Him, and trust that He will take care of her His way.
Raw faith cuts like a knife and makes it hard to breathe.
But it is the only kind of faith I believe in.
Marlo's Song ...
https://www.reverbnation.com/artist/signup?utm_campaign=FacebookSharing_v3&utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=signup&utm_content=artist_3146516
by her husband..."Til My Dying Day".....lovely song...
Monday, November 17, 2014
Sour Patch Faith
Tonight I tried something new. My youngest daughter left a package of Sour Patch candies on my writing desk. I have never been tempted to eat this particular treat, lol, but my stomach was a bit upset and I thought the sourness might help. As I nibbled on the sour/sweet candy, I was surprised at how the two opposite tastes came together to make for a flavorful sensation. It struck me, suddenly, that life is like this sometimes in our walk as Christians. We have the sour, we have the sweet, and when we are able to see them both as equally from the Hand of God, we find that life has a pleasant balance.
The times in my life that I have been closest to God are the times when it was hardest to keep going, one foot in front of the other. I love being a happy person, and smiling, being positive, just enjoying being alive. But it is in the hurt, the fear, the loneliness that lasts all night long, when I feel totally abandoned and rejected...that is when the presence of God shines brightest for me.
If you are going through a sour time in your life, if it feels like there is no sweetness left in your world, take heart, my friend. God sees you. He feels your pain. And whether you feel Him or not, whether you see Him or not, HE IS THERE.
HE is GOD. HE is there for you. He will not ever walk away.
Faith that exists only in good times is a very shallow, superficial faith. The faith that stands the test of time, that faith, comes only after being tested in the hottest of fires. You are seen tonight. Wherever you are....alone in your room, out in a crowd of faces, with a husband or wife, with your children, in a hospital bed, in church, even...wherever you are, He is right there with you.
Take heart. Sour Patch faith isn't for cowards. You are strong, and you will come out of this victorious. I promise you that.
The times in my life that I have been closest to God are the times when it was hardest to keep going, one foot in front of the other. I love being a happy person, and smiling, being positive, just enjoying being alive. But it is in the hurt, the fear, the loneliness that lasts all night long, when I feel totally abandoned and rejected...that is when the presence of God shines brightest for me.
If you are going through a sour time in your life, if it feels like there is no sweetness left in your world, take heart, my friend. God sees you. He feels your pain. And whether you feel Him or not, whether you see Him or not, HE IS THERE.
HE is GOD. HE is there for you. He will not ever walk away.
Faith that exists only in good times is a very shallow, superficial faith. The faith that stands the test of time, that faith, comes only after being tested in the hottest of fires. You are seen tonight. Wherever you are....alone in your room, out in a crowd of faces, with a husband or wife, with your children, in a hospital bed, in church, even...wherever you are, He is right there with you.
Take heart. Sour Patch faith isn't for cowards. You are strong, and you will come out of this victorious. I promise you that.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Glory of the Ordinary
I'm never clearer than when I'm walking my dogs, which is why, even though I dread facing the chill here in North Georgia, I make myself do it every day. I force myself to snap on leashes, shrug into my jacket, and slip on thick gloves. It was so much easier in South Florida, when the weather never changed, was consistently pleasant and warm and easy on the skin, the eyes, the heart. But there is something inside of me that soars every time we go. I know this, so I do what I need to do to get out there. Today was no exception.
Crunching through orange leaves, I draw in a deep breath of cool, fall air and stare up at God's art as we make our way to the park. I catch my breath, stunned over and over again (it never fails), at the sheer beauty surrounding me. I get to see this stuff for free, I marvel, as I take in crimson leaves, pointy tips edged in deep warm yellow. The trees are alive with color, so bright and so vivid, my heart hurts taking in all that glorious paint job by God. How is it even real, I wonder, even as I know that it is true. I am a child again, star-struck with wonder and awe at the shamelessly brilliant display.
Beau tugs eagerly on his leash, his youth evident as he bounds forth, so happy to be outside, so ready to investigate, to explore, to touch ground with his nose, to sniff out the trail of other dogs before him on this path. Sassy balks, wanting to go slow, take her time. I am pulled between the two of them. One arm is stretched out to accommodate Beau, one arm bent to keep from jerking Sassy along.
It will be time to pick Caroline up soon from school.
The thought brings me immense pleasure. I love her stories, the long ones that wind on and on, sentences without periods, the only break her exclamations and question marks. I bring the dogs back home, tightening up on the leashes to keep them by my side on the narrow bike path that skirts our busy road. I was late to get her yesterday, lost in the library, and I don't want to be late today.
Here's what I know today.
Every moment is perfect.
Every second on this earth, it's a privilege.
We have the Miraculous in every minute.
When You Walk Through The Fire...
What do you do when you don't feel holy? You are a Christian, but you feel lost in some place that seems very far away from God. You go to church. It feels great while you're there, but you know you have to go home when it's over. You drive there, and you get ready for bed, and the lights are out, and suddenly, you are terribly, horribly alone. Fear rises up. You feel your throat close up. Terror strikes your heart. You are in a pit, and you have no idea how on earth you will ever get out of it.
It is different for each of us. I remember times when my girls were little, and I tucked them into bed, smoothed the hair back from their small foreheads, and bent to kiss them good night. I would gently close their doors, and walk back to my own room, where....many, many nights...I would cry myself to sleep. I was lonely. I was afraid. I didn't know how to make the money stretch. I wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right.
You may not be lonely. You may have a wonderful husband or wife. But cancer has come to your home, a most unwelcome visitor. You don't know what is going to happen. Will it go away? Is healing going to happen?
Maybe you don't have enough money for your light bill, or the rent. No matter how far you stretch it, the money is just not enough. You may be getting evicted, as you read these words. In a few short days, you have nowhere to go. You are afraid, you are scared to death. Will you be homeless in less than a week?
I think about my dear and precious friend, who has lost his wife, I feel the searing pain that burns through him. The grief is palpable. His loneliness is vast and dark and deep. He feels he is in a hole that he cannot climb out of.
I prayed to understand him, and You answered me. You gave me a sense of aloneness, an awful loneliness, a grief that has surrounded me on every side. I almost wish I hadn't prayed that prayer. This is terrifying, dark, bleak, and hopeless. I feel the darkness, and it is as if I am completely alone in the world. Depression crushes me. Despair grips my heart. I feel there is no hope. I don't have the words to help this man. I love him, and I want to help, but I feel powerless in the face of the enormity of his pain.
But in faith, by faith, I have to believe that there IS hope for him.
For all of us, whatever we are facing.
If God cannot help us in times like these, what good is it to talk about being a Christian? If it is just about the happy times, what help is our faith? our Christianity?
He doesn't promise easy answers. God is not Santa Claus. It's not about erasing all pain, taking away all heartache. That life would be Pollyanna-ish, and I don't think anyone really wants a life that shallow. Without pain, there is no understanding of true joy. But to live in the midst of pain, and to find yourself victory in my midst of it, that is what I want to help my friend to do.
Read Lamentations 3.
It is a powerhouse of feeling. It is a story of grief. It is a literal description of what loneliness, bitterness, anger, frustration, despair can do to your heart. It can shrivel up your soul. It can fill you with devastating fear. You may have a panic attack. But keep reading!
Hope comes in the midst of the pain.
Along with the heartache and the fear and the terror, we have a promise. We have a promise that we are NOT alone. We have a promise that God is with us through the pain. He SEES us, right where we are, and He is walking there in that mess with us.
He will hold us.
He will guide us.
He will lift us.
He will redeem us.
He will restore us.
He will love us to a place of peace that passes all human understanding.
It does not matter what you are going through today, right this very minute. Whatever you are facing, GOD IS WITH YOU. He is with you. He is with you. He is with you. You may not see Him. You may not feel His touch, but that does not mean His touch is not there. It is!
When you are broken apart, and you are bruised, and you are crying your heart out, remember that God does not change. He will not change His mind about you. He will not leave you. He will not forsake you. He will help you.
I can't make you believe this. But I can tell you, from my experience, that my God is faithful and true. He will deliver you from what you are facing.
If all you can do is say "Help me, God" ...that is ENOUGH. You don't have to be a preacher to see the Hand of God on your life. He is there for each and everyone of us.
This is your promise from an Almighty God.
Try it. Try Him. See what He will do for you.
I love you and my heart is with you tonight.
It is different for each of us. I remember times when my girls were little, and I tucked them into bed, smoothed the hair back from their small foreheads, and bent to kiss them good night. I would gently close their doors, and walk back to my own room, where....many, many nights...I would cry myself to sleep. I was lonely. I was afraid. I didn't know how to make the money stretch. I wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right.
You may not be lonely. You may have a wonderful husband or wife. But cancer has come to your home, a most unwelcome visitor. You don't know what is going to happen. Will it go away? Is healing going to happen?
Maybe you don't have enough money for your light bill, or the rent. No matter how far you stretch it, the money is just not enough. You may be getting evicted, as you read these words. In a few short days, you have nowhere to go. You are afraid, you are scared to death. Will you be homeless in less than a week?
I think about my dear and precious friend, who has lost his wife, I feel the searing pain that burns through him. The grief is palpable. His loneliness is vast and dark and deep. He feels he is in a hole that he cannot climb out of.
I prayed to understand him, and You answered me. You gave me a sense of aloneness, an awful loneliness, a grief that has surrounded me on every side. I almost wish I hadn't prayed that prayer. This is terrifying, dark, bleak, and hopeless. I feel the darkness, and it is as if I am completely alone in the world. Depression crushes me. Despair grips my heart. I feel there is no hope. I don't have the words to help this man. I love him, and I want to help, but I feel powerless in the face of the enormity of his pain.
But in faith, by faith, I have to believe that there IS hope for him.
For all of us, whatever we are facing.
If God cannot help us in times like these, what good is it to talk about being a Christian? If it is just about the happy times, what help is our faith? our Christianity?
He doesn't promise easy answers. God is not Santa Claus. It's not about erasing all pain, taking away all heartache. That life would be Pollyanna-ish, and I don't think anyone really wants a life that shallow. Without pain, there is no understanding of true joy. But to live in the midst of pain, and to find yourself victory in my midst of it, that is what I want to help my friend to do.
Read Lamentations 3.
It is a powerhouse of feeling. It is a story of grief. It is a literal description of what loneliness, bitterness, anger, frustration, despair can do to your heart. It can shrivel up your soul. It can fill you with devastating fear. You may have a panic attack. But keep reading!
Hope comes in the midst of the pain.
Along with the heartache and the fear and the terror, we have a promise. We have a promise that we are NOT alone. We have a promise that God is with us through the pain. He SEES us, right where we are, and He is walking there in that mess with us.
He will hold us.
He will guide us.
He will lift us.
He will redeem us.
He will restore us.
He will love us to a place of peace that passes all human understanding.
It does not matter what you are going through today, right this very minute. Whatever you are facing, GOD IS WITH YOU. He is with you. He is with you. He is with you. You may not see Him. You may not feel His touch, but that does not mean His touch is not there. It is!
When you are broken apart, and you are bruised, and you are crying your heart out, remember that God does not change. He will not change His mind about you. He will not leave you. He will not forsake you. He will help you.
I can't make you believe this. But I can tell you, from my experience, that my God is faithful and true. He will deliver you from what you are facing.
If all you can do is say "Help me, God" ...that is ENOUGH. You don't have to be a preacher to see the Hand of God on your life. He is there for each and everyone of us.
This is your promise from an Almighty God.
Try it. Try Him. See what He will do for you.
I love you and my heart is with you tonight.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
This is Your Time!
This is your time! This is your time for God to work, to move, to lead, to guide. God has to prepare and make us ready to do the work that He has called us to do. Obviously, God feels I am a slow learner, lol, because He keeps repeating that message to me over and over again! Thank You, Lord, I get it!
At church tonight, we had a guest speaker from Australia. His name is Russell Evans and he is with Planet Shaker. His message was this: that God has His hand on His church, and that this time is the time that He is working to bring about His will on this earth, for this time and for His purpose.
I am humbled and bowed down before His tender call to us, His love and His patience, and most of all, His incredible concern for each and every detail of our lives. He cares about all the things we need to get in order, all the ways we need to put the broken places back together before we set out to work for Him.
I have nothing to share tonight, past this. I want to get offline and in the Word and saturate myself with His Word, in His presence. Earlier today, I thought about how this blog has become more of a journal between me and my Lord, and that's okay. I'm not sure if anyone reads it, but it is a way for me to express what is happening in my heart, and in my journey. This blog helps me to bear witness to what my God is doing in my heart, mind, soul and life.
That is enough.
At church tonight, we had a guest speaker from Australia. His name is Russell Evans and he is with Planet Shaker. His message was this: that God has His hand on His church, and that this time is the time that He is working to bring about His will on this earth, for this time and for His purpose.
I am humbled and bowed down before His tender call to us, His love and His patience, and most of all, His incredible concern for each and every detail of our lives. He cares about all the things we need to get in order, all the ways we need to put the broken places back together before we set out to work for Him.
I have nothing to share tonight, past this. I want to get offline and in the Word and saturate myself with His Word, in His presence. Earlier today, I thought about how this blog has become more of a journal between me and my Lord, and that's okay. I'm not sure if anyone reads it, but it is a way for me to express what is happening in my heart, and in my journey. This blog helps me to bear witness to what my God is doing in my heart, mind, soul and life.
That is enough.
Looking Ahead...
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/snow-white-doesnt-live-here-anymore/201401/stop-expecting-misery-and-learn-make-room-happiness
Yesterday, Caroline and I were talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up. She wanted to know what we were taking for the family get-togethers, and if I had any ideas for Christmas gifts for her sisters. Automatically, I found myself saying, "Oh, honey, it's still so far away! No need to figure all that out right now." As the words were escaping my lips, a strange thought occurred to me: I never plan for the future, even if it is only a month away, because I am always afraid, subconsciously, that something will come up, and whatever I am planning for won't happen. Or I'll die before it happens. I looked over at my daughter and told her what I was thinking. She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded. "That explains it," she said sagely, my little 15 year old guru, "that's why you never make plans, Mama."
She's right.
I read an incredible article (see link above) that let me see I am not the only one who has had this problem. The writer says that she and her family also never did things in advance: didn't buy graduation dresses a month before the Big Day, for example, because something could come up, and the anticipated event just would not happen.
It is ironic that it has taken me over five decades to realize something my youngest daughter picked up on before she is even 16 years old.
I don't know how, exactly, to fix the situation but I know some steps that may help me to get better about it. The first one, as I shared with my child, is to make To Do lists.
I know people who have To Do lists in their bedrooms, to remind them to call the rug cleaner, or change the sheets, or pick up sky blue paint for touch-ups, via the scattered Post-It notes by the light switches. We've all seen the grocery To Do lists hung on refrigerators by magnets: Pick up mayo, don't forget the dog food, we need milk! In every case, someone is anticipating a need, and writing ways to meet that need.
Another step is to Act As If. In other words, if I am planning to go to Costa Rica, I need to get my passport ready. I need to check out my luggage: is it travel-worthy? I need to plan for time off from work. For me, the dream of being a missionary in three years means I get to start now to have my health in order, to figure out ways to creatively fundraise, and to spend time in prayer over where to go and with which organization.
Believe it or not, this is all very new and strange to me. I am not a planner of anything. I just go. I just do. I just show up.
But times are changing in my life and in the world around me, and we need to be diligent in planning for tomorrow.
So I grabbed some paper and a couple of pens, and Caro and I set out to make ourselves some To Do lists. An hour later, I had mine finished and she hadn't started hers. ("Mama, you're the one that needs help with this, not me!" was her excuse!)
That's cool. I have now officially: planned what to take to the Family Thanksgiving Meal (pumpkin pies, made by Yours Truly), figured out what to take to the Family Christmas Party (coffee, tea bags, sugar, and cookies), and a daring plan for losing these pesky twenty pounds that have stubbornly settled in around my waist, thanks to Merry Menopause.
I feel nervous and excited at the same time. I still can't promise something won't happen before those days come, but if it does, what the heck? Somebody will still eat that pumpkin pie.
I even remembered the Cool Whip.
Yesterday, Caroline and I were talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up. She wanted to know what we were taking for the family get-togethers, and if I had any ideas for Christmas gifts for her sisters. Automatically, I found myself saying, "Oh, honey, it's still so far away! No need to figure all that out right now." As the words were escaping my lips, a strange thought occurred to me: I never plan for the future, even if it is only a month away, because I am always afraid, subconsciously, that something will come up, and whatever I am planning for won't happen. Or I'll die before it happens. I looked over at my daughter and told her what I was thinking. She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded. "That explains it," she said sagely, my little 15 year old guru, "that's why you never make plans, Mama."
She's right.
I read an incredible article (see link above) that let me see I am not the only one who has had this problem. The writer says that she and her family also never did things in advance: didn't buy graduation dresses a month before the Big Day, for example, because something could come up, and the anticipated event just would not happen.
It is ironic that it has taken me over five decades to realize something my youngest daughter picked up on before she is even 16 years old.
I don't know how, exactly, to fix the situation but I know some steps that may help me to get better about it. The first one, as I shared with my child, is to make To Do lists.
I know people who have To Do lists in their bedrooms, to remind them to call the rug cleaner, or change the sheets, or pick up sky blue paint for touch-ups, via the scattered Post-It notes by the light switches. We've all seen the grocery To Do lists hung on refrigerators by magnets: Pick up mayo, don't forget the dog food, we need milk! In every case, someone is anticipating a need, and writing ways to meet that need.
Another step is to Act As If. In other words, if I am planning to go to Costa Rica, I need to get my passport ready. I need to check out my luggage: is it travel-worthy? I need to plan for time off from work. For me, the dream of being a missionary in three years means I get to start now to have my health in order, to figure out ways to creatively fundraise, and to spend time in prayer over where to go and with which organization.
Believe it or not, this is all very new and strange to me. I am not a planner of anything. I just go. I just do. I just show up.
But times are changing in my life and in the world around me, and we need to be diligent in planning for tomorrow.
So I grabbed some paper and a couple of pens, and Caro and I set out to make ourselves some To Do lists. An hour later, I had mine finished and she hadn't started hers. ("Mama, you're the one that needs help with this, not me!" was her excuse!)
That's cool. I have now officially: planned what to take to the Family Thanksgiving Meal (pumpkin pies, made by Yours Truly), figured out what to take to the Family Christmas Party (coffee, tea bags, sugar, and cookies), and a daring plan for losing these pesky twenty pounds that have stubbornly settled in around my waist, thanks to Merry Menopause.
I feel nervous and excited at the same time. I still can't promise something won't happen before those days come, but if it does, what the heck? Somebody will still eat that pumpkin pie.
I even remembered the Cool Whip.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Precious Beyond Compare...
Keith Green feat. Oh Lord, You're Beautiful
Umobile Worship – Holy Spirit (Live)
Shane & Shane – Holy and Anointed One
It is nearly midnight and, while my body is tired, my heart will not let me sleep. I have my three daughters on my mind. I know that what I need to do right now, more than to sleep, is to come before my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and to pray for these precious daughters of mine. He loaned them to me, they are His, and yet I am the one that He chose to raise them, to teach them and to love them into His kingdom.
I found a small book at the library that really has an anointing on it. Called Praying the Scriptures For Your Children, by Jodi Berndt, it has had a powerful effect on my prayer time for my girls. The premise of Jodi's book is to pray Scripture over your children, to use His Words in the words you pray for your children. Tonight, I have come to Him to pray His Word over my girls, over all their curious, funny, tender, wild, sad, uncertain, excited, hopeful little Selves, with my whole heart placed on an altar of worship to Him, and in prayer for their lives.
So now, let me just do that. Let me just pray for my girls and, if you are reading this and you have children, you could pray for yours too. If you don't have children, you know someone who does, and you could pray for them. Ready? Let's come before our beautiful Lord Jesus, and let's spend some time with Him now.....
Dearest Lord Jesus, I love You, first of all, and praise Your holy Name. You alone are God,and You alone are worthy of all praise. Lord, I worship You with my whole heart, with my mind, with my spirit, with my soul, with everything that is within me. Forgive me of my sins, forgive me of unforgiveness harbored in my heart. Forgive me for doubt. Forgive me for impatience. Forgive me for lack of trust. Forgive me for double-mindedness. Make me holy before You, Lord, and set me apart for Your glory.
And I come to You now for these incredible young girls that You have given to me. How I love them, my Lord. They are precious beyond compare. They make my life so full and complete. And now, I use Your Word to pray over my darlings:
I pray for Zoe, Chloe and Caroline, that they will continue to live in Christ, rooted and built up in Him, strengthened in their faith and overflowing with gratitude....(Colossians 2:6-7)
I pray that Zoe, Chloe and Caroline will put their full trust in You, Lord, and that they will never be shaken...(Psalm 125:1)
Enable Zoe, Chloe and Caroline to be courageous, Lord. Don't let them get frightened or discouraged, but let them know that You will be with them wherever they go....(Joshua 1:9)
Be the Lord and God of Zoe, Chloe and Caroline. Teach them what is best for them, and direct them in the ways in which they should go....(Isaiah 48:17)
Cause Zoe, Chloe and Caroline to delight in You, Lord, and give them the lovely desires of their beautiful hearts. Let them commit their ways to You, trusting in You as You make their righteousness shine like the dawn....(Psalm 37:4,5)
Father God, all those years ago, when I was infertile and the surgeries didn't work, and the medicines didn't work, and the doctors gave up on me, and they said it was impossible, just not going to happen, for me to have babies. YOU made the impossible...possible...and You gave me three lovely, healthy, strong, and perfect daughters! One after the other, three children in six years, You gave me these girls and You entrusted them to my care.
I haven't been and am not, still, a perfect mother, but my love for them is as whole and full and complete as I can give to another human being. Thank You for loving me enough to bless me with these girls, these daughters who are my whole heart. I love them more than I love my own life, and I pray that You will be very near to them. Show Zoe and Chloe Your perfect way for them, and bless them while they are living so far away from me and Caroline. And be with Caroline as she is here with me, going to school and doing what she needs to be doing with her little sweet life.
I love You so much, and I love my girls and I thank You for giving them to me.
Alleluia! In Your Name I pray,
Amen and Amen....
Umobile Worship – Holy Spirit (Live)
Shane & Shane – Holy and Anointed One
It is nearly midnight and, while my body is tired, my heart will not let me sleep. I have my three daughters on my mind. I know that what I need to do right now, more than to sleep, is to come before my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and to pray for these precious daughters of mine. He loaned them to me, they are His, and yet I am the one that He chose to raise them, to teach them and to love them into His kingdom.
I found a small book at the library that really has an anointing on it. Called Praying the Scriptures For Your Children, by Jodi Berndt, it has had a powerful effect on my prayer time for my girls. The premise of Jodi's book is to pray Scripture over your children, to use His Words in the words you pray for your children. Tonight, I have come to Him to pray His Word over my girls, over all their curious, funny, tender, wild, sad, uncertain, excited, hopeful little Selves, with my whole heart placed on an altar of worship to Him, and in prayer for their lives.
So now, let me just do that. Let me just pray for my girls and, if you are reading this and you have children, you could pray for yours too. If you don't have children, you know someone who does, and you could pray for them. Ready? Let's come before our beautiful Lord Jesus, and let's spend some time with Him now.....
Dearest Lord Jesus, I love You, first of all, and praise Your holy Name. You alone are God,and You alone are worthy of all praise. Lord, I worship You with my whole heart, with my mind, with my spirit, with my soul, with everything that is within me. Forgive me of my sins, forgive me of unforgiveness harbored in my heart. Forgive me for doubt. Forgive me for impatience. Forgive me for lack of trust. Forgive me for double-mindedness. Make me holy before You, Lord, and set me apart for Your glory.
And I come to You now for these incredible young girls that You have given to me. How I love them, my Lord. They are precious beyond compare. They make my life so full and complete. And now, I use Your Word to pray over my darlings:
I pray for Zoe, Chloe and Caroline, that they will continue to live in Christ, rooted and built up in Him, strengthened in their faith and overflowing with gratitude....(Colossians 2:6-7)
I pray that Zoe, Chloe and Caroline will put their full trust in You, Lord, and that they will never be shaken...(Psalm 125:1)
Enable Zoe, Chloe and Caroline to be courageous, Lord. Don't let them get frightened or discouraged, but let them know that You will be with them wherever they go....(Joshua 1:9)
Be the Lord and God of Zoe, Chloe and Caroline. Teach them what is best for them, and direct them in the ways in which they should go....(Isaiah 48:17)
Cause Zoe, Chloe and Caroline to delight in You, Lord, and give them the lovely desires of their beautiful hearts. Let them commit their ways to You, trusting in You as You make their righteousness shine like the dawn....(Psalm 37:4,5)
Father God, all those years ago, when I was infertile and the surgeries didn't work, and the medicines didn't work, and the doctors gave up on me, and they said it was impossible, just not going to happen, for me to have babies. YOU made the impossible...possible...and You gave me three lovely, healthy, strong, and perfect daughters! One after the other, three children in six years, You gave me these girls and You entrusted them to my care.
I haven't been and am not, still, a perfect mother, but my love for them is as whole and full and complete as I can give to another human being. Thank You for loving me enough to bless me with these girls, these daughters who are my whole heart. I love them more than I love my own life, and I pray that You will be very near to them. Show Zoe and Chloe Your perfect way for them, and bless them while they are living so far away from me and Caroline. And be with Caroline as she is here with me, going to school and doing what she needs to be doing with her little sweet life.
I love You so much, and I love my girls and I thank You for giving them to me.
Alleluia! In Your Name I pray,
Amen and Amen....
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Thanks Giving
Every day my heart is filled with gratitude to God for another day of living. Today, spending time with my precious youngest daughter, Caroline, the Gratitude Meter went wild! It was a day of so much beauty, companionship, and adventure for us, and I believe the memories we made will last for a long, long time.
Gratitude takes my breath away. I catch my breath, heart in my throat, over and over and over again each day. The flaming trees, everywhere we turn here in North Georgia, and the friendliness of folks here. The sweetness of our house, and the comfort of our wide, deep back yard, where the dogs can run with abandon since it is fenced.
And today was perfect.
We shared a Mexican meal together. Shrimp quesadilla for me, chicken quesadilla for her. We talked about a book she is reading for school. We shared how much we both miss her two big sisters, all the way down in South Forida. We decided, impulsively, to go to Babyland General, where Caro once went with her father and me to pick out a Cabbage Patch baby of her own. I introduced her to the charms of tiny Helen, Georgia, and then we took a leisurely drive through Unicoi State Park, near Anna Ruby Falls. All in all, the day was long but filled to the brim with good times and happiness for my girl and me.
Tonight, getting ready for bed, I thought about my recent feeling that God is calling me to wait on my dream for overseas missions. As I thought back on today, remembered the open smile and the joy in my young girl's eyes, I realized that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing for my God and for His kingdom. I am raising this girl to know Him. I am making her a priority. I am showing her that she is more important to me than making my own dreams come true. And that is no small matter, because I have longed for missions for most of my life.
But I keep thinking of that verse that says what will it profit a man, if he gain the world and lose his soul? and I am thinking about another one that says if you have all the wisdom in the world and you do all the good deeds you can think of and you give to the church and you minister to the poor in His Name, but if you do it without love, if you don't have love, it all comes down to nothing in His eyes.
I don't know about you folks, but I saw love in my daughter's eyes tonight, and it was the love reflecting back from mine to hers. For this one day, my Caroline got that she mattered to her mother, that she was the most important, beautiful, valuable person in my world. That may not be much when you compare it to telling an entire orphanage about Jesus, but somehow, I believe it was enough for God, and I know it was enough for Caroline and me.
Do you have a dream that you have to put off tonight? something you really want to have, to do, to be? and it isn't happening for you right now? The Bible says that hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire, when it comes, brings life. Day by day, God is showing me the truth and beauty of that verse.
All we really have is today. Right now, this very minute. I just want to fill mine up with Him, which means to fill it up with love. Because that is Who and that is What He is: He is LOVE.
I love you. Thank you for reading my blog. You are one of a mighty crowd of ...let's see...TWO! (You and I!) God bless your day with what matters most, and crown your life with His abiding love.
Gratitude takes my breath away. I catch my breath, heart in my throat, over and over and over again each day. The flaming trees, everywhere we turn here in North Georgia, and the friendliness of folks here. The sweetness of our house, and the comfort of our wide, deep back yard, where the dogs can run with abandon since it is fenced.
And today was perfect.
We shared a Mexican meal together. Shrimp quesadilla for me, chicken quesadilla for her. We talked about a book she is reading for school. We shared how much we both miss her two big sisters, all the way down in South Forida. We decided, impulsively, to go to Babyland General, where Caro once went with her father and me to pick out a Cabbage Patch baby of her own. I introduced her to the charms of tiny Helen, Georgia, and then we took a leisurely drive through Unicoi State Park, near Anna Ruby Falls. All in all, the day was long but filled to the brim with good times and happiness for my girl and me.
Tonight, getting ready for bed, I thought about my recent feeling that God is calling me to wait on my dream for overseas missions. As I thought back on today, remembered the open smile and the joy in my young girl's eyes, I realized that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing for my God and for His kingdom. I am raising this girl to know Him. I am making her a priority. I am showing her that she is more important to me than making my own dreams come true. And that is no small matter, because I have longed for missions for most of my life.
But I keep thinking of that verse that says what will it profit a man, if he gain the world and lose his soul? and I am thinking about another one that says if you have all the wisdom in the world and you do all the good deeds you can think of and you give to the church and you minister to the poor in His Name, but if you do it without love, if you don't have love, it all comes down to nothing in His eyes.
I don't know about you folks, but I saw love in my daughter's eyes tonight, and it was the love reflecting back from mine to hers. For this one day, my Caroline got that she mattered to her mother, that she was the most important, beautiful, valuable person in my world. That may not be much when you compare it to telling an entire orphanage about Jesus, but somehow, I believe it was enough for God, and I know it was enough for Caroline and me.
Do you have a dream that you have to put off tonight? something you really want to have, to do, to be? and it isn't happening for you right now? The Bible says that hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire, when it comes, brings life. Day by day, God is showing me the truth and beauty of that verse.
All we really have is today. Right now, this very minute. I just want to fill mine up with Him, which means to fill it up with love. Because that is Who and that is What He is: He is LOVE.
I love you. Thank you for reading my blog. You are one of a mighty crowd of ...let's see...TWO! (You and I!) God bless your day with what matters most, and crown your life with His abiding love.
Naked Trust...When You are Smack Dab Out of Your Comfort Zone...
Beau woke me up around four a.m. He never barks, rarely makes noise at all, but there was a gentle, nearly imperceptible whine, emanating from his kennel.
I got up, sleepily wandered to his kennel, let him out, Sassy out of hers, snapped on their leashes, snapped one on Dennis the Cat, and out we all traipsed for Beau to do his business. It was FREEZING out there. I had, in my stupor, not bothered to grab my coat. I was wearing my cute little penguin pajamas, which are awesome if you are inside, and not so awesome outside in North Georgia at four in the morning in November. And, to add insult to injury, my normally quick-to-go Beau wasn't so ...quick...to...go.... this morning. He took his time. Wandered around the yard. Did a bit of business, squatted for a long time, got up, walked a step, squatted again to do more. This went on for five different "squats" in our yard.
By this time, I was feeling the chill from the tips of my bare feet (yes, I forgot shoes too) to my adorable nose (it is the only part of me that I am happy to say I have never not liked), and I was slowly turning into a Frozen character. I felt the wind whipping through me, my body felt exposed to the elements even in my pajamas, and I was truly vulnerable to the frigid weather that I am SO not used to. What saved me was the knowledge that the front door was only a few steps away, and I knew that we would be back inside, cozy and warming from the chill, in no time. A small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless.
I shook my head, urged Beau to hurry, and set about pondering how in the world this is where I am.
A cold place that's about to get even colder. There might even be...dare I say it?...SNOW.
And I am woefully unprepared, although I am making preparations.
I haven't worn a coat in five years, but I found a servicable one at the Valley Rescue Mission for eleven bucks. I just bought three pairs of gloves at the Dollar Tree. I retrieved my black Nine West boots from Zoe's apartment, the ones I loaned her and the ones I now need more than she does.
I haven't worn those boots since I bought them in snowy Tennessee for my father's funeral but I am back in winterland, and the flip flops aren't cutting it anymore.
I don't understand God's ways, most of the time. I don't get how I ended up in a town in North Georgia, when my heart is for the sunshine. When my desire is to be in some tropical country ministering to tiny dark-eyed orphans. When my two oldest daughters are eleven hours away from me, living in a city that we loved, with gorgeous vivid tropical flowers bringing awe to me every single time I walked our dogs. Why is it that, surrounded by the sense of wonder that I could live there, be there in the midst of such heart-stopping beauty, I managed to end up HERE? In a town that, while friendly and decent, is not South Florida. A town that is going to challenge every bit of strength I have once the winter blows in.
All I can do is put my trust in God, trust that He drew us here for a reason. That we are meant to be here, and that there is a work for us to accomplish.
All I can do is surrender. Believe He is in this.
Back inside our cozy little house, I grabbed fluffy socks (my favorite lime green and blue ones), and I jumped on my sofa, buried myself under three blankets, and commenced to thawing the chill. That's when a disturbing thought came to me.
"Some folks don't have the option of coming in from the cold."
The thought blindsided me, took my breath for a very long moment.
There are folks, right here in Gainesville, who live under a bridge. Folks who wander the streets at night. Folks who don't have coats or gloves or warm socks or boots. Folks who are hungry all day and cold all night.
Folks who would love to have my life, even if only for the few months of winter.
I felt like crying, all of a sudden. God put it in my face, and I didn't like what I was seeing.
Let me be honest. I don't get God, most of the time. I don't get why He does what He does, or leads the way He leads. And recently, I haven't been all that happy with His guidance for me. Like I said, this is not my mojo. I like sunshine, waves, hot sand beneath my feet. I like being with my girls. I like tailoring my ministry so that it fits who I think I am, and what I think I am about.
But God has, at least for now, stopped me in my tracks. He put me here, and even though it rankles, I can feel the rightness of His choice.
There is a ministry here. There is a ministry wherever we are planted.
I know I will go to missions. I know that one day I will uproot and transplant myself out of the United States. But that time for me is apparently not yet.
I am here. And here is where I should be.
Where are you? Are you in a no-man's-land? Are you in a holding pattern, waiting for all the circumstances to feel right before you really step out in faith to live for Him?
Don't wait. There is a work for you right where you are, with the people you are around, and in the place where you are settled.
Trust is hard. It's even harder when you feel naked, exposed to the elements, unprepared, unready, out of your comfort zone.
But that's the best kind of trust there is. That's the kind that absolutely cannot make it without His help. And when He steps in, well, that's all you need to make it through.
Wherever you are today, right now whatever is happening in your world, there's a place for you to serve your God. There's a place for you to be used for His kingdom.
It may not be pretty and it may not be warm. There may not be flowers. But there will be Jesus, beckoning you in, and that, my friends, is MORE than enough.
I got up, sleepily wandered to his kennel, let him out, Sassy out of hers, snapped on their leashes, snapped one on Dennis the Cat, and out we all traipsed for Beau to do his business. It was FREEZING out there. I had, in my stupor, not bothered to grab my coat. I was wearing my cute little penguin pajamas, which are awesome if you are inside, and not so awesome outside in North Georgia at four in the morning in November. And, to add insult to injury, my normally quick-to-go Beau wasn't so ...quick...to...go.... this morning. He took his time. Wandered around the yard. Did a bit of business, squatted for a long time, got up, walked a step, squatted again to do more. This went on for five different "squats" in our yard.
By this time, I was feeling the chill from the tips of my bare feet (yes, I forgot shoes too) to my adorable nose (it is the only part of me that I am happy to say I have never not liked), and I was slowly turning into a Frozen character. I felt the wind whipping through me, my body felt exposed to the elements even in my pajamas, and I was truly vulnerable to the frigid weather that I am SO not used to. What saved me was the knowledge that the front door was only a few steps away, and I knew that we would be back inside, cozy and warming from the chill, in no time. A small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless.
I shook my head, urged Beau to hurry, and set about pondering how in the world this is where I am.
A cold place that's about to get even colder. There might even be...dare I say it?...SNOW.
And I am woefully unprepared, although I am making preparations.
I haven't worn a coat in five years, but I found a servicable one at the Valley Rescue Mission for eleven bucks. I just bought three pairs of gloves at the Dollar Tree. I retrieved my black Nine West boots from Zoe's apartment, the ones I loaned her and the ones I now need more than she does.
I haven't worn those boots since I bought them in snowy Tennessee for my father's funeral but I am back in winterland, and the flip flops aren't cutting it anymore.
I don't understand God's ways, most of the time. I don't get how I ended up in a town in North Georgia, when my heart is for the sunshine. When my desire is to be in some tropical country ministering to tiny dark-eyed orphans. When my two oldest daughters are eleven hours away from me, living in a city that we loved, with gorgeous vivid tropical flowers bringing awe to me every single time I walked our dogs. Why is it that, surrounded by the sense of wonder that I could live there, be there in the midst of such heart-stopping beauty, I managed to end up HERE? In a town that, while friendly and decent, is not South Florida. A town that is going to challenge every bit of strength I have once the winter blows in.
All I can do is put my trust in God, trust that He drew us here for a reason. That we are meant to be here, and that there is a work for us to accomplish.
All I can do is surrender. Believe He is in this.
Back inside our cozy little house, I grabbed fluffy socks (my favorite lime green and blue ones), and I jumped on my sofa, buried myself under three blankets, and commenced to thawing the chill. That's when a disturbing thought came to me.
"Some folks don't have the option of coming in from the cold."
The thought blindsided me, took my breath for a very long moment.
There are folks, right here in Gainesville, who live under a bridge. Folks who wander the streets at night. Folks who don't have coats or gloves or warm socks or boots. Folks who are hungry all day and cold all night.
Folks who would love to have my life, even if only for the few months of winter.
I felt like crying, all of a sudden. God put it in my face, and I didn't like what I was seeing.
Let me be honest. I don't get God, most of the time. I don't get why He does what He does, or leads the way He leads. And recently, I haven't been all that happy with His guidance for me. Like I said, this is not my mojo. I like sunshine, waves, hot sand beneath my feet. I like being with my girls. I like tailoring my ministry so that it fits who I think I am, and what I think I am about.
But God has, at least for now, stopped me in my tracks. He put me here, and even though it rankles, I can feel the rightness of His choice.
There is a ministry here. There is a ministry wherever we are planted.
I know I will go to missions. I know that one day I will uproot and transplant myself out of the United States. But that time for me is apparently not yet.
I am here. And here is where I should be.
Where are you? Are you in a no-man's-land? Are you in a holding pattern, waiting for all the circumstances to feel right before you really step out in faith to live for Him?
Don't wait. There is a work for you right where you are, with the people you are around, and in the place where you are settled.
Trust is hard. It's even harder when you feel naked, exposed to the elements, unprepared, unready, out of your comfort zone.
But that's the best kind of trust there is. That's the kind that absolutely cannot make it without His help. And when He steps in, well, that's all you need to make it through.
Wherever you are today, right now whatever is happening in your world, there's a place for you to serve your God. There's a place for you to be used for His kingdom.
It may not be pretty and it may not be warm. There may not be flowers. But there will be Jesus, beckoning you in, and that, my friends, is MORE than enough.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Stripped Bare...
It is six-thirty a.m. on a Saturday morning. Everyone is asleep but me. I am sitting at Nat's wooden desk, drinking in the early morning sky outside my window. The trees are a dark silhouette against the pale grey sky, and I feel the chill of the day already, seeping through the front door where Dennis, the cat, has ripped away half of the rubber sealing. I keep thinking about a quote I read somewhere, not sure if it was Marianne Williamson or Nelson Mandela who coined it first (I've seen it attributed to both), but anyway it was something about not being afraid of our own greatness. About embracing your power instead of shrinking from it. It reminds us not to play small, or hide in the shadows. When I think about living for Christ, I think that this is what I need to remember: He created me to do great things for Him. He did that for all of us. It isn't serving my Lord when I play small with the gifts and talents He has given me.
I love the title of this blog because, for me, this is what it all comes down to in the end. We've got to go through a process of stripping away all the external trappings: the religiosity that so easily morphs into hypocrisy, the fake masquerading as real, the lies disguised as truth. I see a time, not so far into our country's future, when those of us who proclaim the Name of Jesus, those of us who call ourselves Christians, when we will be forced to shed our safe homes and our steady jobs and our conformity to the world system...for the sake and the call of standing tall for our Savior.
It breaks my heart when I read about believers in other countries, where religious freedom is not a way of life, and those who choose to read the Bible do it at the risk of imminent torture, imprisonment or death. I sit in this quiet room and I glance over at the small bookshelf near the desk. I count the Bibles sitting there, and my heart is immediately shamed. I have eleven Bibles there, all different translations, some with large print for my aging eyes, one with a stretchy blue and white cover that I particularly like. I love Bibles, and find them wherever I go. Often I will pick one up at a thrift store for a dollar, sometimes I find them in old bookstores. For years, I have collected them. All sizes, colors, translations. I cherish them and now journal in some of them. It is not wrong for me to love and collect Bibles, but IT IS SHAMEFUL THAT I HAVE SO MANY and so many others do not have even one.
It breaks my heart, literally.
The sky, now pink, soothes me as I write these words. I am reminded that I can take a deep breath, back up, slow down and deal with things one ...step...at...a...time. Perhaps I can mail some of my Bibles to a missionary organization. I could start a Bible class for the people that live near me, and each person can use one of the Bibles for the class. I could keep them, but study in them more. Regardless, I know that I must cherish the Word of God, hold it safe and strong inside my heart.
What is our naked self? How do we come to Him without all of our preconceived notions, our ridiculous plans, our prejudices and hang-ups? The Bibles tell me how: we should come to Him as innocently as children, with our hearts wide open for His teaching, our spirits receptive to His words. He is pleased with broken and contrite hearts.
Our worship must be centered and couched in vulnerability and transparency.
We need to find our way back to simple honesty.
We need Jesus Christ back...in our government, in our homes, in our hearts.
Amen and Amen.
I love the title of this blog because, for me, this is what it all comes down to in the end. We've got to go through a process of stripping away all the external trappings: the religiosity that so easily morphs into hypocrisy, the fake masquerading as real, the lies disguised as truth. I see a time, not so far into our country's future, when those of us who proclaim the Name of Jesus, those of us who call ourselves Christians, when we will be forced to shed our safe homes and our steady jobs and our conformity to the world system...for the sake and the call of standing tall for our Savior.
It breaks my heart when I read about believers in other countries, where religious freedom is not a way of life, and those who choose to read the Bible do it at the risk of imminent torture, imprisonment or death. I sit in this quiet room and I glance over at the small bookshelf near the desk. I count the Bibles sitting there, and my heart is immediately shamed. I have eleven Bibles there, all different translations, some with large print for my aging eyes, one with a stretchy blue and white cover that I particularly like. I love Bibles, and find them wherever I go. Often I will pick one up at a thrift store for a dollar, sometimes I find them in old bookstores. For years, I have collected them. All sizes, colors, translations. I cherish them and now journal in some of them. It is not wrong for me to love and collect Bibles, but IT IS SHAMEFUL THAT I HAVE SO MANY and so many others do not have even one.
It breaks my heart, literally.
The sky, now pink, soothes me as I write these words. I am reminded that I can take a deep breath, back up, slow down and deal with things one ...step...at...a...time. Perhaps I can mail some of my Bibles to a missionary organization. I could start a Bible class for the people that live near me, and each person can use one of the Bibles for the class. I could keep them, but study in them more. Regardless, I know that I must cherish the Word of God, hold it safe and strong inside my heart.
What is our naked self? How do we come to Him without all of our preconceived notions, our ridiculous plans, our prejudices and hang-ups? The Bibles tell me how: we should come to Him as innocently as children, with our hearts wide open for His teaching, our spirits receptive to His words. He is pleased with broken and contrite hearts.
Our worship must be centered and couched in vulnerability and transparency.
We need to find our way back to simple honesty.
We need Jesus Christ back...in our government, in our homes, in our hearts.
Amen and Amen.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Grounded in Gainesville...
Don Moen – Be It Unto Me
Don Moen – Be It Unto Me
Maranatha! Music – Shout to the Lord
Casting Crowns – Thrive
God has definitely got an ironic sense of humor. I've spent the past eight months of this precious time off from work, this time to figure out His purpose and plan for my life, and all the while, I have been sure that He would finally release me to do what I have wanted to do since I was in seventh grade: to be a missionary for Him. Instead, He has grounded me. In Gainesville, Georgia...a place I would never have chosen on my own.
I thought it was a no-brainer. After all, don't most people ask NOT to be sent to foreign countries? Don't most people want to stay here, to serve Him here in the safety and comfort of our own United States? I thought my willingness to go would be welcome to Him, a definite YES for my call to serve Him overseas. While I still believe that I am called to missions, it may only be for short-term trips for the next three years, because, tonight, I found myself surrendering that long-ago dream and saying Yes to another call, one that stunned me when I realized He was giving it to me: the call to stay put, to be a mother to my daughter, and to let her finish out her high school years here in North Georgia.
He has called me to this place for this time, in order to give my girl the stability she so wants, needs and deserves.
I have to be honest. This cuts me to the core. I am stunned. I have never wanted to be in an ordinary life, in a routine world, to embrace the mundane. And, for me, living here is doing just that. I am not hugging dirty-faced orphans, teaching the Bible in Spanish, or writing missionary letters home to my loved ones in the States.
No. Instead, I am apparently being called to live on an ordinary street, in an ordinary city, with a Publix in walking distance and ATMs on every corner. I am being called to a place where churches dot every corner, and there is an over-abundance of preachers in proportion to the people who live here. Why, Lord? Why is this the call You have chosen for me? I cannot wrap my mind around this.
I am still reeling. I was reeling as I snapped leashes on the dogs, grabbed a thin jacket and told Caroline I needed to walk. She stops me at the door. "Mama, remember," she reminds me gently, "you said you would do whatever He asked you to do." I nod, trying hard not to cry in front of this child I love more than my own life. I don't say what I am thinking: I did say that. I just didn't expect Him to ask me to stay in Gainesville.
I walked back and forth in the park, tears streaming down my face, my heart in shock, while Beau and Sassafras pulled on their leashes, chasing squirrels and each other in the crunchy leaves.
This is not what I had in mind for my life.
I remember so many testimonies from the little Southern Baptist churches we went to...and many times people would say, "I told the good Lord I would go anywhere and do anything for Him, but please, please, Lord, don't send me off to Africa!" When I heard these stories, even as a young child, I was always silently pleading with God to "send me! I'll go!" From the age of 12, I had a burning desire to go be a missionary, not necessarily to Africa, but to where my heart called me, to Mexico or to Costa Rica or to Guatemala or to Brazil or Peru. I wanted to go so much, I have thousands of journal entries with the same two words heading up paragraph after paragraph: SEND ME!
I called my sister Lynda. "Can you believe this?" I asked, still incredulous. "I offer to go anywhere, anywhere He wants me, and He tells me to stay? In Gainesville?" My sister was silent at first, letting me vent. Then she reminded me that I can still go on short-term trips. I know that. I am going to do that. That is a bit of consolation for me, but I have never wanted to do short-term trips. I have always felt that His call to me was for long-term missions. I wanted to go, and I wanted to stay wherever He sent me, and I wanted my whole life to be about missions. I knew, because of my one short-term trip to the Philippines, that my heart would not want to leave once I got there. I would want to be on the mission field full time. I still want that. Lynda also reminds me that this is not necessarily a permanent grounding. "You can go wherever you want when Caro graduates," she says, and I nod, grateful at least that she is not still in kindergarten. It's only three years, after all. Then Lynda shares her story about being called, and I find some comfort in it.
"When Dan and I were in a church one time, the one thing we said was that we didn't want to work with kids or teens," she remembered. "And, after about a month, that is the THING that they asked us to do. They called Dan to be the youth pastor and for me to work with the kids." She shares how frustrated she was, just like I am tonight, and that she was shocked. Why would they be called to do the only thing they did not want to do? As it turns out, God was smarter than them. They ended up with a thriving youth ministry, and they learned things from the kids as well as the kids learning from them. "So," she winded up her story, "sometimes God asks us to do things we aren't prepared to do, but He always gives us everything we need to get the job done."
It is now almost nine p.m. I am coming to grips with this new, unfamiliar call. I came home from the walk, settled the dogs and cats down, and fixed chili and grilled cheese sandwiches for our supper. I called my daughter in to eat with me. We sat at the little dining room table together, my heart still bruised from my broken dreams, and something healing did start to happen. It's not totally done yet, but healing is happening. I looked over at this thin, beautiful, dark-eyed girl of mine, this daughter that I got pregnant with right as I was about to turn forty, and I am overwhelmed with the love I feel for her. I see, suddenly, that she is still finding herself, still navigating some pretty rough waters of her own. She is caught still in that no-man's-land between being a teenager and growing into womanhood. She will be gone so soon from me...three brief years from now, she won't need me to stay anywhere for her. She will be packing bags of her own, moving to New York for NYU, HER cherished dream, and she will be waving good-bye to me...
I work to keep from crying. I see that this call, though not what I would have chosen, is a good Call. I will be a missionary still, but I will be serving one baby: my own. I will get up every morning and give her breakfast. I will pray with her before big tests, when she is afraid, and when she has big decisions to make. I will pray for her, be a stand for her with my Lord. I will take her to church. I will teach her about the Bible. I will love her and make her safe and give her refuge. I will be the one who leads this child, this precious irreplaceable child, to the Lord I love and serve with my whole heart.
And, suddenly, she reaches over and touches my face. "Thank you, Mama," she says impulsively, and neither of us needs to ask for what. We know, and we both smile.
This is a great calling, and this is MY great commission.
Don Moen – Be It Unto Me
Maranatha! Music – Shout to the Lord
Casting Crowns – Thrive
God has definitely got an ironic sense of humor. I've spent the past eight months of this precious time off from work, this time to figure out His purpose and plan for my life, and all the while, I have been sure that He would finally release me to do what I have wanted to do since I was in seventh grade: to be a missionary for Him. Instead, He has grounded me. In Gainesville, Georgia...a place I would never have chosen on my own.
I thought it was a no-brainer. After all, don't most people ask NOT to be sent to foreign countries? Don't most people want to stay here, to serve Him here in the safety and comfort of our own United States? I thought my willingness to go would be welcome to Him, a definite YES for my call to serve Him overseas. While I still believe that I am called to missions, it may only be for short-term trips for the next three years, because, tonight, I found myself surrendering that long-ago dream and saying Yes to another call, one that stunned me when I realized He was giving it to me: the call to stay put, to be a mother to my daughter, and to let her finish out her high school years here in North Georgia.
He has called me to this place for this time, in order to give my girl the stability she so wants, needs and deserves.
I have to be honest. This cuts me to the core. I am stunned. I have never wanted to be in an ordinary life, in a routine world, to embrace the mundane. And, for me, living here is doing just that. I am not hugging dirty-faced orphans, teaching the Bible in Spanish, or writing missionary letters home to my loved ones in the States.
No. Instead, I am apparently being called to live on an ordinary street, in an ordinary city, with a Publix in walking distance and ATMs on every corner. I am being called to a place where churches dot every corner, and there is an over-abundance of preachers in proportion to the people who live here. Why, Lord? Why is this the call You have chosen for me? I cannot wrap my mind around this.
I am still reeling. I was reeling as I snapped leashes on the dogs, grabbed a thin jacket and told Caroline I needed to walk. She stops me at the door. "Mama, remember," she reminds me gently, "you said you would do whatever He asked you to do." I nod, trying hard not to cry in front of this child I love more than my own life. I don't say what I am thinking: I did say that. I just didn't expect Him to ask me to stay in Gainesville.
I walked back and forth in the park, tears streaming down my face, my heart in shock, while Beau and Sassafras pulled on their leashes, chasing squirrels and each other in the crunchy leaves.
This is not what I had in mind for my life.
I remember so many testimonies from the little Southern Baptist churches we went to...and many times people would say, "I told the good Lord I would go anywhere and do anything for Him, but please, please, Lord, don't send me off to Africa!" When I heard these stories, even as a young child, I was always silently pleading with God to "send me! I'll go!" From the age of 12, I had a burning desire to go be a missionary, not necessarily to Africa, but to where my heart called me, to Mexico or to Costa Rica or to Guatemala or to Brazil or Peru. I wanted to go so much, I have thousands of journal entries with the same two words heading up paragraph after paragraph: SEND ME!
I called my sister Lynda. "Can you believe this?" I asked, still incredulous. "I offer to go anywhere, anywhere He wants me, and He tells me to stay? In Gainesville?" My sister was silent at first, letting me vent. Then she reminded me that I can still go on short-term trips. I know that. I am going to do that. That is a bit of consolation for me, but I have never wanted to do short-term trips. I have always felt that His call to me was for long-term missions. I wanted to go, and I wanted to stay wherever He sent me, and I wanted my whole life to be about missions. I knew, because of my one short-term trip to the Philippines, that my heart would not want to leave once I got there. I would want to be on the mission field full time. I still want that. Lynda also reminds me that this is not necessarily a permanent grounding. "You can go wherever you want when Caro graduates," she says, and I nod, grateful at least that she is not still in kindergarten. It's only three years, after all. Then Lynda shares her story about being called, and I find some comfort in it.
"When Dan and I were in a church one time, the one thing we said was that we didn't want to work with kids or teens," she remembered. "And, after about a month, that is the THING that they asked us to do. They called Dan to be the youth pastor and for me to work with the kids." She shares how frustrated she was, just like I am tonight, and that she was shocked. Why would they be called to do the only thing they did not want to do? As it turns out, God was smarter than them. They ended up with a thriving youth ministry, and they learned things from the kids as well as the kids learning from them. "So," she winded up her story, "sometimes God asks us to do things we aren't prepared to do, but He always gives us everything we need to get the job done."
It is now almost nine p.m. I am coming to grips with this new, unfamiliar call. I came home from the walk, settled the dogs and cats down, and fixed chili and grilled cheese sandwiches for our supper. I called my daughter in to eat with me. We sat at the little dining room table together, my heart still bruised from my broken dreams, and something healing did start to happen. It's not totally done yet, but healing is happening. I looked over at this thin, beautiful, dark-eyed girl of mine, this daughter that I got pregnant with right as I was about to turn forty, and I am overwhelmed with the love I feel for her. I see, suddenly, that she is still finding herself, still navigating some pretty rough waters of her own. She is caught still in that no-man's-land between being a teenager and growing into womanhood. She will be gone so soon from me...three brief years from now, she won't need me to stay anywhere for her. She will be packing bags of her own, moving to New York for NYU, HER cherished dream, and she will be waving good-bye to me...
I work to keep from crying. I see that this call, though not what I would have chosen, is a good Call. I will be a missionary still, but I will be serving one baby: my own. I will get up every morning and give her breakfast. I will pray with her before big tests, when she is afraid, and when she has big decisions to make. I will pray for her, be a stand for her with my Lord. I will take her to church. I will teach her about the Bible. I will love her and make her safe and give her refuge. I will be the one who leads this child, this precious irreplaceable child, to the Lord I love and serve with my whole heart.
And, suddenly, she reaches over and touches my face. "Thank you, Mama," she says impulsively, and neither of us needs to ask for what. We know, and we both smile.
This is a great calling, and this is MY great commission.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Coming Up Short...
Randy Newman – Short People
I'm the shortest of all my sisters. I'm shorter than my three daughters. I am shorter than most of my nieces and nephews. I've gotten used to the short jokes, and I can't begin to count how many times I have heard that "short people got no reason to live" (courtesy of above song by Randy Newman!). Being short is a way of life for me. I need a pillow in my car to help me see above the steering wheel (just teasing!) and I invariably find myself frustrated at church and movie theatres, when it seems everyone in front of me is at least six feet tall! Now that I am in my fifties, I am accustomed to being the shortest one in just about any company, male or female. The one place I do not, however, want to come up short is in my relationship with my Lord Jesus.
I have three amazing daughters. Each one of them has added immeasurably to my life, and they love their mama! They are also unfailingly honest with me, even if it hurts. Tonight was a case in point. Caroline, my youngest, and I were walking to our car after church. I mentioned that I really want to live my life for Jesus, and that I don't want to waste any time not being who He wants me to be. Caroline stopped short, her brown eyes blazing. I took a deep breath. I know what it is like to come up against this little spitfire, and it isn't pretty!
"Mama!" her voice was firm and scolding. "I do not want to hear you talk like that ever again!" She frowned, her irritation glaringly obvious. "You have had a very incredible life, and it is okay just to BE here on earth. You don't have to be doing something religious all the time. God sees your heart."
I reached out for a hug, and smiled at my little warrior. I knew what she meant and even though I wasn't seeking to be more "religious", her words did hit home for me in a very powerful way.
So often, I do feel that I am falling short on what I could be doing for God in my life. I wonder, as you all know, about missions. I wonder about full time ministry. I want so much to be serving Him in all that I do. In the process, though, maybe I have forgotten the simple truth that He wants me just to spend time with Him. To fellowship with Him. To listen to Him. To read His Word. To pray.
Sometimes, maybe, He wants less "doing" and more "being".
So, my cue for tonight is to relax. Just relax and enjoy His presence, the same as I do with Caroline, when we sit in quiet, companionable silence, lost in our books but aware of each other's presence nearby.
If you are rushing around, desperately seeking ways to serve Him more or to be more active in your faith, maybe it's time to just take some time and, as an elderly patient used to tell me, "set a spell" and listen to His voice. It's okay to sit down. It's okay to be quiet. It's okay, and it's important.
I think I will put on some water for tea, get off the computer, and just hang out with my Father for awhile.
Night, y'all. Sweet dreams.
I'm the shortest of all my sisters. I'm shorter than my three daughters. I am shorter than most of my nieces and nephews. I've gotten used to the short jokes, and I can't begin to count how many times I have heard that "short people got no reason to live" (courtesy of above song by Randy Newman!). Being short is a way of life for me. I need a pillow in my car to help me see above the steering wheel (just teasing!) and I invariably find myself frustrated at church and movie theatres, when it seems everyone in front of me is at least six feet tall! Now that I am in my fifties, I am accustomed to being the shortest one in just about any company, male or female. The one place I do not, however, want to come up short is in my relationship with my Lord Jesus.
I have three amazing daughters. Each one of them has added immeasurably to my life, and they love their mama! They are also unfailingly honest with me, even if it hurts. Tonight was a case in point. Caroline, my youngest, and I were walking to our car after church. I mentioned that I really want to live my life for Jesus, and that I don't want to waste any time not being who He wants me to be. Caroline stopped short, her brown eyes blazing. I took a deep breath. I know what it is like to come up against this little spitfire, and it isn't pretty!
"Mama!" her voice was firm and scolding. "I do not want to hear you talk like that ever again!" She frowned, her irritation glaringly obvious. "You have had a very incredible life, and it is okay just to BE here on earth. You don't have to be doing something religious all the time. God sees your heart."
I reached out for a hug, and smiled at my little warrior. I knew what she meant and even though I wasn't seeking to be more "religious", her words did hit home for me in a very powerful way.
So often, I do feel that I am falling short on what I could be doing for God in my life. I wonder, as you all know, about missions. I wonder about full time ministry. I want so much to be serving Him in all that I do. In the process, though, maybe I have forgotten the simple truth that He wants me just to spend time with Him. To fellowship with Him. To listen to Him. To read His Word. To pray.
Sometimes, maybe, He wants less "doing" and more "being".
So, my cue for tonight is to relax. Just relax and enjoy His presence, the same as I do with Caroline, when we sit in quiet, companionable silence, lost in our books but aware of each other's presence nearby.
If you are rushing around, desperately seeking ways to serve Him more or to be more active in your faith, maybe it's time to just take some time and, as an elderly patient used to tell me, "set a spell" and listen to His voice. It's okay to sit down. It's okay to be quiet. It's okay, and it's important.
I think I will put on some water for tea, get off the computer, and just hang out with my Father for awhile.
Night, y'all. Sweet dreams.
Set Apart
"Donna, I have called you to a life set apart."
His voice was familiar and comforting, even as the message caught me off guard. I knew this was God's voice I heard. I welcomed it, even though I didn't really understand it.
I was living in Atlanta in a nursing school dormitory, catching rides with my friends on Sundays to hear Dr. Charles Stanley preach at the First Baptist Church of Atlanta. I was in love with Jesus, and had been since I asked Him to come into my heart when I was nine years old in tiny Pine Mountain, GA, at the little First Baptist Church with Pastor Rexrode. I knew that I wanted to live for Him, and I did seek to share His love with others.
But this call was something different, something startling and intense and sure. I knew, somehow, that this was Serious Business. This was God speaking to me, a very young woman with very big dreams and even bigger questions, doubts and fears. I didn't feel all that important in the grand scheme of things, and I didn't understand why He would want me. Imperfect, uncertain, awkward and afraid of my own shadow most of the time. I understood the call: God was calling me to commit to Him completely, to be His once and for all, forever and ever. It was as sacred as a marriage proposal to me.
What I didn't know was how in the world I could accept such a Call.
I went for a walk to clear my head. I kicked at stones on the path near my dorm. I closed my eyes and sat on a bench in the courtyard. I waited for the words to go away but they only became stronger. "Donna, I have called you to a life set apart."
I wish I could say I said Yes! to Him immediately, and that from then to now, I have done what He asked of me, lived a set apart life, lived holy before my Lord. But I can't, because I didn't.
What I did was to run as far and as fast and as furiously as I could, to get away from Him.
I embraced the world with the passion I once had for Jesus. I defied my faith. I rushed headlong into sin: doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with whoever I wanted. I was about as far from living a set apart life as any one person can be.
And then one day, He caught up with me.
I was living in a very sinful situation. I was hiding from Him. I knew it and He knew it. And people that loved Him and loved me were praying for me. One night, sitting at a showing of Mel Gibson's movie The Passion, the floodgates broke wide open: I found myself weeping, sitting in a small plastic chair in my front yard under a palm tree and the moon. Tears clogged my nose, my throat, my eyes.
"Lord," I prayed, "if You still want me, as broken as I am, as dirty as I have become, I'm here. You probably don't want me any more but if You do, I want to be Yours again."
Silence fell like a peaceful mantle on me. I felt His presence strong and mighty beside me. Buoyed by the grace of his presence, I went a step further.
"Please bring me to You no matter what it takes," I added, heart in my throat.
Ten days later, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor on the right frontal lobe of my brain. Though the tumor was not malignant, it was atypical, meaning it had a great chance of recurring. The morning I was rolled in for brain surgery, I checked in with Him first.
"I am here and I will serve You, Lord," I whispered.
When I woke up from surgery I was covered in tiny spots, where I had scratched myself while taking the morphine for the pain. I still had massive headaches, and my balance was off. I would learn to walk again with the help of my physical therapist, but it wasn't easy going. Still, I was surrounded, lifted up on every side, with a supernatural peace.
He had called me to a life set apart, and I was determined, finally, to live it for Him.
His voice was familiar and comforting, even as the message caught me off guard. I knew this was God's voice I heard. I welcomed it, even though I didn't really understand it.
I was living in Atlanta in a nursing school dormitory, catching rides with my friends on Sundays to hear Dr. Charles Stanley preach at the First Baptist Church of Atlanta. I was in love with Jesus, and had been since I asked Him to come into my heart when I was nine years old in tiny Pine Mountain, GA, at the little First Baptist Church with Pastor Rexrode. I knew that I wanted to live for Him, and I did seek to share His love with others.
But this call was something different, something startling and intense and sure. I knew, somehow, that this was Serious Business. This was God speaking to me, a very young woman with very big dreams and even bigger questions, doubts and fears. I didn't feel all that important in the grand scheme of things, and I didn't understand why He would want me. Imperfect, uncertain, awkward and afraid of my own shadow most of the time. I understood the call: God was calling me to commit to Him completely, to be His once and for all, forever and ever. It was as sacred as a marriage proposal to me.
What I didn't know was how in the world I could accept such a Call.
I went for a walk to clear my head. I kicked at stones on the path near my dorm. I closed my eyes and sat on a bench in the courtyard. I waited for the words to go away but they only became stronger. "Donna, I have called you to a life set apart."
I wish I could say I said Yes! to Him immediately, and that from then to now, I have done what He asked of me, lived a set apart life, lived holy before my Lord. But I can't, because I didn't.
What I did was to run as far and as fast and as furiously as I could, to get away from Him.
I embraced the world with the passion I once had for Jesus. I defied my faith. I rushed headlong into sin: doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with whoever I wanted. I was about as far from living a set apart life as any one person can be.
And then one day, He caught up with me.
I was living in a very sinful situation. I was hiding from Him. I knew it and He knew it. And people that loved Him and loved me were praying for me. One night, sitting at a showing of Mel Gibson's movie The Passion, the floodgates broke wide open: I found myself weeping, sitting in a small plastic chair in my front yard under a palm tree and the moon. Tears clogged my nose, my throat, my eyes.
"Lord," I prayed, "if You still want me, as broken as I am, as dirty as I have become, I'm here. You probably don't want me any more but if You do, I want to be Yours again."
Silence fell like a peaceful mantle on me. I felt His presence strong and mighty beside me. Buoyed by the grace of his presence, I went a step further.
"Please bring me to You no matter what it takes," I added, heart in my throat.
Ten days later, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor on the right frontal lobe of my brain. Though the tumor was not malignant, it was atypical, meaning it had a great chance of recurring. The morning I was rolled in for brain surgery, I checked in with Him first.
"I am here and I will serve You, Lord," I whispered.
When I woke up from surgery I was covered in tiny spots, where I had scratched myself while taking the morphine for the pain. I still had massive headaches, and my balance was off. I would learn to walk again with the help of my physical therapist, but it wasn't easy going. Still, I was surrounded, lifted up on every side, with a supernatural peace.
He had called me to a life set apart, and I was determined, finally, to live it for Him.
Just A Wino....
Dallas Holm – Rise Again
Dallas Holm – Come Unto Jesus
It was raining that day. I remember that. I was standing at a MARTA bus stop, waiting for a bus to take me back to my dorm at Georgia Baptist Nursing School in Atlanta. As I waited there, I noticed something disturbing. A man was on the ground near the sign for the stop, a dirty brown coat partially covering him as he lay there, apparently sleeping. Several other people milled around, not seeming to notice him, and I wondered if he was hurt, or maybe dying. Straight from the country in Pine Mountain, I wasn't yet familiar with the street scene in busy Atlanta. I walked over to him and knelt down, trying to see if he needed help. He grunted incoherently, and just rolled over away from me. The bus rolled up about that time and I saw the other people casually stepping over him, as if he were just trash. My heart broke wide open. I hesitated as I stepped onto the bus. The driver motioned impatiently for me to come on in.
"But, sir, that man,there's a man lying there," I stammered, tears stuck in my throat. I pointed to the man lying on the ground. I will never for the rest of my life forget that driver's response. He simply nodded, shrugged, and said, very curtly, "He's just a wino."
Just a wino. The words reverberated off my heart, cutting sharp. I knew they were four words I would never forget.
I glanced back as we drove off, leaving him there. I could hardly bear the pain that rose up within me. Just a wino. My soul shrank within me and I knew that the driver was very, very wrong.
God spoke into my spirit, and I touched the driver's arm when it was my turn to get off the bus. I knew he would think I was crazy, but I could not be silent. God had spoken to me and I had to share what He had said to me.
"Sir, that man back there, that man is not just a wino," I said, so nervous my voice trembled. I kept talking, even as my words clung together and hung there in the air as he waited more impatiently than before. "Or at least he wasn't always just a wino. At one time, he was someone's little boy. And he might be someone's father. But he is definitely more than just a wino."
I don't think I convinced that MARTA driver, but something shifted inside of me that day. I believe that is the very day that God placed a burden and love in my heart for the homeless. Something caught and tore at me as I thought of that man on the street. I could imagine him in a different time and place: I could see him, dirty face suddenly young, eyes shining as he raced up to his mother to hand her his prized treasures...plain stones, live frogs, interesting sticks. I could see him as an awkward teenager, asking his first girl out for a school dance. I could see him standing at an altar, his heart in his hands, proud and smiling down at his bride, and I could see him bending over the cradle of his first newborn child. I will never know that man's name, and he is probably not even alive now, all these years later. But I will never forget him. He mattered to me, that rainy day in Atlanta, and he mattered to God. That thing I know is true.
And God has allowed me to see that truth close up. I have never had to live on the streets, but I have been without a home, more than once in my life. I have slept in my car night after night, with my young daughter beside me and our dogs and cats huddled in the back. I have slept in the houses of caring family and friends when I didn't have a job or a way to pay for rent. I'm not proud of those times in my life, but I acknowledge them with gratitude, because I learned, in those lonely moments, that God cared about me more than I cared about myself, and that He would never leave me, no matter what my life looked like, or whether or not I was good enough, pretty enough, rich enough, no matter how I looked on the outside.
To this day, I cannot bear to witness a human being or an animal living without the shelter and warmth of a home. I carry dry pet food in my trunk, so that when I see stray animals, I have something to offer them. I have to, because when I see it, I am compelled to help, even if it is only one small meal. It is harder with humans. I sometimes give money, but more often, I just get to a quiet place and pray for them. Sometimes I feel safe to hand out fast food sandwiches: There once were some men who used to hang out at a gas station near my job. I used to take roast beef sandwiches to them, and one of them, who actually grew tomatoes out behind the store, would often offer me a small tomato from his spindly vine.
The thing is, we are called to serve one another. We are called, each and everyone of us, to love the poor, to reach out to those less fortunate than us. We don't have to pack our bags and move to Guatemala. We don't have to go every week to take sack lunches to people living under bridges. But those are great ministries, and if we can go, we should. We can also get down on our knees, open up our hearts, and pray. Pray real prayers, not empty ones. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us uncomfortable, because they are going to require some action from us. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us cry. It's okay to cry for others. Some folks, some "winos", some homeless, some broken souls, have no one in this world to care about them, and they have forgotten how to pray for themselves.
Just a wino. Just a divorcee. Just a single mom. Just an addict. Just a workaholic. Just an anorexic. Just a mentally ill person.
We are all just something, and He loves us all just the same.
Thank God for that love. It is what will save us in the end.
Dallas Holm – Come Unto Jesus
It was raining that day. I remember that. I was standing at a MARTA bus stop, waiting for a bus to take me back to my dorm at Georgia Baptist Nursing School in Atlanta. As I waited there, I noticed something disturbing. A man was on the ground near the sign for the stop, a dirty brown coat partially covering him as he lay there, apparently sleeping. Several other people milled around, not seeming to notice him, and I wondered if he was hurt, or maybe dying. Straight from the country in Pine Mountain, I wasn't yet familiar with the street scene in busy Atlanta. I walked over to him and knelt down, trying to see if he needed help. He grunted incoherently, and just rolled over away from me. The bus rolled up about that time and I saw the other people casually stepping over him, as if he were just trash. My heart broke wide open. I hesitated as I stepped onto the bus. The driver motioned impatiently for me to come on in.
"But, sir, that man,there's a man lying there," I stammered, tears stuck in my throat. I pointed to the man lying on the ground. I will never for the rest of my life forget that driver's response. He simply nodded, shrugged, and said, very curtly, "He's just a wino."
Just a wino. The words reverberated off my heart, cutting sharp. I knew they were four words I would never forget.
I glanced back as we drove off, leaving him there. I could hardly bear the pain that rose up within me. Just a wino. My soul shrank within me and I knew that the driver was very, very wrong.
God spoke into my spirit, and I touched the driver's arm when it was my turn to get off the bus. I knew he would think I was crazy, but I could not be silent. God had spoken to me and I had to share what He had said to me.
"Sir, that man back there, that man is not just a wino," I said, so nervous my voice trembled. I kept talking, even as my words clung together and hung there in the air as he waited more impatiently than before. "Or at least he wasn't always just a wino. At one time, he was someone's little boy. And he might be someone's father. But he is definitely more than just a wino."
I don't think I convinced that MARTA driver, but something shifted inside of me that day. I believe that is the very day that God placed a burden and love in my heart for the homeless. Something caught and tore at me as I thought of that man on the street. I could imagine him in a different time and place: I could see him, dirty face suddenly young, eyes shining as he raced up to his mother to hand her his prized treasures...plain stones, live frogs, interesting sticks. I could see him as an awkward teenager, asking his first girl out for a school dance. I could see him standing at an altar, his heart in his hands, proud and smiling down at his bride, and I could see him bending over the cradle of his first newborn child. I will never know that man's name, and he is probably not even alive now, all these years later. But I will never forget him. He mattered to me, that rainy day in Atlanta, and he mattered to God. That thing I know is true.
And God has allowed me to see that truth close up. I have never had to live on the streets, but I have been without a home, more than once in my life. I have slept in my car night after night, with my young daughter beside me and our dogs and cats huddled in the back. I have slept in the houses of caring family and friends when I didn't have a job or a way to pay for rent. I'm not proud of those times in my life, but I acknowledge them with gratitude, because I learned, in those lonely moments, that God cared about me more than I cared about myself, and that He would never leave me, no matter what my life looked like, or whether or not I was good enough, pretty enough, rich enough, no matter how I looked on the outside.
To this day, I cannot bear to witness a human being or an animal living without the shelter and warmth of a home. I carry dry pet food in my trunk, so that when I see stray animals, I have something to offer them. I have to, because when I see it, I am compelled to help, even if it is only one small meal. It is harder with humans. I sometimes give money, but more often, I just get to a quiet place and pray for them. Sometimes I feel safe to hand out fast food sandwiches: There once were some men who used to hang out at a gas station near my job. I used to take roast beef sandwiches to them, and one of them, who actually grew tomatoes out behind the store, would often offer me a small tomato from his spindly vine.
The thing is, we are called to serve one another. We are called, each and everyone of us, to love the poor, to reach out to those less fortunate than us. We don't have to pack our bags and move to Guatemala. We don't have to go every week to take sack lunches to people living under bridges. But those are great ministries, and if we can go, we should. We can also get down on our knees, open up our hearts, and pray. Pray real prayers, not empty ones. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us uncomfortable, because they are going to require some action from us. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us cry. It's okay to cry for others. Some folks, some "winos", some homeless, some broken souls, have no one in this world to care about them, and they have forgotten how to pray for themselves.
Just a wino. Just a divorcee. Just a single mom. Just an addict. Just a workaholic. Just an anorexic. Just a mentally ill person.
We are all just something, and He loves us all just the same.
Thank God for that love. It is what will save us in the end.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Never Too Late...
Amy Grant – Beautiful Music
Amy Grant – Mountain Top
Amy Grant – Old Man's Rubble
Listening to Amy Grant reminds me of my early nursing school days, when I roomed with a lovely artist/future nurse named Michele Stephens. She came from another school, another dorm, where she had roomed with none other than Amy Grant! My mind drifts back to those days in the tall, pink dormintory of the Georgia Baptist School of Nursing in Atlanta. We were a crazy bunch, but the friendships we developed there have remained strong, even when we haven't seen each other in decades.
Tonight, on Facebook, God reconnected one of those long ago threads of friendship. A different Michelle (Mangum) Cullison encouraged me with a powerful word of affirmation and encouragement regarding my position in Christ, and His calling to me. She also shared with me an amazing story of reconciliation between her and her father, after a 25 year separation! I won't go into details with her story because she has already written that story, but let me tell you, it brought me to tears, over and over again. Beautiful, strong, truly touching story of a daughter and her dad, coming together first as Christians and then as, finally, father and child.
My heart is filled to the brim with gratitude for this visit I had with my friend after all these years. It was not in person, but I felt her sweet spirit just as powerfully as if we had met up in person, as if we were still just hanging out at the dorm, or down at the Varsity, drinking frosted oranges and eating pimiento burgers! Hearing her share about her recent missions trip to Peru, with, yes, her long lost dad, gave me chills.
It's truly never too late. Never too late in the game, as long as we have breath to breathe, for God to step in, to take over the reins and bring us back to the path He initially had in mind for us.
As Michelle reminded me, God is about TODAY, not yesterday. We woke up this morning to clean slates. There is nothing He can't do to get us back on track, no matter how far away we've wandered off. He is in the Restoration business for a reason.
I asked God on Saturday for a specific Word, some way that I couldn't control, so that I could know for sure if it was Him telling me to write, to do missions, and my friend, not knowing that conversation between my Father and me, did exactly that. My heart leapt within me, to know that my God cares enough to answer such a simple prayer.
Have you ever heard this expression? God is in the details. I don't know where that came from but it is right on target. God cares if you had breakfast this morning. He cares if you have enough money for gas to get to work, or to get your kids to school. It matters to Him that your tooth aches, you are worried over your weight, or that your kid is being bullied every single day after school. It matters, it means something, it is important to Him.
What is the dream you've had since you were a kid? What is the place you go to in your mind when you dream about who you wanted to become when you grew up? What have you given up on, fully convinced that you've screwed up too much, too often, too badly? Whatever it is, run get it, dust it off, and show it to Jesus...and watch as He makes it brand-new.
He can do that, you know, make old things new, make broken hearts whole, and change the game plan at the very last minute.
All you've got to do, all I've got to do, is trust Him. And watch Him work!
Amy Grant – Mountain Top
Amy Grant – Old Man's Rubble
Listening to Amy Grant reminds me of my early nursing school days, when I roomed with a lovely artist/future nurse named Michele Stephens. She came from another school, another dorm, where she had roomed with none other than Amy Grant! My mind drifts back to those days in the tall, pink dormintory of the Georgia Baptist School of Nursing in Atlanta. We were a crazy bunch, but the friendships we developed there have remained strong, even when we haven't seen each other in decades.
Tonight, on Facebook, God reconnected one of those long ago threads of friendship. A different Michelle (Mangum) Cullison encouraged me with a powerful word of affirmation and encouragement regarding my position in Christ, and His calling to me. She also shared with me an amazing story of reconciliation between her and her father, after a 25 year separation! I won't go into details with her story because she has already written that story, but let me tell you, it brought me to tears, over and over again. Beautiful, strong, truly touching story of a daughter and her dad, coming together first as Christians and then as, finally, father and child.
My heart is filled to the brim with gratitude for this visit I had with my friend after all these years. It was not in person, but I felt her sweet spirit just as powerfully as if we had met up in person, as if we were still just hanging out at the dorm, or down at the Varsity, drinking frosted oranges and eating pimiento burgers! Hearing her share about her recent missions trip to Peru, with, yes, her long lost dad, gave me chills.
It's truly never too late. Never too late in the game, as long as we have breath to breathe, for God to step in, to take over the reins and bring us back to the path He initially had in mind for us.
As Michelle reminded me, God is about TODAY, not yesterday. We woke up this morning to clean slates. There is nothing He can't do to get us back on track, no matter how far away we've wandered off. He is in the Restoration business for a reason.
I asked God on Saturday for a specific Word, some way that I couldn't control, so that I could know for sure if it was Him telling me to write, to do missions, and my friend, not knowing that conversation between my Father and me, did exactly that. My heart leapt within me, to know that my God cares enough to answer such a simple prayer.
Have you ever heard this expression? God is in the details. I don't know where that came from but it is right on target. God cares if you had breakfast this morning. He cares if you have enough money for gas to get to work, or to get your kids to school. It matters to Him that your tooth aches, you are worried over your weight, or that your kid is being bullied every single day after school. It matters, it means something, it is important to Him.
What is the dream you've had since you were a kid? What is the place you go to in your mind when you dream about who you wanted to become when you grew up? What have you given up on, fully convinced that you've screwed up too much, too often, too badly? Whatever it is, run get it, dust it off, and show it to Jesus...and watch as He makes it brand-new.
He can do that, you know, make old things new, make broken hearts whole, and change the game plan at the very last minute.
All you've got to do, all I've got to do, is trust Him. And watch Him work!
Bared Soul, Open Heart...
Someone lashed out at me tonight, via a friend, in their own grief and pain. This person is emotionally fragile, and I know that, so I do not harbor any ill will. I just feel so sad for this person, because the hatred and anger expressed when I mentioned that God had healed a mutual friend, was so fierce and negative. God help me to know how to love this person still, and how to pray for this person without bitterness or anger in my own heart.
Lord, I come to You now, with my soul bared before You. If there is any wrong or sin in me, or if I was wrong to declare Your healing of this person, I ask You to forgive me.What a beautiful opportunity for me to see that I do still have my own tendencies to rare back, to be defensive, to want to assert my rightness. I still have the yearning to "be right", and I ask You to take that away from me now, and put in its place a desire to love, to share love, to be a promoter of peace instead of continuing in cycles of hatred and anger.
I love this person, and I love You.
That's enough.
Lord, I come to You now, with my soul bared before You. If there is any wrong or sin in me, or if I was wrong to declare Your healing of this person, I ask You to forgive me.What a beautiful opportunity for me to see that I do still have my own tendencies to rare back, to be defensive, to want to assert my rightness. I still have the yearning to "be right", and I ask You to take that away from me now, and put in its place a desire to love, to share love, to be a promoter of peace instead of continuing in cycles of hatred and anger.
I love this person, and I love You.
That's enough.
Bucket Lister
Sometimes, in the middle of living our lives, we get so caught up in what we want to do, where we want to go, and who we want to become...we forget what we've already done, where we've already been, and who we already are!
Walking my sweet dogs today, I was reminded of the verse in the Bible that says to be content wherever and however you find yourself. I stopped for a long moment and took in my surroundings, really breathed deep and opened my heart and my eyes to what was happening at that second: Beau and Sassy pulling in opposite directions on the leashes, both of them deliriously happy to be out in the crunchy leaves, all dry and colored red, gold, orange on the ground...the sky just beginning to darken overhead, dark pink fading into a dusky grey...the fact that I was there, alive and beautiful just the way I am, just happy to be here on Planet Earth...and then I thought about all the things I have already experienced in my lifetime so far.
I've never made out an actual Bucket List, but I have scribbled down numerous "Happy" lists, with my dreams, wishes, hopes cramming every available bit of space on the pages. Here is what I've been able to cross off on my lists so far:
Been an overseas missionary
Traveled to Hong Kong and the Philippines, along with many U.S. states
Overcome infertility and given birth to three healthy beautiful babies
Given birth naturally, no drugs
Given birth standing up
Cut the umbilical cord of two of my babies
Fallen madly, passionately in love (more than a few times!)
Been married
Survived divorce
Experienced life choices that pushed my personal limits, and lived to tell about it!
Survived brain surgery
Raised three daughters on my own
Rescued four dogs, adopted each one, and nine cats
Finished Gratitude Training in West Palm Beach
Won a Fitness Contest (against women twenty years younger than me)
Won First Place in a Skeet Shooting contest for my age division
Written for three newspapers and won national and state awards
Been published in magazines, greeting card companies, newspapers, e-books
Survived serious ovarian disease
Gotten my RN
and the most important of all, I have led people to Christ Jesus.
What's next for me? What's next for you?
Walking my sweet dogs today, I was reminded of the verse in the Bible that says to be content wherever and however you find yourself. I stopped for a long moment and took in my surroundings, really breathed deep and opened my heart and my eyes to what was happening at that second: Beau and Sassy pulling in opposite directions on the leashes, both of them deliriously happy to be out in the crunchy leaves, all dry and colored red, gold, orange on the ground...the sky just beginning to darken overhead, dark pink fading into a dusky grey...the fact that I was there, alive and beautiful just the way I am, just happy to be here on Planet Earth...and then I thought about all the things I have already experienced in my lifetime so far.
I've never made out an actual Bucket List, but I have scribbled down numerous "Happy" lists, with my dreams, wishes, hopes cramming every available bit of space on the pages. Here is what I've been able to cross off on my lists so far:
Been an overseas missionary
Traveled to Hong Kong and the Philippines, along with many U.S. states
Overcome infertility and given birth to three healthy beautiful babies
Given birth naturally, no drugs
Given birth standing up
Cut the umbilical cord of two of my babies
Fallen madly, passionately in love (more than a few times!)
Been married
Survived divorce
Experienced life choices that pushed my personal limits, and lived to tell about it!
Survived brain surgery
Raised three daughters on my own
Rescued four dogs, adopted each one, and nine cats
Finished Gratitude Training in West Palm Beach
Won a Fitness Contest (against women twenty years younger than me)
Won First Place in a Skeet Shooting contest for my age division
Written for three newspapers and won national and state awards
Been published in magazines, greeting card companies, newspapers, e-books
Survived serious ovarian disease
Gotten my RN
and the most important of all, I have led people to Christ Jesus.
What's next for me? What's next for you?
El Shaddai
Michael Card – El Shaddai - Joy In The Journey Album Version
Michael Card – El Shaddai - Joy In The Journey Album Version
My heart is full as I write this post. I am listening to one of my favorite Christian musical artists. His name is Michael Card, and his worship has led me in some of the most intense, intimate worship experiences of my life. He worships our Lord in a tender, powerfully moving way, and it never fails to bring me closer to the heart of my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Today I looked at beautiful wedding pictures of one of my most treasured friends. This woman has endured a lifetime of loss that many of us would not begin to understand, much less accept with the grace and sweetness with which M. has embraced it. For more than two decades, after losing her beloved husband, and the father of their two young daughters, in a horrifying airplane accident while on deployment, my friend raised those baby girls up to their adulthood, worked long hours as a nurse, and kept their home warm, safe, lovely, and nurturing. I only got to visit her once, many years ago, but the memory of how she welcomed me and my daughter in, the instant "click" of recognition that sparked between our two souls, has remained sharp and clear in the time since we met. God blessed M. recently with the gift of an unexpected romance, a surprise blessing that came to her when she least expected it. An old friend of her late husband's, a friend who had kept tabs on her and the girls for many years to make sure that they were safe and thriving, this friend reconnected with my friend, and lo and behold, God did a mighty, magnificent thing and transformed their strong friendship into a love that culminated in lovely daughters dressed in pale pink frocks, bouquets in hand, as they stood beside their beautiful mother, who married again after years of life as a widow.
Looking at their pictures, I cried. I cried because my heart was too full to keep my joy inside. I cried because of the amazing story of restoration and renewal that their wedding symbolized. I wept at the story she shared...the story of how God in His tender grace brought this man to her, and joined their hearts and lives together so that, once more, she could know the glory and unity of a holy marriage, set about and anointed by the Father that they both share. It reminded me that, for each of us, there is room for a second grace. Or a third, fourth, fiftieth.
There is always a redemption, a restoring, a renewing of the dreams that we thought we'd lost forever. Crushed beneath the hustle and bustle of lives crammed so full of this world, our once-shining hopes, wishes, and heart-dreams can easily wilt, fade, and seem to die once and for all. And yet, because we serve a God Who makes the impossible possible, a Maker Who longs to see those innocent visions turn into bright shiny realities, we can keep our hope alive. We can see beauty arise from ashes, and find ourselves joyous, even yet, after our time of mourning.
I don't know where you are when you read this. I don't know if you are lonely, if you are frightened, if you are discouraged or in utter despair. Maybe you are in peace, maybe you have great joy, and maybe you are living your deepest dreams. Either way, I would like to encourage us all with this gentle reminder: our God is ABLE. He is able to keep us. He is able to take the broken, crushed, ripped, torn places in our lives, and change them into beauty like we have never imagined. There is still time, and He is still GOD, and because of that, we can, even now, see hope where there has been only darkness. I pray for light and peace to shine in your world, straight from Him, this day!
Michael Card – El Shaddai - Joy In The Journey Album Version
My heart is full as I write this post. I am listening to one of my favorite Christian musical artists. His name is Michael Card, and his worship has led me in some of the most intense, intimate worship experiences of my life. He worships our Lord in a tender, powerfully moving way, and it never fails to bring me closer to the heart of my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Today I looked at beautiful wedding pictures of one of my most treasured friends. This woman has endured a lifetime of loss that many of us would not begin to understand, much less accept with the grace and sweetness with which M. has embraced it. For more than two decades, after losing her beloved husband, and the father of their two young daughters, in a horrifying airplane accident while on deployment, my friend raised those baby girls up to their adulthood, worked long hours as a nurse, and kept their home warm, safe, lovely, and nurturing. I only got to visit her once, many years ago, but the memory of how she welcomed me and my daughter in, the instant "click" of recognition that sparked between our two souls, has remained sharp and clear in the time since we met. God blessed M. recently with the gift of an unexpected romance, a surprise blessing that came to her when she least expected it. An old friend of her late husband's, a friend who had kept tabs on her and the girls for many years to make sure that they were safe and thriving, this friend reconnected with my friend, and lo and behold, God did a mighty, magnificent thing and transformed their strong friendship into a love that culminated in lovely daughters dressed in pale pink frocks, bouquets in hand, as they stood beside their beautiful mother, who married again after years of life as a widow.
Looking at their pictures, I cried. I cried because my heart was too full to keep my joy inside. I cried because of the amazing story of restoration and renewal that their wedding symbolized. I wept at the story she shared...the story of how God in His tender grace brought this man to her, and joined their hearts and lives together so that, once more, she could know the glory and unity of a holy marriage, set about and anointed by the Father that they both share. It reminded me that, for each of us, there is room for a second grace. Or a third, fourth, fiftieth.
There is always a redemption, a restoring, a renewing of the dreams that we thought we'd lost forever. Crushed beneath the hustle and bustle of lives crammed so full of this world, our once-shining hopes, wishes, and heart-dreams can easily wilt, fade, and seem to die once and for all. And yet, because we serve a God Who makes the impossible possible, a Maker Who longs to see those innocent visions turn into bright shiny realities, we can keep our hope alive. We can see beauty arise from ashes, and find ourselves joyous, even yet, after our time of mourning.
I don't know where you are when you read this. I don't know if you are lonely, if you are frightened, if you are discouraged or in utter despair. Maybe you are in peace, maybe you have great joy, and maybe you are living your deepest dreams. Either way, I would like to encourage us all with this gentle reminder: our God is ABLE. He is able to keep us. He is able to take the broken, crushed, ripped, torn places in our lives, and change them into beauty like we have never imagined. There is still time, and He is still GOD, and because of that, we can, even now, see hope where there has been only darkness. I pray for light and peace to shine in your world, straight from Him, this day!
Monday, November 3, 2014
Grief, Revisited...
What do you do when someone you care about is grieving? I mean, grieving so hard and so deep they can't pull themselves out of the pain and the darkness of the hole they're in? I know someone who is hurting right now, keening with the sheer magnitude of the loss he is realizing more and more each day. He lost his beautiful wife, and he can't make sense of it. He expects her to come walking back in their door, smiling and waving hello. He doesn't sleep well. His dreams hold her in them, and when he wakes up, restless in his need of her, he imagines her laughing in their kitchen, her long hair all tousled, her slender body in her favorite comfy pajamas, with a spatula in her hand as she fixes their breakfast. When he tells me his stories about her, I feel a sharp deep jab in my own heart, and I wonder, over and over again, how he makes it through the day. I never met her. And I feel the loss of her bright, lovely spirit and that smile she shines, the one I've seen in her pictures. I feel incredibly hopeless and helpless when his voice breaks, and I hear the tears choking his words. So what do you do, how do you respond when you are faced with this level of heartache and pain?
My mind drifts back to another time, and my heart wants to run away. I don't want to go to where my mind is taking me, but I have no choice. The memories rush me, crowd impolitely in my head, and stampede my shrinking heart.
There is another story being told, and this one is being acted out in front of my lonely, shocked heart. I don't want to go there, I can't stand it, and yet, here I am, once again. This time around, it's not my friend with his shell-shocked grief. This time, it is 2007 and the one whose heart is aching is my dear sister's. I must stand and watch as she, the sister closest to me in age, survives, unimaginably, a horror that I cannot begin to comprehend. She has lost her darling, her firstborn daughter, her Nikki. Nik left so abruptly. The car accident took her with no warning and my sister, my strong lovely hurting wounded broken sister, Lynda, is left to live in a world that no longer makes any sense. She wants to go be with Nik, but she can't. She has another daughter who needs her, a younger daughter who is reeling right along with her mother, and she has a husband who holds her heart, their hearts, in his hands. This makes no sense at all. I rage against God, this God we have trusted in for most of our lives. I cannot make it work out in my head. I cannot make it work out in my heart. My sister stands alone in her daughter's bedroom, and stares, unseeing, as the grief and awfulness of this terrible reality makes itself known to her, over and over again. Day after day, night after horrible night.
I do not know it then, but this sister will not be the only one of the four of us girls who will lose a beloved child. Six years later, in 2013, our youngest sister, Sherry, will stare with eyes that do not see, just like Lynda's, as her firstborn son, Kyle, is buried in the ground on a hot July day. Kyle's body will succumb at last to the cancer and tumors that have wrapped themselves in his brain. His body will sink into the ground as his soul joins his cousin's in heaven. He was 13.
My body shudders as I find myself back in the present. I feel drained by the memories. I don't know what to say, or do, or think, but I know Who does. I find my way to my brown sofa. I lean against the cushions. My heart is bruised and my eyes are wet. I am angry at the loss, the emptiness, the hurt, the pain of these people that I love and care about.
I take my old Bible, the one that I got from a yard sale when an old godly man died and his daughter sold it to me for five bucks. I would have given her twenty, which was all I had. The old man scrawled notes in an unsteady hand in the margins. He underlined passages that meant something to him. I find immense comfort in the Book he loved so well, in its worn softness. And ancient words lift from those old pages, to bring me comfort even though the pain doesn't go away, and the answers still are not there. I do what I do: I take what I can get to get me through this moment, and I pray for His grace and mercy for me, for my friend and for my sisters, in this journey that has shaken each of us to our very cores.
"There is a time to be born," the old Book reminds me gently, "and a time to die....there is a time to cry and a time to laugh. There is a time to be sad and a time to dance...there is a time to be silent and a time to speak." I breathe in, I breathe out. I do it over and over again, because that is all I can do at this moment. Just breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Steady, simple, strong and sure.
I don't have any answers. I don't know how to do this. But I open my mouth and words come out and they are words of honor and worship to my God, Who gave up His only Son for my sake, and I worship His Son, Who took on my shame, Who suffered, bled and died for me. "I hate this, " I tell Him. "It isn't fair, and it doesn't seem right. I am angry and I am hurting. And so are they, in ways I cannot begin to understand. I wouldn't have played it this way, Lord," I tell Him, my heart fierce in honest rejection of what He allowed in my loved ones' lives. But, in that honesty, I let Him know something else, something that won't die, and that is my continued Trust in Him, my belief that He does not make a single mistake. "Even in this," I whisper, my throat sore from crying, "even in this, I want to trust You."
It isn't fair. It isn't fair and it is ugly and it is the kind of pain that cripple you if you let it. But I don't want to let it. Don't let me let it. This is when we get to worship naked before Him, stripped of all our righteousness, our human comprehension, our religious platitudes. Because all you have, in a time like this, is your most honest, real self: the part of you that's broken. And that is who he loves the most.
Grab a hold of Him. He won't ever let you go.
My mind drifts back to another time, and my heart wants to run away. I don't want to go to where my mind is taking me, but I have no choice. The memories rush me, crowd impolitely in my head, and stampede my shrinking heart.
There is another story being told, and this one is being acted out in front of my lonely, shocked heart. I don't want to go there, I can't stand it, and yet, here I am, once again. This time around, it's not my friend with his shell-shocked grief. This time, it is 2007 and the one whose heart is aching is my dear sister's. I must stand and watch as she, the sister closest to me in age, survives, unimaginably, a horror that I cannot begin to comprehend. She has lost her darling, her firstborn daughter, her Nikki. Nik left so abruptly. The car accident took her with no warning and my sister, my strong lovely hurting wounded broken sister, Lynda, is left to live in a world that no longer makes any sense. She wants to go be with Nik, but she can't. She has another daughter who needs her, a younger daughter who is reeling right along with her mother, and she has a husband who holds her heart, their hearts, in his hands. This makes no sense at all. I rage against God, this God we have trusted in for most of our lives. I cannot make it work out in my head. I cannot make it work out in my heart. My sister stands alone in her daughter's bedroom, and stares, unseeing, as the grief and awfulness of this terrible reality makes itself known to her, over and over again. Day after day, night after horrible night.
I do not know it then, but this sister will not be the only one of the four of us girls who will lose a beloved child. Six years later, in 2013, our youngest sister, Sherry, will stare with eyes that do not see, just like Lynda's, as her firstborn son, Kyle, is buried in the ground on a hot July day. Kyle's body will succumb at last to the cancer and tumors that have wrapped themselves in his brain. His body will sink into the ground as his soul joins his cousin's in heaven. He was 13.
My body shudders as I find myself back in the present. I feel drained by the memories. I don't know what to say, or do, or think, but I know Who does. I find my way to my brown sofa. I lean against the cushions. My heart is bruised and my eyes are wet. I am angry at the loss, the emptiness, the hurt, the pain of these people that I love and care about.
I take my old Bible, the one that I got from a yard sale when an old godly man died and his daughter sold it to me for five bucks. I would have given her twenty, which was all I had. The old man scrawled notes in an unsteady hand in the margins. He underlined passages that meant something to him. I find immense comfort in the Book he loved so well, in its worn softness. And ancient words lift from those old pages, to bring me comfort even though the pain doesn't go away, and the answers still are not there. I do what I do: I take what I can get to get me through this moment, and I pray for His grace and mercy for me, for my friend and for my sisters, in this journey that has shaken each of us to our very cores.
"There is a time to be born," the old Book reminds me gently, "and a time to die....there is a time to cry and a time to laugh. There is a time to be sad and a time to dance...there is a time to be silent and a time to speak." I breathe in, I breathe out. I do it over and over again, because that is all I can do at this moment. Just breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Steady, simple, strong and sure.
I don't have any answers. I don't know how to do this. But I open my mouth and words come out and they are words of honor and worship to my God, Who gave up His only Son for my sake, and I worship His Son, Who took on my shame, Who suffered, bled and died for me. "I hate this, " I tell Him. "It isn't fair, and it doesn't seem right. I am angry and I am hurting. And so are they, in ways I cannot begin to understand. I wouldn't have played it this way, Lord," I tell Him, my heart fierce in honest rejection of what He allowed in my loved ones' lives. But, in that honesty, I let Him know something else, something that won't die, and that is my continued Trust in Him, my belief that He does not make a single mistake. "Even in this," I whisper, my throat sore from crying, "even in this, I want to trust You."
It isn't fair. It isn't fair and it is ugly and it is the kind of pain that cripple you if you let it. But I don't want to let it. Don't let me let it. This is when we get to worship naked before Him, stripped of all our righteousness, our human comprehension, our religious platitudes. Because all you have, in a time like this, is your most honest, real self: the part of you that's broken. And that is who he loves the most.
Grab a hold of Him. He won't ever let you go.
Each Tiny Moment...
Have you ever had a day where everything seemed brand spanking new? It has been like that for me for about three weeks now, and I am both intrigued and surprised. It is as if I was just born (fully adult, no diapers needed!) into this amazing world we live in, and I am seeing things for the first time!
Today I sat at a traffic light and gazed over at the cars pulling up beside me at the red light. A little sports car, a bright little sea mist colored convertible, jetted its way up the line, snub nose pushing it just ahead of my ordinary little maroon Civic. It took my breath away, literally. That little car was stunning! I could not take my eyes off the unusual color...it reminded me of the bits of pale aqua sea glass I used to pick up when I walked my dogs in Lake Worth. Joy welled up within me and I sat there, feeling the happiness flood every pore of my body. Sounds extreme, doesn't it? But seriously, I don't know if my brain is malfunctioning, if I am reverting to my childhood, or if I am just waking up to the enormous liberating POWER of gratitude. All I can say is I am shocked at the sheer beauty and magic and mysterious wonder of this LIFE we are all living: it is ENORMOUS.
Last Thursday, I walked a bit of a trail near Caro's school. The same thing happened then. I had my little turquoise bag with me, the one that is so small it only holds my wallet, my car keys, my tiny writing notebook and a pen. I scooped it up from the seat in the car and made notes as I wandered around. There was a great tree with leaves deepening their shades, readying for fall, and the sight of them, all red and burnished gold and juicy orange, startled me into stopping my walk. I stood beneath the tree and reached up as high as I could reach, pulling one bright yellow beauty to me. I traced the underside of the fiery leaf, felt thin ridges and coarse underbelly of the leaf. I closed my eyes and thanked God, out loud, right then and there, for the sheer beauty and wonder and privilege of being alive to see that leaf, to touch it and to keep it vivid and lasting in my memory bank.
One day I won't be here anymore. I hope that is a long time off from now, but while I am here, I just want to cram every bit of LIFE into my heart, course it through my veins, sink it into my soul...I want to be drenched with AWARENESS of every precious moment, each new experience, each old golden moment with the people I love and the people who love me.
Take a moment today, wherever you are right now, whatever you're doing, and be aware of where you are. What you are doing, who you are with, what you are wearing. Do you smell the air where you are? Is it misty, salty, freezing your nose and ears? Look at your sky: is it pale, is it orange, is it pink, is it blue? Close your eyes and breathe in your existence. You will never have this moment again, not ever again. Make it special, make it last.
And now, my friends, I am going to make myself a cup of peppermint tea, and then I am going to check out how much it costs to paint a car. A cute little maroon Honda Civic, to be exact. And I know just the shade of sea mist I want it to be.
Today I sat at a traffic light and gazed over at the cars pulling up beside me at the red light. A little sports car, a bright little sea mist colored convertible, jetted its way up the line, snub nose pushing it just ahead of my ordinary little maroon Civic. It took my breath away, literally. That little car was stunning! I could not take my eyes off the unusual color...it reminded me of the bits of pale aqua sea glass I used to pick up when I walked my dogs in Lake Worth. Joy welled up within me and I sat there, feeling the happiness flood every pore of my body. Sounds extreme, doesn't it? But seriously, I don't know if my brain is malfunctioning, if I am reverting to my childhood, or if I am just waking up to the enormous liberating POWER of gratitude. All I can say is I am shocked at the sheer beauty and magic and mysterious wonder of this LIFE we are all living: it is ENORMOUS.
Last Thursday, I walked a bit of a trail near Caro's school. The same thing happened then. I had my little turquoise bag with me, the one that is so small it only holds my wallet, my car keys, my tiny writing notebook and a pen. I scooped it up from the seat in the car and made notes as I wandered around. There was a great tree with leaves deepening their shades, readying for fall, and the sight of them, all red and burnished gold and juicy orange, startled me into stopping my walk. I stood beneath the tree and reached up as high as I could reach, pulling one bright yellow beauty to me. I traced the underside of the fiery leaf, felt thin ridges and coarse underbelly of the leaf. I closed my eyes and thanked God, out loud, right then and there, for the sheer beauty and wonder and privilege of being alive to see that leaf, to touch it and to keep it vivid and lasting in my memory bank.
One day I won't be here anymore. I hope that is a long time off from now, but while I am here, I just want to cram every bit of LIFE into my heart, course it through my veins, sink it into my soul...I want to be drenched with AWARENESS of every precious moment, each new experience, each old golden moment with the people I love and the people who love me.
Take a moment today, wherever you are right now, whatever you're doing, and be aware of where you are. What you are doing, who you are with, what you are wearing. Do you smell the air where you are? Is it misty, salty, freezing your nose and ears? Look at your sky: is it pale, is it orange, is it pink, is it blue? Close your eyes and breathe in your existence. You will never have this moment again, not ever again. Make it special, make it last.
And now, my friends, I am going to make myself a cup of peppermint tea, and then I am going to check out how much it costs to paint a car. A cute little maroon Honda Civic, to be exact. And I know just the shade of sea mist I want it to be.
Broken Before Him: When My Yesterday Met My Today...
Today I talked to a missionary organization about my application for foreign missions. Before the call, I was so charged. On fire with purpose and longing to...finally...take steps to fulfill a long ago calling to share Jesus with other people, in other lands. My heart was racing. I felt my hands trembling as I picked up the phone when it rang, right on the dot at 1 p.m. God answered my prayer for calm as I began to share from my heart about His call, and why I want to do this. The missionary on the other end was loving, peaceful, and quiet....too quiet, I soon realized...from the moment I explained that I have been divorced. More than once, divorced.
That silence soon became palpable, tense with unspoken questions, until she spoke. "We will need your pastor to share his thoughts on your divorces," she said, not unkindly, but with definite new reserve. "And you will need to fill out our form on divorce." For the rest of the interview, my brain was foggy and my heart stuttered unevenly. I couldn't hear clearly, even when she assured me that this was "not a game-changer", and that I would most likely still be approved for the weeklong training in a different state, one more prequel to taking my final steps to a missionary assignment.
All I could hear was the rush of my heart beating in my ears. All I could feel was the dizziness suddenly draining the strength from me. I sat down. I closed my eyes. And I squeezed back hot tears from my eyes.
I thought of all the ways I've failed in this lifetime. The weight, the enormous crushing weight of my many mistakes, my poor choices, my off - judgment, my various sins of character and of omission and of commission....everything I've done in my life, all the wrongs I have not yet been able to make right... rushed to me in a nauseating blur.
I realized, in that one heartbreaking moment of horrible clarity, that I might not be able to be a missionary after all.
I have made, perhaps, one too many mistakes.
I have lived so much less than a perfect Christian life.
And my walk with Him has been so jagged, so up and down, so inconsistent.
I have stumbled so very many times.
I am so terribly flawed.
Literally paralyzed with grief for things that cannot be undone, for paths that can't be unwalked, and with the soul crushing awareness that it may be too little, too late...this faith that is now rising up within me...wanting to live for Him, wanting to go for Him, wanting to share Him, wanting to be in full-time ministry for His glory...this faith may not be enough. Not enough to overcome all the bad in me, not enough to heal all the broken places and make them new. The humiliation, the hopelessness, rose up so strong I felt like being sick. I had no excuses, no net to fall into, no answer for all that I am, and all the broken parts of me.
I opened my eyes, rubbed them, shut them again, felt my body sink back, worn down and exhausted, against the soft, familiar sofa where I go to read my Bible and pray. One simple word escaped my lips: the go-to word I cling to when I have nowhere else and no one else and nothing else to grasp: "Help."
And then, right there, on that brown sofa, with my tear-stained cheeks hot and flushed, with my heart broken and cracked in two, my beloved Father, my God, my Lord and Saviour, did what He always does when I whisper that one word. He comes to me, immediately, and He helps me. He draws me to Himself, He holds me close and He soothes my troubled spirit like only He can do.
And He speaks to me. He shares His heart with me.
He ministers the most healing, powerful, beautiful, anointed, glorious gift of all: He gives to me His full, whole Acceptance.
"My sweet child," I heard His familiar, deep, warm and loving Voice, "I know. I already know all of your failings. I was there, remember? I was there during each and every one. I know about your marriages. I know your divorces. I know your fears and I know your shortcomings. And, my darling girl, I love you STILL. I love you IN your brokenness. And I always, always will."
Suddenly, the hopelessness began to evaporate in the light of that great, undeserved Acceptance. His unconditional love for me, the constant of my existence, transformed my life once again.
I realized anew that all of who I am today, every bit of the woman I have become, is part and parcel of the woman I was yesterday, last year, ten years ago. When I walked away from Him, when I came stumbling back, when I defied His Word, when I left my faith in the dust, just to have my own selfish way, He was there. He never once left me alone.
And I realized that no matter what, He can use me. He can use me just the way I am. Right now. He can use those broken, shattered pieces of my life. He can use me one way or the other. I may not be accepted by any traditional Christian organization. I may not be accepted as a formal missionary. Ever. But I am a missionary every day that I draw breath here on this earth. I am His child. I breathe because of His spirit within me. And, broken and battered and bruised, I am still utterly beautiful in His sight.
And, really, who else even matters? If He is for me, it does not matter who else is against me, or even just not all that into me. He is my Reason for living. He is my Lord. And, blessed thought, I am...STILL...His.
That silence soon became palpable, tense with unspoken questions, until she spoke. "We will need your pastor to share his thoughts on your divorces," she said, not unkindly, but with definite new reserve. "And you will need to fill out our form on divorce." For the rest of the interview, my brain was foggy and my heart stuttered unevenly. I couldn't hear clearly, even when she assured me that this was "not a game-changer", and that I would most likely still be approved for the weeklong training in a different state, one more prequel to taking my final steps to a missionary assignment.
All I could hear was the rush of my heart beating in my ears. All I could feel was the dizziness suddenly draining the strength from me. I sat down. I closed my eyes. And I squeezed back hot tears from my eyes.
I thought of all the ways I've failed in this lifetime. The weight, the enormous crushing weight of my many mistakes, my poor choices, my off - judgment, my various sins of character and of omission and of commission....everything I've done in my life, all the wrongs I have not yet been able to make right... rushed to me in a nauseating blur.
I realized, in that one heartbreaking moment of horrible clarity, that I might not be able to be a missionary after all.
I have made, perhaps, one too many mistakes.
I have lived so much less than a perfect Christian life.
And my walk with Him has been so jagged, so up and down, so inconsistent.
I have stumbled so very many times.
I am so terribly flawed.
Literally paralyzed with grief for things that cannot be undone, for paths that can't be unwalked, and with the soul crushing awareness that it may be too little, too late...this faith that is now rising up within me...wanting to live for Him, wanting to go for Him, wanting to share Him, wanting to be in full-time ministry for His glory...this faith may not be enough. Not enough to overcome all the bad in me, not enough to heal all the broken places and make them new. The humiliation, the hopelessness, rose up so strong I felt like being sick. I had no excuses, no net to fall into, no answer for all that I am, and all the broken parts of me.
I opened my eyes, rubbed them, shut them again, felt my body sink back, worn down and exhausted, against the soft, familiar sofa where I go to read my Bible and pray. One simple word escaped my lips: the go-to word I cling to when I have nowhere else and no one else and nothing else to grasp: "Help."
And then, right there, on that brown sofa, with my tear-stained cheeks hot and flushed, with my heart broken and cracked in two, my beloved Father, my God, my Lord and Saviour, did what He always does when I whisper that one word. He comes to me, immediately, and He helps me. He draws me to Himself, He holds me close and He soothes my troubled spirit like only He can do.
And He speaks to me. He shares His heart with me.
He ministers the most healing, powerful, beautiful, anointed, glorious gift of all: He gives to me His full, whole Acceptance.
"My sweet child," I heard His familiar, deep, warm and loving Voice, "I know. I already know all of your failings. I was there, remember? I was there during each and every one. I know about your marriages. I know your divorces. I know your fears and I know your shortcomings. And, my darling girl, I love you STILL. I love you IN your brokenness. And I always, always will."
Suddenly, the hopelessness began to evaporate in the light of that great, undeserved Acceptance. His unconditional love for me, the constant of my existence, transformed my life once again.
I realized anew that all of who I am today, every bit of the woman I have become, is part and parcel of the woman I was yesterday, last year, ten years ago. When I walked away from Him, when I came stumbling back, when I defied His Word, when I left my faith in the dust, just to have my own selfish way, He was there. He never once left me alone.
And I realized that no matter what, He can use me. He can use me just the way I am. Right now. He can use those broken, shattered pieces of my life. He can use me one way or the other. I may not be accepted by any traditional Christian organization. I may not be accepted as a formal missionary. Ever. But I am a missionary every day that I draw breath here on this earth. I am His child. I breathe because of His spirit within me. And, broken and battered and bruised, I am still utterly beautiful in His sight.
And, really, who else even matters? If He is for me, it does not matter who else is against me, or even just not all that into me. He is my Reason for living. He is my Lord. And, blessed thought, I am...STILL...His.
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